So what? Well, Senecalus was sleeping, as I say,
With Floovant idly watching – until he tempted Fate:
He happened to be holding a dagger, sharp and straight,
With which he’d sliced an apple to eat within the glade.
Before he even knew it, he’d sliced the beard away!
Old Senecalus started, from slumber rudely raised
To see his white moustaches and every wispy wave
Of what had been his whiskers removed by Floovant’s blade!
80 At once his rage ignited, exploding in a flame
When he beheld before him the youth he was to train,
Still playing with the dagger whose edges were to blame!
He wrenched it from the youngster, his angry cheeks ablaze,
And very nearly used it to slay his protégé!
His heart a-brim with venom, with stinging voice he railed:
“You reckless ignoramus! You’ve shamed me, for a game!
A curse upon the moment that you were born to reign!
I’m off to see your father, and when he sees my face,
He’ll slice your foolish head off and tear your limbs away!”
90 On hearing this, young Floovant began to weep and wail:
“Forgive me, noble master, for God in Heaven’s sake!
I’ll pay whatever penance you set for me to pay!”
He fell before his tutor, his tears like falling rain.
He begged the man for mercy – but there was none to gain.
“FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, good master, forgive my foolish deed!
I’ll do whatever penance that you decide is meet!
And I shall give you gladly three hundred rapid steeds,
With all the arms and armour three hundred riders need,
As well as fifteen castles to add to your demesne.”
100 But Senecalus answered: “Don’t waste your breath on me!
I’m off to see your father, and when he sees my cheeks,
He’ll send you to the gallows or rend you piece by piece!”
On saying this, he left him, without a ‘by your leave’,
And with his head well covered by samite silk, he reached
The palace-hall of Clovis, his monarch and his liege.
HIS HEART A-BRIM with rage, old Senecalus left,
His cloak of samite silk around his naked neck.
Until he reached the hall he never slowed his step.
His monarch and his liege had risen from his bed
110 And gone to Saint-Privé, where Mass was sung and said.
No sooner had the duke caught sight of him he went
Upon his knees to kiss his shoe, his foot and leg.
Then, lifting off his hood, he showed the King his head.
On seeing what he saw, the angry Clovis said:
“My good and worthy duke, who showed you such contempt?”
“Upon my faith, my lord, your eldest son himself,
Whom yesterday you placed beneath my tutelage,
And whom, this very day, I almost slew instead!”
On hearing this, the King was driven to the edge
120 Of self-control: he called on fourteen of his men:
“Make haste, my loyal knights! I order you to fetch
My eldest son Floovant, and bring the villain hence!
I promise, by St Peter in Nero’s field, to rend
His reckless limbs awry! I’ll hang him till he’s dead,
Or wrack him any way my counsellors suggest!”
His soldiers left at once, with no delay or let –
For no one dared oppose or shun the King’s behest –
And very soon the youth was standing there, in dread.
The monarch’s royal sword was brought at his request,
130 But, learning this, the Queen implored him to relent:
Upon her knees she kissed his shoe, his foot and leg.
THE MONARCH’S royal sword was brought by Gautier.
King Clovis seized the hilt, his heart aglow with rage,
And hurried from its sheath the sharp and shining blade.
The Queen, however, fell before him in dismay,
And said: “Have pity, Sire, upon your son’s mistake!”
“My lady,” said the King, “for you I’ll show him grace,
But only if he leaves my kingdom straightaway
And sets no foot in France till seven summers wane.”
140 The youth replied: “My lord, I will, without delay.”
And, falling to his knees, he swore by all the saints
Whose relics, one by one, were summoned and displayed,
That he would go from France and not return again
Till seven years had passed; then Clovis further bade
His son to go alone, with none to share his shame.
The ban imposed was read across the King’s domains
To all of those who ruled the counties in his name,
Prohibiting them all from lending any aid
To Floovant; neither gold nor silver he could trade
150 To purchase horse or arms or food on any day.
If any disobeyed, then nothing they could say
Would save them from the loss not only of estate,
But limb and life itself, without the least debate!
So Floovant fled the hall, so angry at his fate
He never said goodbye to any man or maid,
Not even to the Queen, who loved him more, in faith,
Than him whom she had wed, and honoured and obeyed.
Young Floovant sought a lodge whose noble host embraced
The lad his lavish house had often entertained.
160 The man himself was kind and of a gallant race,
And Floovant asked at once, with courtesy and grace:
“Good host, give me some arms and armour for my way,
And I shall serve your name wherever I may stray!
I swear that you won’t lose at all in this exchange,
For I’ll redeem the loan one hundred fold in rate
When I return to France – God willing that I may!”
“I will, most gladly, lord,” the gallant host exclaimed,
And helped him don at once a helmet and some mail.
He girded on a sword, whose hilt was gilt-engraved,
170 And laid a quartered shield about his neck and nape,
And in his hand a spear whose shaft was strongly made.
As Floovant mounted horse, he held the stirrup straight,
Beseeching God the Lord, Whose mercy never fails,
To keep the youth from harm and out of evil’s way.
Then Floovant took his leave and sped along the lane
That led him from the town between the nearest gates.
God help him, hapless youth, on his unhappy way:
More woe he’d undergo before the end of day!
But now, behold his squire! His name was Richier,
180 And he’d been hunting game when all of this took place.
But when he heard the news that, while he’d been away,
The master whom he loved, had, in his father’s rage
Been exiled on the spot for such a boyish jape,
And had already fled, he flew into a rage!
At once he swung astride a rapid destrier,
And swore to God above, Whose Judgement Day awaits,
That nobody on earth was going to gainsay
His right to stand beside his master, come what may!
He seized his only spear – a length of sharpened stake.
190 When Floovant’s mother saw the squire’s intent, she hail
ed
The youngster from above and beckoned him to wait.
Then, rushing down, she seized his weapon and his rein.
She stayed his spurring foot and held it in embrace:
“Take pity on my son! Ensure that he is safe!
I thank you from my heart for your enduring faith.”
“No words are needed, ma’am,” said noble Richier.
“I’ll never fail your son, while life and limb remain.”
He took his leave at this, and, turning with a wave,
Farewelled the troubled Queen. She similarly raised
200 Her waving hand to him, and as she did she prayed
To God the Lord above that He would guide his way
And bless his loyal quest to keep her offspring safe.
The youngster spurred his horse and set it on a trail
That took him from the town. With pounding heart, he raced
And chased along the road he knew his lord would take.
YOUNG FLOOVANT hurried on across his father’s realm.
His galloped past Châlons, across Champagne, then
He bypassed Fort Anglers and entered the Ardennes.
With every stride he cried to God the Lord – and yet
210 He’d undergo more woe before the sun had set!
His father, back in France, was very sad and vexed.
KING CLOVIS, in his palace, was very out of temper.
He summoned all his barons and when they were together
He said: “My loyal nobles, I face a sore dilemma:
My eldest son, Prince Floovant, has shamed my name and credit
By maiming Senecalus, my friend, like any felon!
The punishment I wanted, however, was prevented:
If I had had my wishes, I would have cut his head off.
But leaders of the clergy exhorted me against it:
220 They told me that to do it would see me called forever
A murderer who slew the life that he’d engendered!
And so, my purpose thwarted, I have a new intention:
Bring forth to me a razor, and in your common presence,
I too shall shed my beard, to share the shame and error.”
The nobles did his bidding: they brought the blade in question
And watched as mighty Clovis cut off his regal tresses,
Because of what had happened to one in his protection.
Then every noble present performed the selfsame gesture.
Now here’s a song, good people, that’s worthy of attention:
230 A song that tells you truly of Floovant’s high adventures,
Of every woe and foeman this hero had to better
Before he could return to the lovely land we cherish!
2. How Floovant came to King Flores
SO FLOOVANT had to forfeit the lovely land that raised him.
His shield upon his shoulder, with nobody to aid him,
He plied upon his journey and sighed to God our Maker:
“Dear Lord in highest Heaven, how rich I was and favoured!
No king from here to Egypt, however strong or crazy
With arrogance, would ever have dared to come and face me
240 In any sort of battle, when I could stand against him
With forty thousand swordsmen, their blades as sharp as razors!
I’ve lost it all because of my reckless misbehaviour –
And I am lost, unsure of the path I should be taking.
My will and skill together are not enough to save me.”
But then his conscience murmured: “What foolishness you’re saying!
What craven thoughts you’re having, by St Denis your Patron!
If any noble vassal should hear your lamentation,
He’d never want to serve you – and nobody would blame him.
You know there’s not a fighter from here to Tabaraya
250 That you’d have any trouble in breaking like a wafer
If powerfully you struck him the best blow you were able!
You know that you have heard of King Flores the Alsatian,
A monarch of great honour, both gallant and audacious,
Who, having shunned Mahomet, has angered Pagan nations.
If you could reach his kingdom before they have regained it,
Your sword may reap a harvest of honour and salvation!”
On hearing this inside him, at once he acted bravely
And spurred through hill and valley, through village land and vacant,
Until he saw, before him, beneath a pine, a maiden
Ill-handled by some heathens who’d captured her and chained her.
260 The sorry maid was weeping, and wretchedly bewailing,
As they, with flat of sword-blade, made sport of her and plagued her.
The woods around resounded with her humiliation.
Young Floovant, when he listened and heard it was a lady,
Drew rein at once, and, halting upon the track he’d taken,
Called out to God in Heaven, Who governs all creation:
“Dear God above in glory, I’m filled with hesitation!
My honour sees before it three evil-hearted Pagans
Who in their evil clutches torment a noble maiden –
And yet it may be madness for me to move against them:
270 My horse could bolt in terror! My life could be in danger!”
But then his conscience murmured: “How cowardly! How craven!
The family of Clovis has always acted bravely!
For all the gold that glitters on old Pavia’s pavements,
Your honour won’t allow you to leave the maid unaided!”
On hearing this inside him, he gripped his spear to raise it,
Then spurring forth his warhorse, with ringing voice he hailed them:
“My lords, release the lady! There’s no way you will take her!
You’ve seized her for your pleasure, I see that very plainly.”
On hearing this, the Pagans were filled with indignation
280 And, seizing on their weapons, determined to assail him
With all the speed their spurring in little space could gain them.
Upon his floral buckler young Floovant met the bravest
And drove his iron lance-head beneath the boss to break it.
The lance-head hit the hauberk and tore it like a wafer
To gore the man inside it, whoever chides or praises.
Without a peep he perished, so swiftly was he taken.
Then, drawing forth his sword-blade, the gallant youngster aimed it
Against the heathen helmet the second Moor was laced in.
The helmet nor the coif-cap did anything to save him
290 As Floovant drove the weapon through head and heart to slay him.
The third of Mahom’s trio ran off in trepidation,
As terror filled the maiden, on witnessing the mayhem.
But Floovant asked her gently to tell him what her name was.
She said: “I am Floretta; and I will tell you plainly:
I am King Flores’ daughter, who rules Ardennes and places
In Austria, Bavaria, Lorraine and in Alsatia.
For spurning their religion, the Moors have turned against him.
My father sent me hiding, but four of them waylaid me
And took me to their quarters – but somehow I escaped them
300 And sheltered in this forest; but after days of straying
This evil trio found me, God send them all to Satan!
If God and you had shunned me, I’m sure they would have raped me.
My lord, take me to Belfort, since you it is who�
��ve saved me!”
The youth replied: “ My lady, be sure I’ll not forsake you,
But take you from this forest to city and to safety.”
“MY LADY,” SAID the youth, “mount up with me and ride.
I sure you wish to leave this spot as fast as I .”
She did so, as he held the stirrup-irons tight,
Then, mounting horse himself, they left – so help them Christ:
310 Before their day was done, they’d suffer such a fright
As nobody before had suffered and survived:
Young Floovant had to meet and beat five further knights,
Or leave behind the girl, his honour and his life!
But firstly, let me tell of Richier, the squire
Who’d followed on his trail, with never-failing mind,
And suddenly observed the Pagan rogue in flight
Who’d fled our hero’s spear and left his friends behind
To die at Floovant’s hand beneath the stand of pines.
He fretted for it now, in Pagan way and wise:
320 “Alas, my noble friends! Ill-fated were your lives,
By fickle chance misled, a shameful death to die!
And every knight on earth will laugh at me alike,
Since I was one of three who failed to beat a child!”
On saying this, the wretch turned round again and spied
The noble Richier approaching him the while,
And bearing at his breast a sharpened pole of pine!
“And who are you, young squire?” the wretched Pagan cried.
“That answer I can give!” brave Richier replied:
“I’m trying hard to find a newly-dubbed young knight
330 Who passed this way today, in darkness or in light.
If such a one you’ve seen, I beg you not to lie!”
“I have indeed, you wretch – to my eternal spite!
He slew my closest friends! He threw away their lives!
If you’re a friend of his, you’ve said your last goodbye!”
“You’re lying now, I know!” said Richier and plied
The weapon in his hand and brandished it on high.
Before the wretched Moor could mount his horse’s side,
He struck him such a blow upon his helmet’s stripes
It cast the gems below and floral-hems on high
340 Before it hit his head and split it open wide!
The blighted Pagan fell, his soul to hell consigned.
His coat of mail had rust on every link of iron,
Heroines of the French Epic Page 9