PART IV.

THE MOOR OF THE KING.

Said to his lords the Frankish king, The Frankish king one day: “True homage he will render who For me shall Lez-Breiz slay. Naught doth he but my warriors kill, And aye, with all his might, My power withstands, nor ceaseth he Against me still to fight.”

Now, when the king’s Moor heard these words, Before the king spake he: “True homage have I rendered oft And pledge of loyalty; But since another pledge you crave And warranty, O sire, The knight Lez-Breiz shall furnish me With that which you desire. And if to-morrow I should fail Sir Lez-Breiz’ head to bring, With pleasure offer I mine own Unto my lord the king.”

Now, scarcely had the morrow dawned, When swift the young squire ran To find his master. “O my lord!’ (The trembling page began,) “The giant Moor defiance flings Against my lord to-day.” “Defiance? be it so: I’ll answer Him as best I may.”

“Ah! my dear lord, then know you not He fights with demon charms?” “He doth? Then Heaven’s aid be ours, And blessing on our arms. Haste thee, equip my good black steed, Whilst I my armor don.” “Pardon, my lord, your charger black You will not fight upon.

“Within the royal stables stand Three steeds, and from the three One must you choose: pray listen to A secret thing from me. I learnt it from an ancient clerk, Right holy, sooth, was he, A man of good and saintly ways, If any such there be.

“Do not thou take the charger white, Nor yet take thou the bay, But the black steed between them both Take forth and lead away; For that the king’s own Moor himself Hath tamed with his own hand: Trust me, and mount it when you go The giant to withstand.

“And when into the royal hall The Moor shall enter, he Will throw his mantle on the ground: Let yours suspended be: If under his your garment lay, Doubled his might would be.

When the black giant draws anear, Then fail not with your lance To make the sign of holy cross, Or ever he advance. And when he rushes full of rage And fury on my lord, Receive him on its point, the lance Will break not, trust my word. By aid of heaven and your two arms, Naught will avail his paynim charms.”

By aid of Heaven and his two arms, The trusty lance brake not When they against each other rode In fierce encounter hot: When in the hall they dashed amain To onset, breast to breast, Steel against steel, as lightning swift, With lances firm in rest.

The Frankish king sat on his throne, ’Mid lords of high degree, To watch the fight. “Hold firm,” he said, “Black Raven of the Sea! Courage! hold firm, thou Raven bold, And plume this _merle_ for me.”

Then, as the tempest breaks upon The corsair, so the Moor, With furious might and giant weight, Down upon Lez-Breiz bore; His lance in thousand splinters flew, And, with one mighty bound, Unhorsed by that dread shock, he fell And rolled upon the ground.

And when they found themselves afoot, Then each, with all his might, Fell on the other furiously In close and deadly fight. The sword-strokes, falling thick as hail, Rang through the palace halls, With sounding blows upon the mail That shook the very walls.

At every clashing of their arms A thousand sparks leapt out, Like red-hot iron from the forge, Beaten by armorer stout. At last, through one unguarded joint, The Breton’s sword made way And pierced the giant’s heart. He fell, And bled his life away.

Forthwith, when Morvan Lez-Breiz saw His Moorish foe lie dead, His foot he placed upon his breast, And straight cut off his head. He hung it by the grisly beard His saddle-bow unto; And, for its stains of Moorish blood, His sword away he threw.

Upon his good steed then he sprang, He sprang without delay, And, followed by his page, went forth Upon his homeward way. When home, he hung aloft, Upon his gateway high, The hideous head with grinning teeth In sight of passers-by.

And now the warriors said, Behold! A mighty man indeed Is Lez-Breiz, stay of Brittany In every time of need. Whereto Lord Lez-Breiz answered straight: “I twenty fights have seen, And twenty thousand armèd men By me have vanquished been;

“Yet never was I so beset, So hardly pressed before, Until this last encounter when I slew the giant Moor. S. Anne, my dearest mother, thou Dost wonders work for me, Wherefore, ‘twixt Ind and Léguer, I A church will build to thee.”