Heroines of the French Epic
Page 8
And climbed the tower the Moors before had claimed
In Otran’s time, whose heathen heart was brave.
The gallant count was leaning there to gaze
Upon the town and down its wide domains.
He saw the fields and roses flushed with May,
And heard the song the lusty thrushes made.
His mind at once recalled his uncle’s fate,
And little Gui’s, his brother bright and brave.
And when he did the tears ran down his face,
1670 And he began to grieve for them and say:
“Sir William, fine uncle, woe the day
That you set out to see Orange, arrayed
In vagrant’s clothes, your face and body stained!
How brave you were, young brother, all the same!
Now both of you, I’m certain, have been slain,
And I am left at Nîmes, bereft this way
Of any friend or kinsmen of my race
Whom I can ask for counsel or for aid.
And now the Moors will come this way again –
1680 The thirty kings who think they’ve conquered Spain –
King Golio and strong King Desramez,
King Clarius, his brother Acerez,
King Aguisant and strong King Giboez,
And the emir of Romant-on-the-waves,
King Eubron and King Borrel and Lorrez,
King Quinzepaumes and his brother Gondrez.
Each one will bring some thirty thousand knaves
And fight me here in Nîmes until they take
Both it and me by fee of number’s weight!
1690 They’ll torture me and maim me till I’m slain.
But I’m resolved on one thing, come what may:
A world of gold won’t stop me on that day
From breaking out with all the knights who came
With William to this benighted place,
And going back to France, our native place!
And when I come to Paris on the Seine,
I shall dismount upon the steps inlaid
With marble there, and all will stare and say:
‘Where’s William, whose valour is so great,
1700 And little Gui, your brother bright and brave?’
Alas for me! What shall I tell them, save
That in Orange the two of you were slain?”
On saying this, he fainted and he lay
Upon the ground, till rallied round and raised.
BERTRAND THE COUNT was stricken in his soul
For little Gui and William the bold,
Lamenting them in free and noble tones:
“Sir William, how rash of you to rove
With little Gui to see Orange alone,
1710 Your bodies stained and dressed in vagrants’ clothes!
My brother Gui, how brave of you to go!
The Saracens, I’m sure, have slain you both,
And I am left in Nîmes upon my own,
Bereft of kin and threatened by the foe!
And come they will – the Pagan Lord Teebo,
With Desramez and mighty Golio.
The thirty kings who think of Spain as home
Will challenge Nîmes with their assembled host.
They’ll torture me, then slaughter me, I know.
1720 But by the saint that pilgrims seek in Rome,
I won’t be stopped, for cities full of gold,
From going first to Orange on the Rhône!
I’ll seek revenge for all the loss and woe
Our family has seen and suffered so.
Ah, wretched me! Why have I been so slow?
I should have gone to face them long ago!”
BERTRAND THE COUNT was stricken in his mind.
But while he wept and filled the air with sighs,
1730 Sir Gilbert reached the fort at last and climbed
The marble steps to reach the hall inside.
How quickly then Bertrand began to smile,
And, in his joy, with ringing voice he cried:
“Most welcome back, you good and noble knight!
Speak up at once! Is little Gui alive,
And William, whose face with valour shines?”
Without a pause the honest knight replied:
“They are! Inside Orange itself, confined
To Gloriette, the fort of Teebo’s wife!
The wicked Moors surround them on all sides,
1740 And who’s to say how long they may survive?
Sir William sends me to bid you ride
And sail and march with every speed and might
At your command, to help him in his plight.”
How quickly then Bertrand began to smile!
With ringing voice around the hall he cried:
“To arms at once, you noble knights of mine!”
And all obeyed – at once they leapt astride
Their steeds of Spain and Syria alike.
When good Bertrand left mighty Nîmes behind,
1750 He took with him the total of his might:
The van alone held fifteen thousand knights,
Who never slowed until the Rhône was nigh.
On galleys there they boarded through the night,
Then sailed away and rowed against the tide
In fierce array until they all arrived
Before Orange, whose plain was long and wide,
And where they pitched their many tents in lines.
Bertrand the count was very keen to strike,
And when he saw the messenger he cried:
1760 “I need the truth, Sir Gilbert, noble knight!
Can we attack this city and divide
These hardy walls and marble halls inside?”
“Impossible!” the honest man replied:
“Though every knight in France were at your side,
You’d never take Orange in all your life.”
On hearing this, Bertrand was filled with spite.
“I NEED THE TRUTH, Sir Gilbert, worthy envoy:
Can we attack this noble town and sever
Its haughty walls and fortified defences?”
1770 “Impossible!” replied the worthy fellow,
“You’ll never hurt this hardy town, I tell you.”
On hearing this, the Frenchman shook with frenzy,
But Gilbert strove to temper his displeasure.
“My lord,” he said, “I’ve something good to tell you!
I know a way that you and more may enter
The fort itself, avoiding all attention!”
Bertrand replied: “Then lead the way, God bless you!”
So Gilbert did, who knew the way already.
While all the rest remained inside their shelters,
1780 He led the best, some thirteen thousand Frenchmen,
Toward the vault with no delay whatever.
Between the pair of pillars there they ventured
In single file, without a light to lessen
The darkness of the winding way they wended.
Bertrand the Peer expressed the fear of many:
So all could hear, he charged the worthy Fleming:
“Sir Gilbert, I demand the truth, God help me!
It’s my belief that William has perished
And you’ve conspired with Arragon against us!”
1790 “That’s craziness!” the worthy man protested:
“I swear, by God, I’d never play the felon!
This passage leads to Gloriette directly:
Just follow me and trust in me, I beg you!”
Bertrand replied: “Our common faith commends you.”
So, on they walked, and talked, until they entered
The fort itself, then Gloriette the splendid,
Where William rose up at once and met them.
He cried aloud: “Praise God the Lord of Heaven!
At last the way I’ve sought so long has beckoned!”
1800 The gallant knights, at once, took off their helmets
And, in embrace, wept tears of joy together.
Bertrand the count addressed his uncle gently:
“My noble lord, are you in health and temper?”
“I’m hale and whole, thank God above, good nephew,”
The Count replied, “though I’ve had pain a-plenty!
My visit here has been so full of perils
I thought I’d seen the last of you forever!”
His nephew cried: “I swear we shall avenge you!”
In Gloriette he blew a horn to beckon
1810 His men in camp, who armed themselves directly.
Sir William, inside, was brave and ready:
He dropped the bridge and, straightaway descending
Towards the gates that kept the town defended,
He flung them wide with all his strength and temper.
The French outside rushed in to find their fellows,
And when they did they cried ‘Mountjoy!’ together,
That cheer of Charles that makes the heathens tremble!
They snatched their arms, they grabbed for any weapon,
Then, dashing forth from every lodge and dwelling,
1820 They struck as one to save the town they cherished.
But all their pluck availed them not a penny,
For they were up against too many Frenchmen,
Who seized the town as young Bertrand attempted
To storm the fort that soared towards the heavens!
The fighting there turned twice as hard and heavy:
So many coats of Eastern mail or leather,
So many shields, so many spears were severed,
So many Moors in streaming gore upended!
When Arragon saw all his people perish
1830 His grief was such it robbed him of his senses:
He leapt astride his battle-steed and steadied
The solid shield he’d conquered from a Frenchman.
He stared around and found a gleaming weapon
That, bending down, with both his hands he hefted.
His charger reared as rowels speared its belly
And veered it forth towards the vicious melee.
He slew at once Foucher, the duke of Melans,
And then two more in his enormous frenzy.
On seeing this, Bertrand was driven senseless.
1840 He drew his sword, a blade with razor edges,
And struck the Moor with all his strength and temper.
The blow he gave was made with such resentment
It slit the Moor, it cleft him to the breastbone
And flung his soul to Satan’s hold forever.
His fighting men surrendered then – or perished.
8. How William wed Orable
WHAT GOOD IS DONE by spinning out a tale?
The Pagans stopped, and those who didn’t paid
The price in blood, sent flooding from their veins.
Sir William himself went straightaway
1850 To Fort Orange and freed from Teebo’s jail
The southern queen, so fair of form and face.
When this was done he hailed Bertrand again:
“Fine nephew mine, attend to what I say!
This Lady here, so dear to me, has saved
My mortal life from ending in this place!
And I have pledged to her, upon my faith,
That she shall be my wife, in Jesu’s name.”
Bertrand replied: “Then why do you delay?
Uphold at once the promise you have made!
1860 Take what you want with happy joy today!”
Said William: “Your will I will obey!”
SIR WILLIAM was valiant and courtly.
When force of arms had won the town, he ordered
His men to bring a mighty barrel forward
And fill it up with fresh and fragrant water.
Bishop Guimer of Nîmes stood there before it.
When Teebo’s wife had shed her clothes they brought her
And plunged her in, to make her soul immortal.
Her limbs were held by little Gui and also
1870 By brave Bertrand and Gilbert from the northland.
They took away her Pagan name that morning,
Baptising her for Christ the Lord as Guibourc.
Inside a church re-sanctified according
To Christian Law instead of Pagan glory,
Our hero led and wed her at the altar.
A Mass was sung at Bishop Guimer’s orders,
And after that they left the chapel, walking
To Gloriette, the Lady’s former quarters.
How fine a feast they held inside the fortress!
1880 Bertrand the count served both of them, supported
By gallant Gui and Gilbert from the northland.
A week was spent in feasting and rejoicing!
And when they went the minstrels were rewarded
With many robes of silk with ermine borders,
With Spanish mules and many splendid horses.
AND THAT IS HOW our hero won his Lady,
And fair Orange! Some thirty years he stayed there,
Each day of which was challenged by the Pagans.
❦
THE SONG OF FLOOVANT
1. How Prince Floovant was banished from France
MY LORDS, God bless you all! Attend, and I shall sing you
A verse or two, or three, of France’s noble history!
Of Clovis I shall sing, who was, for so it’s written,
The first of France’s kings to be baptised a Christian.
Some six and twenty years he spent in pagan living,
And any man he found who followed Christ’s religion,
He hankered straightaway to hang upon a gibbet,
Or drag between his steeds till life and limb were riven.
But God the Lord above poured love upon his spirit
10 And Clovis was baptised, with happy heart and willing,
At Saint-Denis in France, inside the lovely minster –
And anyone who doubts the truth of this can witness
Its record in the church when next they pay a visit!
As King of France he ruled with bravery and wisdom,
Begetting with his wife four gallant-visaged princes:
And FLOOVANT was the name the eldest one was given.
He made the sturdy youth successor to his kingdom,
He promised him the crown and all the honour with it,
But Fate had other plans: a boyish piece of mischief
20 Led Floovant to be banned from native land and kinsmen
For more than seven years! Now lend an ear and listen!
NOW LISTEN WELL, I bid you, for God our Saviour’s sake,
Who dwells above in glory, Who bore the Cross’s bane,
And I shall sing of Clovis, for Clovis was his name,
The first of France’s monarchs, so all the records say,
To be baptised a Christian and govern for the Faith.
For six and twenty summers he followed pagan ways,
And, finding any Christian, he wanted straightaway
To hang him on a gibbet, to fling him into flames,
30 Or drag him with his horses till life and limb were twain.
/> But God the Lord above us poured so much loving grace
Upon his soul that Clovis was christened and was saved
At Saint-Denis in Paris, inside its lovely nave.
As King of France he governed with courage and with brains,
Begetting with his consort four princes highly praised:
The eldest was our hero and FLOOVANT was his name.
He made the gallant youngster the heir to his domain,
He promised him the sceptre and all that appertained,
But Fate had other wishes, and childish folly chased
40 Our hero into exile for seven years and made
The sight of land or kinsman a mortal ban to break.
One Pentecost it started, a festive summer’s day.
King Clovis was in Paris to celebrate and pray
With fourteen other monarchs, their splendour on display.
One such was Senecālus, a mighty lord who came
From Burgundy, possessing each castle it contained,
Each village, town and city to old Vienne the great.
“Come forward, Senecalus,” said Clovis, “for I’d place
My son in your protection, as he is still untrained
50 In many arts of warfare, and still is of an age
Where courage needs its counsel and recklessness its rein.”
“My lord,” replied his vassal, “I willingly obey.
I’ll gladly tutor Floovant in any way I may.”
And so the duke invited the Prince that very day
To join him in his lodgings and feast the night away.
At sunrise, Senecalus, replete with food and ale,
Strolled out into an orchard, delighting in its shade,
And took the youngster with him to keep him entertained.
The pair was unattended and walked the leafy lanes
60 Until they sat together upon the grass of May,
Where weary Senecalus dozed off without delay.
His beard was white as winter and tumbled to his waist.
Now you must know, good people, that in that time and place
All noblemen were bearded, more grandly so with age,
Both laity and clergy whose heads were always shaved.
And when a man was guilty of stealing in those days
It was their wont to sever the whiskers from his face
And all the beard he boasted, each tress of it and braid.
To suffer such dishonour was worse than all disgrace,
70 For if its victim ventured among his peers again,
They had the right to seize him and take his life away!