Love Gifts

Simple Gifts that make a Big Impact
Love Gifts

It takes effort to create unique and innovative love gifts. It all goes back to the idea that any effort worth making is worth making with thought and meaning. Here are some ideas for simple love gifts that can make a big impact.
Ideas for Gifts of Love
• Gather gifts over time at flea markets, vintage stores, art supply shops, and antique malls so that you always have something special at hand in your gifts drawer.

• Group together a few small gifts to tell a story. You can do it by creating a theme, like vases of flowers, or all things cashmere. You can also create a gift based on color, for example a white ironstone platter with white soap and a fluffy white towel. Join small gifts with a common motif such as butterflies or birds. Being an ocean-lover, I once received a very special gift of a porcelain shell dish with hand-painted shells and a vintage book on shells. Appropriate gifts for a man can be a challenge, but be on the lookout for elements of dark wood. A themed gift communicates the message that you’ve thought about the receiver’s personality and made an effort.

• Create inspirational gifts for those people who have had a meaningful effect on your life. Be creative. Look for an item that symbolizes the idea that ‘life is precious,’ or ‘salt of the earth,’ or ‘offering a helping hand,’ then add an encouraging love note centred on that thought.

• Remember that the presentation of love gifts is almost as important and meaningful as the gift itself. Consider presenting a gift in beautiful vintage boxes. Nestle your gifts in soft tulle and decorate the wrapping with ribbons of silk, satin or velvet and dried or fresh flowers.

• Collect wrappings over time and recycle paper and ribbons, both for the sake of our planet and to acquire a potpourri of different items and styles. You never know when you will be able to use something again. Besides, it’s good to have something on hand for unplanned occasions.

• Mix the everyday with the beautiful, for example a gift wrapped in plain black-and-white newspaper, but tied with a wide, silky ribbon in a soft color. • Remember that not every gift has to be wrapped. For example, clothing can look spectacular on a decorated hanger.

• The final element of the gift is the card, which should be as meaningful as possible. The thought of making cards can be overwhelming, but the creative process can actually be quite therapeutic if you’re that way inclined. You can use anything from plain paper cards to photographs. Scraps of fabric, ribbons and even feathers make for spectacular love notes and cards. Personalized cards are considered treasures by most.

Most excellents tips on how to write notes

Writing Short Love Notes

Surprise your partner with short love notes to show how much you care. Little things mean a lot - and if you really want to impress them with your romantic ideas, show some creative flair!


Romantic Love Notes

Short Love Notes You'll be sure to catch your sweetheart's attention with romantic love notes that intrigue or excite them. They're sure to appreciate short love notes that will make them smile, wonder or even something sexy that will light their fire. Try the following ideas:

- Leave a note tucked under the windshield wiper of your partner's car that says, 'I love your car... but I love you more.'

- Write 'I love you on colored Post-It notes and stick them all over the house.

- Send a dozen roses, but with a romantic twist. Choose eleven red roses and one white rose with a note that says, 'In every bunch there's one that stands out - and you're that one.'

- Write 'You're the One for Me with soap on the bathroom mirror.

Funny Love Notes

Inject a dose of humour into your relationship by leaving short notes in unexpected places for your partner to find:

- Write a note on an egg in the refrigerator that says, 'You crack me up :)'

You can even write funny love notes on a roll of toilet paper.



Sexy Love Notes

If you're in a passionate mood, give your partner the following short love notes:

'(Your name and surname) invites you to a banquet. Main course - (your name and surname).'

or...

- Put a note on the tv that reads, 'Why don't you turn me on instead?'

- Send a single flower with a note that says, 'Where? Where-ever you want. When? You decide.'

- Mail your flame a pack of matches with a note that reads, 'I'm hot for you...' Sweet Love Notes


I jacked this from

Elizabeth Barret Browning- Sonnets from the Portuguese

Because her words are beautiful and I love her, i have decided to write my own versions of her poems. One day I may find someone to write them to, or maybe someone will steal them and use them to woo someone beautiful.


I I thought once how Theocritus had sung

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was aware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
"Guess now who holds thee!"--"Death," I said, But, there,
The silver answer rang, "Not Death, but Love."

Is this what life is about?

When you decide to take a course of action and stick to it, you become aware. Aware of lies. The lies you tell yourself and the lies others tell you.

There are many way you can when this happens. Some of them including just caving into the lies and ignoring all signs that it is not working which requires alot of work but is quite easy. Or you can find the truth. This is very time consuming and can be quite disheartening after a while you start to lose faith in your fellow human beings. You start to lose faith in yourself as you realise all the tings you have been telling yourself is all untrue then you wonder what the hell you are doing here, in this space. You may wonder, what is the point of your life.

When I got to this point my first thought was, oh my goodness, you are so idle/ you have got so useless, you are now asking the meaning of life.
The next thing I thought was, what if I came to the conclusion and I was useless and I did not affect anyone in any dramatic or relevant way. Why should I be here. Etc.
Then I decided not to think anymore.

That works.

I want to write to you

I have never been interested in love the study of it or its expression. My primary
concern was to make sure all my needs were fulfilled. I spent most of my childhood wanting my dad to come back and when I wasn't doing that I was hating my mom for not caring that I missed him, She always felt rather guilty about this but never did anything about it. So as I have reflected backwards I have seen the patterns and trends in my life.

I refused to talk to my mother and as she suspected that I disliked her, she was constantly ransacking my stuff for extracts from my mind. She would painstakingly go through every scrap of paper I had ever written but never listen to the words coming out of my mouth or what they signified. I don't know why. Having no one to talk to and no way to express it, I became quiet. Quiet on the outside as well as on the inside.

I have written more than one blog but it was always discovered by people I didn't want to share it with or got deleted or lost. In the case of my last blog on yahoo, in 2001, both happened. I have decided to write again because I find it too hard to cope without an excessive outpouring of words. In the form of a poem or so.
So I am here again, without faith just a need to be fulfilled.

On the lighter side of things I want to write about love, not too long ago, for the first time in my life, I fell, in love. It was amazing, I wanted to write him poetry. so I dug high and I dug low for love poetry that would swoon his heart and would give me an outlet to express all the things bubbling up inside me. I wanted to instead of standing mutely with desire in my face, i wanted to speak it, get off my chest. Fly.

So I investigated the most romantic form of poetry yet. Love and of the medieval poets. I found them, well crap. After reading many nameless authors sing the praises of the "great" poets, I decided to read them all. I found them and I will be really honest, crap.
Ovid had to be the biggest disappointment. How to get a lady he wrote, tell her she is the most amazing thing to walk the face of the earth. I read this I sighed. Why such a stupid lie grandfatherly one? A joke or an observation that came from observation would do, saying something memorable is the expression you are looking for, saying I am the most beautiful thing to walk the face of the earth tells me something for sure. It tell me that you are an idiot, and blind, a nice combination, I can easily take advantage of you. Well done, understand the condescending tone I take when speaking to you now?

Then he goes on the say, stay friends with her friends, make them like you, make her trust you. I think ah, the old trick, even I find my friends annoying, but you are welcome to pretend to like them for my sake. You must really like me to put up with that shit. Aww, how cute. You are a stupid boy but so sweet.
Then he goes on to say, after frequent hesitations and beating round the bush, if you get her alone and she is taking too long to have sex with you, rape her, she will get over it, after all its a thing that happens all the time. Aww, lovely. Of course, up until that point I didn't even know that you had a penis, thank you for reminding me so forceful that you do, and that all your previous action were an act to get you to this point. Even better that in this century there was no contraception and half of all women died in childbirth. I stopped reading at that point.
The more I read the more disheartened I was. Courtly love should actually be called how to have an affair. I though, perhaps this is a man thing, surely women would not write such crap. I found Marie De France, she was very different. she wrote loads of parables, lots of fairy tales. Other interesting topics included, how to pass notes to your lover and not get caught by your husband, how to pass your pregnancy off as your husband's. How to make someone sleep with you.
Ah well. At least I tried to read up.
I tried to move on the medieval poet, Chaucer, Boccaccio, Machaut, they all copied Ovid.
Mythological Allusion, as Katherine Heinrichs said in "Myths of Love" of course. At least relation you can identify, this was more difficulty. At least now I had an intellectual way to describe Bollywood film. They all were based around mythological allusions of Hindi myths. They were never about love.Ramesh Sippy is a modern day Chaucer. Oh the things that are so clear to me when mixed with Christianity are so blurred when uttered by those that repeat myths.
So where can I turn to for inspiration? How can I make my love come out, when I am sure it will come down? i read a book on modern love, turning my nose up at the book called "Love poems of Great Men". The book I read touched my heart, it was full of hope and risky first steps, regret, painful goodbyes, stalking, shame and the solace of friends.
I know what love is, I know how it makes you feel, I know what you say when it goes wrong but I still don't know to tell my Cherie in a whisper in the half light to make his heart smile. I have wondered so long, I no longer have the reason to. But I the need keeps me wondering,I may return to that place again. What would I say to make his heart smile the way he makes mine smile

A poem

I have always been interested in love and intimact and tried to read everything I can on it. Most of the stuff peole hail as being the best about a topic is almost always a lie for example I read the Kama Sutra and found its a guide on how to get lots of women to shag you. Handy for 2nd century Indian bourgoise, but sadly not for me.
The Joy of Sex, again, written for men by men. Women thrown in presumably because they are prettier than looking at their own hand. But really, this is not a guide for women.
This happens alot but then again some of the stuff they say is beautiful and enlightening and I decided to edited this song because song writers have this nasty habit of making their songs appeal to the mass market by giving it two or more meanings.
I stripped the meaning that is not relevant to me away!



Wildest Dreams by The Renaissance

In my wildest dreams
You always play the hero
In my darkest hour of night
You rescue me you save my life

In my wildest dreams
You're my Valentino
Like those silent picture days
You steal my heart and carry me away



Meet me here tonight in my wildest dreams
I always dream in colour
Somewhere between the black and white
You'll find our love can shine so bright

We're stranded on an island
In our tropic paradise
You make love and wave the boats goodbye

Meet me here tonight in my wildest dreams
Drift away
Let's fly away
Run with me

Above the clouds we fly
We dance upon the stars and touch the sky
In my wildest dreams this night will last forever
Come jam with me

The female Poet and the Male Muse

I've been digging around on this topic for a while hoping to find something related but so far I have not been able to spot a thing, then I came across this article.

http://magmapoetry.com/archive/magma-37-2/articles/the-female-poet-and-the-male-muse/

Seems that I am not the only person who wanders the realms of the internet looking for clues of this kind of existance.
I like the way she discusses the works of Sylvia Plath,Anne Sexton and Dorothy Parker. Not describing them as eloquent act of poetry but instead as a kind of strip tease. This made me wonder for a whle whether this was the way it would always me. Men remaining eternally the hunter the dominator. While women sat passively by and tried to ensare and capture the attention of her prey without really seeming to.

I have talked to men about desire and they all maintain that they are strongly drawn by female desire. In a small coffee shop in a bustling train station, I listened fascinated as my friend told me about a woman who called him up and asked him if he would like her for lunch. Men who say women like them too much or slept with them too early are merely shifting the blame of their promiscious behior from themselves onto another person.

Yet I watch as many gay men flit effortlessly from one night stand to one night stand, all the while only forming meaning relationships with people they have taken time and effort to know.
Is this because sex can be seperated from affection or is this because there are so many men in the world who take sex as a fom of relief the natural progression from attraction?
Are they even related?

Clare Pollard wrote another book called "The Heavy Petting Zoo" which she wrote in her teens. i have not read it yet but reviews describe it as edgy ,vunerable and raw. Is this what female sexuality is? Does the truth of sexuality differ from gender to gender? Only realising itself wehn one agrees to play by the rules of the other?

Are women compelled by any other reason that societal pressure to make sure all sexual contact leads to a long term relationship? Women may have had the burden to uphold the moral fabric of society while men are free to drink, make mistakes and carry on badly. I dislike it but I wish there was someone making an effort to keep society on the straight and narrow but I'd like to see some shared responsibility.

I hate that female sexuality is tied to morals forever limited to what society deems acceptable while male sexuality is allowed even encouraged to explore and developed. it seems that even in the furthest depths of debauchery women are still objectifed and seen as little more than an exquisite plaything to be tested and pushed and explored then rejected when there is little or nothing left to see, do or say.

Female Poets-Marie de France -The Chatelaine of Vergi

XVII
THE CHATELAINE OF VERGI
There are divers men who make a great show of loyalty, and pretend tosuch discretion in the hidden things they hear, that at the end folkcome to put faith in them. When by their false seeming they havepersuaded the simple to open out to them their love and their deeds,then they noise the matter about the country, and make it their songand their mirth. Thus it chances that the lesser joy is his who hasbared to them his heart. For the sweeter the love, the more bitter isthe pang that lovers know, when each deems the other to have bruitedabroad the secret he should conceal. Oftentimes these blabbers do suchmischief with their tongue, that the love they spoil comes to itsclose in sorrow and in care. This indeed happened in Burgundy to abrave and worthy knight, and to the Lady of Vergi. This knight lovedhis lady so dearly that she granted him her tenderness, on suchcovenant as this--that the day he showed her favour to any, that veryhour he would lose the love and the grace she bestowed on him. To sealthis bond they devised together that the knight should come a days toan orchard, at such hour as seemed good to his friend. He must remaincoy in his nook within the wall till he might see the lady's lapdogrun across the orchard. Then without further tarrying he should enterher chamber, knowing full well she was alone, whom so fondly hedesired to greet. This he did, and in this fashion they met togetherfor a great while, none being privy to their sweet and stolen love,save themselves alone.
The knight was courteous and fair, and by reason of his courage wasright welcome to that Duke who was lord of Burgundy. He came and wentabout the Court, and that so often that the Duchess set her mind uponhim. She cared so little to hide her thought, that had his heart notbeen in another's keeping, he must surely have perceived in her eyesthat she loved him. But however tender her semblance the knight showedno kindness in return, for he marked nothing of her inclination.Passing troubled was the dame that he should treat her thus; so thaton a day she took him apart, and sought to make him of her counsel.
"Sir, as men report, you are a brave and worthy knight, for the whichgive God thanks. It would not be more than your deserts, if you hadfor friend a lady in so high a place that her love would bring to youboth honour and profit. How richly could such a lady serve you!"
"Lady," said he, "I have never yet had this in my thought."
"By my faith," she answered, "it seems to me that the longer you wait,the less is your hope. Perchance the lady will stoop very readily fromher throne, if you but kneel at her knee."
The knight replied, "Lady, by my faith, I know little why you speaksuch words, and I understand their meaning not at all. I am neitherduke nor count to dare to set my love in so high a seat. There isnought in me to gain the love of so sovereign a dame, pain me how Imay."
"Such things have been," said she, "and so may chance again. Many moremarvellous works have been wrought than this, and the day of miraclesis not yet past. Tell me, know you not yet that you have gained thelove of some high princess, even mine?"
The knight made answer forthwith, "Lady, I know it not. I would desireto have your love in a fair and honourable fashion; but may God keepme from such love between us, as would put shame upon my lord. In nomanner, nor for any reason, will I enter on such a business as wouldlead me to deal my true and lawful lord so shrewd and foul a wrong."
Bitter at heart was the dame to see her love so scorned.
"Fie upon you," she cried, "and who required of you any such thing?"
"Ah, lady, to God be the praise; you have said enough to make yourmeaning passing plain."
The lady strove no more to show herself kind to him. Great was thewrath and sharp the malice that she hid within her heart, and well shepurposed that, if she might, she would avenge herself speedily. Allthe day she considered her anger. That night as she lay beside theDuke she began to sigh, and afterwards to weep. Presently the Dukeinquired of her grief, bidding her show it him forthwith.
"Certes," said the dame, "I make this great sorrow because no princecan tell who is his faithful servant, and who is not. Often he givesthe more honour and wealth to those who are traitors rather thanfriends, and sees nothing of their wrong."
"In faith, wife," answered the Duke, "I know not why you speak thesewords. At least I am free of such blame as this, for in nowise would Inourish a traitor, if only a traitor I knew him to be."
"Hate then this traitor," cried she,--and she named a name--"who givesme no peace, praying and requiring me the livelong day that I shouldgrant him my love. For a great while he had been in this mind--as hesays--but did not dare to speak his thoughts. I considered the wholematter, fair lord, and resolved to show it you at once. It is likelyenough to be true that he cherished this hope, for we have never heardthat he loves elsewhere. I entreat you in guerdon, to look well toyour own honour, since this, as you know, is your duty and right."
Passing grievous was this business to the Duke. He answered to thelady,
"I will bring it to a head, and very quickly, as I deem."
That night the Duke lay upon a bed of little ease. He could neithersleep nor rest, by reason of that lord, his friend, who, he waspersuaded, had done him such bitter wrong as justly to have forfeitedhis love. Because of this he kept vigil the whole night through. Herose very early on the morrow, and bade him come whom his wife had putto blame, although he had done nothing blameworthy. Then he took himto task, man to man, when there were but these two together.
"Certes," he said, "it is a heavy grief that you who are so comelyand brave, should yet have no honour in you. You have deceived me themore, for I have long believed you to be a man of good faith, givingloyalty, at least, to me, in return for the love I have given to you.I know not how you can have harboured such a felon's wish, as to prayand require the Duchess to grant you her grace. You are guilty of suchtreachery that conduct more vile it would be far to seek. Get youhence from my realm. You have my leave to part, and it is denied toyou for ever. If you return here it will be at your utmost peril, forI warn you beforehand that if I lay hands upon you, you will die ashameful death."
When the knight heard this judgment, such wrath and mortificationwere his that his members trembled beneath him. He called to mind hisfriend, of whom he would have no joy, if he might not come and go andsojourn in that realm from which the Duke had banished him. Moreoverhe was sick at heart that his lord should deem him a disloyal traitor,without just cause. He knew such sore discomfort that he held himselfas dead and betrayed.
"Sire," said he, "for the love of God believe this never, neitherthink that I have been so bold. To do that of which you wrongfullycharge me, has never entered my mind, not one day, nor for one singlehour. Who has told you this lie has wrought a great ill."
"You gain nothing by such denials," answered the Duke, "for of asurety the thing is true. I have heard from her own lips the veryguise and fashion in which you prayed and required her love, like theenvious traitor that you are. Many another word it may well be thatyou spoke, as to which the lady of her courtesy keeps silence."
"My lady says what it pleases her to say," replied the dolorousknight, "and my denials are lighter than her word. Naught is there forme to say; nothing is left for me to do, so that I may be believedthat this adventure never happened."
"Happen it did, by my soul," said the Duke, remembering certain wordsof his wife. Well he deemed that he might be assured of the truth,if but the lady's testimony were true that this lord had never lovedotherwhere. Therefore the Duke said to the knight, "If you will pledgeyour faith to answer truly what I may ask, I shall be certified byyour words whether or not you have done this deed of which I misdoubtyou."
The knight had but one desire--to turn aside his lord's wrath, whichhad so wrongfully fallen upon him. He feared only lest he should bedriven from the land where lodged the dame who was the closest to hismind. Knowing nothing of what was in the Duke's thought, he consideredthat his question could only concern the one matter; so he repliedthat without fraud or concealment he would do as his lord had said.Thus he pledged his faith, and the Duke accepted his affiance.
When this was done the Duke made question,
"I have loved you so dearly that at the bottom of my heart I cannotbelieve you guilty of such shameless misdoing as the Duchess tells me.I would not credit it a moment, if you yourself were not the cause ofmy doubtfulness. From your face, the care you bestow upon your person,and a score of trifles, any who would know, can readily see that youare in love with some lady. Since none about the Court perceivesdamsel or dame on whom you have set your heart, I ask myself whetherindeed it may not be my wife, who tells me that you have entreated herfor love. Nothing that any one may do can take this suspicion from mymind, except you tell me yourself that you love elsewhere, making itso plain that I am left without doubt that I know the naked truth. Ifyou refuse her name you will have broken your oath, and forth from myrealm you go as an outlawed man."
The knight had none to give him counsel. To himself he seemed to standat the parting of two ways, both one and the other leading to death.If he spoke the simple truth (and tell he must if he would not be aperjurer) then was he as good as dead; for if he did such wrong as tosin against the covenant with his lady and his friend, certainly hewould lose her love, so it came to her knowledge. But if he concealedthe truth from the Duke, then he was false to his oath, and had lostboth country and friend. But little he recked of country, so only hemight keep his Love, since of all his riches she was the most dear.The knight called to heart and remembrance the fair joy and the solacethat were his when he had this lady between his arms. He consideredwithin himself that if by reason of his misdoing she came to harm, orwere lost to him, since he might not take her where he went, how couldhe live without her. It would be with him also, as erst with theCastellan of Couci, who having his Love fast only in his heart, toldover in his song,
Ah, God, strong Love, I sit and weep alone, Remembering the solace that was given; The tender guise, the semblance that was shown By her, my friend, my comrade, and my Heaven.
When grief brings back the joy that was mine own, I would the heart from out my breast were riven. Ah, Lord, the sweet words hushed, the beauty flown; Would God that I were dead, and low, and shriven.
The knight was in anguish such as this, for he knew not whether tomake clear the truth, or to lie and be banished from the country.
Whilst he was deep in thought, turning over in his mind what it werebest to do, tears rose in his heart and flowed from his eyes, so thathis face was wet, by reason of the sorrow that he suffered. The Dukehad no more mirth than the knight, deeming that his secret was soheavy that he dared not make it plain. The Duke spoke swiftly to hisfriend,
"I see clearly that you fear to trust me wholly, as a knight shouldtrust his lord. If you confess your counsel privily to me, you cannotthink that I shall show the matter to any man. I would rather have myteeth drawn one by one, than speak a word."
"Ah," cried the knight, "for God's love, have pity, Sire. I know notwhat I ought to say, nor what will become of me; but I would ratherdie than lose what lose I shall if she only hears that you have thetruth, and that you heard it from my lips, whilst I am a living man."
The Duke made answer,
"I swear to you by my body and my soul, and on the faith and love Iowe you again by reason of your homage, that never in my life will Itell the tale to any creature born, or even breathe a word or make asign about the business."
With the tears yet running down his face the knight said to him,
"Sire, right or wrong, now will I show my secret. I love your niece ofVergi, and she loves me, so that no friends can love more fondly."
"If you wish to be believed," replied the Duke, "tell me now, if any,save you two alone, knows anything of this joy?"
And the knight made answer to him,
"Nay, not a creature in the world."
Then said the Duke,
"No love is so privy as that. If none has heard thereof, how do youmeet together, and how devise time and place?"
"By my faith, Sire, I will tell you all, and keep back nothing, sinceyou know so much of our counsel."
So he related the whole story of his goings to and fro within thepleasaunce; of that first covenant with his friend, and of the officeof the little dog.
Then said the Duke,
"I require of you that I may be your comrade at such fair meeting.When you go again to the orchard, I too, would enter therein, andmark for myself the success of your device. As for my niece she shallperceive naught."
"Sire, if it be your will it is my pleasure also; save, only, that youfind it not heavy or burdensome. Know well that I go this very night."
The Duke said that he would go with him, for the vigil would in nowise be burdensome, but rather a frolic and a game. They accordedbetween them a place of meeting, where they would draw together onfoot, and alone. When nightfall was come they fared to the hostel ofthe Duke's niece, for her dwelling was near at hand. They had nottarried long in the garden, when the Duke saw his niece's lapdog runstraight to that end of the orchard where the knight was hidden.Wondrous kindness showed the knight to his lady's dog. Immediately hetook his way to her lodging, and left his master in his nook by thewall. The Duke followed after till he drew near the chamber, and heldhimself coy, concealing him as best he might. It was easy enough todo this, for a great tree stood there, high and leafy, so that he wascovered close as by a shield. From this place he marked the little dogenter the chamber, and presently saw his niece issue therefrom, andhurry forth to meet her lover in the pleasaunce. He was so close thathe could see and hear the solace of that greeting, the salutation ofher mouth and of her hands. She embraced him closely in her fair whitearms, kissing him more than a hundred times, whilst she spoke manycomforting words. The knight for his part kissed her again, and heldher fast, praising her with many tender names.
"My lady, my friend, my love," said he, "heart and mistress and hope,and the sum of all that I hold dear, know well that I have yearned tobe with you as we are now, every day and all day long since we met."
"Sweet lord, sweet friend, sweet love," replied the lady, "never has aday nor an hour gone by but I was awearied of its length. But I grieveno longer over the past, for I have my heart's desire when you arewith me, joyous and well. Right welcome are you to your friend."
And the knight made answer,
"Love, you are welcome and wellmet."
From his place of hiding, near the entrance to the chamber, the Dukehearkened to every word. His niece's voice and face were so familiarto him, that he could not doubt that the Duchess had lied. Greatly washe content, for he was now assured that his friend had not done amissin that of which he had misdoubted him. All through the night he keptwatch and ward. But during his vigil the dame and the knight, closeand sleepless in the chamber, knew such joy and tenderness as it isnot seemly should be told or heard, save of those who hope themselvesto attain such solace, when Love grants them recompense for all theirpains. For he who desires nothing of this joy and quittance, evenif it were told him, would but listen to a tongue he could notunderstand, since his heart is not turned to Love, and none can knowthe wealth of such riches, except Love whisper it in his ear. Of suchkingdom not all are worthy: for there joy goes without anger, andsolace is crowned with fruition. But so fleet are things sweet, thatto the lover his joy seems to find but a brief content. So pleasantis the life he passes that he wishes his night a week, his week tostretch to a month, the month become a year, and one year three, andthree years twenty, and the twenty attain to a hundred. Yea, when theterm and end were reached, he would that the dusk were closing, ratherthan the dawn had come.
This was the case with the lover whom the Duke awaited in the orchard.When day was breaking, and he durst remain no longer, he came with hislady to the door. The Duke marked the fashion of their leave-taking,the kisses given and granted, the sighs and the weeping as they badefarewell. When they had wept many tears, and devised an hour for theirnext meeting, the knight departed in this fashion, and the lady shutthe door. But so long as she might see him, she followed his goingwith her pretty eyes, since there was nothing better she could do.
When the Duke knew the postern was made fast, he hastened on his roaduntil he overtook the knight, who to himself was making his complaintof the season, that all too short was his hour. The same thoughtand the self same words were hers from whom he had parted, for thebriefness of the time had betrayed her delight, and she had no praisesfor the dawn. The knight was deep in his thought and speech, when hewas overtaken by the Duke. The Duke embraced his friend, greeting himvery tenderly. Then he said to him,
"I pledge my faith that I will love you all the days of my life, neveron any day seeking to do you a mischief, for you have told me the verytruth, and have not lied to me by a single word."
"Sire," he made answer, "thanks and gramercy. But for the love ofGod I require and pray of you that it be your pleasure to hide thiscounsel; for I should lose my love, and the peace and comfort of mylife--yea, and should die without sin of my own, if I deemed that anyother in this realm than yourself knew aught of the business."
"Now speak of it never," replied the Duke. "Know that the counselshall be kept so hidden, that by me shall not a syllable be spoken."
On this covenant they came again whence they had set forth together.That day, when men sat at meat, the Duke showed to his knight afriendlier semblance and a fairer courtesy than ever he had donebefore. The Duchess felt such wrath and despitefulness at this,that--without any leasing--she rose from the table, and makingpretence of sudden sickness, went to lie upon her bed, where she foundlittle softness. When the Duke had eaten and washed and made merry, heafterwards sought his wife's chamber, and causing her to be seated onher bed, commanded that none should remain, save himself. So all menwent forth at his word, even as he had bidden. Thereupon the Dukeinquired of the lady how this evil had come to her, and of what shewas sick. She made answer,
"As God hears me, never till I ate at table did I deem that you had solittle sense or decency, as when I saw you making much of him, who, Ihave told you already, strove to bring shame and disgrace on me. WhenI watched you entreat him with more favour than even was your wont,such great sorrow and such great anger took hold on me, that I couldnot contain myself in the hall."
"Sweet friend," replied the Duke, "know that I shall neverbelieve--either from your lips or from those of any creature in theworld--that the story ever happened as you rehearsed it. I am so deepin his counsel that he has my quittance, for I have full assurancethat he never dreamed of such a deed. But as to this you must ask ofme no more."
The Duke went straightway from the chamber, leaving the lady sunk inthought. However long she had to live, never might she know an hour'scomfort, till she had learnt something of that secret of which theDuke forbade her to seek further. No denial could now stand in herway, for in her heart swiftly she devised a means to unriddle thiscounsel, so only she might endure until the evening, and the Duke wasin her arms. She was persuaded that, beyond doubt, such solace wouldwin her wish more surely than wrath or tears. For this purpose sheheld herself coy, and when the Duke came to lie at her side she betookherself to the further side of the bed, making semblance that hiscompany gave her no pleasure. Well she knew that such show of angerwas the device to put her lord beneath her feet. Therefore she turnedher back upon him, that the Duke might the more easily be drawn bythe cords of her wrath. For this same reason when he had no more thankissed her, she burst out,
"Right false and treacherous and disloyal are you to make such apretence of affection, who yet have never loved me truly one singleday. All these years of our wedded life I have been foolish enough tobelieve, what you took such pains in the telling, that you lovedme with a loyal heart. To-day I see plainly that I was the moredeceived."
"In what are you deceived?" inquired the Duke.
"By my faith," cried she, who was sick of her desire, "you warn methat I be not so bold as to ask aught of that of which you know thesecret."
"In God's name, sweet wife, of what would you know?"
"Of all that he has told you, the lies and the follies he has put inyour mind, and led you to believe. But it matters little now whether Ihear it or not, for I remember how small is my gain in being your trueand loving wife. For good or for ill I have shown you all my counsel.There was nothing that was known and seen of my heart that you werenot told at once; and of your courtesy you repay me by concealing yourmind. Know, now, without doubt, that never again shall I have in yousuch affiance, nor grant you my love with such sweetness, as I havebestowed them in the past."
Thereat the Duchess began to weep and sigh, making the most tendersorrow that she was able. The Duke felt such pity for her grief thathe said to her,
"Fairest and dearest, your wrath and anger are more heavy than I canbear; but learn that I cannot tell what you wish me to say withoutsinning against my honour too grievously."
Then she replied forthwith,
"Husband, if you do not tell me, the reason can only be that you donot trust me to keep silence in the business. I wonder the more sorelyat this, because there is no matter, either great or small, that youhave told me, which has been published by me. I tell you honestly thatnever in my life could I be so indiscreet."
When she had said this, she betook her again to her tears. The Dukekissed and embraced her, and was so sick of heart that strength failedhim to keep his purpose.
"Fair wife," he said to her, "by my soul I am at my wits' end. I havesuch trust and faith in you that I deem I should hide nothing, butshow you all that I know. Yet I dread that you will let fall someword. Know, wife--and I tell it you again--that if ever you betraythis counsel you will get death for your payment."
The Duchess made answer,
"I agree to the bargain, for it is not possible that I should deal youso shrewd a wrong."
Then he who loved her, because of his faith and his credence in herword, told all this story of his niece, even as he had learned it fromthe knight. He told how those two were alone together in the shadow ofthe wall, when the little dog ran to them. He showed plainly of thatcoming forth from the chamber, and of the entering in; nothing washid, he concealed naught of that he had heard and seen. When theDuchess understood that the love of a mighty dame was despised for thesake of a lowly gentlewoman, her humiliation was bitter in her mouthas death. She showed no semblance of despitefulness, but made covenantand promise with the Duke to keep the matter close, saying that shouldshe repeat his tale he might hang her from a tree.
Time went very heavily with the lady, till she could get speech withher, whom she hated from the hour she knew her to be the friend of himwho had caused her such shame and grief. She was persuaded that forthis reason he would not give her love, in return for that she set onhim. She confirmed herself in her purpose, that at such time and placeshe saw the Duke speaking with his niece, she would go swiftly to thelady, and tell out all her mind, hiding nothing because it was evil.Neither time nor place was met, till Pentecost was come, and the Dukeheld high Court, commanding to the feast all the ladies of his realm,amongst the first that lady, his niece, who was the Chatelaine ofVergi. When the Duchess looked on her, the blood pricked in her veins,for reason that she hated her more than aught else in the world. Shehad the courage to hide her malice, and greeted the lady more gladlythan ever she had done before. But she yearned to show openly theanger that burned in her heart, and the delay was much against hermind. On Pentecost, whilst the tables were removed, the Duchessbrought the ladies to her chamber with her, that, apart from thethrong, they might the more graciously attire them for the dance. Shedeemed her hour had come, and having no longer the power to refrainher lips, she said gaily, as if in jest,
"Chatelaine, array yourself very sweetly, since there is a fair andworthy lord you have to please."
The lady answered right simply,
"In truth, madam, I know not what you are thinking of; but for my partI wish for no such friendship as may not be altogether according to myhonour and to that of my lord."
"I grant that readily," replied the Duchess, "you are a good mistress,and have an apt pupil in your little dog."
The ladies returned with the Duchess to the hall, where the danceswere already set. They had listened to the tale, but could not markthe jest. The chatelaine remained in the chamber. Her colour came andwent, and because of her wrath and trouble the heart throbbed thicklyin her breast. She passed within a tiring chamber, where a littlemaiden was lying at the foot of the bed; but for grief she might notperceive her. The chatelaine flung herself upon the bed, bewailing herevil plight, for she was exceedingly sorrowful. She said,
"Ah, Lord God, take pity on me! What may this mean, that I havelistened to my lady's reproaches because of the training of my littledog! This she can have learned from none--as well I know--save fromhim whom I have loved, and who has betrayed me. He would never haveshown her this thing, except that he was her familiar friend, anddoubtless loves her more dearly than me, whom he has betrayed. I seenow the value of his oaths, since he finds it so easy to fail in hiscovenant. Sweet God, and I loved him so fondly, more fondly than anywoman has loved before; who never had him from my thoughts one singlehour, whether it were night or day. For he was my mirth and my carol;in him were my joy and my pleasure; he alone was my solace andcomfort. Ah, my friend, how can this have come; you who were alwayswith me, even when I might not see you with my eyes! What ill hasbefallen you, that you durst prove false to me? I deemed you morefaithful--God take me in His keeping--than ever was Tristan to Isoude.May God pity a poor fool, I loved you half as much again than I hadlove for myself. From the first to the last of our friendship, neverby thought, or by word, or by deed, have I done amiss; there is nowrong doing, trifling or great, to make plain your hatred, or toexcuse so vile a betrayal as this scorning of our love for a fresherface, this desertion of me, this proclaiming of our secret. Alas, myfriend, I marvel greatly; for as God is my witness my heart was notthus towards you. If God had offered me all the kingdoms of the world,yea, and His Heaven and its Paradise besides, I would have refusedthem gladly, had my gain meant the losing of you. For you were mywealth and my song and my health, and nothing can hurt me any more,since my heart has learnt that yours no longer loves me. Ah, lasting,precious love! Who could have guessed that he would deal this blow, towhom I gave the grace of my tenderness--who said that I was his ladyboth in body and in soul, and he the slave at my bidding. Yea, he toldit over so sweetly, that I believed him faithfully, nor thought in anywise that his heart would bear wrath and malice against me, whetherfor Duchess or for Queen. How good was this love, since the heart inmy breast must always cleave to his! I counted him to be my friend, inage as in youth, our lives together; for well I knew that if he diedfirst I should not dare to endure long without him, because of thegreatness of my love. The grave, with him, would be fairer, than lifein a world where I might never see him with my eyes. Ah, lasting,precious love! Is it then seemly that he should publish our counsel,and destroy her who had done him no wrong? When I gave him my lovewithout grudging, I warned him plainly, and made covenant with him,that he would lose me the self same hour that he made our tenderness asong. Since part we must, I may not live after so bitter a sorrow; norwould I choose to live, even if I were able. Fie upon life, it has nosavour in it. Since it pleases me naught, I pray to God to grant medeath, and--so truly as I have loved him who requites me thus--to havemercy on my soul. I forgive him his wrong, and may God give honour andlife to him who has betrayed and delivered me to death. Since itcomes from his hand, death, meseems, is no bitter potion; and when Iremember his love, to die for his sake is no grievous thing."
When the chatelaine had thus spoken she kept silence, save only thatshe said in sighing,
"Sweet friend, I commend you to God."
With these words she strained her arms tightly across her breast, theheart failed her, and her face lost its fair colour. She swooned inher anguish, and lay back, pale and discoloured in the middle of thebed, without life or breath.
Of this her friend knew nothing, for he sought his delight in thehall, at carol and dance and play. But amongst all those ladies he hadno pleasure in any that he saw, since he might not perceive her towhom his heart was given, and much he marvelled thereat. He took theDuke apart, and said in his ear,
"Sire, whence is this that your niece tarries so long, and comes notto the dancing? Have you put her in prison?"
The Duke looked upon the dancers, for he had not concerned himselfwith the revels. He took his friend by the hand, and led him directlyto his wife's chamber. When he might not find her there he bade theknight seek her boldly in the tiring chamber; and this he did of hiscourtesy that these two lovers might solace themselves with clasp andkiss. The knight thanked his lord sweetly, and entered softly in thechamber, where his friend lay dark and discoloured upon the bed. Timeand place being met together, he took her in his arms and touched herlips. But when he found how cold was her mouth, how pale and rigid herperson, he knew by the semblance of all her body that she was quitedead. In his amazement he cried out swiftly,
"What is this? Alas, is my dear one dead?"
The maiden started from the foot of the bed where she still lay,making answer,
"Sir, I deem truly that she be dead. Since she came to this roomshe has done nothing but call upon death, by reason of her friend'sfalsehood, whereof my lady assured her, and because of a little dog,whereof my lady made her jest. This sorrow brought her to her death."
When the knight understood from this that the words he had spoken tothe Duke had slain his friend, he was discomforted beyond measure.
"Alas," said he, "sweet love, the most gracious and the best that everknight had, loyal and true, how have I slain you, like the faithlesstraitor that I am! It were only just that I should receive the wagesfor my deed, so that you could have gone free of blame. But you wereso faithful of heart that you took it on yourself to pay the price.Then I will do justice on myself for the treason I have wrought."
The knight drew from its sheath a sword that was hanging from thewall, and thrust it throught his heart. He pained himself to fallupon his lady's body; and because of the mightiness of his hurt, bledswiftly to death. The maiden fled forth from the chamber, when shemarked these lifeless lovers, for she was all adread at what she saw.She lighted on the Duke, and told him all that she had heard and seen,keeping back nothing. She showed him the beginning of the matter, andalso of the little dog, whereof the Duchess had spoken.
Hearken all to what befell. The Duke went straightway to the tiringchamber, and drew from out the wound that sword by which the knightlay slain. He said no word, but hastened forthwith to the hall wherethe guests were yet at their dancing. Entering there he acquittedhimself of his promise, for he smote the Duchess on the head with thenaked sword he carried in his hand. He struck the blow without oneword, since his wrath was too deep for speech. The Duchess fell at hisfeet, in the sight of the barons of his realm, whereat the feast wassorely troubled, for in place of mirth and carol, now were blood anddeath. Then the Duke told loudly and swiftly, before all who cared tohear, this pitiful story, in the midst of his Court. There was not onebut wept, and his tears were the more piteous when he beheld those twolovers who lay dead in the chamber, and the Duchess in her hall. Sothe Court broke up in dole and anger, for of this deed came mightymischief. On the morrow the Duke caused the lovers to be laid in onetomb, and the Duchess in a place apart. But of this adventure the Dukehad such bitterness that never was he known to laugh again. He tookthe Cross, and went beyond the sea, where joining himself to theKnights Templar, he never returned to his own realm.
Ah, God! all this mischief and encumbrance chanced to the knight byreason of his making plain that he should have hid, and of publishingwhat his friend forbade him to speak, if he would keep her love. Fromthis ensample we may learn that it is not seemly to love, and tell. Hewho blabs and blazons his friendship gets not one kiss the more; buthe who goes discreetly preserves life and love and fame. For thefriendship of the discreet lover falls not before the mine of suchfalse and felon pryers as burrow privily into their neighbour's secretlove.

Female Poets-Marie de France -A story of beyond the sea

XVI
A STORY OF BEYOND THE SEA
In times gone by there lived a Count of Ponthieu, who loved chivalryand the pleasures of the world beyond measure, and moreover was astout knight and a gallant gentleman. In the self-same day there liveda Count of St. Pol, who was lord of much land, and a right worthy man.One grief he had, that there was no heir of his body; but a sister washis, a prudent woman and a passing good gentlewoman, who was dame ofDommare in Ponthieu. This lady had a son, Thibault by name, who washeir to this County of St. Pol, but he was a poor man so long as hisuncle lived. He was a prudent knight, valiant and skilled with thespear, noble and fair. Greatly was he loved and honoured of all honestpeople, for he was of high race and gentle birth.
The Count of Ponthieu, of whom the tale hath spoken, had to wife avery worthy lady. He and his dame had but one child, a daughter,very good and gracious, who increased with her days in favour and invirtues; and the maid was of some sixteen years. The third year afterher birth her mother died, whereof she was sorely troubled and rightheavy. The Count, her father, took to himself another wife with nolong tarrying, a dame of gentle race and breeding. Of this lady he gothim quickly a son; very near was the boy to his father's heart. Thelad grew with his years in stature and in valour, and gave promise toincrease in all good qualities.
The Count of Ponthieu marked my lord Thibault of Dommare. He summonedthe knight to his castle, and made him of his house for guerdon. WhenSir Thibault was of his fellowship he rejoiced greatly, for the Countprospered in goods and in praise by reason of his servant's deeds. Asthey came from a tournament on a day, the Count and my lord Thibaulttogether, the Count required of his companion and said,
"Thibault, by the aid of God tell me truly which jewel of my crownshines the fairest in your eyes!"
"Sir," replied Messire Thibault, "I am only a beggar, but so help meGod, of all the jewels in your crown I love and covet none, save onlymy demoiselle, your daughter."
When he heard this thing the Count had great content. He laughed inhis heart and said,
"Thibault, I will grant her to the beggar, if it be to her mind."
"Sir," answered he, "thanks and gramercy. May God make it up to you."
Then went the Count to his daughter, and said,
"Fair daughter, I have promised you in marriage, so it go not againstyour heart."
"Sir," inquired the maid, "to whom?"
"In the name of God, to a loyal man, and a true man, of whom much ishoped; to a knight of my own household, Thibault of Dommare."
"Dear sir," answered the maiden sweetly, "if your county were akingdom, and I were the king's only child, I would choose him as myhusband, and gladly give him all that I had."
"Daughter," said the Count, "blessed be your pretty person, and thehour that you were born."
Thus was this marriage made. The Count of Ponthieu and the Count ofSt. Pol were at the feast, and many another honourable man besides.Great was the joy in which they met, fair was the worship, andmarvellous the delight. The bride and groom lived together in allhappiness for five years. This was their only sorrow, that it pleasednot our Lord Jesus Christ that they should have an heir to theirflesh.
On a night Sir Thibault lay in his bed. He considered within himselfand said,
"Lord, whence cometh it that I love this dame so fondly, and she me,yet we may have no heir of our bodies to serve God and to do a littlegood in the world?"
Then he remembered my lord St. James, the Apostle of Spain, who givesto the fervent supplicant that which rightly he desires. Earnestly, tohis own heart, he promised that he would walk a pilgrim in his way.His wife lay sleeping at his side, but when she came from out hersleep, he took her softly in his arms, and required of her that shewould bestow on him a gift.
"Sir," said the lady, "what gift would you have?"
"Wife," he made answer, "that you shall know when it is mine."
"Husband," said she, "if it be mine to grant, I will give it you,whatever the price."
"Wife," he said, "I pray you to grant me leave to seek my lord St.James the Apostle, that he may intercede with our Lord Jesus Christ tobestow on us an heir of our flesh, whereby God may be served in thisworld and Holy Church glorified."
"Sir," cried the lady, "sweet and dear it is that you should cravesuch bounty, and I grant the permission you desire right willingly."
Deep and long was the tenderness that fell betwixt these twain. Thuspassed a day, and another day, and yet a third. On this third day itchanced that they lay together in their bed, and it was night. Thensaid the dame,
"Husband, I pray and require of you a gift."
"Wife," he replied, "ask, and I will give it you, if by any means Ican."
"Husband," she said, "I require leave to come with you on this errandand journey."
When Messire Thibault heard this thing he was right sorrowful, andsaid,
"Wife, grievous would be the journey to your body, for the way is verylong, and the land right strange and perilous."
Said she,
"Husband, be not in doubt because of me. You shall be more hindered ofyour squire than of your wife."
"Dame," said he, "as God wills and as you wish."
The days went, and these tidings were so noised abroad that the Countof Ponthieu heard thereof. He commanded my lord Sir Thibault to hishouse, and said,
"Thibault, you are a vowed pilgrim, as I hear, and my daughter too!"
"Sir," answered he, "that is verily and truly so."
"Thibault," replied the Count, "as to yourself what pleases you is tomy mind also, but concerning my daughter that is another matter."
"Sir," made answer Sir Thibault, "go she must, and I cannot deny her."
"Since this is so," said the Count, "part when you will. Make readyfor the road your steeds, your palfreys, and the pack horses, and Iwill give you riches and gear enough for the journey."
"Sir," said Messire Thibault, "thanks and gramercy."
Thus these pilgrims arrayed them, and sought that shrine withmarvellous joy. They fared so speedily upon the way, that at lengththey came near to my lord St. James, by less than two days faring.That night they drew to a goodly town. After they had eaten in thehostel, Sir Thibault called for the host and inquired of him the roadfor the morrow, how it ran, and whether it were smooth.
"Fair sir," replied the innkeeper to the knight, "at the gate of thistown you will find a little wood. Beyond the wood a strong smooth roadruns for the whole day's journey."
Hearing this they asked no more questions, but the beds being laiddown, they went to their rest. The morrow broke full sweetly. Thepilgrims rose lightly from their beds as soon as it was day, and mademuch stir and merriment. Sir Thibault rose also, since he might notsleep, but his head was heavy. He therefore called his chamberlain,and said,
"Rise quickly, and bid the company to pack the horses and go theirway. Thou shalt remain with me, and make ready our harness, for I am alittle heavy and disquieted."
The chamberlain made known to the sergeants the pleasure of theirlord, so that presently they took the road. In no great while MessireThibault and his dame got them from the bed, and arraying theirpersons, followed after their household. The chamberlain folded thebed linen, and it was yet but dawn, though warm and fair. The threewent forth through the gate of the city, those three together, with noother companion save God alone, and drew near to the forest. When theycame close they found two roads, the one good, the other ill; so thatSir Thibault said to his chamberlain,
"Put spurs to your horse, and ride swiftly after our people. Bid themawait our coming, for foul it is for lady and knight to pass throughthis wood with so little company."
The servitor went speedily, and Messire Thibault entered the forest.He drew rein beside the two roads, for he knew not which to follow.
"Wife," he said, "which way is ours?"
"Please God, the good," she answered.
Now in this wood were robbers, who spoiled the fair way, and made wideand smooth the false, so that pilgrims should mistake and wander fromthe path. Messire Thibault lighted from his horse. He looked from oneto the other, and finding the wrong way broader and more smooth thanthe true, he cried,
"Wife, come now; in the name of God, this."
They had proceeded along this road for some quarter of a mile when thepath grew strict and narrow, and boughs made dark the way.
"Wife," said the knight, "I fear that we fare but ill."
When he had thus spoken he looked before him, and marked four armedthieves, seated on four strong horses, and each bore lance in hand.Thereupon he glanced behind him, and, lo, four other robbers, armedand set in ambush, so he said,
"Dame, be not affrighted of aught that you may see from now."
Right courteously Sir Thibault saluted the robbers in his path, butthey gave no answer to his greeting. Afterwards he sought of themwhat was in their mind, and one replied that he should know anon.The thief, who had thus spoken, drew towards my lord Thibault, withoutstretched sword, thinking to smite him in the middle. MessireThibault saw the blow about to fall, and it was no marvel if he fearedgreatly. He sprang forward nimbly, as best he might, so that theglaive smote the air. Then as the robber staggered by, Sir Thibaultseized him fiercely, and wrested the sword from his hand. The knightadvanced stoutly against those three from whom the thief had come. Hestruck the foremost amidst the bowels, so that he perished miserably.Then he turned and went again to that one who had first come againsthim with the sword, and slew him also. Now it was decreed of God thatafter the knight had slain three of this company of robbers, thatthe five who were left, encompassed him round about, and killed hispalfrey. Sir Thibault tumbled flat upon his back, although he was notwounded to his hurt. Since he had neither sword nor other harnesshe could do no more. The thieves therefore stripped him to his veryshirt, his boots and hosen, and binding him hand and foot with abaldrick, cast him into a thorn bush, right thick and sharp. Whenthey had done this they hastened to the lady. From her they took herpalfrey and her vesture, even to the shift. Passing fair was the lady;she wept full piteously, and never was dame more sorrowful than she.Now one of these bold robbers stared upon the lady, and saw that shewas very fair. He spoke to his companions in this fashion,
"Comrades, I have lost my brother in this broil. I will take thiswoman for his blood money."
But the others made answer,
"I, too, have lost my kin. I claim as much as you, and my right isgood as yours."
So said a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. Then spake yet another.
"In keeping of the lady will be found neither peace nor profit. Ratherlet us lead her from here within the forest, there do our pleasureupon her, and then put her again upon the path, so that she may go herway."
Thus they did as they had devised together, and left her on the road.
Right sick at heart was Messire Thibault when he saw her so entreated,but nothing could he do. He bore no malice against his wife by reasonof that which had befallen, for well he knew that it, was by force,and not according to her will. When he saw her again, weeping bitterlyand altogether shamed, he called to her, and said,
"Wife, for God's love unloose me from these bonds, and deliver me fromthe torment that I suffer, for these thorns are sharper than I canendure."
The lady hastened to the place where Sir Thibault lay, and marked asword flung behind the bush, belonging to one of those felons thatwere slain. She took the glaive, and went towards her lord, filledfull of wrath and evil thoughts because of what had chanced to her.She feared greatly lest her husband should bear malice for that whichhe had seen, reproaching her upon a day, and taunting her for what waspast. She said,
"Sir, you are out of your pain already."
She raised the sword, and came towards her husband, thinking to strikehim midmost the body. When he marked the falling glaive he deemed thathis day had come, for he was a naked man, clad in nought but his shirtand hosen. He trembled so sorely that his bonds were loosed, and thelady struck so feebly that she wounded him but little, severing thatbaldrick with which his hands were made fast. Thereat the knight brakethe cords about his legs, and leaping upon his feet, cried, "Dame,by the grace of God it is not to-day that you shall slay me with thesword."
Then she made answer, "Truly, sir, the sorer grief is mine."
Sir Thibault took the sword, and set it again in the sheath,afterwards he put his hand upon the lady's shoulder, and brought herback by the path they had fared. At the fringe of the woodland hefound a large part of his fellowship, who were come to meet him. Whenthese saw their lord and lady so spoiled and disarrayed they inquiredof them, "Sir, who hath put you in this case?"
He set them by, saying that they had fallen amongst felons who haddone them much mischief.
Mightily the sergeants lamented; but presently they fetched raimentfrom the packs, and arrayed them, for enough they had and to spare. Sothey climbed into the saddle, and continued their journey.
They rode that day, nor for aught that had chanced did MessireThibault show sourer countenance to the lady. At nightfall they cameto a goodly town, and there took shelter in an inn. Messire Thibaultsought of his host if there was any convent of nuns in those partswhere a lady might repose her. The host made answer to him,
"Sir, you are served to your wish. Just beyond the walls is a rightfair religious house, with many holy women."
On the morrow Messire Thibault went to this house, and heard Mass.Afterwards he spoke to the Abbess and her chapter, praying that hemight leave his lady in their charge, until his return; and this theyaccorded very willingly. Messire Thibault bestowed the lady in thisconvent, with certain of his house to do her service, and went his wayto bring his pilgrimage to a fair end. When he had knelt before theshrine, and honoured the Saint, he came again to the convent and thelady. He gave freely of his wealth to the house, and taking to himselfhis wife, returned with her to their own land, in the same joy andhonour as he had brought her forth, save only that they lay nottogether.
Great was the gladness of the folk of that realm when Sir Thibaultreturned to his home. The Count of Ponthieu, the father of his wifewas there, and there, too, was his uncle the Count of St. Pol. Manyworthy and valiant gentlemen came for his welcome, and a fair companyof dames and maidens likewise honoured the lady. That day the Countof Ponthieu sat at meat with my lord Thibault, and ate from the samedish, the two together. Then it happed that the Count spake to him,
"Thibault, fair son, he who journeys far hears many a strange matterand sees many strange sights, which are hidden from those who sit overthe fire. Tell me therefore, of your favour, something of all you haveseen and heard since you went from amongst us."
Messire Thibault answered shortly that he knew no tale worth thetelling. The Count would take no denial, but plagued him so sorely,begging him of his courtesy to tell over some adventure, that at thelast he was overborne.
"Sir, I will narrate a story, since talk I must; but at least let itbe in your private ear, if you please, and not for the mirth of all."
The Count replied that his pleasure was the same. After meat, when menhad eaten their fill, the Count rose in his chair, and taking my lordThibault by the hand, entreated,
"Tell me now, I pray, that which it pleases you to tell, for there arefew of the household left in hall."
Then Messire Thibault began to relate that which chanced to a knightand a dame, even as it has been rehearsed before you in this tale;only he named not the persons to whom this lot was appointed. TheCount, who was wise and sober of counsel, inquired what the knight haddone with the lady. Thibault made answer that the knight had broughtthe lady back by the way she went, with the same joy and worship as heled her forth, save only that they slept not together.
"Thibault," said the Count, "your knight walked another road than Ihad trod. By my faith in God and my love for you, I had hanged thisdame by her tresses to a tree. The laces of her gown would suffice ifI could find no other cord."
"Sir," said Messire Thibault, "you have but my word. The truth canonly be assured if the lady might bear witness and testify with herown mouth."
"Thibault," said the Count, "know you the name of this knight?"
"Sir," cried Messire Thibault, "I beg you again to exempt me fromnaming the knight to whom this sorrow befell. Know of a truth that hisname will bring no profit."
"Thibault," said the Count, "it is my pleasure that his name shouldnot be hid."
"Sir," answered Thibault, "tell I must, as you will not acquit me; butI take you to witness that I speak only under compulsion, since gladlyI would have kept silence, had this been your pleasure, for in thetelling there is neither worship nor honour."
"Thibault," replied the Count, "without more words I would knowforthwith who was the knight to whom this adventure chanced. By thefaith that you owe to your God and to me, I conjure you to tell me hisname, since it is in your mind."
"Sir," replied Messire Thibault, "I will answer by the faith I owemy God and you, since you lay this charge upon me. Know well, and bepersuaded, that I am the knight on whom this sorrow lighted. Hold itfor truth that I was sorely troubled and sick of heart. Be assuredthat never before have I spoken to any living man about the business,and moreover that gladly would I have held my peace, had such beenyour will."
When the Count heard this adventure he was sore astonied, andaltogether cast down. He kept silence for a great space, speakingnever a word. At the last he said, "Thibault, was it indeed my childwho did this thing?"
"Sir, it is verily and truly so."
"Thibault," said the Count, "sweet shall be your vengeance, since youhave given her again to my hand."
Because of his exceeding wrath the Count sent straightway for hisdaughter, and demanded of her if those things were true of whichMessire Thibault had spoken. She inquired of the accusation, and herfather answered, "That you would have slain him with the sword, evenas he has told me?"
"Sir, of a surety."
"And wherefore would you slay your husband?"
"Sir, for reason that I am yet heavy that he is not dead."
When the Count heard the lady speak in this fashion, he answered hernothing, but suffered in silence until the guests had departed. Afterthese were gone, the Count came on a day to Rue-sur-Mer, and MessireThibault with him, and the Count's son. With them also went the lady.Then the Count caused a ship to be got ready, very stout and speedy,and he made the dame to enter in the boat. He set also on the ship anuntouched barrel, very high and strong. These three lords climbed intothe nave, with no other company, save those sailors who should labourat the oar. The Count commanded the mariners to put the ship to sea,and all marvelled greatly as to what he purposed, but there was noneso bold as to ask him any questions. When they had rowed a great wayfrom the land, the Count bade them to strike the head from out thebarrel. He took that dame, his own child, who was so dainty and sofair, and thrust her in the tun, whether she would or whether shewould not. This being done he caused the cask to be made fast againwith staves and wood, so that the water might in no manner entertherein. Afterwards he dragged the barrel to the edge of the deck, andwith his own hand cast it into the sea, saying,
"I commend thee to the wind and waves."
Passing heavy was Messire Thibault at this, and the lady's brotheralso, and all who saw. They fell at the Count's feet, praying him ofhis grace that she might be delivered from the barrel. So hot was hiswrath that he would not grant their prayer, for aught that they mightdo or say. They therefore left him to his rage, and turning to theHeavenly Father, besought our Lord Jesus Christ that of His most sweetpity He would have mercy on her soul, and give her pardon for hersins.
The ship came again to land, leaving the lady in sore peril andtrouble, even as the tale has told you. But our Lord Jesus Christ, whois Lord and Father of all, and desireth not the death of a sinner, butrather that he should turn from his wickedness and live--as each dayHe showeth us openly by deed, by example and by miracle--sent succourto this lady, even as you shall hear. For a ship from Flanders, ladenwith merchandise, marked this barrel drifting at the mercy of windsand waters, before ever the Count and his companions were come ashore.One of the merchants said to his comrades,
"Friends, behold a barrel drifting in our course. If we may reach it,perchance we may find it to our gain."
This ship was wont to traffic with the Saracens in their country, sothe sailors rowed towards the barrel, and partly by cunning and partlyby strength, at the last got it safely upon the deck. The merchantslooked long at the cask. They wondered greatly what it could be, andwondering, they saw that the head of the barrel was newly closed. Theyopened the cask, and found therein a woman at the point of death, forair had failed her. Her body was gross, her visage swollen, and theeyes started horribly from her head. When she breathed the fresh airand felt the wind blow upon her, she sighed a little, so that themerchants standing by, spoke comfortably to her, but she might notanswer them a word. In the end, heart and speech came again to her.She spoke to the chapmen and the sailors who pressed about her, andmuch she marvelled how she found herself amongst them. When sheperceived that she was with merchants and Christian men she was themore easy, and fervently she praised Jesus Christ in her heart,thanking Him for the loving kindness which had kept her from death.For this lady was altogether contrite in heart, and earnestly desiredto amend her life towards God, repenting the trespass she had doneto others, and fearing the judgment that was rightly her due. Themerchants inquired of the lady whence she came, and she told them thetruth, saying that she was a miserable wretch and a poor sinner, asthey could see for themselves. She related the cruel adventure whichhad chanced to her, and prayed them to take pity on a most unhappylady, and they answered that mercy they would show. So with meat anddrink her former beauty came to her again.
Now this merchant ship fared so far that she came to the land of thePaynims, and cast anchor in the port of Aumarie. Galleys of theseSaracens came to know their business, and they answered that they weretraffickers in divers merchandise in many a realm. They showed themalso the safe conduct they carried of princes and mighty lords thatthey might pass in safety through their countries to buy and selltheir goods. The merchants got them to land in this port, taking thelady with them. They sought counsel one of the other to know what itwere best to do with her. One was for selling her as a slave, but hiscompanion proposed to give her as a sop to the rich Soudan of Aumarie,that their business should be the less hindered. To this they allagreed. They arrayed the lady freshly in broidered raiment, andcarried her before the Soudan, who was a lusty young man. He acceptedtheir gift, receiving the lady with a right glad heart, for she waspassing fair. The Soudan inquired of them as to who she was.
"Sire," answered the merchants, "we know no more than you, butmarvellous was the fashion in which she came to our hands."
The gift was so greatly to the Soudan's mind that he served thechapmen to the utmost of his power. He loved the lady very tenderly,and entreated her in all honour. He held and tended her so well, thather sweet colour came again to her, and her beauty increased beyondmeasure. The Soudan sought to know by those who had the gift oftongues as to the lady's home and race, but these she would not revealto any. He was the more thoughtful therefore, because he might seethat she was a dame of birth and lineage. He inquired of her as towhether she were a Christian woman, promising that if she would denyher faith, he would take her as his wife, since he was yet unwed. Thelady saw clearly that it were better to be converted by love thanperforce; so she answered that her religion was to do her master'spleasure. When she had renounced her faith, and rejected the Christianlaw, the Soudan made her his dame according to the use and wont ofthis country of the Paynim. He held her very dear, cherishing her inall honour, for his love waxed deeper as the days wore on.
In due time it was with this lady after the manner of women, and shecame to bed of a son. The Soudan rejoiced greatly, being altogethermerry and content. The lady, for her part, lived in fair fellowshipwith the folk of her husband's realm. Very courteous was she, andvery serviceable, so that presently she was instructed in the Saracentongue. In no long while after the birth of her son she conceived ofa maid, who in the years that befell grew passing sweet and fair, andrichly was she nurtured as became the daughter of so high a prince.Thus for two years and a half the lady dwelt with the Paynim in muchsoftness and delight.
Now the story keeps silence as to the lady and the Soudan, herhusband, till later, as you may hear, and returns to the Count ofPonthieu, the son of the Count, and to my lord Thibault of Dommare,who were left grieving for the dame who was flung into the sea, as youhave heard, nor knew aught of her tidings, but deemed that she wererather dead than alive. Now tells the story--and the truth bearswitness to itself and is its own confirmation--that the Count was inPonthieu, together with his son, and Messire Thibault. Very heavy wasthe Count, for in no wise could he get his daughter from his mind,and grievously he lamented the wrong that he had done her. MessireThibault dared not take to himself another wife, because of theanguish of his friend. The son of the Count might not wed also;neither durst he to become knight, though he was come to an age whensuch things are greatly to a young man's mind.
On a day the Count considered deeply the sin that he had committedagainst his own flesh. He sought the Archbishop of Rheims inconfession, and opened out his grief, telling in his ear the crimethat he had wrought. He determined to seek those holy fields beyondthe sea, and sewed the Cross upon his mantle. When Messire Thibaultknew that his lord, the Count, had taken the Cross, he confessed him,and did likewise. And when the Count's son was assured of the purposeof his sire and of Messire Thibault, whom he loved dearly, he took theCross with them. Passing heavy was the Count to mark the Sign upon hisson's raiment.
"Fair son, what is this you have done; for now the land remainswithout a lord!"
The son answered, and said, "Father, I wear the Sign first andforemost for the love of God; afterwards for the saving of my soul,and by reason that I would serve and honour Him to the utmost of mypower, so long as I have life in my body."
The Count put his realm in ward full wisely. He used diligence inmaking all things ready, and bade farewell to his friends. MessireThibault and the son of the Count ordered their business, and thethree set forth together, with a fair company. They came to that holyland beyond the sea, safe of person and of gear. There they madedevout pilgrimage to every place where they were persuaded it was meetto go, and God might be served. When the Count had done all thathe was able, he deemed that there was yet one thing to do. He gavehimself and his fellowship to the service of the Temple for one year;and at the end of this term he purposed to seek his country and hishome. He sent to Acre, and made ready a ship against his voyage. Hetook his leave of the Knights Templar, and other lords of that land,and greatly they praised him for the worship that he had brought them.When the Count and his company were come to Acre they entered in theship, and departed from the haven with a fair wind. But little wastheir solace. For when they drew to the open sea a strong and horribletempest sprang suddenly upon them, so that the sailors knew not wherethey went, and feared each hour that all would be drowned. So piteouswas their plight that, with ropes, they bound themselves one toanother, the son to the father, the uncle to the nephew, according asthey stood. The Count, his son, and Messire Thibault for their part,fastened themselves together, so that the same end should chance toall. In no long time after this was done they saw land, and inquiredof the shipmen whither they were come. The mariners answered that thisrealm belonged to the Paynim, and was called the Land of Aumarie. Theyasked of the Count,
"Sire, what is your will that we do? If we seek the shore, doubtlesswe shall be made captives, and fall into the hands of the Saracen."
The Count made answer, "Not my will, but the will of Jesus Christ bedone. Let the ship go as He thinks best. We will commit our bodies andour lives to His good keeping, for a fouler and an uglier death wecannot die, than to perish in this sea."
They drove with the wind along the coast of Aumarie, and the galleysand warships of the Saracens put out to meet them. Be assured thatthis was no fair meeting, for the Paynims took them and led thembefore the Soudan, who was lord of that realm. There they gave himthe goods and the bodies of these Christians as a gift. The Soudansundered this fair fellowship, setting them in many places and indivers prisons; but since the Count, his son, and Messire Thibaultwere so securely bound together, he commanded that they should be castinto a dungeon by themselves, and fed upon the bread of affliction andthe water of affliction. So it was done, even as he commanded. In thisprison they lay for a space, till such time as the Count's son fellsick. His sickness was so grievous that the Count and Messire Thibaultfeared greatly that this sorrow was to death.
Now it came to pass that the Soudan held high Court because of the dayof his birth, for such was the custom of the Saracens. After they hadwell eaten, the Saracens stood before the Soudan, and said,
"Sire, we require of you our right."
He inquired of what right they were speaking, and they answered,
"Sire, a Christian captive to set as a mark for our arrows."
When the Soudan heard this he gave no thought to such a trifle, butmade reply,
"Get you to the prison, and take out that captive who has the least oflife in him."
The Paynim hastened to the dungeon, and brought forth the Count,bearded, unkempt and foredone. The Soudan marked his melancholy case,so he said to them, "This man has not long to live; take him hence,and do your will on him."
The wife of the Soudan, of whom you have heard, the daughter of thisvery Count, was in the hall, when they brought forth her father toslay him. Immediately that her eyes fell upon him the blood in herveins turned to water; not so much that she knew him as her sire, butrather that Nature tugged at her heart strings. Then spake the dame tothe Soudan, "Husband, I, too, am French, and would gladly speak withthis poor wretch ere he die, if so I may."
"Wife," answered the Soudan, "truly, yes; it pleases me well."
The lady came to the Count. She took him apart, and bidding theSaracens fall back, she inquired of him whence he was.
"Lady, I am from the kingdom of France, of a county that men callPonthieu."
When the lady heard this her bowels were moved. Earnestly she demandedhis name and race.
"Of a truth, lady, I have long forgotten my father's house, for I havesuffered such pain and anguish since I departed, that I would ratherdie than live. But this you may know, that I--even the man who speaksto you--was once the Count of Ponthieu."
The lady hearkened to this, but yet she made no sign. She went fromthe Count, and coming to the Soudan, said,
"Husband, give me this captive as a gift, if such be your pleasure. Heknows chess and draughts and many fair tales to bring solace to thehearer. He shall play before you, and we will make our pastime of hisskill."
"Wife," answered the Soudan, "I grant him to you very willingly; dowith him as you wish."
The lady took the captive, and bestowed him in her chamber. Thegaolers sought another in his stead, and brought forth my lordThibault, the husband to the dame. He came out in tatters, for he wasclothed rather in his long hair and great beard, than in raiment. Hisbody was lean and bony, and he seemed as one who had endured pain andsorrow enough, and to spare. When the lady saw him she said to theSoudan,
"Husband, with this one also would I gladly speak, if so I may."
"Wife," answered the Soudan, "it pleases me well."
The lady came to my lord Thibault, and inquired of him whence he was.
"Lady, I am of the realm of that ancient gentleman who was taken fromprison before me. I had his daughter to wife, and am his knight."
The lady knew well her lord, so she returned to the Soudan, and saidto him, "Husband, great kindness will you show me, if you give me thiscaptive also."
"Wife," said the Soudan, "I grant him to you very willingly."
She thanked him sweetly, and bestowed the gift in her chamber, withthe other.
The archers hastened together, and drawing before the Soudan said,"Sire, you do us wrong, for the day is far spent."
They went straight to the prison, and brought forth the son of theCount, shagged and filthy, as one who had not known of water for manya day. He was a young man, so young that his beard had not come onhim, but for all his youth he was so thin and sick and weak, thathe scarce could stand upon his feet. When the lady saw him she hadcompassion upon him. She came to him asking whose son he was and ofhis home, and he replied that he was son to that gentleman, who wasfirst brought out of the dungeon. She knew well that this was herbrother, but she made herself strange unto him.
"Husband," said she to the Soudan, "verily you will shew kindness toyour wife beyond measure if you grant me this captive. He knows chessand draughts and other delights passing fair to see and hear."
And the Soudan made answer, "Wife, by our holy law if they were ahundred I would give them all to you gladly."
The lady thanked him tenderly, and bestowed the captive swiftly inher chamber. The Saracens went again to the prison and fetched outanother, but the lady left him to his fate, when she looked upon hisface. So he won a martyr's crown, and our Lord Jesus Christ receivedhis soul. As for the dame, she hid herself from the sight, for it gaveher little joy, this slaying of the Christian by the Paynims.
The lady came to her chamber, and at her coming the captives wouldhave got them to their feet, but she made signs that they shouldremain seated. Drawing close she made gestures of friendship. TheCount, who was very shrewd, asked at this, "Lady, when will they slayus?"
She answered that their time had not yet come.
"Lady," said he, "the sorer grief is ours, for we are so anhungered,that for a little our souls would leave our bodies."
The lady went out, and bade meat to be made ready. This she carriedin, giving to each a little, and to each a little drink. When they hadeaten, they had yet greater hunger than before. In this manner she fedthem, little by little, ten times a day, for she deemed that shouldthey eat to their desire, they would die of repletion. For this reasonshe caused them to break their fast temperately. Thus the good ladydealt with them for the first seven days, and at nights, by her grace,they lay softly at their ease. She did away with their rags, and cladthem in seemly apparel. When the week was done she set before themmeat and drink to their heart's desire, so that their strengthreturned to them again. They had chess and draughts, and played thesegames to their great content. The Soudan was often with them. Hewatched the play, and took pleasure in their gladness. But the ladyrefrained, so that none might conceive, either by speech or fashion,that he had known her before.
Now a short while after this matter of the captives, the story tellsthat the Soudan had business enough of his own, for a mighty Sultanlaid waste his realm, and sought to do him much mischief. To avengehis wrong the Soudan commanded his vassals from every place, andassembled a great host. When the lady knew this, she entered thechamber where the captives lay, and sitting amidst them lifted herhand, and said, "Sirs, you have told me somewhat of your business; nowwill I be assured whether you are true men or not. You told me that inyour own land you were once the Count of Ponthieu, that this man waswedded to your daughter, and that this other was your son. Know that Iam a Saracen, having the science of astrology; so I tell you plainlythat you were never so near to a shameful death, as you are now, ifyou hide from me the truth. What chanced to your daughter, the wife ofthis knight?"
"Lady," replied the Count, "I deem her to be dead."
"How came she to her death?"
"Certes, lady," said the Count, "because for once she received herdeserts."
"Tell me of these deservings," said the dame.
Then the Count began to tell, with tears, of how she was wedded, butwas yet a barren wife; how the good knight vowed pilgrimage to my lordSt. James in Galicia, and how the lady prayed that she might go withhim, which prayer he granted willingly. He told how they went theirway with joy, till alone, in the deep wood, they met with sturdyfelons who set upon them. The good knight might do nothing against somany, for he was a naked man; but despite of all, he slew three, andfive were left, who killed his palfrey, and spoiling him to the veryshirt, bound him hands and feet, and flung him into a thorn bush. Theyspoiled the lady also and stole her palfrey from her. When they lookedupon her, and saw that she was fair, each would have taken her.Afterwards they accorded that she should be to all, and havinghad their will in her despite, they departed and left her weepingbitterly. This the good knight saw, so he besought her courteously tounloose his hands, that they might get them from the wood. But thelady marked a sword belonging to one of these felons that were slain.She handselled it, and hastening where he lay, cried in furiousfashion, "You are unbound already." Then she raised the naked sword,and struck at his body. But by the loving kindness of God, and thevigour of the knight, she but sundered the bonds that bound him, sothat he sprang forth, and wounded as he was, cried, "Dame, by thegrace of God it is not to-day that you shall kill me with the sword."
At this word that fair lady, the wife of the Soudan, spoke suddenly,and said,
"Ah, sir, you have told the tale honestly, and very clear it is whyshe would have slain him."
"For what reason, lady?"
"Certes," answered she, "for reason of the great shame which hadbefallen her."
When Messire Thibault heard this he wept right tenderly, and said,"Alas, what part had she in this wickedness! May God keep shut thedoors of my prison if I had shown her the sourer face therefore,seeing that her will was not in the deed."
"Sir," said the lady, "she feared your reproach. But tell me which isthe more likely, that she be alive or dead?"
"Lady," said Thibault, "we know not what to think."
"Well I know," cried the Count, "of the great anguish we havesuffered, by reason of the sin I sinned against her."
"If it pleased God that she were yet living," inquired the lady, "andtidings were brought which you could not doubt, what would you have tosay?"
"Lady," said the Count, "I should be happier than if I were taken fromthis prison, or were granted more wealth than ever I have had in mylife."
"Lady," said Messire Thibault, "so God give me no joy of my heart'sdearest wish, if I had not more solace than if men crowned me King ofFrance."
"Certes, lady," said the dansellon, who was her brother, "none couldgive or promise me aught so sweet, as the life of that sister, who wasso fair and good."
When the lady hearkened to these words her heart yearned withtenderness. She praised God, rendering Him thanks, and said to them,"Be sure that you speak with unfeigned lips."
And they answered and said that they spoke with unfeigned lips. Thenthe lady began to weep with happy tears, and said to them, "Sir, nowmay you truly say that you are my father, for I am that daughter onwhom you wrought such bitter justice. And you, Messire Thibault, aremy lord and husband; and you, sir dansellon, are my brother."
Then she rehearsed to them in what manner she was found of thechapmen, and how they bestowed her as a gift on the Soudan. They werevery glad, and rejoiced mightily, humbling themselves before her, butshe forbade them to show their mirth, saying, "I am a Saracen, andhave renounced the faith; otherwise I should not be here, but weredead already. Therefore I pray and beseech you as you love your livesand would prolong your days, whatever you may see or hear, not to showme any affection, but keep yourselves strange to me, and leave me tounravel the coil. Now I will tell why I have revealed myself to you.My husband, the Soudan, rides presently to battle. I know well,Messire Thibault, that you are a hardy knight, and I will pray theSoudan to take you with him. If ever you were brave, now is the timeto make it plain. See to it that you do him such service that he haveno grievance against you."
The lady departed forthwith, and coming before the Soudan, said,"Husband, one of my captives desires greatly to go with you, if suchbe your pleasure."
"Wife," answered he, "I dare not put myself in his hand, for fear thathe may do me a mischief."
"Husband, he will not dare to be false, since I hold his companions ashostages."
"Wife," said he, "I will take him with me, because of your counsel,and I will deliver him a good horse and harness, and all that warriormay require."
The lady returned straightway to the chamber. She said to MessireThibault, "I have persuaded the Soudan to bring you to the battle. Acttherefore manfully."
At this her brother knelt at her knee, praying her to plead with theSoudan that he might go also.
"That I may not do," said she, "or the thing will be too clear."
The Soudan ordered his business, and went forth, Messire Thibaultbeing with him, and came upon the enemy. According to his word, theSoudan had given to the knight both horse and harness. By the will ofJesus Christ, who faileth never such as have faith and affiance inHim, Messire Thibault did such things in arms that in a short spacethe enemies of the Soudan were put under his feet. The Soudan rejoicedgreatly at his knight's deeds and his victory, and returned bringingmany captives with him. He went straight to the dame, and said, "Wife,by my law I have naught but good to tell of your prisoner, for he hasdone me faithful service. So he deny his faith, and receive our holyreligion, I will grant him broad lands, and find him a rich heiress inmarriage."
"Husband, I know not, but I doubt if he will do this thing."
No more was spoken of the matter; but the lady set her house in order,as best she was able, and coming to her captives said, "Sirs, gowarily, so that the Saracens see nothing of what is in our mind; for,please God, we shall yet win to France and the county of Ponthieu."
On a day the lady came before the Soudan. She went in torment, andlamented very grievously.
"Husband, it is with me as it was before. Well I know it, for I havefallen into sore sickness, and my food has no relish in my mouth, no,not since you went to the battle."
"Wife, I am right glad to hear that you are with child, although yourinfirmity is very grievous unto me. Consider and tell me those thingsthat you deem will be to your healing, and I will seek and procurethem whatever the cost."
When the lady heard this, her heart beat lightly in her breast. Sheshowed no semblance of joy, save this only, that she said, "Husband,my old captive tells me that unless I breathe for awhile such air asthat of my native land, and that quickly, I am but dead, for in nowisehave I long to live."
"Wife," said the Soudan, "your death shall not be on my conscience.Consider and show me where you would go, and there I will cause you tobe taken."
"Husband, it is all one to me, so I be out of this city."
Then the Soudan made ready a ship, both fair and strong, and garnishedher plenteously with wines and meats.
"Husband," said the lady to the Soudan, "I will take of my captivesthe aged and the young, that they may play chess and draughts at mybidding, and I will carry with me my son for my delight."
"Wife," answered he, "your will is my pleasure. But what shall be donewith the third captive?"
"Husband, deal with him after your desire."
"Wife, I desire that you take him on the ship; for he is a brave man,and will keep you well, both on land and sea, if you have need of hissword."
The lady took leave of the Soudan, bidding him farewell, and urgentlyhe prayed her to return so soon as she was healed of her sickness. Thestores being put upon the ship and all things made ready, they enteredtherein and set sail from the haven. With a fair wind they went veryswiftly, so that the shipmen sought the lady, saying, "Madam, thiswind is driving the boat to Brindisi. Is it your pleasure to takerefuge there, or to go elsewhere?"
"Let the ship keep boldly on her course," answered the lady to them,"for I speak French featly and other tongues also, so I will bring youto a good end."
They made such swift passage by day and by night, that according tothe will of Our Lord they came quickly to Brindisi. The ship castanchor safely in the harbour, and they lighted on the shore, beingwelcomed gladly by the folk of that country. The lady, who was veryshrewd, drew her captives apart, and said, "Sirs, I desire you tocall to mind the pledge and the covenant you have made. I must now becertain that you are true men, remembering your oaths and plightedwords. I pray you to let me know, by all that you deem of God, whetheryou will abide or not by our covenant together; for it is yet not toolate to return to my home."
They answered, "Lady, know beyond question that the bargain we havemade we will carry out loyally. By our faith in God and as christenedmen we will abide by this covenant; so be in no doubt of ourassurance."
"I trust you wholly," replied the lady; "but, sirs, see here my son,whom I had of the Soudan, what shall we do with him?"
"Lady, the boy is right welcome, and to great honour shall he come inour own land."
"Sirs," said the dame, "I have dealt mischievously with the Soudan,for I have stolen my person from him, and the son who was so dear tohis heart."
The lady went again to the shipmen, and lifting her hand, said tothem, "Sirs, return to the Soudan whence you came, and greet him withthis message. Tell him that I have taken from him my body and the sonhe loved so well, that I might deliver my father, my lord, and mybrother from the prison where they were captive."
When the sailors heard this they were very dolent, but there wasnaught that they might do. They set sail for their own country, sadand very heavy by reason of the lady, of the young lad, whom theyloved greatly, and of the captives who were escaped altogether fromtheir hand.
For his part the Count arrayed himself meetly by grace of merchantsand Templars, who lent him gladly of their wealth. He abode in thetown, together with his fellowship, for their solace, till they madethem ready for the journey, and took the road to Rome. The Countsought the Pontiff, and his company with him. Each confessed himof the secrets of his heart, and when the Bishop heard thereof,he accepted their devotion, and comforted them right tenderly. Hebaptised the child, who was named William. He reconciled the lady withHoly Church, and confirmed the lady and Messire Thibault her lord, intheir marriage bond, reknitting them together, giving penance to each,and absolution for their sins. After this they made no long sojournin Rome, but took their leave of the Apostle who had honoured them sogreatly. He granted them his benison, and commended them to God. Sothey went their way in great solace and delight, praising God and HisMother, and all the calendar of saints, and rendering thanks for themercies which had been vouchsafed to them. Journeying thus theycame at last to the country of their birth, and were met by a fairprocession of bishops and abbots, monks and priests, who had desiredthem fervently. But of all these welcomes they welcomed most gladlyher who was recovered from death, and had delivered her sire, herlord, and her brother from the hands of the Paynim, even as you haveheard. There we leave them for awhile, and will tell you of theshipmen and Saracens who had fared with them across the sea.
The sailors and Saracens who had carried them to Brindisi, returnedas quickly as they were able, and with a fair wind cast anchor beforeAumarie. They got them to land, very sad and heavy, and told theirtidings to the Soudan. Right sorrowful was the Soudan, and neither fortime nor reason could he forget his grief. Because of this mischief heloved that daughter the less who tarried with him, and showed her theless courtesy. Nevertheless the maiden increased in virtue and inwisdom, so that the Paynim held her in love and honour, praising herfor the good that was known of her. But now the story is silent as tothat Soudan who was so tormented by reason of the flight of his dameand captives; and comes again to the Count of Ponthieu, who waswelcomed to his realm with such pomp and worship, as became a lord ofhis degree.
In no long while after his return the son of the Count was dubbedknight, and rich was the feast. He became a knight both chivalrous andbrave. Greatly he loved all honourable men, and gladly he bestowedfair gifts on the poor knights and poor gentlewomen of the country.Much was he esteemed of lord and hind, for he was a worthy knight,generous, valiant and debonair, proud only to his foes. Yet his dayson earth were but a span, which was the sorer pity, for he diedlamented of all.
Now it befell that the Count held high Court, and many a knight andlord sat with him at the feast. Amongst these came a very noble manand knight, of great place, in Normandy, named my lord Raoul desPreaux. This Raoul had a daughter, passing sweet and fair. The Countspoke so urgently to Raoul and to the maiden's kin that a marriagewas accorded between William, his grandson, the son of the Soudan ofAumarie, and the daughter of my lord Raoul, the heiress to all hiswealth. William wedded the damsel with every rich observance, and inright of his wife this William became Lord of Preaux.
For a long while the realm had peace from its foes.
Messire Thibault dwelt with the lady, and had of her two sons, whoin later days were worthy gentlemen of great worship. The son of theCount of Ponthieu, of whom we have spoken much and naught but good,died shortly after, to the grief of all the land. The Count of St. Polwas yet alive; therefore the two sons of my lord Thibault were heirsto both these realms, and attained thereto in the end. That devoutlady, their mother, because of her contrite heart, gave largely tothe poor; and Messire Thibault, like the honourable gentleman he was,abounded in good works so long as he was quick.
Now it chanced that the daughter of the lady, who abode with theSoudan her father, increased greatly in favour and in virtue. She wascalled The Fair Captive, by reason that her mother had left her inthe Soudan's keeping, as you have heard. A certain brave Turk in theservice of the Soudan--Malakin of Baudas by name--saw this damsel, sofair and gracious, and desired her dearly in his heart, because of thegood men told of her. He came before his master, and said to him,
"Sire, in return for his labour your servant craves a gift."
"Malakin," returned the Soudan, "what gift would you have?"
"Sire, I would dare to tell it to your face, if only she were not sohigh above my reach."
The Sultan who was both shrewd and quick witted made reply,
"Say out boldly what is in your mind, for I hold you dear, andremember what you have done. If there is aught it beseems me togrant--saving only my honour--be assured that it is yours."
"Sire, well I know that your honour is without spot, nor would I seekanything against it. I pray you to bestow on your servant--if so it beyour pleasure--my lady your daughter, for she is the gift I covet mostin all the world."
The Soudan kept silence, and considered for a space. He knew well thatMalakin was both valiant and wise, and might easily come to greathonour and degree. Since the servant was worthy of his high desire,the Soudan said, "By my law you have required of me a great thing, forI love my daughter dearly, and have no other heir. You know well, andit is the simple truth, that she comes of the best and bravest bloodin France, for her mother is the child of the Count of Ponthieu. Butsince you too are valiant, and have done me loyal service, for my partI will give her to you willingly, save only that it be to the maiden'smind."
"Sire," said Malakin, "I would not take her against her wish."
The Soudan bade the girl be summoned. When she came, he said, "Fairdaughter, I have granted you in marriage, if it pleases you."
"Sir," answered the maiden, "my pleasure is in your will."
The Soudan took her by the hand, saying, "Take her, Malakin, the maidis yours."
Malakin received her with a glad heart, and wedded her according tothe Paynim rite, bringing her to his house right joyously, with thecountenance of all his friends. Afterwards he returned with her to hisown land. The Soudan escorted them upon their way, with such a faircompany of his household as seemed good to him. Then he bade farewellto his child and her lord, and returned to his home. But a great partof his fellowship he commanded to go with her for their service,Malakin came back to his own land, where he was welcomed right gladlyof his friends, and served and honoured by all the folk of his realm.He lived long and tenderly with his wife, neither were they childless,as this story testifies. For of this lady, who was called the FairCaptive, was born the mother of that courteous Turk, the SultanSaladin, an honourable, a wise, and a conquering lord.