II
THE LAY OF GUGEMAR
Hearken, oh gentles, to the words of Marie. When the minstrel tellshis tale, let the folk about the fire heed him willingly. For his partthe singer must be wary not to spoil good music with unseemly words.Listen, oh lordlings, to the words of Marie, for she pains herselfgrievously not to forget this thing. The craft is hard--then approvethe more sweetly him who carols the tune. But this is the way of theworld, that when a man or woman sings more tunably than his fellows,those about the fire fall upon him, pell-mell, for reason of theirenvy. They rehearse diligently the faults of his song, and steal awayhis praise with evil words. I will brand these folk as they deserve.They, and such as they, are like mad dogs--cowardly and felon--whotraitorously bring to death men better than themselves. Now let thejaper, and the smiler with his knife, do me what harm they may. Verilythey are in their right to speak ill of me.
Hearken, oh gentles, to the tale I set before you, for thereof theBretons already have made a Lay. I will not do it harm by many words,and here is the commencement of the matter. According to text andscripture, now I relate a certain adventure, which bechanced in therealm of Brittany, in days long gone before.
In that time when Arthur maintained his realm, the now in peace, thenow in war, the King counted amongst his vassals a certain baron,named Oridial. This knight was lord of Leon, and was very near to hisprince's heart, both in council chamber and in field. From his wife hehad gotten two children, the one a son and the other a fair daughter.Nogent, he had called the damsel at the font, and the dansellon wasnamed Gugemar--no goodlier might be found in any realm. His mother hadset all her love upon the lad, and his father shewed him every goodthat he was able. When the varlet was no more a child, Oridial senthim to the King, to be trained as a page in the courtesies of theCourt. Right serviceable was he in his station, and meetly praisedof all. The term of his service having come, and he being found offitting years and knowledge, the King made him knight with his ownhand, and armed him in rich harness, according to his wish. So Gugemargave gifts to all those about his person, and bidding farewell, tookleave, and departed from the Court. Gugemar went his way to Flanders,being desirous of advancement, for in that kingdom ever they havestrife and war. Neither in Loraine nor Burgundy, Anjou nor Gascony,might be found in that day a better knight than he, no, nor one hispeer. He had but one fault, since of love he took no care. There wasneither dame nor maiden beneath the sky, however dainty and kind, towhom he gave thought or heed, though had he required her love of anydamsel, very willingly would she have granted his desire. Many therewere who prayed him for his love, but might have no kiss in return. Soseeing that he refrained his heart in this fashion, men deemed him astrange man, and one fallen into a perilous case.
In the flower of his deeds the good knight returned to his own land,that he might see again his father and lord, his mother and hissister, even as he very tenderly desired. He lodged with them for thespace of a long month, and at the end of that time had envy to huntwithin the wood. The night being come, Gugemar summoned his prickersand his squires, and early in the morning rode within the forest.Great pleasure had Gugemar in the woodland, and much he delighted inthe chase. A tall stag was presently started, and the hounds beinguncoupled, all hastened in pursuit--the huntsmen before, and the goodknight following after, winding upon his horn. Gugemar rode at a greatpace after the quarry, a varlet riding beside, bearing his bow, hisarrows and his spear. He followed so hotly that he over-passed thechase. Gazing about him he marked, within a thicket, a doe hiding withher fawn. Very white and wonderful was this beast, for she was withoutspot, and bore antlers upon her head. The hounds bayed about her, butmight not pull her down. Gugemar bent his bow, and loosed a shaftat the quarry. He wounded the deer a little above the hoof, so thatpresently she fell upon her side. But the arrow glanced away, andreturning upon itself, struck Gugemar in the thigh, so grievously,that straightway he fell from his horse upon the ground. Gugemar layupon the grass, beside the deer which he had wounded to his hurt. Heheard her sighs and groans, and perceived the bitterness of her pity.Then with mortal speech the doe spake to the wounded man in suchfashion as this, "Alas, my sorrow, for now am I slain. But thou,Vassal, who hast done me this great wrong, do not think to hide fromthe vengeance of thy destiny. Never may surgeon and his medicine healyour hurt. Neither herb nor root nor potion can ever cure the woundwithin your flesh: For that there is no healing. The only balm toclose that sore must be brought by a woman, who for her love willsuffer such pain and sorrow as no woman in the world has enduredbefore. And to the dolorous lady, dolorous knight. For your part youshall do and suffer so great things for her, that not a lover beneaththe sun, or lovers who are dead, or lovers who yet shall have theirday, but shall marvel at the tale. Now, go from hence, and let me diein peace."
Gugemar was wounded twice over--by the arrow, and by the words he wasdismayed to hear. He considered within himself to what land he must goto find this healing for his hurt, for he was yet too young to die. Hesaw clearly, and told it to his heart, that there was no lady in hislife to whom he could run for pity, and be made whole of his wound. Hecalled his varlet before him,
"Friend," said he, "go forthwith, and bring my comrades to this place,for I have to speak with them."
The varlet went upon his errand, leaving his master sick with the heatand fever of his hurt. When he was gone, Gugemar tore the hem from hisshirt, and bound it straitly about his wound. He climbed painfullyupon the saddle, and departed without more ado, for he was with childto be gone before any could come to stay him from his purpose. A greenpath led through the deep forest to the plain, and his way across theplain brought him to a cliff, exceeding high, and to the sea. Gugemarlooked upon the water, which was very still, for this fair harbouragewas land-locked from the main. Upon this harbour lay one only vessel,bearing a rich pavilion of silk, daintily furnished both without andwithin, and well it seemed to Gugemar that he had seen this shipbefore. Beneath the sky was no ship so rich or precious, for there wasnot a sail but was spun of silk, and not a plank, from keel to mast,but showed of ebony. Too fair was the nave for mortal man, and Gugemarheld it in sore displeasure. He marvelled greatly from what country ithad come, and wondered long concerning this harbour, and the ship thatlay therein. Gugemar got him down from his horse upon the shore, andwith mighty pain and labour climbed within the ship. He trusted tofind merchantmen and sailors therein, but there was none to guard, andnone he saw. Now within the pavilion was a very rich bed, carved bycunning workmen in the days of King Solomon. This fair bed was wroughtof cypress wood and white ivory, adorned with gold and gems mostprecious. Right sweet were the linen cloths upon the bed, and so softthe pillow, that he who lay thereon would sleep, were he sadder thanany other in the world. The counterpane was of purple from the vatsof Alexandria, and over all was set a right fair coverlet of cloth ofgold. The pavilion was litten by two great waxen torches, placed incandlesticks of fine gold, decked with jewels worth a lord's ransom.So the wounded knight looked on ship and pavilion, bed and candle, andmarvelled greatly. Gugemar sat him down upon the bed for a little,because of the anguish of his wound. After he had rested a space hegot upon his feet, that he might quit the vessel, but he found thatfor him there was no return. A gentle wind had filled the sails, andalready he was in the open sea. When Gugemar saw that he was far fromland, he was very heavy and sorrowful. He knew not what to do, byreason of the mightiness of his hurt. But he must endure the adventureas best he was able; so he prayed to God to take him in His keeping,and in His good pleasure to bring him safe to port, and deliver himfrom the peril of death. Then climbing upon the couch, he laid hishead upon the pillow, and slept as one dead, until, with vespers, theship drew to that haven where he might find the healing for his hurt.
Gugemar had come to an ancient city, where the King of that realm heldhis court and state. This King was full of years, and was wedded toa dame of high degree. The lady was of tender age, passing fresh andfair, and sweet of speech to all. Therefore was the King jealous ofhis wife beyond all measure. Such is the wont of age, for much itfears that old and young cannot mate together, and that youth willturn to youth. This is the death in life of the old.
The castle of this ancient lord had a mighty keep. Beneath this towerwas a right fair orchard, together with a close, shut in by a wall ofgreen marble, very strong and high. This wall had one only gate, andthe door was watched of warders, both night and day. On the other sideof this garden was the sea, so that none might do his errand in thecastle therefrom, save in a boat. To hold his dame in the greatersurety, the King had built a bower within the wall; there was nofairer chamber beneath the sun. The first room was the Queen's chapel.Beyond this was the lady's bedchamber, painted all over with shapesand colours most wonderful to behold. On one wall might be seen DameVenus, the goddess of Love, sweetly flushed as when she walked thewater, lovely as life, teaching men how they should bear them in loyalservice to their lady. On another wall, the goddess threw Ovid's bookwithin a fire of coals. A scroll issuing from her lips proclaimed thatthose who read therein, and strove to ease them of their pains, wouldfind from her neither service nor favour. In this chamber the lady wasput in ward, and with her a certain maiden to hold her company. Thisdamsel was her niece, since she was her sister's child, and there wasgreat love betwixt the twain. When the Queen walked within the garden,or went abroad, this maiden was ever by her side, and came again withher to the house. Save this damsel, neither man nor woman entered inthe bower, nor issued forth from out the wall. One only man possessedthe key of the postern, an aged priest, very white and frail. Thispriest recited the service of God within the chapel, and served theQueen's plate and cup when she ate meat at table.
Now, on a day, the Queen had fallen asleep after meat, and on herawaking would walk a little in the garden. She called her companion toher, and the two went forth to be glad amongst the flowers. As theylooked across the sea they marked a ship drawing near the land, risingand falling upon the waves. Very fearful was the Queen thereat, forthe vessel came to anchorage, though there was no helmsman to directher course. The dame's face became sanguine for dread, and she turnedher about to flee, because of her exceeding fear. Her maiden, who wasof more courage than she, stayed her mistress with many comfortingwords. For her part she was very desirous to know what this thingmeant. She hastened to the shore, and laying aside her mantle, climbedwithin this wondrous vessel. Thereon she found no living soul, saveonly the knight sleeping fast within the pavilion. The damsel lookedlong upon the knight, for pale he was as wax, and well she deemedhim dead. She returned forthwith to the Queen, and told her of thismarvel, and of the good knight who was slain.
"Let us go together on the ship," replied the lady. "If he be dead wemay give him fitting burial, and the priest shall pray meetly for hissoul. Should he be yet alive perchance he will speak, and tell us ofhis case."
Without more tarrying the two damsels mounted on the ship, the ladybefore, and her maiden following after. When the Queen entered in thepavilion she stayed her feet before the bed, for joy and grief of whatshe saw. She might not refrain her eyes from gazing on the knight,for her heart was ravished with his beauty, and she sorrowed beyondmeasure, because of his grievous hurt. To herself she said, "In a badhour cometh the goodly youth." She drew near the bed, and placing herhand upon his breast, found that the flesh was warm, and that theheart beat strongly in his side. Gugemar awoke at the touch, andsaluted the dame as sweetly as he was able, for well he knew that hehad come to a Christian land. The lady, full of thought, returned himhis salutation right courteously, though the tears were yet in hereyes. Straightway she asked of him from what realm he came, and ofwhat people, and in what war he had taken his hurt.
"Lady," answered Gugemar, "in no battle I received this wound. If itpleases you to hear my tale I will tell you the truth, and in nothingwill I lie. I am a knight of Little Brittany. Yesterday I chased awonderful white deer within the forest. The shaft with which I struckher to my hurt, returned again on me, and caused this wound upon mythigh, which may never be searched, nor made whole. For this wondrousBeast raised her plaint in a mortal tongue. She cursed me loudly, withmany evil words, swearing that never might this sore be healed, saveby one only damsel in the world, and her I know not where to find.When I heard my luckless fate I left the wood with what speed I might,and coming to a harbour, not far from thence, I lighted on this ship.For my sins I climbed therein. Then without oars or helm this boatravished me from shore; so that I know not where I have come, nor whatis the name of this city. Fair lady, for God's love, counsel me ofyour good grace, for I know not where to turn, nor how to govern theship."
The lady made answer, "Fair sir, willingly shall I give you such goodcounsel as I may. This realm and city are the appanage of my husband.He is a right rich lord, of high lineage, but old and very full ofyears. Also he is jealous beyond all measure; therefore it is that Isee you now. By reason of his jealousy he has shut me fast betweenhigh walls, entered by one narrow door, with an ancient priest to keepthe key. May God requite him for his deed. Night and day I am guardedin this prison, from whence I may never go forth, without theknowledge of my lord. Here are my chamber and my chapel, and here Ilive, with this, my maiden, to bear me company. If it pleases you todwell here for a little, till you may pass upon your way, right gladlywe shall receive you, and with a good heart we will tend your wound,till you are healed."
When Gugemar heard this speech he rejoiced greatly. He thanked thelady with many sweet words, and consented to sojourn in her hallawhile. He raised himself upon his couch, and by the courtesy of thedamsels left the ship. Leaning heavily upon the lady, at the end hewon to her maiden's chamber, where there was a fair bed covered with arich dossal of broidered silk, edged with fur. When he was entered inthis bed, the damsels came bearing clear water in basins of gold, forthe cleansing of his hurt. They stanched the blood with a towel offine linen, and bound the wound strictly, to his exceeding comfort. Soafter the vesper meal was eaten, the lady departed to her own chamber,leaving the knight in much ease and content.
Now Gugemar set his love so fondly upon the lady that he forgot hisfather's house. He thought no more of the anguish of his hurt, becauseof another wound that was beneath his breast. He tossed and sighed inhis unrest, and prayed the maiden of his service to depart, so thathe might sleep a little. When the maid was gone, Gugemar consideredwithin himself whether he might seek the dame, to know whether herheart was warmed by any ember of the flame that burned in his. Heturned it this way and that, and knew not what to do. This only wasclear, that if the lady refused to search his wound, death, for him,was sure and speedy.
"Alas," said he, "what shall I do! Shall I go to my lady, and pray herpity on the wretch who has none to give him counsel? If she refusemy prayer, because of her hardness and pride, I shall know there isnought for me but to die in my sorrow, or, at least, to go heavily allthe days of my life."
Then he sighed, and in his sighing lighted on a better purpose; for hesaid within himself that doubtless he was born to suffer, and thatthe best of him was tears. All the long night he spent in vigil andgroanings and watchfulness. To himself he told over her words and hersemblance. He remembered the eyes and the fair mouth of his lady, andall the grace and the sweetness, which had struck like a knife at hisheart. Between his teeth he cried on her for pity, and for a littlemore would have called her to his side. Ah, had he but known the feverof the lady, and how terrible a lord to her was Love, how great hadbeen his joy and solace. His visage would have been the more sanguine,which was now so pale of colour, because of the dolour that was his.But if the knight was sick by reason of his love, the dame had smallcause to boast herself of health. The lady rose early from her bed,since she might not sleep. She complained of her unrest, and of Lovewho rode her so hardly. The maiden, who was of her company, sawclearly enough that all her lady's thoughts were set upon the knight,who, for his healing, sojourned in the chamber. She did not knowwhether his thoughts were given again to the dame. When, therefore,the lady had entered in the chapel, the damsel went straightway to theknight. He welcomed her gladly, and bade her be seated near the bed.Then he inquired, "Friend, where now is my lady, and why did she riseso early from her bed?"
Having spoken so far, he became silent, and sighed.
"Sir," replied the maiden softly, "you love, and are discreet, but benot too discreet therein. In such a love as yours there is nothing tobe ashamed. He who may win my lady's favour has every reason to beproud of his fortune. Altogether seemly would be your friendship, foryou are young, and she is fair."
The knight made answer to the maiden, "I am so fast in the snare, thatI pray the fowler to slay me, if she may not free me from the net.Counsel me, fair sweet friend, if I may hope of kindness at her hand."
Then the maiden of her sweetness comforted the knight, and assured himof all the good that she was able. So courteous and debonair was themaid.
When the lady had heard Mass, she hastened back to the chamber. Shehad not forgotten her friend, and greatly she desired to know whetherhe was awake or asleep, of whom her heart was fain. She bade hermaiden to summon him to her chamber, for she had a certain thing inher heart to show him at leisure, were it for the joy or the sorrow oftheir days.
Gugemar saluted the lady, and the dame returned the knight hiscourtesy, but their hearts were too fearful for speech. The knightdared ask nothing of his lady, for reason that he was a stranger in astrange land, and was adread to show her his love. But--as says theproverb--he who will not tell of his sore, may not hope for balm tohis hurt. Love is a privy wound within the heart, and none knoweth ofthat bitterness but the heart alone. Love is an evil which may lastfor a whole life long, because of man and his constant heart. Manythere be who make of Love a gibe and a jest, and with specious wordsdefame him by boastful tales. But theirs is not love. Rather it isfolly and lightness, and the tune of a merry song. But let him whohas found a constant lover prize her above rubies, and serve her withloyal service, being altogether at her will. Gugemar loved in thisfashion, and therefore Love came swiftly to his aid. Love put words inhis mouth, and courage in his heart, so that his hope might be madeplain.
"Lady," said he, "I die for your love. I am in fever because of mywound, and if you care not to heal my hurt I would rather die. Fairfriend, I pray you for grace. Do not gainsay me with evil words."
The lady hearkened with a smile to Gugemar's speech. Right daintilyand sweetly she replied, "Friend, yea is not a word of two letters. Ido not grant such a prayer every day of the week, and must you haveyour gift so quickly?"
"Lady," cried he, "for God's sake pity me, and take it not amiss. She,who loves lightly, may make her lover pray for long, so that she mayhide how often her feet have trodden the pathway with another friend.But the honest dame, when she has once given her heart to a friend,will not deny his wish because of pride. The rather she will find herpride in humbleness, and love him again with the same love he hasset on her. So they will be glad together, and since none will haveknowledge or hearing of the matter, they will rejoice in their youth.Fair, sweet lady, be this thy pleasure?"
When the lady heard these words well she found them honest and true.Therefore without further prayings and ado she granted Gugemar herlove and her kiss. Henceforward Gugemar lived greatly at his ease, forhe had sight and speech of his friend, and many a time she granted himher embrace and tenderness, as is the wont of lovers when alone.
For a year and a half Gugemar dwelt with his lady, in solace and greatdelight. Then Fortune turned her wheel, and in a trice cast thosedown, whose seat had been so high. Thus it chanced to them, for theywere spied upon and seen.
On a morning in summer time the Queen and the damoiseau sat fondlytogether. The knight embraced her, eyes and face, but the lady stayedhim, saying, "Fair sweet friend, my heart tells me that I shall loseyou soon, for this hidden thing will quickly be made clear. If you areslain, may the same sword kill me. But if you win forth, well I knowthat you will find another love, and that I shall be left alone withmy thoughts. Were I parted from you, may God give me neither joy, norrest, nor peace, if I would seek another friend. Of that you need haveno fear. Friend, for surety and comfort of my heart deliver me nowsome sark of thine. Therein I will set a knot, and make this covenantwith you, that never will you put your love on dame or maiden, saveonly on her who shall first unfasten this knot. Then you will everkeep faith with me, for so cunning shall be my craft, that no womanmay hope to unravel that coil, either by force or guile, or even withher knife."
So the knight rendered the sark to his lady, and made such bargain asshe wished, for the peace and assurance of her mind.
For his part the knight took a fair girdle, and girt it closely aboutthe lady's middle. Right secret was the clasp and buckle of thisgirdle. Therefore he required of the dame that she would never granther love, save to him only, who might free her from the strictness ofthis bond, without injury to band or clasp. Then they kissed together,and entered into such covenant as you have heard.
That very day their hidden love was made plain to men. A certainchamberlain was sent by that ancient lord with a message to the Queen.This unlucky wretch, finding that in no wise could he enter within thechamber, looked through the window, and saw. Forthwith he hastenedto the King, and told him that which he had seen. When the agèd lordunderstood these words, never was there a sadder man than he. Hecalled together the most trusty sergeants of his guard, and comingwith them to the Queen's chamber, bade them to thrust in the door.When Gugemar was found therein, the King commanded that he should beslain with the sword, by reason of the anguish that was his. Gugemarwas in no whit dismayed by the threat. He started to his feet, andgazing round, marked a stout rod of fir, on which it is the use forlinen to be hung. This he took in hand, and faced his foes, biddingthem have a care, for he would do a mischief to them all. The Kinglooked earnestly upon the fearless knight, inquiring of him who hewas, and where he was born, and in what manner he came to dwell withinhis house. So Gugemar told over to him this story of his fate. Heshowed him of the Beast that he had wounded to his hurt; of the nave,and of his bitter wound; of how he came within the realm, and of thelady's surgery. He told all to the ancient lord, to the last momentwhen he stood within his power. The King replied that he gave nocredence to his word, nor believed that the story ran as he had said.If, however, the vessel might be found, he would commit the knightagain to the waves. He would go the more heavily for the knight'ssaining, and a glad day would it be if he made shipwreck at sea. Whenthey had entered into this covenant together, they went forth to theharbour, and there discovered the barge, even as Gugemar had said. Sothey set him thereon, and prayed him to return unto his own realm.
Without sail or oar the ship parted from that coast, with no furthertarrying. The knight wept and wrung his hands, complaining of hislady's loss, and of her cherishing. He prayed the mighty God to granthim speedy death, and never to bring him home, save to meet againwith her who was more desirable than life. Whilst he was yet at hisorisons, the ship drew again to that port, from whence she had firstcome. Gugemar made haste to get him from the vessel, so that he mightthe more swiftly return to his own land. He had gone but a little waywhen he was aware of a squire of his household, riding in the companyof a certain knight. This squire held the bridle of a destrier in hishand, though no man rode thereon. Gugemar called to him by name, sothat the varlet looking upon him, knew again his lord. He got him tohis feet, and bringing the destrier to his master, set the knightthereon. Great was the joy, and merry was the feast, when Gugemarreturned to his own realm. But though his friends did all that theywere able, neither song nor game could cheer the knight, nor turn himfrom dwelling in his unhappy thoughts. For peace of mind they urgedthat he took to himself a wife, but Gugemar would have none of theircounsel. Never would he wed a wife, on any day, either for love or forwealth, save only that she might first unloose the knot within hisshirt. When this news was noised about the country, there was neitherdame nor damsel in the realm of Brittany, but essayed to unfasten theknot. But there was no lady who could gain to her wish, whether byforce or guile.
Now will I show of that lady, whom Gugemar so fondly loved. By thecounsel of a certain baron the ancient King set his wife in prison.She was shut fast in a tower of grey marble, where her days were bad,and her nights worse. No man could make clear to you the great pain,the anguish and the dolour, that she suffered in this tower, wherein,I protest, she died daily. Two years and more she lay bound in prison,where warders came, but never joy or delight. Often she thought uponher friend.
"Gugemar, dear lord, in an evil hour I saw you with my eyes. Betterfor me that I die quickly, than endure longer my evil lot. Fairfriend, if I could but win to that coast whence you sailed, veryswiftly would I fling myself in the sea, and end my wretched life."When she had said these words she rose to her feet, and coming tothe door was amazed to find therein neither bolt nor key. She issuedforth, without challenge from sergeant or warder, and hastening to theharbour, found there her lover's ship, made fast to that very rock,from which she would cast her down. When she saw the barge she climbedthereon, but presently bethought her that on this nave her friend hadgone to perish in the sea. At this thought she would have fled againto the shore, but her bones were as water, and she fell upon the deck.So in sore travail and sorrow, the vessel carried her across thewaves, to a port of Brittany, guarded by a castle, strong and veryfair. Now the lord of this castle was named Meriadus. He was a rightwarlike prince, and had made him ready to fight with the prince of acountry near by. He had risen very early in the morning, to send fortha great company of spears, the more easily to ravage this neighbour'srealm. Meriadus looked forth from his window, and marked the shipwhich came to port. He hastened down the steps of the perron, andcalling to his chamberlain, came with what speed he might to the nave.Then mounting the ladder he stood upon the deck. When Meriadus foundwithin the ship a dame, who for beauty seemed rather a fay than a mereearthly woman, he seized her by her mantle, and brought her swiftly tohis keep. Right joyous was he because of his good fortune, for lovelywas the lady beyond mortal measure. He made no question as to who hadset her on the barge. He knew only that she was fair, and of highlineage, and that his heart turned towards her with so hot a love asnever before had he put on dame or damsel. Now there dwelt within thecastle a sister of this lord, who was yet unwed. Meriadus bestowed thelady in his sister's chamber, because it was the fairest in the tower.Moreover he commanded that she should be meetly served, and heldin all reverence. But though the dame was so richly clothed andcherished, ever was she sad and deep in thought. Meriadus came oftento cheer her with mirth and speech, by reason that he wished to gainher love as a free gift, and not by force. It was in vain that heprayed her for grace, since she had no balm for his wound. For answershe showed him the girdle about her body, saying that never would shegive her love to man, save only to him who might unloose the buckle ofthat girdle, without harm to belt or clasp. When Meriadus heard thesewords, he spoke in haste and said,
"Lady, there dwells in this country a very worthy knight, who willtake no woman as wife, except she first untie a certain crafty knot inthe hem of a shirt, and that without force or knife. For a little Iwould wager that it was you who tied this knot."
When the lady heard thereof her breath went from her, and near shecame to falling on the ground. Meriadus caught her in his arms, andcut the laces of her bodice, that she might have the more air. Hestrove to unfasten her girdle, but might not dissever the clasp. Yea,though every knight in the realm essayed to unfasten that cincture, itwould not yield, except to one alone.
Now Meriadus made the lists ready for a great jousting, and called tothat tournament all the knights who would aid him in his war. Many alord came at his bidding, and with them Gugemar, amongst the first.Meriadus had sent letters to the knight, beseeching him, as friend andcompanion, not to fail him in this business. So Gugemar hastened tothe need of his lord, and at his back more than one hundred spears.All these Meriadus welcomed very gladly, and gave them lodging withinhis tower. In honour of his guest, the prince sent two gentlemen tohis sister, praying her to attire herself richly, and come to hall,together with the dame whom he loved so dearly well. These did as theywere bidden, and arrayed in their sweetest vesture, presently enteredin the hall, holding each other by the hand. Very pale and pensive wasthe lady, but when she heard her lover's name her feet failed beneathher, and had not the maiden held her fast, she would have fallen onthe floor. Gugemar rose from his seat at the sight of the dame, herfashion and her semblance, and stood staring upon her. He went alittle apart, and said within himself, "Can this be my sweet friend,my hope, my heart, my life, the fair lady who gave me the grace of herlove? From whence comes she; who might have brought her to this farland? But I speak in my folly, for well I know that this is not mydear. A little red, a little white, and all women are thus shapen.My thoughts are troubled, by reason that the sweetness of this ladyresembles the sweetness of that other, for whom my heart sighs andtrembles. Yet needs must that I have speech of the lady."
Gugemar drew near to the dame. He kissed her courteously, and foundno word to utter, save to pray that he might be seated at her side.Meriadus spied upon them closely, and was the more heavy because oftheir trouble. Therefore he feigned mirth.
"Gugemar, dear lord, if it pleases you, let this damsel essay to untiethe knot of your sark, if so be she may loosen the coil."
Gugemar made answer that very willingly he would do this thing. Hecalled to him a squire who had the shirt in keeping, and bade him seekhis charge, and deliver it to the dame. The lady took the sark inhand. Well she knew the knot that she had tied so cunningly, and wasso willing to unloose; but for reason of the trouble at her heart, shedid not dare essay. Meriadus marked the distress of the damsel, andwas more sorrowful than ever was lover before.
"Lady," said he, "do all that you are able to unfasten this coil."
So at his commandment she took again to her the hem of the shirt, andlightly and easily unravelled the tie.
Gugemar marvelled greatly when he saw this thing. His heart told himthat of a truth this was his lady, but he could not give faith to hiseyes.
"Friend, are you indeed the sweet comrade I have known? Tell me trulynow, is there about your body the girdle with which I girt you in yourown realm?"
He set his hands to her waist, and found that the secret belt was yetabout her sides.
"Fair sweet friend, tell me now by what adventure I find you here, andwho has brought you to this tower?"
So the lady told over to her friend the pain and the anguish and thedolour of the prison in which she was held; of how it chanced that shefled from her dungeon, and lighting upon a ship, entered therein, andcame to this fair haven; of how Meriadus took her from the barge, butkept her in all honour, save only that ever he sought for her love;"but now, fair friend, all is well, for you hold your lady in yourarms."
Gugemar stood upon his feet, and beckoned with his hand.
"Lords," he cried, "hearken now to me. I have found my friend, whomI have lost for a great while. Before you all I pray and require ofMeriadus to yield me my own. For this grace I give him open thanks.Moreover I will kneel down, and become his liege man. For two years,or three, if he will, I will bargain to serve in his quarrels, andwith me, of riders, a hundred or more at my back."
Then answered Meriadus, "Gugemar, fair friend, I am not yet so shakenor overborne in war, that I must do as you wish, right humbly. Thiswoman is my captive. I found her: I hold her: and I will defend myright against you and all your power."
When Gugemar heard these proud words he got to horse speedily, him andall his company. He threw down his glove, and parted in anger fromthe tower. But he went right heavily, since he must leave behind hisfriend. In his train rode all those knights who had drawn togetherto that town for the great tournament. Not a knight of them all butplighted faith to follow where he led, and to hold himself recreantand shamed if he failed his oath.
That same night the band came to the castle of the prince with whomMeriadus was at war. He welcomed them very gladly, and gave themlodging in his tower. By their aid he had good hope to bring thisquarrel to an end. Very early in the morning the host came together toset the battle in array. With clash of mail and noise of horns theyissued from the city gate, Gugemar riding at their head. They drewbefore the castle where Meriadus lay in strength, and sought to takeit by storm. But the keep was very strong, and Meriadus bore himselfas a stout and valiant knight. So Gugemar, like a wary captain, sathimself down before the town, till all the folk of that place weredeemed by friend and sergeant to be weak with hunger. Then they tookthat high keep with the sword, and burnt it with fire. The lordthereof they slew in his own hall; but Gugemar came forth, after suchlabours as you have heard, bearing his lady with him, to return inpeace to his own land.
From this adventure that I have told you, has come the Lay thatminstrels chant to harp and viol--fair is that song and sweet thetune.
