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.
