Chapter 2

Flow'r o' the lily, Nicolette! Coming, going, ever pleasing, In thy talk and in thy teasing, In thy jest and in thy joying, In thy kisses, in thy coying! There is none could hate thee, dear! Yet for thy sake am I here, In this dungeon hid from day, Where I cry Ah, well-a-way! Now to die behoveth me, Sweet friend, for thee!"

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

Aucassin was put in prison, as you have listened and heard, and Nicolette was elsewhere in the chamber. 'Twas the summer time, the month of May, when the days are warm and long and bright, and the nights still and cloudless. Nicolette lay one night in her bed, and saw the moon shine bright through a window, and heard the nightingale sing in the garden; and she remembered Aucassin her friend, whom she loved so well. Then she fell a-thinking of Warren Count of Beaucaire, and how he hated her to death; and she thought within herself that she would abide there no longer; since if she were betrayed and Count Warren knew of her, he would put her to an evil death. She perceived that the old woman who was with her slept. And she arose and clad her in a goodly gown that she had of cloth-of-silk; and she took bedclothes and towels, and tied one to other and made a rope as long as she could, and made it fast to the window-shaft; and so got down into the garden. Then she took her dress in one hand before, and in the other behind, and girded herself, because of the dew she saw heavy on the grass, and went her way down the garden. She had golden hair in little curls, and laughing blue eyes, and a face finely curved, and a proud shapely nose, and lips more red than cherry or rose in summertime, and small white teeth, and little breasts that swelled beneath her clothes like two nuts of a walnut-tree. And her waist was so fine that your two hands could have girdled her; and the daisy-flowers snapped by her toes, and lying on the arch of her foot, were fairly black beside her feet and ankles, so very white the girl was.

She came to the postern, and unfastened it, and went out through the streets of Beaucaire, keeping to the shadow, for the moon shone very bright; and she went on till she came to the tower where her friend was. The tower had cracks in it here and there, and she crouched against one of the piers, and wrapped herself in her mantle, and thrust her head into a chink in the tower, which was old and ancient, and heard Aucassin within weeping and making very great sorrow, and lamenting for his sweet friend whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak.

_Here they sing_.

Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her:

"Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie."

Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake.

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger.

"Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me."

"Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me."

"Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth."

While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her.

"Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity."

_Here they sing_.

Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay.

"Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39}

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

"Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!"

She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid.

"Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!"

She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top.

Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned.

_Here they sing_.

Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call:

"Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there."

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them.

"Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!"

"May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others.

"Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?"

"Yes, we know him well."

"So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth."

And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed.

"What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!"

"Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!"

"I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him."

"I' God's name!" said she.

Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way.

_Here they sing_.

Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she!

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do.

And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him:

"Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me."

"Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear."

"Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better."

"Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do."

He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment.

_Here they sing_.

Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48}

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys.

"Fair children, may God help you!"

"May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others.

"Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!"

"We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!"

"Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?"

"Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's."

"Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!"

"Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?"

"So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!"

"Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will."

"I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing."

"Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her."

"Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!"

_Here they sing_.

Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!"

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not.

He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him.

"Fair brother, may God help you!"

"May God bless you!" said he.

"So God help you, what do you there?"

"What matters it to you?" said he.

"Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason."

"But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!"

"Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin.

"Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here."

"Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping."

"Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow."

"And wherefore you, brother?"

"Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!"

"Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?"

"Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing."

"Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!"

"Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!"

He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it.

"Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through."

He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say:

_Here they sing_.

"Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57}

Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!"

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him.

"Fair sweet friend, well be you met!"

"And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!"

They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful.

"Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!"

She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed.

"Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!"

"Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!"

He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields.

_Here they sing_.

Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin:

"Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?"

"Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!"

So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand.

_Here they speak and tell the story_.