Part 2

Know ye that in Neustria, which we call Normandy, is a great mountain marvellous high, and on its summit lie the two lovers. Near to this mountain on one side, a king with great care and counsel built him a city; lord he was of the Pistreis, and because of his folk he called the town Pitres. Still has the name endured, and there to this day may ye see houses and city; and all that region, as is well known, men call the Vale of Pitres.

This king had a daughter, a fair damsel and a courteous; no other child had he, and much he loved and cherished her. She was sought for in marriage by many a great lord, who would gladly have taken her to wife; but the king would give her to none, for that he could not bear to part with her. No other companion had he, but kept her with him night and day, for since the death of the queen she was his only solace. Yet many a one held it ill done on his part, and even his own household blamed him for it. And when he knew that men talked thereof, much it grieved and troubled him; and he began to bethink him how he might so contrive that none would willingly seek his daughter. And he let it be known far and wide, that whosoever would have the maiden, must know one thing of a sooth: it was decreed and appointed that her suitor should carry her in his arms, with no stop for rest upon the way, to the summit of the mountain without the city. When the news thereof were made known and spread abroad through the land, many a one assayed the feat but none might achieve it. Some there were who with much striving carried her midway up the mountain; then they could go no farther but must needs let be. So for a long space the damsel remained unwedded, and no man would ask her in marriage.

In that same land was a damoiseau, son to a count he was, and full fresh and fair; and much he strove in well doing that he might have praise above all others. He frequented the king's court and often sojourned there; and he grew to love the king's daughter, and ofttimes besought her that she would grant him her favour, and love him with all her love. And in that he was brave and courteous, and much praised of the king, she granted him her grace, and in all humility he rendered her thanks therefor.

Often they held speech together, and loyally each loved the other, yet they concealed it as best they might, that none should know thereof. Grievous was this time to them, but the youth bethought him that it was better to endure this evil than to make haste over much only to fail; yet was he brought to sore anguish through love. And it fell on a time that the damoiseau who was so fair and valiant came unto his love, and speaking, made her his plaint. Piteously he besought her that she should flee thence with him, for he could no longer endure his pain; yet he knew full well that were he to ask her of her father, he loved her so much he would give her to none who did not first bear her in his arms to the top of the mountain. Then the damsel made answer: "Dear heart, I know full well you could not carry me so far, for your strength is not great enough; yet were I to flee with you my father would suffer so great dolour and grief it were torment for him to live; and of a sooth I hold him so dear and love him so much I would not willingly bring him sorrow. Other counsel must you find, for to this I will not hearken. But in Salerno I have a kinswoman, a rich dame and a wealthy; more than thirty years has she dwelt there, and she is so practised in the art of physic that she is wise in medicines and healing. So learned is she in herbs and roots, that if you will but go to her, taking with you letters from me, and tell her all your plight, she will give you help and counsel. Such electuaries will she prepare for you, and such cordials will she give you that they will comfort you and renew your strength. When you return again to this land, seek ye my father. He will deem you but a child, and will show you the covenant whereby he will give me to no man or take thought of none, save him who shall carry me in his arms to the top of the mountain, without once resting by the way; and ye shall freely agree with him that only in such wise may ye win me."

The youth hearkened to the words and the counsel of the damsel; full glad was he thereof, and gave her his thanks. And thereafter he asked leave of her; and straightway returned into his own land, and speedily gathered together money and rich stuffs, palfreys and sumpters; and took with him such of his men as were most worthy of trust. So he goeth to Salerno, and seeketh speech with the aunt of his sweet friend, and giveth her the letter. And when she had read it from end to end, she kept him with her till he had told her all his plight. Thereafter she strengthened him with medicines, and gave him such a draught that were he ever so weary and spent and fordone, it would yet refresh all his body, alike his bones and his sinews, that so soon as he had drunk it, he would have his full strength again. Then, bearing the draught in a phial, he returned to his own country.

Joyous and glad of heart was the damoiseau when he was come again to his own land; yet he lingered not in his domain, but went straightway to the king to ask of him his daughter, and that he might take her and carry her up the mountain. The king did not deny him, yet he deemed it but folly, for the youth was young of age and many a sage and valiant man had assayed the feat, yet none might achieve it. But he named and appointed a day, and summoned all his friends and vassals, and all those whom he could assemble together, nor would he suffer any to disobey his call. So, for the sake of the king's daughter and the youth who would assay the adventure of carrying her to the top of the mountain, they came from all the country round about. The damsel on her part prepared herself, and to lighten her weight oft she fasted and forebore from meat, for she would fain help her friend.

On the appointed day, of all those that came thither the damoiseau was the first, nor did he forget his draught. Then into the meadow beside the Seine, among all the great folk there assembled, the king led forth his daughter; no garment wore she save her shift only. And so the youth took her in his arms; and in that he knew she would not betray him, he gave her the phial that contained the potion, to carry in her hand. Yet I fear it will avail him nought, for he hath in him no measure.

With the damsel in his arms he set off at a swift pace, and climbed midway up the mountain, and for the joy that he had of her he took no thought of his draught. But she felt that he was growing weary, and said: "Dear heart, I pray you drink. I know that ye are weary; drink and renew your strength." But the youth made answer: "Sweet, I feel my heart strong within me; for no price would I stop long enough to drink, while I am yet able to go three steps. The folk would cry out to us, and their noise would confound me, and so might they hinder us. I will not stop here." But when he had gone two thirds of the way, he was near to falling. Ofttimes the maid besought him, "Dear heart, drink now the potion." But he would not heed or hearken to her, and in sore pain he yet pressed forward. Thus he came at last to the top of the mountain, but so wearied and spent was he that there he fell down and rose up no more, for his heart failed within him.

The maid as she looked on her love deemed him in a swoon; so she knelt down at his side, and sought to give him the drink. But he could speak no word to her, and so he died even as I tell you. With great outcry she lamented him, and she cast from her the vessel containing the potion that it was scattered abroad. By it the mount was well sprinkled, whereby all the land and country was much bettered, for many a precious herb hath been found there that sprang from that potion.

But now speak we again of the damsel. Never was she so woful as now in losing her love. She lieth down beside him, and taketh him in her arms and straineth him close, and many a time she kisseth him on eyes and mouth, till her grief for him pierceth her heart. There died the maid who had been so valiant, wise and fair.

Now when the king and those that were awaiting them saw that the twain came not again, they followed after and found them. And there the king fell to the ground in a swoon; and when he recovered his speech he made great lament, and so did all the stranger folk. Three days they kept the twain above earth; and caused two coffins of marble to be brought, and in them they laid the two lovers, and by the counsel of all, buried them upon the top of the mountain; and then they all went their ways.

Because of the adventure of these twain the mountain is still called by the name of Les Deux Amants. So it fell, even as I have told you, and the Bretons turned it into a lay.

Eliduc

Now will I tell you all the matter and story of a most ancient Breton lay, even as I have heard it, and hold it for true.

In Bretaigne dwelt a knight, brave and courteous, hardy and bold; Eliduc was his name, methinketh, and in all the land was no other man so valiant. And he had for wife a woman wise and honourable, of high parentry and goodly lineage. Long they lived together, and loyally they loved one another; but at length it fell that by reason of strife the knight went to seek service abroad, and there he grew to love a maid, daughter to a king and queen; Guilliadun was the name of the damsel, and she was the fairest of that realm. Now Eliduc's wife was called among her own folk Guildeluec, and from these twain the lay hath taken the name of Guildeluec and Guilliadun; of old it was called Eliduc, but now is its title changed, in that the adventure from which the lay is drawn turneth upon the two dames. Now even as it befell so will I recite it, and tell you all the truth thereof.

Eliduc had for liege lord the king of Britain the Less, who showed him much love and favour, and to whom he gave faithful service. Whenever the king must needs be absent, it was given to him to guard the land, and hold it by his prowess. Yet even better fortune befell him, for he was made free to hunt in the king's forest, nor was there any forester therein so bold he dared gainsay him, or speak him grudgingly. But as often falleth through other men's envy of our fortune, he was estranged from his lord, and so slandered and belied, that without hearing he was banished from the court, though on what grounds he knew not. Ofttimes he besought the king not to give ear to calumny, but to show him justice, in that he had long served him with right good will; yet ever the king would give him no answer.

Now when Eliduc saw he could win no hearing, he must needs depart. He went back to his own house, and called all his friends together, and told them of the wrath of the king, his liege lord, whom he had served as best he might,--never should the king have borne him hate. But as the villein saith in proverb when he chideth his plowman, "Lord's love is no fief"; so is he wise and discreet who keeps faith with his liege lord, yet spendeth his love on his good friends. Now the knight was minded to abide no more in that land, but would, he said, cross the sea and go into the kingdom of Logres, to solace himself there for a space. His wife he would leave in his domain, and bade his friends and liegemen that they guard her loyally.

So he abode by this judgment, and prepared him full richly for the journey; but his friends were right sorrowful that he should depart from them. He took with him ten knights, and his wife conducted him on the way. At parting with her lord she made exceeding great dole, but he assured her he would keep good faith with her. With that she left him, and he held straight on his way till he came to the sea, and passed over it, and came into Totness.

In that land were divers kings, and between them was war and strife. One dwelt near Exeter, full puissant, but an old man and an ancient. No heir male had he, but only a daughter yet unwedded; and in that he would not give her in marriage to his neighbor, that other made war upon him, and laid waste all his land, and besieged him in his castle; nor was there among those within any man who dared issue out to risk onset and battle. When Eliduc heard thereof, he was fain to go no farther, but to abide in that land wherein was war, and to seek service with, and help as best he might, the king who was so harried and hard pressed and beset. Wherefore he sent messengers thither, and by letter showed the king how he had issued out of his own land and stood ready to his aid; furthermore, he prayed him to make known his pleasure herein, and if he would have none of him, to grant him safe conduct through the land, that he might seek service elsewhere.

Now when the king saw the messengers, he looked on them kindly and made them good cheer. He called his constable to him, and bade him straightway make ready an escort to bring thither the knight, and prepare a hostel where he and his men might lodge, and furthermore, bade give and grant them as much as they would spend for a month. The escort made them ready, and set out to fetch Eliduc; and he was received with great honour, for right welcome was he to the king. He was given lodging in the house of a burgess full discreet and courteous, who gave up to his guest his own fair tapestried chamber. Eliduc bade the board be well set forth, and invited all needy knights that lodged in the town to share his victual. And moreover, he commanded his men that none be so forward that he take either gift or denier for the first forty days.

Now three days after his coming, a cry arose in the city that their enemies were upon them, and overspread all the land thereabouts, and pressed up to the very gates, for that they would assail the town. Eliduc heard the noise of the folk, who were sore dismayed, and forthright he armed himself, and his comrades likewise. Now though many a man had been slain and many a one made prisoner, fourteen mounted knights were yet left in the town, and when they saw Eliduc get him to horseback, they hastened to their lodgings to arm themselves; and with him they issued out of the gate, without waiting for summons. "Sir," they cried to him, "we will go with thee, and what thou dost we likewise will do." "Gramercy," he made answer. "Now is there none among you who knows of some hidden way or ambush where we may take them unawares? If we await them here, it may be we shall do battle with them, but to no purpose, if any have better counsel." And they made answer: "In faith, sir, near this wood through a bed of reeds runneth a narrow cart-road, whereby they are wont to take their way back. When they have won their booty they will repair thither; ofttimes they ride there unarmed upon their palfreys, and so put themselves in jeopardy of speedy death; right soon could we do them damage, and hurt and annoy." And Eliduc answered them: "Friends, I give you my word, he who doth not often venture where he thinketh to lose, will never win much, nor achieve high honour. Ye are all the king's liegemen, and ye should keep good faith with him. Come with me where I shall go, and what I do, do ye in likewise; I pledge you my faith, ye shall suffer no hurt so long as I can help you in aught. And if it chance we win somewhat, the damage we do to the foe will be turned to our praise." Thereupon they all made pledge, and thereafter drew towards the wood.

Thus they took ambush near the roadside until those others should return; and Eliduc commanded his men, and showed and devised to them how they should cry out upon their foes, and how they should spur against them. So when the outlanders drew near to the pass ... Eliduc cried his cry, and called to his comrades, and bade them do their best. Rudely they laid on with their swords, and spared no whit, that their enemies were all abashed,--speedily were they broken and scattered, and within short time vanquished. Their constable was taken, and likewise many another knight, and Eliduc's men gave them into the charge of their squires. Twenty-five were they of the town, and thirty they captured of those without; eagerly they seized upon the armour, and good booty had they therein. So they returned again, and glad were they in that they had well prospered.

The king was upon a tower, in sore dread because of his men; and much he complained of Eliduc, who, he feared, had brought his knights into jeopardy through treason. And now they draw near, riding close ranked and laden with spoils. Many more were they at the return than at the outgoing, wherefore the king knew them not, but was full of fear and misgiving. He bade the gates be closed, and commanded his folk that they mount the walls to draw their bows and cast down missiles,--but of this there will be no need. Eliduc had sent before a squire spurring fast, who now made known the adventure to the king, and told him of Eliduc, how he had vanquished the besiegers, and how bravely he had borne himself; he had wounded many and slain many, and had taken captive their constable and nine-and-twenty more,--never was there such a knight. Great joy had the king of these tidings; he left the tower and rode out to meet Eliduc, and thanked him for his well doing. And Eliduc on his part gave over the prisoners to the king, and divided the armour among the knights; his own share he dealt out to the prisoners and other folk, nought kept he for his profit save three of the horses he had heard well praised.

After the deed whereof I have told you, he was loved and cherished of the king, who retained him in his service a whole year, and his comrades likewise. And Eliduc gave his oath to the king, and was made warden of the land.

Eliduc was wise and courteous, a comely knight, brave and free-handed. So it fell the king's daughter heard him named, and his valour recounted; and she sent one of her own chamberlains to him, to pray and entreat that he come to her for talk and for disport, that they might learn to know one another,--much she marveled that he had not yet sought her. Eliduc made answer he would go, gladly would he make her acquaintance. So he mounted his horse, and taking with him one knight, goeth forth to speak with the damsel. But when he was about to enter her bower, he sent the chamberlain before, and lingered somewhat, delaying until the man returned again.

Then with gentle bearing, frank courtesy, and right noble cheer he addressed Guilliadun that fair damsel, as one ready of speech, and gave her his thanks for that it had pleased her to call him to speak with her. The damsel hath taken him by the hand, and side by side they sat upon a couch, speaking of many things. The maiden looked at him long, at face and body and bearing, and to herself she said: "He hath in him no fault"; greatly she commended him in her heart. And love sent thither his messenger, who commanded her that she love the knight, and caused her to sigh and turn pale. Yet she would not speak her thought, lest he should misprize her.

He tarried there a long space, then asked leave to go away; sorrowfully she granted it, and he hath departed and returned again to his hostel. Heavy was he and full of thought, and sore disquieted by reason of the fair damsel, the daughter of the king his lord, for that she had so sweetly summoned him, and that she had sighed. Much it misliked him that he had been so long in the land, and yet had not often seen her; but when he had so thought, much he repented him, and he called to remembrance his wife, how he had pledged him to keep good faith with her, and to live loyally.

Now when the maiden had seen him she would fain have had him for her lover; none had ever seemed to her so goodly, and if she may she will bind him fast to her. Thus she lay awake all night long, and neither rested nor slept. On the morrow she rose early, and went to the window, and called to the chamberlain, and showed him all her thought. "By my faith," saith she, "it goes hardly with me, I have fallen into an evil plight, for I love the new man of arms, Eliduc, the good knight. No rest had I this night, nor once closed my eyes in sleep. If he will but love me in very love, and give himself to me, I will do all his desire, and he shall win great good thereby, for he shall be king of all this land. But if he will not give himself to me, I must die in great dolour, for love of his wisdom and courtesy." When she had said what she would, the chamberlain gave her true counsel,--let none blame him therefor. "Lady," saith he, "if you love him, send to him and tell him. And it were well done to give him a girdle, a ring, or a scarf; if he receive it gladly, and if he have joy of the sending, you may be sure of his love. There is no emperor under heaven who would not be rejoiced if you chose to love him." When she heard his counsel, the damsel made answer: "But how shall I know by my gift whether he hath desire to love me? I never yet saw knight who, whether he loved or hated, had to be prayed in like matter, or would not willingly keep the gift sent him. Much would it mislike me that he should scorn me. Yet none the less, can one learn somewhat from a look; so make yourself ready and go." "I am ready now," saith he. "Take him a ring of gold, and give him my girdle, greet him from me a thousand times!"

Thereupon the chamberlain set forth, but the damsel was in such a plight that well nigh had she called him back to her; yet none the less she let him go, and thus began to lament her: "Woe is me, how is my heart taken captive by a man from a strange land. I know not even if he be of high kindred, and belike he will go hence suddenly, and I shall be left unhappy. Foolishly have I set my heart. Never till yesterday did I speak with him, and now I would beseech his love. I fear lest he scorn me; yet if he be courteous, he will show me grace. Now have I set all at adventure, and if he desire not my love I shall be in an evil plight. Never in all my life shall I know joy."

Now while she made lament the chamberlain went on in all haste until he came unto Eliduc. Privately he gave him greetings from the damsel, and offered him the ring and the girdle. The knight said him thanks; the golden ring he put on his finger, and the girdle he bound about him. Nought else said he to the varlet, nor asked him aught, save that he offered him somewhat of his own treasure, but the youth would take nothing, and went his way and returned again to his lady. In her chamber he found her, and gave her the knight's greetings and thanks for her gift. "Say on," saith she, "and hide nought from me; will he love me in very love?" "So I believe," he answered; "but the knight is not light minded, rather I deem him to be wise and courteous, one who knoweth well how to hold his own counsel. I gave him your greetings and your gifts; your girdle he bound about him; tightly he girt it around his waist, and the ring he set on his finger. Nought else said I to him, or he to me." "And he did not take it for love? If this be so, I am undone." "By my faith," saith he, "I know not. Yet hear me; if he had not wished you well, he would have had nought to do with your gifts." "Ye speak folly," saith she, "I know right well he doth not hate me, for never have I done him any ill, save that I love him bitterly, and if he hate me for this, then is he worthy of death. Never again by you or any other will I ask him aught till I may have speech with him: I myself will tell him how I am constrained by love. But I know not if he is to abide here." "Lady," the chamberlain maketh answer, "the king hath bound him by oath to a year's loyal service. Thus you will have time in plenty to make known your pleasure to him."