Heroines of the French Epic
Page 14
So turn your shield and face a father’s hurt and hate!
Our truce is at an end: in truth, I cannot wait!”
Young Richier replied: “You’d make a great mistake!
Display your chivalry, for once again I say:
1150 If I have killed your son, I understand your pain
And feel it too, indeed! God bless him in his grave
And fill you with the grace to pardon me of blame.”
“Your words are wind, sir knight!” cried Emelon, enraged:
“I never can forgive, whatever words you say,
For blood must be avenged, and yours must be exchanged
With that of my dear son, whose life you bled away!
My Turkish spear can’t wait to bleed it from your veins!”
On saying this, he spurred his rapid destrier,
As Richier did too – since nothing else availed.
1160 Beneath each buckler’s boss such lusty blows they laid
Their quartered shields were shorn of all except the frames!
But God was on His guard, and, through His loving Grace,
Their lances split apart and neither man was maimed.
Both fighters showed their skill to neither fall nor sway,
But draw their Eastern swords without the least delay,
And smite each other’s helm, alike of Eastern make.
Their shields were little use, and neither was the mail
That clothed them head to toe, though both were double-chained:
The driven blood went through and bled upon the plain.
1170 There never was, in truth, a duel so fiercely waged
As that between the duke and Richier that day!
The duke had every right.And God help Richier,
For if he won the fight, he knew he’d have to face
The rage of every knight the duke had in his pay.
And if he lost, he knew his death would seal the fate
Of Floovant, who, alone, could never flee his jail.
JOYEUSE, INCISED with gold, went flashing, edge to edge,
And struck the duke so hard about his ear it cleft
The circle that adorned his rich Pavian helm
1180 And carved beneath the coif a mighty slice of flesh.
In more than seven spots the blood escaped the mesh,
And when the Frenchman saw how heavily he bled,
He called upon the duke to pardon him again:
“Ah, Emelon, fine lord, for God’s sake do not let
Me kill you like your son! I urge you to relent!
Here! Take my priceless sword, and, if you wish, avenge
Your anger with its blade upon my naked neck!”
So fine a gesture made unmade the duke’s intent,
And, hearing it, he sighed, and, dropping sword, he wept,
1190 Not knowing what to say to Richier’s largesse.
“SIR KNIGHT,” HE SAID at last, “your heart has overborne me!
Its valour and noblesse have vanquished my vainglory.
For love of God on High, Who bore the Cross’s torment,
I free you of all blame or shame in my son’s slaughter.”
Said Richier: “My lord, God bless you and reward you!”
He went to kiss his foot – but Emelon forestalled him.
DUKE EMELON displayed his chivalry of mind
By swapping hate for love of Richier the squire –
A love that Richier would soon repay in kind
1200 By saving him from death and serving him in fights
That won him back his lands that Pagan hands had prised.
For now they said farewell, commending each to Christ,
And Richier rode on, his honour bright as light.
6. How Floovant was rescued from prison
SIR RICHIER rode on, his honour brightly lit,
Through wild and desert land and many dales and hills,
Not stopping once until he saw, by Basum bridge,
The Pagans in a camp as rich as it was big,
And heard the yelp and whelp of heathen languages.
The anger that he felt welled up beyond its brim,
1210 And on its course to God this curse escaped his lips:
“Dear Jesus, Son of God, and Man through Mary’s gift,
A curse upon these knaves whose ways are steeped in sin,
And on that evil pair I know are in their midst,
Maudaranz and Maudare, by whom my liege was tricked!
Allow me, noble Lord, to punish what they did!”
Dismounting by a fount of water sweet and swift,
Beneath an olive-tree, he took a herb-plant which
A doctor back in France had one day given him.
He used it now to dye the colour of his skin
1220 Till top to toe he showed as black as boiling pitch.
In this way he could move among the Moors at will,
And freely speak their tongues, for which he had the skill.
Maudaranz and Maudare he hoped alike to trick.
And so he passed their tents, with steady steps until
He saw their great Emir, surrounded by the pick
Of all his Pagan peers – some fifteen mighty kings.
Maudaranz and Maudare held bowls the shape of ships,
From which they served his wine and many a dainty dish.
Young Richier strode up and greeted them like this:
1230 “May all Mahomet’s might and all Apollo’s skill
Protect you, great Emir, and all I see you with!”
The great Emir replied: “And you as well, young prince!
Who are you, handsome friend? Come, tell us as you sit!”
Said Richier: “My lord, as true as Mahom lives,
I am Josiah’s son, a Tabarian king.
I’ve sailed the seas in search of what adventure brings,
But I was caught and brought, by brigands in a brig,
Inside a Syrian port and put to auction’s bid.
And I was bought for gold by one of France’s kings,
1240 Who wanted me baptised and Christianised forthwith.
But I could not abide the thought of such a sin,
And swore that I would die ere doing such a thing!
And when this monarch saw I never would renege
Upon my Pagan faith to worship Christ the King,
He threw me in a cell, a stony hell of flint.
But Mahom paid me heed and freed me from its grip!
I headed straight for Greece; but hearing, as I did,
Of your prowess I’m here to say that, if you wish
To challenge France, I’ll lead your men and help them win!”
1250 At this the Pagans roared: “Well spoken, gallant prince!”
“Indeed,” replied Galeen, “you are the son, I think,
Of cousin Margaret, the wife of Greece’s king!
Whoever doubts your claim, or flouts it, shall be killed!”
When this was said they ran to give the youth a kiss,
And would have, to a man, had he not turned his lips
And cried: “Good Saracens, I beg you to desist,
For I have sworn an oath to every god there is,
That I shall shun the kiss of any friend or kin
Until my thirsty sword has had French blood to drink!”
1260 “That thirst is quickly quenched!” Galeen said, with a grin,
“For in my cellar now a Frenchman lies un-sipped,
Whose claret’s due to flow tomorrow from its skin!
If you can hold him fast, your sword can drink its fill!”
Said Richier: “My
lord, I’ll seize him in my grip
And squeeze him to the lees till every drop has dripped!”
“AND WHAT’S your name, good kinsman?” continued the Emir.
Young Richier responded: “It’s one I’m proud to speak:
I’m called Maudras The Fiery, back home in land of Greece.”
The great Emir said quickly: “A glowing name, indeed!”
1270 And straightaway his cronies ran up to share the heat:
The greater and the lesser were equal in their zeal
To welcome him most warmly, and many wished to greet
Him on the cheek with kisses, which forced him to repeat
That he must kill a Frenchman before he kissed a cheek!
“A pledge that’s quickly settled!” said the Emir Galeen,
“For I have caught a Frenchman and kept him for two weeks.
Tomorrow we were going to cut him up like meat!”
Said Richier: “Good uncle, let me prepare the meal –
Though by the time I’ve finished there won’t be much to eat!”
1280 The great Emir called over his jailer Malapris,
And said: “Show him the Frenchman we’re curing underneath!”
The jailer grinned and answered: “Your mood is food to me!”
THE PAIR OF THEM went swiftly, descending to the cell.
Young Richier stood waiting while in the jailer went
And took with him a cudgel of evil weight and strength.
As soon as he saw Floovant the jailer raised its length
And beat our hero’s body, his back, his limbs and chest,
Until he groaned from bruising and broken, bleeding flesh.
The jailer grinned and left him, as Floovant winced and wept.
1290 Returning to his guest there, the laughing jailer said:
“Just listen to that Frenchman! I’ve pounded him so well
He’ll make a tender morsel when he is burnt to death!”
On hearing such derision, young Richier saw red,
And said, his anger rising beneath his bated breath:
“You misbegotten mongrel! You blighted, evil wretch!
It’s you who’ll soon be roasting upon the fires of hell!”
On saying this, and raising Joyeuse above his head,
He struck the wretched jailer a down-blow so immense
It slit him through the middle and split him to his belt!
1300 Then, looking to his right side, he saw a slope that led
Towards a pit the Pagans had dug to make a well
That slimy toads and vipers had turned into a nest!
And so he took the body and threw it to the depths
Where Mahom and Tervagant could reach the soul they’d bred.
The devil-hearted body had met its evil end.
YOUNG RICHIER went rushing down every step until
He stumbled on the chamber where Floovant wept and winced.
But when our hero heard him and saw him rushing in,
His skin as black or blacker than ink or boiling pitch,
1310 His wounded body shuddered, not knowing it was him.
He called aloud on Jesus, Who bore the Cross of Sin:
“Another Moor approaches, in ugly mood and grim:
I fear that if he beats me the way the first one did,
I never shall recover, however long I live.”
At this, he looked before him to see a broken brick,
And picked it up as something to strike the stranger with.
But then a voice implored him: “Is that the way to bid
Your closest comrade welcome – a friend who’s come to spring
This Pagan trap that holds you? It’s Richier, my prince!”
1320 Imagine Floovant’s wonder and joy at hearing this!
A flood of happy feeling drowned every ache and ill!
“Good Richier,” he asked him, “who blackened so your skin?”
“My lord, I’m even blacker!” he answered with a grin:
“I’ve told Galeen the Pagan that I’m his kith and kin!”
“MY FRIEND, what can I do?” cried Floovant most forlornly:
“Three days have come and gone since last I ate a morsel!
I’d swap Cambrai for bread and Orléans for water!
I can’t take any more: my body is in torment,
For every day they come to put me to more torture.
1330 And worse than all – I’ve lost Joyeuse, my noble sword-blade,
At Fortress Avenant, when Pagan cunning caught me!
Fair princess of Alsace, you gave to me its glory,
And now, alas, it’s lost by my unworthy wardship!”
Said Richier: “My lord, I have it here before you!
And what is more it’s slain the monster here who mauled you!”
To hear this happy news filled Floovant with rejoicing
And banished every bane and pain that overbore him.
SAID RICHIER: “My lord, I must return directly,
For both of us will die if we are seen together
1340 Engaged in private talk; I have no doubt whatever
That they would kill us both the moment they suspect me!”
“Then go, my noble friend! But see you don’t forget me –
And bring me food to eat as soon as chance will let you!
My strength is all but gone, so long my want of any!”
Said Richier: “My lord, your wants shall be attended
As quickly as I can, if God above protects me
Against these blackamoors.” On saying this, he left him.
HE LEFT THE STONY CELL and bounded up the staircase,
Where, looking round, he found a sign of fortune’s favour:
1350 A coffer made of iron belonging to the jailer.
Its clasps were very strong, but, kicking hard to break them
He found, to his delight, provisions for the taking,
Of wine and food galore to feed his master’s craving!
How well they were received the moment that he gave them
And shut the prison-door so nothing more could plague him!
When this was done, he tore his gown in many places,
To make it look as if attackers had assailed him,
Then went back to the hall where the Emir was waiting.
On seeing him, he fell before the haughty Pagan.
1360 “What happened?” cried Galeen in anger and amazement.
Said Richier: “My lord, may good Mahomet aid us!
Attend to what I say! My life was almost taken,
Because your Frenchman’s cell was guarded by a traitor!
I saw him in the vault discussing their escape-plan!
Because I told him straight how you would treat betrayal,
The two of them began to cudgel me and flay me!
Without Tervagant’s aid, I know they would have slain me.
Mahomet’s loving grace, I know, was all that saved me!
Your Frenchman’s back in jail, your jailer’s back in Hades –
1370 I slew him and I threw him inside a yawning crater!
I would have slain the Frank, but wanting to obey you
And tell you what had passed, I stayed my hand against him.”
On hearing this, the Moor was filled with trepidation,
And praised Mahomet’s power in every hour of danger.
“This Frenchman’s life will end as soon as it is daybreak!
Sit down, beloved kin, and rest from all your labours!”
SAID RICHIER: “My lord, this haughty Frenchman, who
Has dropped into your hands, may prove a useful tool.
&n
bsp; He is Escorfan’s son, the mighty Breton duke
1380 Whose orders can convene some twenty thousand troops.
So if you spare his son – that is, until you use
His capture to placate his father’s might and mood,
Then you can take them both, and with your army move
Unhindered into France. And once in Paris you
Can hang them with their king, as quickly as you choose!”
The great Emir replied: “You are a cunning youth!
Once Brittany is ours, then all the coastline through
To Germany will fall, and France will follow suit!
1390 I’ll give you France, my son, as your reward, to rule,
And Maugalie to wed, my daughter fair and true.
With good Mahomet’s grace, who makes the sky and dew,
Your marriage will take place in Laon’s most royal rooms!”
Said Richier: “My lord, we’ve much to gain, in truth,
As what you’ve given me already richly proves!”
But through his teeth, unheard, he muttered this rebuke:
“May God, Who governs all, ensure you never do
Rule anywhere in France one single night or noon!
If I am any judge, your lovely daughter soon,
For love of someone else, will play you for a fool,
1400 And let my sword exact the vengeance that is due!”
On saying this, he left and went inside a room
To speak with Maugalie, who’d asked to see him too.
No sooner had he left, when who should come in view
But twelve of France’s Peers, around the necks of whom
Were pilgrim-sacks, and whom, upon their ambling mules,
The Pagans had waylaid upon a mountain route.
Pinel was first to speak, supported by Ganuz:
“Be joyful, great Emir, and praise our gods anew,
Who’ve dropped into our laps the tastiest of fruit:
1410 The best of France’s crop: a dozen noble dukes
Whose orders can convene some twenty thousand troops!”
On hearing this, Galeen let out a mighty whoop
And cried: “Mahomet, lord, how bountiful are you,
Who offer me a feast when all I seek is food!”
“MAHOMET, mighty lord, how bountiful you are,
Who offer me a feast when food is all I ask!
Convey these men of France to dungeons deep and dark!
Tomorrow they shall hang – on that the die is cast!”