UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 A 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance
 
 
 44 Cbe werewolf woulfc bare sprung upon bcr tf lUillfam baD not 
 caugbt bim &E tbc nech." 
 
 Past 53.
 
 IUODDGR BOOK 
 OF QQD ROIDHDQG
 
 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 
 WELLS GARDNER, DARTON AND CO., LTD.
 
 
 DOGGEREL RHYME" and "drasty [worthless] 
 speech" were the terms applied by a critic of 
 great common-sense to the tale which Chaucer, with 
 singular artistic perception, put into his own mouth 
 on the way to Canterbury. The Host of the Tabard 
 Inn heard the story of "Sir Topaz" with infinite im- 
 patience. He imagined, perhaps, that he was listening 
 to one of those "romances of price," 
 
 Of Horn child and of Ypotys, 
 
 Of Bevis and sir Gy, 
 Of Sir Libeux and Pleyn-damour ;" 
 
 and that kind of rambling entertainment afforded him 
 neither mirth nor doctrine. He perceived nothing of 
 the cleft parody in Chaucer's flowing lines. He saw
 
 Introduction 
 
 only that tales of this sort wasted time and seldom 
 came to a point. He gave voice, in fact, to the criti- 
 cism which would be made alike by the plain man and 
 by the awakening poetic spirit of the Renaissance. 
 
 The criticism was perfectly true, from a literary 
 point of view. The older romances were for the 
 most part of small poetic merit, while their construc- 
 tion was often ill-balanced and digressive. There is 
 hardly one of the features dwelt upon by Chaucer 
 which cannot be paralleled in them. Sir Topaz was a 
 knight "fair and gent"; so were Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, 
 and the rest of them. He came to a wood where was 
 "many a wild beast, both buck and hare": those 
 ferocious creatures pastured there, apparently, because 
 the poet had to fill up a line somehow, much as the 
 author of "Sir Bevis," anticipating "King Lear," was 
 forced to help out his metre with " rats and mice and 
 such small deer." Sir Topaz wore "a breech and 
 eke a shirt"; his face was as white as the finest 
 bread; "he had a seemly nose": in like manner 
 every detail of clothing, figure, and armour, relevant 
 or irrelevant, is dwelt on in the old romances. He 
 "pricked over stile and stone," in his quest for the 
 elf-queen, with ease, rapidity, and an absence of 
 adventure ; so too Amys journeys many days to seek 
 Amylion, without, so far as the poet tells us, any 
 accident or any ordinary occurrence of daily life 
 except a feeling of great fatigue. 
 
 But if the romances are as a whole lacking both 
 in poetical feeling and in the deeper sort of humour, 
 they are usually very good as stories. Moreover, they 
 viii
 
 Introduction 
 
 reflect unconsciously the modes of thought and life 
 in the Middle Ages. Those of which a prose version 
 is given in this volume are selected mainly for these 
 qualities. It is possible that some day the readers 
 of them will be induced to study the originals; but 
 meanwhile this collection is offered as a story-book 
 which incidentally contains traces of what our fore- 
 fathers thought and did in the days before printing 
 was invented. The majority of the tales have not 
 been put into modern narrative prose before; but 
 the present text (taken from English versions of the 
 romances, in every instance) is not wholly a literal 
 rendering, for the reasons which Harry Bailly adduced 
 against Chaucer's tale of Topaz ; " drasty speech " 
 and "doggerel rhyme" make the reader's ears ache 
 before long. 
 
 They fall naturally into several classes. "Guy 
 of Warwick" is a typical romance of chivalry; im- 
 mensely long, rather rambling in plot, and filled with 
 little traits which reflect the curious, recondite sim- 
 plicity of the mediaeval mind. Considerations of space 
 prevented the inclusion of the very similar romance of 
 " Sir Bevis." " Sir Cleges and the Cherries," " Sir Gawain 
 and the Green Knight," and "The Fair Unknown" 
 (the title is a mere translation of " Lebeaus Disconus " 
 " Sir Libeux ") are incidents from the mass of 
 Arthurian epic which most readers know through 
 Malory; they are not, however, included in "Morte 
 Darthur." " Havelok the Dane " and " King Horn " are 
 very English tales, and are probably the oldest in the 
 book ; they show more self-consciousness, more sense 
 ix
 
 Introduction 
 
 of literary effect, both in idea and in thought, than 
 most of their companions. " King Horn," in particular, 
 contains one of the few flashes of real poetic imagi- 
 nation in the whole cycle of romances the farewell 
 of Horn to the boat which brought him from 
 Suddenne, " Amys and Amylion " and "Floris and 
 Blanchefleur " the one the mediaeval parallel to the 
 legend of Orestes and Pylades, the other the out- 
 standing love story of the period are each dominated 
 by a consistent idea ; so, to a slightly less extent, are 
 "King Robert of Sicily" and "Sir Degore and the 
 Broken Sword." "The Seven Wise Masters" is a 
 singular collection of moral stories and primeval 
 fables; a mixture of the "Arabian Nights," the Gesto 
 Romanorum, and such stories as were worked into 
 the Decameron. " William and the Werewolf," which 
 was translated from the French "in ease of English 
 men and English speech," contains many features 
 not very commonly seen in combination in these 
 romances something of the restlessness of chivalry, 
 the simplicity and directness of a romantic story, a sug- 
 gestion of folklore and magic in the omniscient, bene- 
 volent werewolf, and possibly, in some of the details, 
 a certain amount of actual history. "The Ash and the 
 Hazel" is the only romance which can be ascribed to 
 a known author ; it is taken from a vigorous English 
 version of Marie's "Lay le Fraine" ("The Lay of the 
 Ash"). 
 
 In the tales with an English atmosphere there is 
 not so much mediaeval detail as in those in which 
 the hero fares abroad. A reflection of the difficulties 
 x
 
 Introduction 
 
 of medieval sieges occurs in the brief mention of 
 Fikenhild's impregnable sea-girt castle in " King 
 Horn": a fortress built of "lime and stone," as we 
 are always told when strength is indicated in a situa 
 tion like that of Mont St. Michel could, if properly 
 held, resist every enemy save hunger. The device 
 of gaining entrance in the guise of harpers illustrates 
 both this point and the customs of Middle Age enter- 
 tainment. I am not sure, however, that the more 
 fastidious knights, like Guy, Gawain, and Amylion, 
 would not have reprehended treachery of this kind, 
 even in a good cause ; though the use of weapons 
 with magical properties was not repugnant to them. 
 The rules of war were extraordinarily strict and con- 
 ventional; and honour, if it was blind in some respects, 
 was very keen-eyed in others. It was not so severe 
 and rigid in the treatment of women, for instance, as 
 one would !ike to think : " The Two Dreams," in 
 "The Seven Wise Masters," and the opening scene 
 of " Sir Degore and the Broken Sword," for instance, 
 do not reveal that high and noble regard for woman- 
 kind which is popularly supposed to be typical of 
 chivalry. But where other knights were concerned, the 
 code of honour was elaborately austere. A tournament 
 was ordered by innumerable rules. A pledge, or a 
 challenge to be upheld by combat, involved the giving 
 of safe securities for appearance, or imprisonment till 
 the appointed day, with heavy penalties for default ; 
 in "Amys and Amylion" those penalties were all but 
 inflicted on two self-sacrificing women. In actual 
 combat, the most punctilious courtesy was observed, 
 xi
 
 Introduction 
 
 Guy allowed the black giant Amoraunt to drink when 
 he was weary it would have been unbecoming to 
 kill one's foe in such a weak state ; and he was sur- 
 prised and enraged at the pagan's refusal of a similar 
 request. The same thing happened in one of ''The 
 Fair Unknown's" encounters. Giants seem to have 
 been an untrustworthy and ill-conditioned race as a 
 rule ; but one of them was chivalrous enough to 
 alight from his horse to meet the unhorsed Sir Degore 
 on level terms. In fact, a fair fight and no favour, 
 under rules as numerous, minute, and binding as 
 those of a modern game, was what every good knight 
 expected and tried to secure. In the most original 
 and striking story in this collection, " Sir Gawain 
 and the Green Knight," the whole point is the im- 
 maculate Sir Gawain's momentary lapse from the high, 
 if artificial, standard of romantic chivalry. 
 
 Another noticeable feature is the underlying assump- 
 tion, in most of the stories, that European society is 
 feudal, and that it must sustain, at all costs, the faith 
 and customs of Christendom against the ever-present, 
 ruthless, and innumerable Saracen. The feudal over- 
 lord's relations with his vassals are constantly apparent. 
 In "Guy of Warwick" they are continually referred to. 
 In "Amys and Amylion " we find a curious position 
 in which the Orestes of the story becomes, through a 
 fortunate marriage, the overlord of the Pylades. There 
 is little mention of any population outside the knightly 
 circles. The fighting and set battles in "William and 
 the Werewolf" are concentrated round the protagonists. 
 But kings, barons, earls, knights and squires are clearly
 
 Introduction 
 
 marked off from one another, and low birth, as many 
 heroes prove, is only likely to rise to eminence when 
 associated with exceptional valour. The Saracens seem 
 to have been no more fully differentiated. There is no 
 hint of any distinction between the invading hordes : 
 they are simply vile pagans bent on slaughter, rapine, 
 and a bloodthirsty system of making proselytes. The 
 magnificence of their dwellings, however, is often dwelt 
 on with appreciation. Carbuncle stones of prodigious 
 size were common among them, as Guy and Floris 
 discovered. The description of Babylon in " Floris and 
 Blanchefleur " is very full and sumptuous; it embodies 
 many traditional features, some of which appear even 
 so late as in the writings of Webbe, a stout-hearted 
 Elizabethan seaman who endured much at Turkish 
 hands. 
 
 On the personal and intellectual sides, the details 
 are somewhat meagre and unvarying. The test of 
 Prince Florentin's learning, in "The Seven Wise 
 Masters," is instructive ; and the tradition of the 
 Seven Sages themselves is very old. Guy's lady, 
 Felice, had most of the qualities of academic per- 
 fection, as well as a remarkable conception of the 
 proper attributes of a suitor. Dreams formed no small 
 part of life. They appear not on'y prophetically, but 
 as warnings of present danger; and in most instances 
 notably in "Amys and Amylion" and " Guy of War- 
 wick" they lead to immediate and opportune action. 
 There is not much magic in the romances; the most 
 striking examples are the appearance of the Green 
 Knight, which is attributed to the notorious Morgan 
 xiii
 
 Introduction 
 
 Le Fay, the consultation of Merlin (in one of "The 
 Seven Wise Masters" stories), and the changing of 
 a man into a werewolf, in " William and the Were- 
 wolf." The two first instances are part and parcel 
 of the Arthurian cycle; the last is remotely ancient, 
 as Mr. Baring-Gould's well-known work shows. Magic 
 rings, weapons, and garments also occur. In " King 
 Robert of Sicily" and "Sir Cleges and the Cherries," 
 the wonderful events are ascribed, with much simple 
 power and sincerity, to the Creator. 
 
 It is neither necessary nor possible to discuss here 
 the dates of the original romances, or textual questions. 
 The majority of the English texts, in the form in 
 which we have them, probably belong to the early 
 fourteenth century ; one or two, possibly, almost touch 
 Chaucer's own lifetime. The serious investigation of 
 such matters can only be undertaken with the aid of 
 the whole-hearted and painstaking publications of the 
 Early English Text Society, and similar societies, to 
 whose notes, glossaries, and introductions every student 
 owes an incalculable debt. The pedigree of the stories 
 themselves, as stories, is also a matter of long research, 
 though of wide general interest. Many of the ideas 
 are almost as old as mankind ; they have their roots 
 deep in folk-lore and obscure history. "The Ash 
 and the Hazel," for instance, contains the elemental 
 parts of "Patient Griselda." "The Knight and the 
 Greyhound," in "The Seven Wise Masters," is but 
 the tale of Llewellyn and Gelert. "The Thief and 
 his Son " goes back at least as far as the days when 
 Herodotus learnt all about Egypt from his dragomaji, 
 xiv
 
 Introduction 
 
 though the mystery of Rhampsinitus' treasure-house-has 
 lost some valuable details during the ages. " Havelok 
 the Dane" may contain a fair element of truth in the 
 account of the foundation of Grimsby. In the details 
 of "Guy of Warwick," "William and the Werewolf," 
 and the tales into which Saracens enter, there is ob- 
 viously the remnant, dim and perverted, of genuine 
 tradition. 
 
 But if the stories have an immemorial past, they 
 have also, in many cases, a life extending far later 
 than the time when our present texts took shape. I 
 have before me as I write an old chap-book of about 
 1800, dirty, badly printed, written in execrable English. 
 It is "The History of Guy, Earl of Warwick," in prose, 
 as it was set before children and ignorant persons 
 for many generations. The chief incident in it is 
 Guy's return to Felice, of which a woodcut is given ; 
 the same block did duty for a dozen similar interviews 
 in other tales. Next in importance comes the slaying 
 of a " huge and monsterous boar," which is so irre- 
 levant and tedious in the original rhymed text that 
 in my version I have given it but passing mention. 
 To such a pass had the old " romance of price " 
 come : abridged, mutilated, shorn of all mediaeval 
 feeling, unreverenced, it had become in the eighteenth 
 century, like many of its fellows, the treasure of the 
 nursery. There was no longer in it "mirth and 
 solace " for a simple, rough, knightly court ; better 
 poetry had brought its doggerel rhyme into contempt, 
 better stories had caused it to be classed among the 
 meaner productions of that printer's art which had 
 xv
 
 Introduction 
 
 grown up since its day. But it still lingered on 
 obscurely. It had become one of the traditions of 
 England, of Europe itself, and could not die alto- 
 gether. Even when there are no local associations, 
 as at Warwick and Grimsby and Arundel (where 
 Bevis's grave is still shown), to keep the legends fresh 
 in the memory of men, they have endured, passing, 
 perhaps, into other forms, or living, it may be, only 
 in the inspiration they have given to some chance 
 reader. They were not great poetry. They were but 
 the quarry from which greater poets extracted the 
 pure metal. But they still contain, with all their 
 imperfections, stories almost inherent in man's nature, 
 pictures of ideals long forgotten, and the record of 
 an age when romance, perhaps, was a thing of 
 greater "price" than now. 
 
 F. J. HARVEY BARTON. 
 
 xvi
 
 
 WILLIAM AND THK WEREWOLF PACK 
 
 i. WILLIAM THE COWHERD i 
 
 n. THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER AND THE PAGE . 13 
 
 in. THE Two BEARS 22 
 
 iv. THE HART AND THE Two HINDS . . 37 
 
 v. THE WOLF PRINCE 49 
 
 KING ROBERT OF SICILY ... .... 56 
 
 SIR CLEGES AND THE CHERRIES 67 
 
 SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT 
 
 i. THE GREEN KNIGHT'S CHALLENGE 81 
 
 ii. SIR GAWAIN RIDES FORTH 89 
 
 in. THE THREE GIFTS ....... 94 
 
 iv. THE GREEN CHAPEL . , . . 100 
 
 THE FAIR UNKNOWN .no 
 
 xvii
 
 Contents 
 
 KING HORN W.GK 
 
 i. HORN is CAST AWAY 144 
 
 ii. HORN is DUBBED KNIGHT 148 
 
 in. HORN THE KNIGHT ERRANT . . , . ,154 
 
 iv. HORN IN EXILE 160 
 
 v. HORN'S RETURN 163 
 
 vi. THE KING OF SUDDKXNE . 168 
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS 175 
 
 THE VINE TREE 183 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND THE GREYHOUND ... 186 
 
 THE TALE OF THE BOAR 191 
 
 THE PHYSICIAN AND HIS COUSIN 195 
 
 THE THIEF AND HIS SON . . , . . . .198 
 
 THE HUSBAND SHUT OUT 202 
 
 THE MAN WHO TAMED HIS WIFE 205 
 
 CROZSUS THE GOLD-LOVER 212 
 
 THE MAGPIE 217 
 
 HEROD AND THE BUBBLES. . . , . . .221 
 THE WIDOW WHO WOULD BE COMFORTED . . .227 
 
 MASTER GENEVER 234 
 
 THE Two DREAMS 236 
 
 THE RAVENS 247 
 
 SIR DEGORE AND THE BROKEN SWORD 256 
 
 GUY OF WARWICK 
 
 i. GUY WINS HIS SPURS 280 
 
 ii. THE ENMITY OF OTHO 288 
 
 in. AMONG THE SARACENS 296 
 
 iv. THE END OF OTHO . . . . . . .306 
 
 v. THE WANDERING PALMER 322 
 
 vi. THE LAST FIGHT ....,.,. 336 
 xviii
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE ASH AND THK HAZEL ..*. 345 
 FLORIS AND BLANCHEFLEUR 
 
 i. BLANCHEFLEUR is SOLD . . . . .355 
 
 ii. THE QUEST OF FLORIS ...... 363 
 
 AMYS AND AMYLION . .',..,. 379 
 HAVELOK. THE DANE . . 401 
 
 xix
 
 " The werewolf would have sprung upon her, if 
 
 William had not caught him by the neck " . . Frontispiece 
 
 "The cowherd came towards William with friendly PAGli 
 
 looks and gentle words " . 
 
 " ' This is my father, my lord,' said William " 
 
 "She would fain have kissed him, but durst not' 1 
 
 " Carrying in his mouth two flagons of fine wine' 
 
 "William set his spear in rest " . . . 
 
 " A deep sleep came upon King Robert " . 
 
 "'What are you?' asked the angel. 'Sire, I 
 fool,' answered King Robert " . 
 
 " ' On a cherry tree in our garden I found this fruit 
 
 "The steward fell down like a log" . . . 
 xx i 
 
 am your
 
 Illustrations 
 
 PACK 
 
 " The Green Knight turned and rode out, his head in his 
 
 hand'' 87 
 
 " She stooped over him, and with all courtesy kissed 
 
 him" 97 
 
 " He leaned his neck forward and bared it " . = . 105 
 
 " He found a knight lying slain " . . . . 1 1 1 
 
 " ' Arise, young knight, arm yourself, there is danger '" . 121 
 
 ' ' Were I armed, even as you are, we would fight " ; . , 129 
 '"Sir knight,' she said, 'you are false of faith to King 
 
 Arthur'" 135 
 
 "A window opened in the wall, and a great dragon issued 
 
 therefrom" . . . . . . . .141 
 
 '" Yonder I spy land '" 149 
 
 " Horn took her in his arms and kissed her" . . 155 
 
 " He threw off the cloak and told her that he was Horn" . 169 
 "The Empress told her false tale once more" . . .181 
 
 "The faithful dog struggled to his feet" .... 189 
 
 '' He reached downwards and scratched the boar's hide " . 193 
 
 " ' You shall be cured of your sickness very speedily ' " . 209 
 " ' Under your bed is a great cauldron of water, boiling day 
 
 and night' " 223 
 
 " She cast her eye upon the knight, and found him goodly 
 
 and well-liking" . . . . . . .231 
 
 " He caught his son suddenly by the waist, and cast him 
 
 into the sea" ........ 249 
 
 " She saw coming towards her a knight " .... 259 
 
 "The dragon blew and roared as if it would swallow 
 
 him " .......... 265 
 
 "The lady came down and greeted her knight" . . 277 
 
 " Behind came a host of Saracens, eager to overtake Guy" 301 
 
 "' Alas, dear lion, who has done this wrong?'" . . 307 
 
 " ' Dear lady, my hour is come,' Guy said to her" . . 341 
 xxii
 
 Illustrations 
 
 ; She went to the abbey door, and sank down on her 
 
 knees " 349 
 
 ' ' Sir King, have pity, and do not kill Blanchefleur ' " . 359 
 Kloris sat up, the flowers falling off him " . . .371 
 
 The false steward listened to their words "... 385 
 ' Spare me, and I will give you all Denmark,' said 
 
 Havelok " 4 o 5 
 
 Havelok lifted up the beam, and at one blow slew all 
 
 ' 419 
 
 XXI 11
 
 A 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 I. William the Cowherd 
 
 the old days there lived 
 in Apulia a King named 
 Embrons, with his wife 
 Felice. He ruled pros- 
 perously and well, and 
 under him all men were 
 content. 
 
 Ernbrons and Felice had one son, whom they 
 christened William. This child would one day be 
 King of Apulia, for he was the King's sole heir; and 
 great care was taken to keep him in health, and to 
 bring him up as became a young prince. But a 
 brother of Embrons, being next in succession to the 
 throne after William, plotted many times to take his 
 life, and perchance would have succeeded, but for 
 what came to pass when the child was four years old. 
 King Embrons and all his court at a certain season 
 of the year went to Palermo (for Sicily also was part 
 of his dominions), where they feasted and made merry. 
 i
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 There was near the royal palace a large, fair orchard, 
 where often the King and his company took their 
 pleasure. As they walked there one day, William was 
 playing on the grass beside them, and gathering flowers, 
 when suddenly a huge wolf leapt among the folk. 
 His jaws were agape, his eyes glaring, and he sprang 
 forward like a whirlwind. Before any one could stop 
 him, he had seized William in his mouth, and sprang 
 away as silently and swiftly as he had come. 
 
 (Now this wolf, you must know, was a werewolf, 
 with a man's soul under his wolf's hide. He was of 
 noble birth, being no less than Alfonso, the King of 
 Spain's son. When he was yet young, his mother 
 died, and the King his father before long married 
 again. His second wife was Braunden, daughter of 
 the King of Portugal. She was very skilled in magic 
 and the black art, and when she saw that her stepson 
 was so dear to his father that he would be King after 
 him, rather than her own son, she cast about to do 
 hurt to him. She made an ointment of great strength, 
 full of enchantments, and anointed her stepson there- 
 with. Immediately he was turned into a wolf, with 
 all his man's wits the same as before, but clad out- 
 wardly with shaggy hair. He knew that the change 
 came through his stepmother, and sprang at her, and 
 well nigh strangled her , but help came speedily to 
 her, and the werewolf was driven forth. Fast away 
 he fled into far-off lands, and journeyed many days 
 till he came to Apulia, where on a sudden he was 
 moved to carry off William, as we have seen.) 
 
 Embrons made a great hue and cry after the were- 
 2
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 wolf, and men pursued the beast for many leagues. 
 But he ran with exceeding swiftness, despite the 
 weight of the child in his mouth, and speedily out- 
 distanced them all. On and on he went, till he reached 
 the Straits of Messina ; he plunged boldly into the 
 sea, and swam across the Straits, and came safely to 
 the mainland. Still he ran on, without ceasing to 
 rest, on and on till he came to a great forest near 
 Rome. There he laid the child down, and made as 
 it were a burrow for it : in a little bank overhung by 
 trees he scraped away the earth with his paws, until 
 he had dug a long cave or passage, wherein he put 
 ferns and grass to make a soft bed for his captive. 
 On it he set the child, and there they tarried for 
 many days. The werewolf lay close to William, and 
 fondled him tenderly, and brought him food, doing 
 him no hurt. 
 
 In that forest where the werewolf had made his 
 den, there dwelt an old churl, a cowherd, who for 
 many winters had kept men's kine there. It chanced 
 that one day he led his herd to pasture close to the 
 den. With him came his hound, who was wont to 
 marshal the herd for him ; and while the kine fed 
 the cowherd sat contentedly on the green sward, 
 clouting his shoes, the dog beside him, scarce a fur- 
 long away from where William lay. 
 
 The werewolf had gone forth to seek prey, whereon 
 to feed himself and William The child, already grown 
 stout and strong for his age, sat near the mouth of 
 the den. Outside all was green shade and sunlight ; 
 the trees were in full leaf, birds sang merrily, and 
 3
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 many a fair flower shone in the grass. Presently 
 William came a little way out of the burrow, and 
 picked the flowers, and sat listening to the birds' song. 
 
 Suddenly he looked up and saw the cowherd's dog 
 close to him. At the same moment the dog saw him, 
 and began to bark and bay loudly. William set up a 
 great crying, and the noise of the two brought the cow- 
 herd running to the spot. There before him, as he came 
 up, he saw his hound barking furiously at a little child 
 clad only in a shirt of fine linen, sitting at the mouth of 
 what seemed the burrow of some wild animal. 
 
 The cowherd called his hound off angrily, and hold- 
 ing it in, came towards William with friendly looks and 
 gentle words. Soon he overcame the child's fears, 
 and took him in his arms and kissed him. Then he 
 set out straightway for his home with William, the dog 
 running beside them. 
 
 "Wife," said the cowherd when he came to his cot- 
 tage, " I have found this child in the forest, in a wild 
 beast's den. Let u? take him in, and care for him as 
 if he were our own." 
 
 "Gladly, goodman," she answered, and turned to the 
 child ; "what is your name, clear child ?" she asked. 
 
 "William," answered he. 
 
 "Then, W 7 illiam," said she, "you shall be our child, 
 for we have none, and we will keep you in all love." 
 
 So the cowherd and his wife brought William up in 
 their cottage. He grew into a strong lad, fair to look 
 on, active and hardy through his life in the fields with 
 the poor cowherd. He learnt to run and leap, and to 
 shoot well with the bow ; and many a coney and hare, 
 
 4
 
 "Cbe cowbero came tovvacOs lUtlliam witb frienOlg looh 
 an& gentle wocD0."
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 many a fieldfare and pheasant did he catch in snares 
 when he went out to tend the cattle in the forest. 
 He was beloved by all who knew him (for there were 
 other herdsmen and peasants and farmers dwelling 
 near the forest), and grew up full of manly courage 
 and spirits. 
 
 But the werewolf, when he came back to his den 
 on the day when the cowherd found William, was 
 sad and sorrowful to see it empty. He roared aloud 
 in his grief, and rent his hide. But soon he cast about 
 to find where William had gone, and he came upon 
 the cowherd's tracks. He followed them away from 
 the den to the cottage, and he guessed that the man 
 had carried oft" William. All round the cottage he 
 looked, but saw nought, until he found a crevice in 
 the wall. He peered through, and saw inside the 
 cowherd's wife fondling and petting the child. Then 
 he was blithe and gay for the child's sake, for he 
 knew that all was well with it ; and he went away 
 with a glad heart, purposing only to watch over 
 William from a distance, for he loved the child, and 
 would fain keep him always from harm. 
 
 When William was well-nigh full grown, it came 
 to pass that the Emperor of Rome hunted in the 
 forest ; and as he chased a great boar, he became 
 separated irom his men, and at last missed his way 
 altogether. He rode along seeking to find a path out 
 of the forest. Suddenly he saw before him a were- 
 wolf, which was pursuing a hart that ran on fai ahead. 
 At that sight the Emperor was filled anew with desire 
 for the chase, and he in turn pursued the werewolf. 
 7
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Onwards they raced, the Emperor neither gaining nor 
 losing ground ; ever and anon the werewolf looked 
 back, as if he knew he was followed. The hart was 
 often out of sight, and indeed it seemed to the Em- 
 peror as though there were but one chase his chase 
 of the werewolf, who led him, as it were, whither- 
 soever it pleased to go. 
 
 Suddenly the werewolf sprang aside and vanished 
 into a thicket ; and when the Emperor came to the 
 spot, there was no trace of the beast to be seen. He 
 cast his eyes all round, and in a moment he was 
 aware of a lad coming towards him through the 
 forest, as though this were a place where the were- 
 wolf knew they would meet. 
 
 The Emperor looked at the youth. He was well- 
 built and comely, and bore himself with such grace 
 that he seemed almost of fairy lineage, so fair was he. 
 
 "Greeting, my lord," said he courteously. 
 
 "Greeting," said the Emperor. "I am lost in this 
 forest. Tell me your name, I pray you, and your 
 parentage." 
 
 " I will tell you, sir, since you ask it," said the lad. 
 "I am called William. A cowherd of this country is 
 my kind father, and my mother is his wife. They 
 have fostered me and fed me well all my days, and 
 I keep the kine here for them. No more of my 
 kindred do I know than that." 
 
 When the Emperor heard those words, he mar- 
 velled that so comely a lad should be a cowherd s son. 
 
 "Go, call this cowherd," he said. "I would speak 
 with him." 
 
 8
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 "Nay, sir," said William, "you are a great lord, 
 and may perchance mean him some evil. No hurt 
 shall come to him through me." 
 
 "Bring him hither, I say," said the Emperor; "no 
 harm shall come to him, but rather advantage." 
 
 "I trust your word, sir," answered William, "1 
 will go." 
 
 He went speedily and found the cowherd. "My 
 father," he said, "a great lord is yonder, and would 
 fain speak with you. I pray you go to him, lest he 
 be angered." 
 
 "What, son," said the cowherd, "did you tell him 
 I was here, near by ? " For he feared lest some hard 
 service might be asked of him, on pain of punishment. 
 
 " Yes, certes," answered William. " But he vowed 
 that he meant you no harm." 
 
 The cowherd grumbled, but went with William to 
 the Emperor. 
 
 "This is my father, my lord," said William; and 
 the cowherd did a reverence humbly. 
 
 "Cowherd," said the Emperor, "have you ever seen 
 he Emperor of Rome ? " 
 
 " Nay, my lord, never in my life." 
 
 " Know then that I am he. I would fain ask you 
 a certain question ; I conjure you, answer me truly. 
 Tell me whether this lad is your child, or does he 
 come of other kin ? " 
 
 The cowherd knew not the reason of the question, 
 but he began to tremble, and fear exceedingly, lest 
 he should perchance be charged with having stolen 
 William from his parents, whoever they might be. 
 9
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 "I will tell you truly, sire," he said at length. "The 
 boy is not my son." And he rehearsed how he had 
 found William in the forest many years before, clad 
 only in a little shirt of fine iinen. 
 
 "I thank you for telling me the truth," said the 
 Emperor, when he had heard all the tale. "You shall 
 not suffer for it. Now hear me. My heart is very 
 fain to have this boy at Rome ; he shall go with me, 
 and dwell at my court." 
 
 Sad and sorry was the cowherd when he heard that 
 word, for he loved William dearly. But he must not 
 refuse, for William was not his son, and he had no 
 power to keep him. 
 
 When William heard that the cowherd was not his 
 father, and that he would be taken from him, he began 
 to weep and lament. " Alas, I know nought of my 
 birth," he said ; " I am no man's son, and have no kin. 
 I am much beholden to this cowherd and his wife, 
 who have cared for me ; and I love them truly. But 
 I cannot repay their kindness, for I have neither kith 
 nor kin. I am nothing in the world." 
 
 " Be still, boy," quoth the Emperor ; " cease your 
 sorrow. At Rome you shall be treated well, and will 
 come into honour and esteem, so that you can requite 
 your friends. Now, cowherd, help him to mount my 
 horse in front of me, and we will ride to Rome." 
 
 "Farewell, dear father," cried William to the good 
 cowherd. "Greet well my dear foster-mother, and 
 may you both live happily and long." 
 
 Then the Emperor rode away, and the cowherd 
 went home sorrowfully. 
 
 10
 
 is mg fatber, mg lorD," saio
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 Before they had ridden far, William and the Em- 
 peror came upon some of the huntsmen. All the 
 Emperor's company marvelled at the comeliness of 
 the lad, and when they rode back to Rome, the whole 
 court was amazed at his fairness. 
 
 The Emperor had a daughter named Melior, of the 
 same age as William, and full lovely to look upon. 
 To her he gave William for a page, telling her the 
 whole story of his birth, and bidding her care for him 
 well, for it was likely that he was of good birth, from 
 his seemly manners and his lusty frame ; and Melior 
 gladly took William for a page, and clad him richly, 
 and treated him with all honour and courtesy. 
 
 II. The Emperor's Daughter and the Page 
 
 William busied himself in serving Melior well and 
 truly. He soon learnt all that behoves a page, and 
 began to have a great skill in arms and at jousting, 
 until before long there were none at the Emperor's 
 court so free and debonair as he. Often did Melior 
 cast her eyes upon him and admire him ; and at last 
 she found that she was deep in love with him. 
 
 When she perceived this, and remembered that, for 
 all his comeliness, William was but a page in her 
 father's service, she fell in great sorrow, and began to 
 pine and grow ill. Many an hour did she spend 
 lamenting her love in secret, and weeping and won- 
 dering \vhether she should not tell William, until she 
 became so pale and wan that Alexandrine, her cousin 
 and favourite handmaid, asked her what ailed her. 
 13
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 "Tell me the cause of your illness, dear lady," said 
 Alexandrine. " What is your grief ? I am your cousin, 
 and you know full well that you can trust me with 
 your secrets." 
 
 " Dear cousin," answered Melior, " I thank you for 
 your comfort. I will tell you the truth. I love 
 William, and think upon him so often that every man 
 who speaks to me seems to be he. Give me good coun- 
 sel, dear Alexandrine, how shall I quell this love ? " 
 
 Alexandrine marvelled greatly, but she gave her 
 friend comfort. " I will find you a certain herb which 
 will cure you," she said. "You will like well the 
 sweetness of it." 
 
 "Get me this herb, dear cousin, as quickly as 
 may be." 
 
 Alexandrine went from her, and racked her brain to 
 find a plan to bring her wiie to pass ; for she knew 
 no healing herb save William himself, whom she pur- 
 posed to tell of Melior's love. She was skilled in 
 weaving spells and enchantments, and before long she 
 gained her end in this wise. By magic arts she 
 caused William to dream that Melior came to him 
 and said, "Dear William, I love you truly; kiss me;" 
 and so real did this dream seem to William that he 
 woke to find himself kissing his pillow as if it had 
 been Melior herself. 
 
 "What is this?" he said to himself when he was 
 
 fully awake. " I could have been sure that my lady 
 
 Melior was here. How fair she seemed ! How sweetly 
 
 did she look upon me ! I vow I love her more than 
 
 any lady in the world."
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 The more he thought of this dream, the more deeply 
 he came to love Melior, until at length he became as 
 love-sick as she was. Yet he durst say nothing to her, 
 for she was a princess, and he but a page whose birth 
 no man knew. Often he pondered his fate, and grieved 
 that he could not even tell Melior of his love. The 
 image of Melior was ever before his eyes, and he 
 would go and sit in a garden beneath her chamber 
 window, under an apple tree, for hours, watching the 
 window and thinking only of his love. Every day he 
 was to be found there, gazing up, saying nought. 
 
 It chanced that Alexandrine learnt of this custom oi 
 his, and was minded to make use of it. She watched 
 him there daily, though he saw her not; and at last 
 she obtained her desire, for William fell asleep in the 
 garden, weary with long watching. 
 
 " Dear lady," she said to Melior, " let us go into the 
 garden. There we shall see many fair flowers, and 
 hear the merry song of birds, and have much comfort. 
 Perchance I may find there that herb of which I 
 spoke to you." 
 
 They went with other maidens into the fair garden, 
 wherein grew all manner of lovely flowers, and birds 
 sang sweetly for joy in the spring ; but nought could 
 make Melior glad. She sat down under a sycamore 
 tree, heavy at heart, and thought of her love for 
 William. 
 
 Alexandrine wandered a little from her. But anon 
 
 she came running back, as if in great surprise and 
 
 wonder. " Madame, there is a man asleep here," she 
 
 cried. "Whether he be knight or squire I know not, 
 
 15
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 for I cannot see his face ; but he is a comely body to 
 look on. Come hither and see him." 
 
 Melior rose and went towards the apple tree, under 
 which William lay sleeping. She saw in a moment 
 who he was, and she would fain have kissed him, 
 but durst not, for fear some one should see her and 
 spread a tale about her. 
 
 As she looked, Alexandrine, by her enchantment, 
 caused William to dream again ; and he dreamed 
 that Melior herself brought him a fair rose, and he 
 took it readily, and in a trice was healed of his love- 
 sickness. 
 
 Thus he dreamed ; and in the midst of it he awoke 
 and saw Melior herself standing at his side, and 
 speaking words which she deemed unheard. 
 
 "Sweet love," he heard her saying, "Heaven give 
 you joy." 
 
 "Dear Lady Melior," he said, starting up, "was it 
 I whom you called sweet love ? " 
 
 " Even so, William," she answered, seeing that her 
 love was no longer hidden from him. 
 
 "Said I not, Lady Melior," said Alexandrine, "that 
 in this garden you would find the herb to cure your 
 sickness ? " 
 
 "You said it," answered Melior; "I am cured." 
 
 There and then William and Melior plighted their 
 troth ; but they agreed to keep their love secret until 
 William could win high rank for himself by deeds of 
 valour, for they knew that the Emperor would be 
 wroth if he heard that William, a foundling, dared to 
 love his daughter. 
 
 16
 
 'Sbe wouID fain bave fcissefc bim, but fcurst not/'
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 Before long there came a chance for William to 
 vin fame in arms. The Duke of Saxony marched 
 igainst Rome with a great host of men, and the 
 Emperor was forced to summon all his vassals to 
 defend his city. When William heard of the war, he 
 was blithe and glad, and went to the Emperor and 
 besought him to dub him knight, that he might do 
 battle against Rome's enemies. The Emperor granted 
 his boon, and William bore arms against the Saxons. 
 Many feats of might did he do, and often did his 
 courage turn a doubtful battle, and at last he took 
 the Duke of Saxony prisoner with his own hand; so 
 that, when the wars were ended, and the Saxons were 
 driven from the lands of Rome, William was fain to 
 tell the Emperor of his love for Melior, who had 
 heard of his doughty deeds with joy and gladness. 
 
 But ere he could say or do ought, an ill chance 
 turned all their plans to nothing. 
 
 After the war against the Saxons, the Emperor held 
 a great feast, to which all his nobles and knights came, 
 William among them. As they made merry, the doors 
 of the hall were suddenly thrown open, and thirty 
 men, bravely apparelled in cloth of gold and fine 
 linen, were ushered in ; they greeted the Emperor, 
 ind when he had asked their business, a certain lord 
 among them, Roachas by name, spoke in answer. 
 
 "Lord Emperor," he said, "the good Emperor of 
 Greece sends you greeting and friendship by us his 
 messengers. He says to you that he has a dear son, 
 a man well tried in all doughty deeds, who will be 
 Emperor after him. He has often heard tell of your 
 19
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 fair daughter the lady Melior, and would fain ask her 
 hand in marriage for his son. If you will give her, 
 she shall have in Greece more gold than you have 
 silver, and more proud cities and seemly castles than 
 you have small towns or mean houses. What is your 
 will, sire ? All your lords are here with you, and you 
 can take counsel with them, and give us an answer 
 speedily." 
 
 Thus they spoke ; and, to be short, the Emperor 
 consented to give Melior to the Prince of Greece. 
 The marriage was to be held at Midsummer, it being 
 then Easter-tide ; and at Midsummer the Emperor of 
 Greece and his son would come to Rome for the 
 wedding. 
 
 When Melior and William heard these tidings they 
 were utterly downcast ; all their plans had failed, and 
 it seemed that Melior would be forced to go to Greece. 
 No device could they think of to escape this wedding, 
 until at last, when the Emperor of Greece was already 
 come to Rome, and the streets were strewn with roses, 
 and the city echoed with mirth and minstrelsy, they 
 besought Alexandrine to help them. 
 
 " I know no plan," said she at first, weeping sore 
 for their sad plight "You cannot escape from Rome 
 or the country round, for when they found that you 
 were gone, they would raise a hue and cry ; each 
 bridge and pass would be closely guarded, so that 
 neither clerk, nor knight, nor country churl would 
 escape unseen." 
 
 But in a little while she spoke again. " There is 
 one way, as it seems to me. The men in the Em- 
 20
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 peror's kitchen here every day flay many beasts hinds 
 and harts, bucks and bears, for meat. Now if you 
 were to wear two of the skins they cast aside, and 
 creep away in them as secretly as may be, perchance 
 you might be taken for beasts, and so escape. Of 
 all beasts, bears seem to me the best for this pur- 
 pose, for they are grisly and terrible, and men shrink 
 from the sight of them, and do not look too closely 
 at them. If we could by craft obtain two bears' 
 skins, then might your purpose be fulfilled." 
 
 Melior and William were filled with joy at this plan, 
 and begged Alexandrine to procure the bearskins for 
 them. But that was no easy matter, and she could 
 only get them by disguising herself as a kitchen-boy, 
 and doing menial work in the Emperor's kitchen, 
 and stealing thence the skins of two white bears. 
 
 She brought the skins to Melior and William, and 
 dressed them in them, sewing them over their clothes. 
 
 " How like you me now ? " asked Melior, when her 
 bearskin was cunningly fitted on. "Am I not a fine 
 bear ? " 
 
 "Yes, madame, you are as grisly a sight as man 
 could wish to see. You are a very wild bear to 
 look on." 
 
 And when William was sewn into his skin, even 
 Melior could scarce look on him without terror, so 
 like a bear did he seem. 
 
 That evening, as it grew dusk, the two bears crept 
 quietly out of the Emperor's palace into a garden, 
 and Alexandrine, having bidden them farewell and 
 wished them god-speed, let them out at a little postern- 
 
 21
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 gate. Away they ran, on two legs when they were 
 alone, on four whensoever they came near other folk ; 
 and so they fled out into the night together, away from 
 Rome. 
 
 But they were not unseen, though they knew not 
 that any one was watching them. A certain Greek 
 chanced to be resting in the garden, hidden by the 
 shady trees. Suddenly he saw two white bears steal 
 hurriedly across the grass, and disappear in the direc- 
 tion of the garden wall. Half out of his wits with 
 fear, he fled into the palace, and when he found some 
 of his comrades, told them what he had seen. But 
 they only laughed at his story, and did not believe 
 him. They said that he had fallen asleep, and had 
 dreamed about two bears ; and seeing that no one 
 put faith in his words, he himself came to think that it 
 was a dream, until later he had cause to change his 
 mind. 
 
 III. The Two Bears 
 
 Melior and William hastened away, and journeyed 
 all night. By morn they had come to a great forest, 
 and finding in it a little cave, they rested there, for 
 they did not wish to travel by day, lest they should 
 be seen. They were very weary, but thankful to have 
 escaped, though before long hunger made them forget 
 all else. 
 
 "Would that we knew how to get food, dear love," 
 said William. " If we do not, I fear we may die of 
 hunger." 
 
 "Nay, by your leave, William," answered Melior, 
 
 22
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 11 1 think we can live well on love alone, if God helps 
 us to find a few berries ; bullaces and blackberries, 
 hips and haws, acorns, hazel-nuts, and other fruits 
 grow on the trees in this forest, .and with them and 
 our love to sweeten them, we may well be content." 
 
 "Nay, dear, you have never known hardship. You 
 must fare better than that. I will go forth and see if 
 I can find any wayfarer, some churl, or perchance a 
 chapman coming from market or fair ; from him, if 
 he have any, I will take meat and drink. Else shall 
 we both lose our lives through hunger." 
 
 "Go not forth, William, 1 pray you. If you took 
 ought from any man, he would raise a hue and cry, 
 and carry the news to Rome, and we should come to 
 harm. It is better for us to abide here and live on 
 whatever fruits we can find in the forest." 
 
 So they picked berries and fruits, and abode there 
 in the forest, in dire straits, but well content with 
 one another's love. 
 
 But help was nigh, though they knew it not. The 
 werewolf had long remained near Rome, hearing 
 tidings of William from passers by ; and he had seen 
 William and Melior steal away, clad in bearskins. 
 He had followed them to the forest, and overheard 
 all their talk; and when he saw their sorry plight, he 
 hastened away to find them food. 
 
 It was not long before he came upon what he wanted. 
 A man passed near carrying bread and beef in a great 
 wallet. With a loud roar the werewolf sprang out ai 
 him, and made as if to tear him to pieces. The man 
 dropped his wallet and fled for his life, never doubting 
 23
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 that he would be caught and devoured in a trice. 
 But the good werewolf cared nothing for the man ; he 
 only had need of his wallet, which he seized and carried 
 off in his mouth. 
 
 William and Melior were eating their poor meal of 
 nuts and berries when they heard a pattering and rust- 
 ling in the forest near them. They looked up and saw 
 coming towards them a great wolf, bearing in its mouth 
 a wallet. 
 
 Melior clung to William in terror; but William saw 
 that the wolf was gentle and meant no harm to them. 
 He said no word as the animal drew near. It came 
 right up to them and laid the wallet at their feet ; then 
 it turned and bounded out of sight again. 
 
 William wondered much at this strange hap. He 
 picked up the wallet and opened it : in it he saw the 
 bread and beef. 
 
 " Lo, dear love," he said gaily, " see what great 
 grace God has showed us. He has sent us meat to 
 succour us in our sore need. Never saw I such a 
 wonder as that a wolf should bring food to us." 
 
 They fell to gladly, and ate the meat with no sauce 
 but hunger. Suddenly the werewolf appeared again, 
 carrying in his mouth two flagons of fine wine, which 
 he had taken from a serving-man who was bearing 
 them to a rich burgess of that country. He laid them 
 before the two lovers, and again disappeared. But he 
 did not go far off; that day and for many days more 
 he remained near them, and brought them food for 
 their needs each day. William had well-nigh forgotten 
 the wolf in whose den he formerly lived, and he 
 24
 
 in bis moutb two flaaous of fine wine."
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 marvelled greatly at this strange companion: but he 
 felt no fear of him. 
 
 Gay and blithe were William and Melior as they 
 made merry over what the werewolf had brought 
 them. When they had teasted well, they rested till 
 nightfall, and then set forth on their journey again, 
 the werewolf following close behind, yet unseen. 
 
 Meanwhile at Rome the preparations for the wedding 
 of Melior to the Prince of Greece went forward apace. 
 The wedding-day itself (it was the day after William 
 and Melior had fled) came, and all Rome was full of 
 mirth and minstrelsy. But when the appointed hour 
 drew nigh, Melior had not yet appeared. The Emperor 
 sent a baron to bid her come, and he went to her 
 chamber, but found no one there. Then the Emperor 
 himself came. But Melior was not to be seen. He 
 questioned Alexandrine straitly. But Alexandrine said 
 that she had not seen Melior since midnight ; she 
 knew that the Princess was loth to wed the Prince of 
 of Greece, and that she loved William in her heart ; 
 but more than that she could not say. 
 
 Search was made everywhere, but they found no 
 sign of Melior, nor could William be discovered. It 
 was clear that they had fled together. 
 
 " Alas, that traitrous foundling has betrayed me," 
 said the Emperor. " I brought him up and cared for 
 him as well as any in the land, and now he is false 
 to me. The Greeks will make war on me if Melior 
 does not wed their Prince. I am utterly undone." 
 
 He held a great council straightway. His lords 
 advised him to tell the Emperor of Greece all that 
 27
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 had befallen, and ask his grace and pardon ; and the 
 Emperor did so with great sorrow and humility. 
 
 The Emperor of Greece was wroth, but restrained 
 his anger. He counselled that proclamation should 
 be made throughout the dominions of Rome that 
 every man should immediately search for William and 
 Melior. Every pass and bridge and road was to be 
 guarded ; if any man were slothful or careless in his 
 watch he should be hanged, while whosoever found 
 William and Melior should receive great rewards. 
 
 It was done as he said. But all the search was in 
 vain, until, hearing the proclamation, the Greek who 
 had seen the two bears in the Castle garden told of 
 what he had seen The skins in the Emperor's 
 kitchen were counted ; two white bearskins were 
 found to be missing. It was plain that William and 
 Melior had fled in them. 
 
 There was a great hue and cry set on foot. 
 Huntsmen and hounds went forth as if in search 
 of real bears. All the land was scoured high and 
 low for Wiliiath and Melior. 
 
 But the werewolf did not desert his charge. The 
 hunt came nigh the two bears, and was close upon 
 their heels ; but the werewolf left them and faced 
 the hounds and huntsmen, so that they turned aside 
 to pursue him. Over hill and dale and marsh they 
 ran after him, and always he kept ever so little ahead 
 of them. Far away did he lead them from William 
 and Melior, who pushed on their road with all speed 
 and came at length into Apulia, where they rested. 
 
 Anon the Greeks and Romans, wearied with 
 28
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 pursuing the werewolf in vain, gave up the chase 
 and returned to Rome, to wait for tidings of the 
 white bears. The werewolf, as soon as they were 
 gone, hasted across country in the track of William 
 and Melior, and came up with them near the strong 
 walled city of Benevento ; and all three lay hid in 
 a cave in a quarry nearly dry under a high hill, the 
 werewolf under a crag at the entrance, ever alert 
 to watch for danger 
 
 Hardly had they rested a few hours when certain 
 workmen came to the quarry to dig stone. One of 
 them wandered nigh the cave, and peering in from 
 a little distance saw therein two seemly white bears. 
 Straightway he called to mind the cry that had been 
 sent through all the country concerning two white 
 bears ; and he ran swiftly to his comrades. 
 
 " Hearken now, friends," he said, " you are mind- 
 ful of the cry about two bears, and the reward that 
 was to be given to him who found them ? " 
 
 " We know it full well," said they ; " what of it ? " 
 
 "I will tell you how to win that reward," he 
 answered. " I know where the two white bears are." 
 
 "Tell us straightway," they cried. "We are not 
 afraid of two bears. Where are they?" 
 
 "In yonder cave they lie. Now hark you; we 
 will do this all in order, lest we fail to catch the 
 bears and to win the reward. I will go to the 
 Provost of Benevento and tell him all, so that he 
 may come hither with officers and a host of men, 
 lest the bears escape. Do you abide here and watch 
 the cave, that they go not forth." 
 29
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 "Be it so," they said. "See that you lose no time 
 in going to Benevento." 
 
 The man hastened to Benevento and called the 
 Provost ; and the Provost, mindful of the Emperor's 
 proclamation, summoned all the men of the city, a 
 great host, well nigh two thousand strong. They set 
 out for the quarry in high hope of capturing the bears. 
 With them went the women and children of Benevento, 
 to watch what befel ; and among the children was 
 the little son of the Provost, a fair boy well known 
 and loved by all the citizens. 
 
 William and Melior were resting in the cave. Sud- 
 denly the werewolf pricked up his ears. A confused 
 noise sounded outside. They looked out, and beheld 
 the Provost of Benevento and a host of men surround- 
 ing the cave. 
 
 'Alas! our end is come," said William. "Woe is 
 me that I have brought you to this pass, dear Melior. 
 But I will take on me all the harm. Do you take 
 off your bearskin, and show them that you are a 
 woman ; then will they do you no hurt. I will abide 
 their anger as I am, and perchance when they have 
 taken me and slain me their wrath will be turned 
 aside. Ah, if I had a horse and armour I would not 
 yield easily ! " 
 
 "What, William, do you think I would live if you 
 were dead ? " answered Melior. " Whatsoever fate 
 befalls you, that also will I readily suffer." 
 
 The Provost and his men began to draw near the 
 mouth of the cave. But the werewolf was on the 
 watch. Suddenly he rushed forth with a loud roar, 
 30
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 scattering those who were nearest ; in a trice he had 
 leapt upon the Provost's little son, playing idly with 
 the other children, and ran off with him before the 
 men knew what had come to pass. 
 
 " Help, good men," cried the Provost, as he saw his 
 son borne away in the mouth of the fierce wolf, who 
 roared savagely as he darted swiftly away. "After 
 him, ere he can gain his den, or my son is lost ! " 
 
 Thereat the citizens turned from the cave's mouth, 
 and set themselves to hunt the werewolf with hound 
 and horn and great clamour. The werewolf led them 
 afar to the mountains, ever keeping beyond their reach : 
 if they fell too far behind, he waited until they grew 
 closer, and then led them on as before. All day he 
 ran, doing no hurt to the child ; and they pursued 
 till every thought of the bears was almost forgotten. 
 
 When William and Melior saw that the folk were 
 all gone from outside the cave, they knew that the 
 werewolf had saved them again ; and they fell on 
 their knees and prayed to God to keep him safe. 
 Then they set about fleeing again themselves. They 
 were sure now that their bearskins were known to 
 all men as a disguise, and it seemed best to cast 
 them off, and go thence in their own clothes. 
 
 They stripped off the skins, and stood upright in 
 their own clothes, blithe and gay to see one another 
 in a true guise. Then they set forth a-wandering 
 once more, taking with them the bearskins in case 
 they should need them again. For many miles they 
 fled, until, weary and hungry, they lay down to rest 
 in a great forest. 
 
 31
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Meanwhile the werewolf, having led the Provost and 
 his men a sorry dance all day, perceived that he 
 had gone far enough. About sunset he ran well 
 ahead of his pursuers, and laid the child care- 
 fully down, unharmed, on the ground. Then he 
 darted off, freed of his burden, and was gone in 
 a trice. 
 
 When the Provost came up, he found the child 
 unhurt, and gave thanks to Heaven. Then, seeing 
 that it was vain to pursue the wolf further, he bade 
 his tired men go home. That night, sore, wearied, 
 they rested in Benevento. On the morrow they rose 
 betimes, and went to the quarry to see if they could 
 catch the white bears. But they found the bears 
 gone, and there was no trace of them to be seen : no 
 man had spied a white skin anywhere. So the men 
 of Benevento, having made one more great search in 
 all the country round, gave up the attempt to find 
 the white bears. 
 
 Melior and William were sitting in the forest, on 
 the morning after their flight from the quarry, when 
 the werewolf suddenly appeared, hastening on their 
 track of the day before, as if eager to come up with 
 them. In his mouth he bore great store of meat 
 and drink for them. But when he had laid his burden 
 before them, he departed again. 
 
 "In truth, Melior," said William, "this is no com- 
 mon wolf. He has man's nature ; a man's wits are 
 in him. See what he suffers to bring us out of harm; 
 never does he fail to aid us, though it be at the peril 
 of his life." 
 
 32
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 " I trow he must be a man in wolf's guise," answered 
 Melior. 
 
 As they spoke they heard voices coming close to 
 them. They crouched down in the long grass and 
 bracken till they were quite hidden. 
 
 The voices drew nearer. They came from some 
 charcoal-burners working not far away. 
 
 "Would that those white bears were here now," 
 said one. "All the men in the world should not 
 save them from us if they \vere. They are no bears, 
 but the Emperor's daughter and some knight who 
 is fleeing with her. A wolf saved them yesterday 
 when the Provost of Benevento thought to take them ; 
 but if they were here now, not fourscore wolves 
 should save them." 
 
 Melior was nigh mad with fear at those words ; 
 but she lay still, and they were not yet seen. 
 
 "Bah, friend," said another charcoal-burner, "go you 
 about your appointed work. What if the bears were 
 here ? What good would it do to take them ? Many 
 a hard hap have they escaped ; may they come free 
 out of many another, say ! Let us to work, and do 
 our own business, and win some money for ourselves 
 thereby, instead of looking for white bears." 
 
 They passed on, and Melior and William were out 
 of peril again. But they saw from the first man's 
 words that they were known for the princess and 
 a knight, so that even without the bearskins they would 
 be recognised. 
 
 "I know not what we must do," said Melioi. "We 
 shall be known however we are clad." 
 33
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Even as she spoke a huge hart, with a hind in its 
 train, burst through the forest in a panic. Hard on 
 the heels of the beasts flew the werewolf, and, almost 
 as they passed before William and Melior, he caught 
 them up and in a trice slew them. He stood over 
 the dead bodies for a minute, looking stedfastly at his 
 friends, as if he would tell them something. Then he 
 turned, and trotted a little way into the forest. 
 
 " Never saw any man a wolf like this," said William. 
 "What would he have us do with this hart and this 
 hind that he has slain before our very eyes ? " 
 "I know not," answered Melior. 
 " Perchance they are for another disguise," said 
 William, when he had pondered the strange chance. 
 " If I were to flay these beasts, we could wrap our- 
 selves in their skins, and so be unknown once more." 
 "Dear William," cried Melior, "that is clearly the 
 wolf's intent." 
 
 William set to work and speedily flayed the dead 
 beasts. Then he prepared the skins, and before long 
 they two, who formerly had seemed to be bears, wore 
 the guise of hart and hind. 
 
 When they were arrayed in their new garments, 
 the werewolf came to them again ; and going before 
 them, he led them by devious ways through Apulia 
 and Calabria, and sought to reach Sicily, whither, 
 though the hue and cry once more began to grow 
 hot behind them, no man durst follow them, for the 
 island was at that time ravaged by a great war, that 
 raged furiously and made all things unsafe. 
 
 But it was no easy matter to cross the Straits of 
 34
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 Messina into Sicily, for they could not seek a ship 
 openly. When they came to the port of Reggio, they 
 lay hid near the haven till it was night and all men 
 were asleep. Then they crept hastily down to the 
 haven, and stealthily went to and fro, looking for a 
 ship which should be made ready as if to sail at once. 
 Soon they found one, loaded with great tuns of wine, 
 and about to sail. The crew were all asleep or in 
 the town enjoying themselves; and the werewolf led 
 William and Melior on board without being seen. 
 They went quietly down to the hold and hid them- 
 selves behind the great wine-barrels. 
 
 Presently the men came aboard, and, the wind being 
 favourable, they set sail, and before long drew near 
 the coast of Sicily. 
 
 But though they were well-nigh across the Straits 
 in safety, the fugitives had yet to leave the ship with- 
 out being seen. 
 
 The werewolf contrived a plan. As the ship neared 
 land, he rushed out from their hiding-place, and 
 sprang over the side. The men, in alarm at seeing 
 the great beast in their midst, struck at him with oars 
 and staves as he passed, and one of them hit him a 
 shrewd blow; but he heeded it not, but leapt into 
 the water and swam swiftly to land. The sailors 
 hastily got out a little boat, and rowed after him ; 
 some in their eagerness jumped overboard and swam 
 in pursuit. In a few moments all were gone but a 
 little bare-legged boy. 
 
 William and Melior heard the noise on deck as the 
 werewolf went away from them. Then came a great 
 35
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 quiet. The ship seemed to be deserted. They crept 
 out from behind the wine-tuns, and went stealthily up 
 to the deck. There was only a boy there. 
 
 But the boy saw them, and in great terror seized 
 a staff that lay by and swung it round wildly. It 
 chanced to strike Melior as she was near the edge of 
 the ship ; and at the blow she lost her balance, and 
 fell overboard. 
 
 William leapt after her in a trice, and came to her 
 aid. She was not hurt, and together they swam to 
 land, and, when they had reached the shore, ran 
 swiftly inland, away from the ship. 
 
 The boy marvelled greatly at what he had seen. 
 But he could do nought to catch the hart and the 
 hind, for he might not leave the ship. Presently the 
 crew came back, angry and weary, for they had pur- 
 sued the werewolf a long way in vain. The boy told 
 them what he had seen ; but there was nothing which 
 they could do now, for it was not safe for them to 
 go far into Sicily, because of the great war. So they 
 went to port with their cargo of wine, and sold it, 
 and speedily forgot all about their strange passengers. 
 
 But William and Melior sped on their way as fast 
 as might be, away from the Straits. Before long the 
 werewolf found them, and led them through the 
 deserted country (for it had been sorely handled 
 by the fighting all over the island) till they came 
 near Palermo. There he showed them a great park 
 close under the city walls, and brought them food ; 
 and they rested in peace for a little, after their long 
 flight. 
 
 36
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 IV. The Hart and the Two Hinds 
 
 William and Melior were now in the land of 
 William's father, King Embrons, who formerly had 
 reigned over Apulia and Calabria and Sicily itself. 
 But Embrons was dead, and his Queen Felice 
 reigned alone, since no sign of William had been 
 seen since the werewolf had carried him off so long 
 ago. With her dwelt her daughter Florence, as fair 
 a maid as any man might wish to see. It was for 
 the sake of Florence that war was being waged ; 
 for the King of Spain (the father of the werewolf, 
 though none but the wicked Queen Braunden knew 
 it) had sought her in marriage for his second son, 
 Braundinis, and Queen Felice had refused to give 
 her. Whereupon Spain made war, and laid Sicily 
 waste from end to end, and pressed Felice so hard 
 that she was besieged in the strong city of Palermo. 
 
 The siege was very close and strict. It seemed 
 certain that ere long the Spaniards must take the 
 city. Certain of the Queen's captains were for yielding 
 without more ado. But Felice was of a bold heart, 
 and would never surrender while there were still 
 men to fight. She bade them go about their business 
 and quit themselves like men. 
 
 Herself she went to plead to God for help in hci 
 great straits. Long and earnestly did she pray, and 
 at the end rose up comforted and went to rest. 
 
 As she lay asleep she dreamed. She seemed to see 
 herself and Florence in the park that lay just outside 
 37 
 
 333935
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 the city walls ; and they were girt about by an hun- 
 dred thousand leopards and bears and all manner 
 of beasts, in great peril of being devoured. On a 
 sudden, just as the beasts would have fallen upon 
 them, there appeared a werewolf and two white 
 bears. As they drew near, the white bears changed 
 into deer, and each of them had on his forehead 
 a fair figure. On the greater of the two was the 
 figure of such a knight as her own son William 
 should have been ; on the lesser, there was the figure 
 of a fair maiden. Crowns were on their heads, of 
 gold set with precious gems, bright and shining. 
 With the werewolf they set upon the host of wild 
 beasts, and tore and bit and drave them before them, 
 taking the largest of them prisoner, and putting the 
 rest of them to headlong flight far over dale and 
 down. 
 
 The dream faded into another, wherein the Queen 
 saw herself in her Castle : she went up to the highest 
 tower of it, and looked all round, and stretched out 
 her arms over the country that lay beneath ; and lo, 
 one arm stretched till it was over Spain, and the 
 other covered Rome; and at that she awoke. 
 
 She went to a learned man in her Castle, and told 
 him all that she had dreamed. 
 
 "Madam, mourn no more," he said; "these visions 
 are of good import The beasts that beset you are 
 those men who now besiege you. The hart and the 
 bear signify certain knights who will come to your 
 aid and deliver you. One shall capture the King of 
 Spain and his son, and afterwards will be King of 
 38
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 this realm ; and one shall deliver the King of Spain, 
 and through him you shall learn tidings of the son 
 you have lost for so long : that son shall one day be 
 King of Rome, and your daughter shall be given to 
 the King of Spain's son, but not to that son who now 
 wars against you." 
 
 The Queen wept for joy at this good prophecy, 
 and thanked the wise man. Then she went to her 
 chamber and looked out from it over the park which 
 she had seen in her dream. As she looked, her 
 dream seemed to come true before her very eyes. 
 There in the park, under a laurel tree in a green 
 place, she saw the hart and the hind close together. 
 She could hear nought of their talk; but she watched 
 their loving gestures for a long time, and was filled 
 \vith a new hope at seeing the help promised by her 
 dream thus close at hand. 
 
 That night the Queen's knights came to her and 
 begged her to yield to the Spaniards; the walls were 
 battered down, they said, and the city must fall right 
 soon if no help came. But Felice bade them be of 
 good cheer, for succour had been promised to her 
 in a dream ; if it came not, then would be the time 
 to talk of yielding, and they went away vowing to 
 fight valiantly yet a little while longer. 
 
 The next day the Queen looked out on the park 
 again. There were the hart and the hind still. But 
 the heat of the sun had cracked the skins they wore, 
 and their clothes showed plainly underneath. 
 
 The Queen summoned the wise man to look out. 
 
 "Be no more in dismay, liege lady," he said, as 
 39
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 soon as he saw the two deer. " Here is your dream 
 come true. You have heard of late of a great hue 
 and cry concerning the Emperor of Rome's daughter 
 and a knight who fled from Rome with her ? These 
 are they. That knight shall bring the war to an end, 
 if you can but reach him and bring him hither." 
 
 "They would flee from me, I trow," said the Queen, 
 "if I so much as went near them. How if I also 
 were to don a deerskin, and go forth to them ? Per- 
 chance, if they thought me a deer, they would not 
 be afraid ; and if they saw that the skin was but a 
 disguise, they might still have no fear, for they would 
 know that it meant no harm, but rather friendliness 
 to them. I will do it. Go you now, and get me a 
 hind's skin, and I will put it on." 
 
 It was done as she said, and before long she went 
 forth to the park clad in the skin of a hind. 
 
 William and Melior held converse together, right 
 glad to be no longer pursued ; the werewolf had left 
 them again, and they knew not where he was. Sud- 
 denly they saw coming towards them one arrayed 
 like themselves in a deerskin. They knew not at 
 first whether it were in truth a hind, or some mortal 
 man in disguise. 
 
 "I think it must be indeed a hind," said William. 
 " It shows no fear of us." 
 
 "Nay, I have no fear of you," said the Queen, for 
 she heard his words ; " I know who you are, and I 
 am not afraid." 
 
 William marvelled at those words, and Melior 
 trembled with fear. "I conjure you," said William, 
 40
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 " tell me without tarrying whether you, who say that 
 you know who we are, are a good spirit or some fiend 
 bent on evil." 
 
 " I am a creature like yourselves," answered the 
 Queen full courteously : "never, I hope, shall evil come 
 on you of my making. I am come hither to beg your 
 help, and pray you for charity's sake to deliver me out 
 of sore straits. It has been shown me in a dream that 
 you can aid me. If you will but give me your help, 
 you shall be King here all your life, and this maid 
 shall be your Queen." 
 
 And she told them in what sorry case she lay be- 
 cause of the King of Spain and his men. 
 
 William was glad at heart when he heard that the 
 Queen of that land was speaking to him : he knew 
 that they would be safe with her, and that he might 
 win honour in her service. Together all three went 
 into the city, and doffed their deerskins. Then William 
 chose for himself fair armour and stout arms from 
 the Queen's armoury : on his shield he caused to be 
 painted the device of a werewolf. 
 
 There was in the Queen's stable a horse of spirit 
 and mettle, by name Saundbruel ; formerly it had 
 been King Embron's horse, but since he had died 
 none had dared to mount it, or come nigh it, so fierce 
 was its temper. But when William came to the stable 
 to choose himself a horse, Saundbruel broke all his 
 fastenings for joy, and neighed marvellously, for he 
 knew that William was his dear lord's son. 
 
 When William heard the neigh and saw how eager 
 the horse was, he besought the Queen to give it to him,
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 " It was my lord King Embron's horse," she 
 answered. " It is the best horse I have, if only any 
 man could ride it. If you can ride it, it is yours." 
 
 " Madam, I would fain have the horse," said William ; 
 and having put on his armour ready for the fray, he 
 went to the stable again. As soon as the horse saw 
 him, it leaped and pranced ; and when he came nigh, 
 it knelt on the ground gently with its forefeet, to 
 be saddled, and showed such joy as could not be 
 exceeded. 
 
 William mounted Saundbruel, and rode forth. All 
 through the ranks of Queen Felice's men he passed, 
 exhorting them to be of good cheer, and bidding them 
 make ready for a bold sally out against the enemy, 
 who had begun to attack more furiously than ever. 
 When he had spoken to them all, he chose four hun- 
 dred picked men, and caused the great gates of 
 Palermo to be thrown open, and rode out to meet 
 the Spaniards. 
 
 The Spaniards were three thousand strong, led by 
 the King's high steward ; but William cared little for 
 their numbers. He set his men in orderly array, 
 himself at their head. Over against them were drawn 
 up the Spanish host, the steward on a noble steed 
 riding in front with his squires, a stark and terrible 
 man of great might. 
 
 When they were close William set his spear in rest 
 to charge the steward, and the steward on his side 
 made ready. They rode together alone before their 
 men, and William struck so strong and true that he 
 drove the Spaniard clean out of his saddle to the 
 ground, where he fell and lay as dead as a door-nail. 
 42
 
 "lUilliam set bis spear in rest'
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 His squires bore the dead man away. Then thf 
 Queen's men and the Spaniards fell to with a will. 
 Long and fiercely did they fight, and many a good 
 warrior was struck down and rose no more. But 
 William's might prevailed against the enemy, and when 
 at last he slew the steward's nephew in single combat 
 the Spaniards turned and fled. For five miles they 
 were pursued, and many were taken prisoner ; few 
 escaped death or capture that day. 
 
 That evening a great feast was held in Palermo. 
 After it the Queen sat talking with William and Melior 
 in her chamber, looking over the park outside the 
 city. As they held converse, they were aware of the 
 werewolf in the park coming towards their window. 
 When he was close beneath it, he looked up, and 
 held up his forefeet together as if making some 
 prayer ; then he did them a reverence, and went 
 thence swiftly. 
 
 The Queen marvelled greatly thereat. " Sir William," 
 she said, "saw you the doings of that noble wolf, 
 how he lifted up his fore-paws as if in prayer ? What 
 meant he by that sign ? " 
 
 " I know not exactly, madam," answered William, 
 "save that whenever this wolf appears he brings us 
 good fortune." 
 
 "When I look on that wolf," said the Queen, "a 
 great sorrow which once befel me comes to my mind. 
 Many years ago I had a dear son, fair and seemly 
 to look on, named William, even as you are. When 
 he was but four years old, he was playing yonder 
 in the park, when suddenly a great wolf broke from 
 45
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 the forest and carried him off before the very eyes 
 of my lord the King and myself and all our court. 
 Many miles was the wolf pursued, but he came to 
 the Straits of Messina without being caught, and 
 leapt therein, and was no more seen ; and to this 
 day we have heard nought of my son, save that two 
 nights ago I dreamed a dream which a wise man 
 has told me foretells the return of my son to me. 
 But I think he must have been drowned when the 
 wolf leapt into the sea with him." 
 
 William thought of his own upbringing. The cow- 
 herd, he knew, was not his father, but had found him 
 at the mouth of some wild beast's den. What if he 
 were this lost son of Queen Felice ? But the Queen 
 thought her son was drowned. Perchance he might 
 
 have been saved ; and if so But he knew that it 
 
 was as yet idle to ponder such things, for there was 
 no proof of his royal birth to be found. 
 
 "Dear lady," he said gently to Felice," I will be a 
 son to you and stand by you at your need." 
 
 With that they talked no more of the matter, but 
 supped with great mirth and comfort, and at night- 
 fall went to bed much cheered by the victory over 
 the Spaniards. 
 
 On the morrow the King of Spain vowed to avenge 
 his steward's death. He set a great host in array, 
 and put his own son, Braundinis, at its head, and 
 bade him take William alive or dead. 
 
 William rode forth on Saundbruel, with six com- 
 panies of picked men ; and they dealt so mightily 
 with the Spaniards that in a little time this second 
 46
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 host also was put to flight and utterly defeated ; 
 and William took Braundinis prisoner with his own 
 hand. 
 
 That evening again there was great rejoicing in 
 Palermo. But as the Queen sat at her window with 
 Melior and William she was very sorrowful. She 
 looked on William, and as she looked she thought 
 that never had she seen any man so like that comely 
 knight, her dear lord, King Embrons. At that thought 
 she began to weep. 
 
 "Why make you such sorrow, madam?" asked 
 William, when he saw her tears. " This is rather a 
 day for rejoicing, since we have a second time de- 
 feated the Spaniards, and taken their King's son a 
 prisoner." 
 
 " You say true, Sir William," answered Felice ; " 1 
 do wrong to weep. But as I looked on you I called 
 to mind my dear lord Embrons who is dead : you 
 are like him in every part ; you might almost be 
 that son of ours who has so long been lost." 
 
 William marvelled greatly at her words, and thought 
 again of his strange upbringing. But he said nought 
 of it. " Madam, think no more of it," he answered 
 the Queen. " King Embrons and his son without 
 doubt are dead these many years past, and will never 
 come back to you ; make merry, therefore, over this 
 present good fortune." 
 
 But the Queen felt in her heart that her son was 
 still alive, and that William was he ; no longer did 
 she think he had been drowned in the Straits of 
 Messina. 
 
 47
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 As they sat there, they saw the werewolf coming 
 again across the park. He ran up to the window, 
 and knelt low before them as courteously as might 
 be ; then he turned and went his way again. 
 
 "It is a vastly strange sight," said the Queen, "to 
 see this comely wolf doing reverence to us. Would 
 that we knew what he means thereby ! I pray it may 
 turn to good for us." 
 
 "Truly it will bring good, though I know not what 
 it means," said William. " Did not good fortune come 
 to us to-day, as it always has after the werewolf has 
 appeared ? " 
 
 Then they went to meat, and after that to bed, with 
 merry cheer and hope in their hearts. 
 
 On the next day another great battle was fought. 
 The King of Spain was furious that his son was 
 captured and his steward slain, and his men put 
 to flight. But he fared no better than they. Long 
 and fierce was the fight. Many deeds of valour were 
 done on both sides. But in the end William and 
 his men prevailed, and William took the King 
 prisoner. 
 
 And now Palermo was freed of its enemies, for the 
 Spaniards had little heart for fighting when their King 
 and his son were captured. The siege was ended, and 
 and Queen Felice's dominions were rid of war and 
 strife. Great was the rejoicing in the city. For 
 many days there was nought but mirth and feast- 
 ing; and at the end of it all a great council was held 
 to decide the terms of peace between Queen Felice 
 and Spain. 
 
 48
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 V. The Wolf Prince 
 
 At the great council Queen Felice sat in the midst 
 on a dais ; on one side of her was the King of Spain, 
 and on the other William, with Melior beside him. 
 All the lords and burgesses of Apulia and Sicily and 
 Spain were there gathered together ; and the Princess 
 Florence sat at the King's side. 
 
 "Queen Felice," said the King of Spain, when they 
 were all assembled, " I pray you grant that I may see 
 my son." 
 
 Braundinis was brought in. " See, my son," said his 
 father, "what sorrow have we come to by obeying 
 the Queen Braunden, your mother. She would have 
 me seek the Princess Florence in marriage for you, 
 and nought has come of it but woe to us all." 
 
 "We have done wrong, sire," answered Braundinis. 
 "We must yield to the grace of Queen Felice, and 
 let her do with us as seems good to her." 
 
 The King sighed for their sorry case. " Madam," he 
 said to Felice, "let me make amends for the evil we 
 have done in this war. I am ready to restore to you 
 as much as any man may ordain to be right ; all my 
 power. I will hold as from you, and be your vassal 
 for the lands that are in my realm. If you like that 
 not, I will be bound to you in any way that you will." 
 
 The Queen and her councillors began to hold con- 
 verse concerning his words. Suddenly there came 
 boldly into the hall the werewolf. He heeded none 
 of the great lords there, but ran straightway to the 
 49
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 King of Spain, and knelt down at his feet and kissed 
 them. 
 
 Then he saluted the Queen, and afterwards William 
 and Melior, and turned and ran fast out of the hall. 
 
 Many men there drew their swords at the sight of 
 him ; and when he went out, they would fain have 
 hastened after him and slain him. But William 
 started up. 
 
 " Hold ! " he cried. " If any man hurt that wolf, 
 whosoever he be, I will kill him myself." 
 
 At those words none dared lift a hand to harm the 
 wolf, for they were all in great dread of William's 
 might. 
 
 But the King of Spain was sore troubled at the sight 
 of the wolf, for there came to his mind a story he had 
 heard concerning his lost son Alfonso, who Braunden 
 had told him had been drowned by evil chance. 
 
 "Sir King," said William to him when the wolf was 
 gone, " I conjure you to tell me why the wolf bowed 
 himself before you and kissed your feet." 
 
 The King sighed sore. " Sir William," he answered, 
 " this is the reason, 1 think, and sad I am at the 
 thought. Many years ago I wedded a worshipful 
 lady, a King's daughter ; and she bore me a son, but 
 alas, died at his birth. I had him nursed well, and he 
 began to grow into a fair boy, strong and hardy ; his 
 name was Alfonso. But anon I married again, and 
 Braunden, now my Queen, was my second wife. She 
 bore Braundinis, this prince whom you have taken 
 prisoner; and when Alfonso disappeared, being but 
 three years of age, Braundinis became heir to my 
 50
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 kingdom of Spain. Alfonso, it was said by Queen 
 Braunden, was drowned by chance. But I have heard 
 from certain true men in Spain another story, and 
 this wolf called it to mind. They said that by en- 
 chantments and magic arts, wherein she was mightily 
 skilled, Braunden turned my son Alfonso into a were- 
 wolf, being jealous of him for Braundinis' sake. Cer- 
 tainly a wolf was seen at my court once ; it flew at 
 the Queen in anger, and was driven out by my ser- 
 vants. But I put no faith in this story until this wolf 
 came to-day and did obeisance to me. I pray that I 
 have done no wrong, for truly this wolf bore himself 
 strangely towards me." 
 
 "Sire," said William, "this story may well be true. 
 I know indeed that this wolf has a man's mind, a 
 better mind, mayhap, than both of ours together. 
 Many times had I been dead ere now had not this 
 beast saved me. He must indeed be a werewolf, and 
 I pray that he is your son. Lady Queen," he said, 
 turning to Felice, "the King of Spain is my prisoner; 
 1 took him in fair fight. Grant me that I may make 
 certain conditions with him." 
 
 " I grant it," answered the Queen. 
 
 " Hearken, sire," continued William. "You would be 
 glad and blithe to see your lost son again, if, as I 
 think, this werewolf be he. And you would be glad 
 and blithe to be free once more. But I say to you 
 that neither thing shall come to pass save upon one 
 condition. Your Queen Braunden, if she be so skilled 
 in witchcraft that she can change men into were- 
 wolves, as you say, can with her cunning and her
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 quaint charms likewise change werewolves into men 
 again. She shall change the werewolf into a man, 
 and you shall command her straitly to come hither 
 with all speed. Till she has come and tried her en- 
 chantments on the werewolf you shall never go free. 
 Send a messenger and bid her come, and say that 
 if she refuses, I will come to Spain with fire and 
 sword and destruction, and hale her thence by force." 
 
 The King of Spain chose certain of his lords to 
 carry this message, and they set out at once. After 
 many days' journey they came to the Queen in Spain, 
 and gave her the King's commands. She made ready 
 without tarrying, and in a little while they began the 
 journey back to Palermo, and arrived there as speedily 
 as might be. 
 
 They came into the great hall of Felice's palace, and 
 Queen Braunden of Spain was led to a throne on the 
 dais. By her side sat the King and Prince Braundinis ; 
 and hard by were Felice, with William and Melior. 
 
 Meanwhile the werewolf had returned to Palermo, 
 and abode in William's chamber till Braunden arrived. 
 When all was ready he came into the hall. He passed 
 among all the knights and barons, looking neither to 
 the right nor to the left, and went to the foot of the 
 dais. 
 
 When he saw Braunden sitting by the King, he 
 waxed wroth ; all his bristles stood on end, and he 
 opened his jaws wide and roared terribly with a noise 
 grim to hear. In a moment he would have sprung 
 upon her, if William had not caught him by the neck. 
 
 " Help me, dear lords," cried Braunden in terror. 
 
 52
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 " I have done wrong, and deserve death ; but spare 
 me and take this wolf from me, and I will undo all 
 the evil that I have wrought." 
 
 "Trust me, dear beast, as your own brother," said 
 William to the werewolf, who growled fiercely and 
 was fain to rend the Queen to pieces. "I sent for 
 her for your sake, to help you and bring you to your 
 true form again. If she do not, then, by Him who 
 made us, she shall be burnt to cold ashes, and her 
 ashes scattered to the winds of heaven ; and her 
 husband and her son and all their nobles shall be put 
 in prison for ever, to live their days dolefully till 
 death takes them. Do her no harm, dear friend ; she 
 shall help you or die." 
 
 At those words the werewolf was glad, and he 
 crouched down at William's feet and kissed them. As 
 soon as she saw that his wrath had passed, Braunden 
 rose from her seat and came to him, and knelt beside 
 him. "Sweet Alfonso," she said, "you are truly my 
 lord the King's son, my stepson. I have brought you 
 to sorrow and done you great wrong, but if you will 
 forgive me I will set right the evil that I have done." 
 
 She turned to William and the other lords and 
 begged them to spare her life. But they would not 
 pardon her unless she would disenchant the werewolf ; 
 and that at last she vowed to do. 
 
 She took the werewolf into a chamber alone with 
 her. Then she brought forth a rich and noble ring, 
 with a stone in it of such value that no witchcraft 
 could prevail over him who wore it. She bound the 
 ring with a red silk thread round the werewolf's neck ; 
 53
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 and when she had done that she read for a long time 
 enchantments. out of a fair book which she took from 
 a certain chest ; and in a little while there stood 
 before her no wolf, but a man as fairly shapen and 
 as comely as could be. 
 
 Long and great were the rejoicings when the 
 King of Spain and William and the rest found that 
 Alfonso was a wolf no longer. But they rejoiced 
 even more at what he said at a feast which they 
 held straightway. 
 
 "This good knight, whose strength nath ended the 
 war here," he said, pointing to William, "bore him- 
 self in true knightly fashion. None of you know 
 who he is; but I will tell you. In helping Queen 
 Felice, he helped his mother ; he is her son, and 
 Embrons was his father. I was the , werewolf who 
 stole him from Palermo many years ago ; and I think 
 I was sent by God Himself, for if I had not stolen 
 William, he would have been foully done to death. 
 Embrons' brother, that fell knight who, but for 
 William, would have succeeded to the kingdom, 
 bribed two nurses, and in a day or two they would 
 have poisoned William, if I had not carried him off. 
 I knew also that in time he would bring me back to 
 my man's shape, and ever have I watched over him 
 and delivered him out of danger." 
 
 " Dear friend," said William, embracing him, " God 
 reward you for your constancy and love, for I know 
 not how to requite you." 
 
 " It were not hard to requite me," said Alfonso- 
 
 "In what manner?" asked William. 
 54
 
 William and the Werewolf 
 
 "Grant me one thing only," answered Alfonso. 
 
 " 1 will give you all my realm, save only Melior," 
 said William. 
 
 " I care not for your realm if you will but give me 
 your sister the Princess Florence to wife." 
 
 "Gladly will I, if she be willing;" and since 
 Florence was ready enough to wed so comely a 
 prince, Alfonso won his reward. 
 
 Then William was crowned King of Palermo ; and 
 when he was crowned he sent messengers tb the 
 Emperor of Rome, asking his pardon for carrying off 
 his daughter, and begging him to come to Palermo 
 and give her to him in marriage. He sent also 
 other messengers to the good cowherd who had 
 brought him up, and gave him for reward an earl- 
 dom and a fair castle and great store of gold and 
 silver. 
 
 Anon came the Emperor of Rome, and Melior 
 was happily wedded to William, and Florence to 
 Alfonso ; and yet a third marriage was held, for 
 Alexandrine came in the Emperor's train, and when 
 Braundinis, the Prince of Spain, saw her, he fell so 
 deeply in love with her that he must needs wed her 
 on the instant. 
 
 Thus William and the werewolf came into happi- 
 ness with their ladies. Long and prosperously did 
 they reign in Apulia and Spain. When the Emperor 
 of Rome died, William was chosen in his stead ; and 
 for many years he ruled justly and did good works, 
 and ended his days in peace. 
 
 55
 
 King Robert of Sicily 
 
 )U, proud princes, who are 
 high in men's esteem, lis- 
 ten, and I will tell you a 
 thing. 
 
 In Sicily there was a 
 noble King, named Robert, 
 fair and strong and power- 
 ful : in all the world he had 
 no equal. Men called him 
 " Great " and " the Con- 
 queror," and he was the 
 prince of all knighthood in his day. His brothers 
 were Pope Urban and Valemond, Emperor of Ger- 
 many, a great warrior. This King Robert was filled 
 with pride, and thought that no man was his like. 
 
 It chanced one day, on the eve of St. John's Day, 
 he went to church to evensong ; but, as was his wont 
 in that holy place, he thought more of his worldly 
 honour than of humbleness before God. As he sat 
 there he heard the words of the service : 
 
 "He hath put down the mighty from their seat, 
 and hath exalted the humble and meek." 
 
 "What mean these words?" he asked of a learned 
 clerk. 
 
 56
 
 King Robert of Sicily 
 
 "Sire, they mean that God can with ease make 
 men in high places fall low, and bring the lowly into 
 high places. He can bring this to pass in the twink- 
 ling of an eye." 
 
 " It is a false tale," said the King. "Who hath power 
 to bring me low or in danger ? I am the flower of 
 chivalry ; I may destroy my enemies as I will. There 
 is no man that lives who may withstand me." 
 
 Thus he spoke, and thus he thought in his heart ; 
 and while he thought, a deep sleep came on him as 
 he sat in his kingly seat. Evensong drew to an end, 
 and still King Robert of Sicily slept. All men went 
 out of the church, and left him sleeping; and they 
 knew not that the King was not with them, for in 
 his place there appeared an angel, in the King's like- 
 ness, clad in the King's robes, wearing the King's 
 crown ; and the angel was taken for the King and 
 returned to the King's palace, and feasted there, all 
 the court having great gladness in his presence. 
 
 Night fell upon King Robert as he lay in church, 
 and at length he woke, alone. He cried for his 
 serving men, but no man came. He cried again, 
 but there was no answer, until at last the sexton 
 heard and came to the church door. When he 
 perceived a man in the church, he cried angrily : 
 " What do you here, false knave ? You are here 
 with intent to rob ! " 
 
 " I am no thief ! I am the King ! " answered King 
 Robert. " Open the church door that I may go to 
 my palace." 
 
 The sexton, at these strange words, believed that he 
 57
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 had to deal with a madman, and opened the church 
 door in haste. King Robert ran out as if indeed he 
 were mad, and rushed to his palace. When he came 
 to the gates, he called to the porter with loud abuse, 
 and bade him open at once. 
 
 "Who are you?" asked the porter. "What is your 
 name ?" 
 
 " You shall know right soon," said the King. " I 
 am your lord. You shall be cast into prison, and be 
 hanged and drawn and quartered as a traitor. You 
 shall know that I am the King. Open the gates." 
 
 "I vow to you," said the porter, "that the King is 
 now within with all his court. I know it without 
 doubt." 
 
 But to make certain he left the gate and went 
 within, to the great hall of the palace. There on 
 the King's throne sat the angel in the likeness of 
 King Robert. 
 
 " Sire," said the porter, " there is a poor fool at the 
 gate who says he is lord and King, and abuses me. 
 What shall I do to him? Shall 1 let him come or 
 bid him go ? " 
 
 v Bring him hither straightway," answered the angel. 
 " I will make him my fool till he gives up this name 
 of King." 
 
 The porter went back to the gate and opened it. In 
 ran King Robert, and smote him on the mouth, till 
 the blood came. But the porter called his men, and 
 threw him into a puddle, so that his clothes were all 
 soiled. Then they brought him into the presence of 
 the new King. 
 
 58
 
 Deep sleep came upon Iking TRobeiV
 
 King Robert of Sicily 
 
 " My lord King," said the porter, " this fellow struck 
 me without reason ; and he says that he is the King. 
 He has said naught to me but this that he is King 
 and lord, and that I shall be hanged, drawn, and 
 quartered, for a traitor." 
 
 " Fool," cried the angel, " you are mad to do such 
 hurt to my servants. You shall pay the price. Who 
 are you ? " 
 
 "You know well who I am," answered King Robert. 
 " I am King, and King will I be, whatever you do. 
 You sit in my place wrongfully. The Pope is my 
 brother, and the Emperor of Germany is my brother. 
 They will uphold me." 
 
 " You are my fool," said the angel. " You shall be 
 shorn like a fool, for now you are without a King's 
 dignity. For councillor you shall have an ape, who 
 shall be clad as a fool, like you ; he shall be your 
 brother. Perchance of him you may learn wisdom. 
 You shall eat from off the ground, like the dogs, and 
 with them." 
 
 The angel summoned a barber, who cut King 
 Robert's hair like a fool's, bare to within a hands- 
 breadth of his ears. He stormed and shouted to no 
 avail, and cried in vain that he would be avenged 
 upon them all. Every man scorned him, and laughed 
 at him for a madman. 
 
 So the mighty King Robert of Sicily, for his pride, 
 was put down from his seat, and God Himself could 
 bring him to no lower estate. He was below the 
 meanest serving man. He knew the direst hunger 
 and thirst, for the dogs eat out of his plate, and he 
 61
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 was brought nigh to starvation before he would eat 
 after them. Every day was more bitter to him, for 
 every day the angel called him, and asked scornfully, 
 " My fool, are you King ? " 
 
 Yet King Robert would not abate his pride. " 1 
 am King," he answered every day. "Though I am 
 cast down, yet am I the King." 
 
 " You are my fool," said the angel. 
 
 Meanwhile King Robert's dominions prospered. The 
 angel ruled justly and wisely. There was great plenty 
 in the land, and men dwelt in peace with one another. 
 
 Thus for three years the angel reigned. At the 
 end of that time there came to Sicily an embassy 
 from Valemond the Emperor, proposing to the King 
 that they should go together to visit their brother 
 the Pope. The angel welcomed the ambassadors, and 
 gave them rich robes of ermine, and feasted them ; 
 and at length he set out with them for Rome. In 
 his train rode Robert of Sicily, clad in fool's motley, 
 decked, for a mockery, with foxes' tails ; and on his 
 shoulder sat a grinning ape. The angel was clad all 
 in white, with a white steed richly caparisoned, so 
 that he looked truly a King ; but at the sight of King 
 Robert and his ape all men broke into jeering laughter. 
 
 They came to Rome, and the Pope and the 
 Emperor welcomed the angel as their brother, with 
 great splendour and rejoicings. At their meeting 
 King Robert could not contain himself, but rushed 
 among them, crying eagerly on his brothers to re- 
 cognise him. 
 
 "This is no King," he said, pointing to the angel. 
 62
 
 King Robert of Sicily 
 
 " He has taken my crown and my throne and my 
 kingdom by some trick. I am Robert of Sicily." 
 
 But the Pope and the Emperor would have none 
 of him. His words seemed but another proof of his 
 madness. 
 
 And now, when all men cast him off, even his own 
 brothers, King Robert began to feel true repentance 
 in his heart. "Alas," he cried, "how low have I 
 fallen : I am more forlorn than any man alive." 
 Then he thought how he had come to this pass ; 
 how in his pride he had said "no man hath powei 
 to bring me low ; " and, behold, he was lower now 
 than his humblest servant. He thought of other Kings 
 whom God had put down from their seat ; of 
 Holofernes, who was slain, and of Nebuchadnezzar, 
 who, being made as the beasts of the field, by God's 
 grace became King again. 
 
 " I am even as Nebuchadnezzar," he said to him- 
 self. " For my evil pride I am set in this sorry case, 
 and it is right that I should be thus. Lord, on Thy 
 fool have pity. I repent of my sin. I alone did 
 wrong, for I leaned not on Thee, and despised Thy 
 word. Have pity on Thy fool, O Lord." 
 
 Thus King Robert repented of his pride ; and peace 
 came into his heart thenceforth. 
 
 In five weeks' time the angel once more returned 
 to Sicily, King Robert, still habited as a fool, in his 
 train. When they came to the royal palace, the 
 angel called King Robert before him, and asked him, 
 as of old, "Fool, are you King?" 
 
 " No, sire/' answered King Robert 
 61
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 " What are you, then ? " asked the angel. 
 
 " Sire, I am your fool," answered King Robert, 
 "and more than a fool, if that may be." 
 
 The angel went into his private chamber, and 
 summoned King Robert thither to him ; and they 
 were left alone. 
 
 " You have won God's mercy," said the angel. 
 "God has forgiven your pride. Henceforth serve and 
 dread Him ; think of the lowly estate to which you 
 were cast down, and how lowly is even a King by 
 comparison with the King of Heaven. Know now 
 that I am an angel, sent to keep your kingdom 
 from harm while you learnt humility ; more joy 
 shall fall to me in one hour of one day in Heaven 
 than here on earth befalls a man in an hundred 
 thousand years. I am an angel ; you are the King." 
 
 In the twinkling of an eye the angel vanished. 
 King Robert returned to the hall of the palace, and 
 was received once more without question as King. 
 
 For three years he reigned wisely and prosperously, 
 until he received warning, in a dream, that the hour 
 of his death was near. Then he wrote down all 
 the story of his fall from high estate, and sent it to 
 his brethren, that they and all men might know that 
 God alone has true power ; and this is the tale that 
 has been handed down concerning him. 
 
 64
 
 lllbar are ecu?' asfccD tbc aiificl. 'Sire, 3 am gour fool,' 
 answered Ikina iRobert,"
 
 Sir Cleges and the Cherries 
 
 JSTEN, and you shall hear 
 of the men of the old time 
 before us, hardy and gallant. 
 In the time of King 
 Uther, father of the great 
 King Arthur, there lived a 
 knight by name Sir Cleges ; 
 no doughtier man was there 
 at the Round Table than 
 he, and none of greater might or fairer looks. 
 
 He was so gentle and open of hand that he gave 
 freely to all wandering men who had fallen on evil 
 days. The poor he succoured, and he did no man 
 harm. Any man might come to eat at his board, 
 where always plenteous meat and drink stood ready. 
 
 This knight had a gentle wife, the best of her day. 
 Dame Clarys was her name. She was ever of good 
 cheer and merry, bountiful to the poor, true in all 
 her dealings. 
 
 Every year at Christmas Sir Cleges would hold a 
 great feast, in honour of the season, providing as 
 royally in all things as if he had been a king. Rich 
 and poor in the country round came to his feast ; 
 and there were minstrelsy and mirth, and rich gifts of 
 67
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 robes and jewels, horses, gold and silver, for the guests 
 when they departed. 
 
 For ten years did Sir Cleges hold his feast for 
 charity's sake. But at the last his goods began to fail, 
 so that he had little wealth left. But he would not 
 give up the feast for many years more, until at length 
 all his store was spent, and he had no more, save 
 barely enough for himself and Dame Clarys and their 
 two children to live upon. His proud friends and 
 servants began to fall away from him on every side ; 
 none would dwell with him in his poverty. 
 
 It befell that one Christmas, when Sir Cleges was in 
 his sorry case, the King, dwelling at Kardyf, made a 
 feast. As it drew towards noon of the appointed day, 
 Sir Cleges, who formerly had sat at the King's table, 
 but now was forgotten as if he had been dead, chanced 
 to fall a-thinking on his lost fortunes ; he remembered 
 how, with a free hand, he had wasted his rents and sold 
 his manors, and great sorrow came upon him. He 
 wrung his hands and wept, and all his pride was 
 humbled. As he paced to and fro he heard the noise 
 of the King's feast ; the sound of singing and carolling, 
 and dancing, of pipes, trumpets, harps, psalteries, and 
 lutes ; and at that his heart was utterly cast down. 
 
 " Lord Jesus, King of Heaven," he prayed in his 
 humility, " Thou hast made all things of nought : I 
 thank Thee for the sound of this mirth. Even as now 
 the King does, so did I formerly feast slave and free- 
 man alike at this Thy season. All who came to me in 
 Thy name wanted for nothing, were it rich meats or 
 goodly drinks, and never did I lend for usury." 
 68
 
 Sir Cleges and the Cherries 
 
 As he stood mourning, his good wife came to him 
 and caught him in her arms. " My lord and true 
 lover," she said, " I heard your words. It avails 
 nought to make this lament ; I pray you cease, and 
 thank God for all that He has sent. On this Christ's 
 day put aside your sorrow. Go we to our meal now, 
 and make blithe and merry as best we may." 
 
 " Yes," said Sir Cleges, and went in with her, and 
 somewhat abated his grief. Yet his heart was still 
 sore till Dame Clarys comforted him once again 
 Then he began to wax blithe, and wiped away his 
 tears. They washed, and went in to eat of such 
 victuals as they had, and made merry together. They 
 drove the day away as best they might, and played 
 with their children, and after supper went to bed in 
 due time. 
 
 On the morrow they went to church, and there 
 Sir Cleges kneeled down and prayed that no harm 
 or strife might come upon them ; and his wife prayed 
 the like, and for Sir Cleges also, that God would keep 
 him safely. Then they went home comforted, and 
 put away sad thoughts from them. 
 
 But when Sir Cleges had come home, with his 
 sorrow lessened, he sent his wife and children apart, 
 and himself went into his garden, and there knelt 
 down, and thanked God for the content that had 
 come into his heart instead of sadness, and for the 
 poverty that had been sent to him. 
 
 As he knelt thus and prayed under a tree, he felt 
 a bough upon his head. He rose up, and laid his 
 hand upon the bough, and behold, a marvel was 
 69
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 before him. Green leaves he found upon the bough, 
 and round cherries (for it was a cherry tree) in 
 plenty. 
 
 "Dear God/' quoth he, "what manner of berry 
 may this be that grows at this time of the year ? At 
 this season I know not that any tree should bear 
 fruit." 
 
 He thought to taste the fruit, and put it in his 
 mouth, and eat plenteously. It tasted like a cherry, 
 the best that ever he had eaten. Thereat he cut off 
 a little bough to show to his wife, and took it into 
 the house. 
 
 " Lo, dame!" said he, "here is a new thing. 
 On a cherry tree in our garden I found this fruit. 
 I trow this is a great marvel ; I fear it is a token 
 of more harm that is to come to us. Yet whether 
 we have less or more, let us always thank God : that 
 is best, in truth." 
 
 Then said Dame Clarys with gladness, " Let us 
 fill a basket-ful of the gift that God hath sent. To- 
 morrow at dayspring you shall to Kardyf to the 
 King, and give the cherries to him for a present. 
 You may have from him such a gift that we may 
 fare well all this year. I tell you truth." 
 
 Sir Cleges agreed. "To-morrow to Kardyf will I 
 go, according to your counsel." 
 
 On the moiTOw, when it was light, Dame Clarys 
 made a basket ready. She called her eldest son. 
 "Take up this fair basket," said she, "and bear it 
 to Kardyf with your father." 
 
 Sir Cleges took a staff: he had no hoise (so says 
 70
 
 11 a cbetrs tree in our garOen 5 founO tbis fruit.
 
 Sir Cleges and the Cherries 
 
 the story) to ride, neither steed nor palfrey ; only 
 a staff was his horse, as is the lot of a man in 
 poverty. Together he and his son set out on foot 
 on the road to Kardyf. 
 
 In time they came to the Castle, where the King 
 lay, about the hour when men sat down to feast ; 
 and Sir Cleges thought to enter at the great gate. 
 But he was clad in poor and simple raiment, and the 
 porter barred the way. 
 
 "Churl," said the man, "withdraw, I bid you, 
 right speedily, or I will break your head. Go stand 
 with the beggars. If you come further in, I will 
 smite you a buffet that you will rue." 
 
 "Good sir," said Sir Cleges, "I pray you let me 
 go in. I have a gift for the King from Him who 
 made all things of nought. Behold what I bring." 
 
 The porter went to the basket, and lifted the lid, 
 and beheld the cherries. Well he knew that for such 
 a gift he who brought it would have a great reward. 
 
 "You come not into this place," he said, "unless 
 you promise me the third part of whatsoever the 
 King grants you, whether it be silver or gold." 
 
 Sir Cleges said, " I agree." The porter gave him 
 leave to enter, and in he went without more ado. 
 
 But at the hall door stood an usher with a staff, 
 ready to smite him if he entered unbidden. 
 
 " Go back, churl," he cried. " Haste and tarry not. 
 I will beat every bone in your body, without stint, if 
 you press further." 
 
 " Good sir, for the love of Him who made man," 
 said Sir Cleges, " cease your angry mood. I have here 
 73 
 
 F
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 a present from Him who made all things out of nought 
 and died on the Cross. Last night in my garden it 
 grew: behold whether it be true or false." 
 
 The usher lifted the lid of the basket, and saw the 
 cherries in very truth, and marvelled thereat. 
 
 " You come not in yet, churl," he answered, " until 
 you grant me the third part of whatsoever you are given 
 for these cherries." 
 
 Sir Cleges saw no other way, and granted what the 
 usher asked. Then with sadder heart he led his son 
 with the basket into the King's hall. 
 
 The King's steward walked to and fro in the hall 
 among the lords and knights. To Sir Cleges he came 
 straightway and said, "Who made you so bold as to 
 come here ? Get hence, with your rags, and that 
 speedily." 
 
 " I have here brought a present for the King from our 
 Lord who bought us on the Cross," answered Sir 
 Cleges. 
 
 The stewa' took the basket, and opened it. " Never 
 saw I such fruit at this season of the year," he cried, 
 "no, not since I was born. You shall not come nigh 
 the King unless you grant me this the third part of 
 whatsoever the King gives you. This I will have, or 
 no further do you go." 
 
 "My reward is all swallowed up by these three men," 
 thought Sir Cleges, " and I shall have nothing. I shall 
 get nought for all my labour in coming hither unless 
 it be but a meal." 
 
 " Have you no tongue, rogue ? " cried the steward, 
 since Sir Cleges did not answer. " Speak to me, and 
 74
 
 Sir Cleges and the Cherries 
 
 delay no longer : grant what I ask, or I will rouse you 
 with a staff, so that your ribs rattle, and you are cast 
 out headlong." 
 
 Sir Cleges saw nothing for it but to agree, and he 
 answered with a sigh,- " Whatsoever the King grants 
 me, you shall have a third part, be it less or more." 
 
 Up to the dai's Sir Cleges went, and full soberly 
 and with good intent knelt before -the King. He un- 
 covered the basket and showed the cherries, and said, 
 "Our Saviour hath sent these to the King." 
 
 The King saw the fresh cherries. "This is a fair 
 gift," said he, and bade Sir Cleges sit down to feast, 
 meaning to speak with him thereafter. The cherries 
 he sent in part to a fair lady in Cornwall, and in 
 part divided them among his guests there in the 
 hall. 
 
 When the feast was done, the King bade a squire, 
 " Call now before me the poor man that brought 
 these cherries." 
 
 Sir Cleges came, and tarried not, and fell on his 
 knees before the King and his nobles. " Lord King, 
 what is your will ? " he asked. " I am your man free- 
 born." 
 
 "I thank you heartily," said the King, "for this your 
 gift. You have honoured my feast and my guests, young 
 and old, and you have honoured me also. Whatsoever 
 you will have, I will grant you." 
 
 "Gramercy, liege King," said Sir Cleges; "this is 
 
 good tidings to me. I tell you truly, to have land 
 
 or other riches would be too much for me. But since 
 
 I may choose for myself, I pray you grant me twelve 
 
 75
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 strokes, to deal out as I please, and to give to my 
 adversary with my staff even in this hall." 
 
 Then answered Uther the King, " I repent my boon 
 that I have granted you. It were better that you had 
 gold or reward : you have more need of it." 
 
 "Sire, what I ask is in your gift. I am fain to 
 have it." 
 
 The King was sad and sorry at this rewaid, but 
 nevertheless he granted it. Sir Cleges took his staff 
 and went into the hall among the great lords and 
 knights, without more words. He sought the proud 
 steward, and found him speedily ; and he gave him 
 such a stroke that he fell down like a log before them 
 all ; and then Sir Cleges dealt him other three strokes, 
 so that he cried out, " Sir, for your courtesy, smite me 
 no more." 
 
 Out of the hall Sir Cleges went to pay his other 
 debts, and no man hindered him. He went to the 
 usher, and, "Take your strokes," he said when he met 
 him ; and he dealt him that which would make him 
 forbid no man the way to the King for many a day 
 afterwards, so grimly did Sir Cleges greet him. 
 " You have there the third part of my reward," quoth 
 Sir Cleges. 
 
 Sir Cleges went to the porter and gave him four 
 strokes also. The first broke his shoulder blade and 
 his arm, and he gave him three more for his full 
 share, so that he would stop no more entering for 
 many a day. "You have the third part of my re- 
 ward," quoth Sir Cleges, " according to our covenant." 
 
 The King was in his chamber with mirth and 
 76
 
 steward feu oovvn like a log/
 
 Sir Cleges and the Cherries 
 
 honour. Thither came Sir Cleges to thank King 
 Uther again ; and it chanced that a harper sang to 
 the King the former deeds of a certain knight, even 
 of Sir Cleges himself. 
 
 " Where is Sir Cleges ? " asked the King. " You have 
 wandered wide, harper ; tell me truth, if you can. 
 Know you of the man ? " 
 
 "Yes," answered the harper. "Aforetime I knew 
 him. He was a true knight, and a comely. We 
 minstrels miss him, in sooth, since he went out of 
 this land." 
 
 " I trow Sir Cleges is dead," said the King. " I loved 
 him well. Would that he were alive ! I would 
 rather that he were alive than any other live, for he 
 was strong and valiant." 
 
 Sir Cleges knelt before the King and thanked him 
 for his boon. But the King asked him why he had 
 paid the twelve strokes to the three servants, the 
 steward, the usher, and the porter. 
 
 "Sire, I might not enter into your presence until I 
 had granted each one of these three the third part of 
 whatsoever you granted me. With that I should have 
 nought myself, wherefore I asked and gave them 
 twelve strokes ; I thought that best." 
 
 The lords both old and young, and all that were 
 with the King, made merry thereat, and the King 
 could scarce withhold his laughter. 
 
 "This is a noble wight," quoth he, and sent for his 
 steward. "Have you your reward?" he asked, 
 
 But the steward only reviled Sir Cleges, with a 
 surly look. 
 
 7Q
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Then said the King to Sir Cleges, "What is your 
 name, good man ? Tell me truly." 
 
 " I am Sir Cleges," he answered. " I was your 
 own knight, King Uther." 
 
 " Are you Sir Cleges who served me, and were so 
 generous and free, and so stout in the fight ? " 
 
 " Even so, lord King ; so was I, until God visited 
 me and clad me thus in poverty." 
 
 Thereupon the King bestowed upon Sir Cleges all 
 that belonged of right to a knight, to befit his rank ; 
 he gave him also the Castle of Kardyf, with many 
 other gifts, that he might live with mirth and joy. 
 And Sir Cleges rode home to Dame Clarys, his wife, 
 and told her all that had been given him ; and they 
 I'ved thereafter in happiness to the end of their days.
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 I. The Green Knight's Challenge 
 
 )ING ARTHUR lay at Camelot 
 at Christmas, with many 
 trusty lords and ladies of 
 the best, and all the com- 
 pany of the Round Table. 
 They held rich revel, and 
 jousted full merrily, and 
 anon made carols. The 
 Christmas feast lasted fifteen 
 days, and all this fair band 
 of folk was young, and the King was of greater fame 
 than any that now could .be found. 
 
 On New Year's Day, when the year was but freshly 
 come in, the knights at the dais were served with a 
 double portion, and a solemn service was held, and 
 all made festival. Queen Guinevere and her maidens 
 sat at the board with the King, and by her side was 
 good Sir Gawain, the King's sister's son. There was 
 no lack of mirth and jollity and rich meats at that 
 feast. 
 
 Suddenly, as the first course of the banquet was 
 served, there rode in at the hall door a terrible knight. 
 He was of more than man's stature, and so broad 
 81
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 and strong that he seemed half a giant. Yet he was 
 a man, though the mightiest that ever rode a horse ; 
 his back and shoulders were huge, but his waist was 
 small and seemly, and his features comely. He was 
 clad all in green, his hair and beard were green, and 
 he wore a straight green coat, with a mantle above, 
 lined with fur. His hose were of green, and his 
 spurs of clean bright gold. Round him and over his 
 saddle ran a baldric set with jewels, curiously em- 
 broidered with figures of butterflies and insects, and 
 fringed with green. All his harness, his stirrups, and 
 his saddle bow were of golden enamel with green 
 stones flashing in them. His very horse was green, a 
 great thick-set steed, full hard to hold in. 
 
 The strange knight had no helmet or hawberk, 
 nor any armour or arms ; but in one hand he had 
 a holly-staff (for holly is ever green when other trees 
 are bare), and in the other hand an axe, huge and 
 cumbrous, burnished bright, with a broad edge sharp 
 as a razor. 
 
 At the entrance to the hall he stopped. He looked 
 towards the dais, but greeted no man. The first 
 words he said were, " Where is the lord of this 
 gathering ? I would fain see him and speak with 
 him." 
 
 He cast his eye on all the knights, to see which 
 was the most renowned ; and they looked back at 
 him in wonder and amazement. 
 
 Then Arthur, seeing this knight waiting before the 
 dais, greeted him. " Sir Knight, you are welcome to 
 this place. I am lord of it, and my name is Arthur. 
 82
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 Dismount and rest, and we will hear anon what your 
 will is." 
 
 "Nay," quoth the Green Knight, "it is not my 
 errand to abide any while here. But the praise of 
 your city and your knights is gone far abroad, and 
 men say that they are the best in the world. You 
 may be sure from this holly-branch that I bear that I 
 am at peace with you, for had I wished war, I had 
 come in hawberk and helmet, with the shield and 
 sharp shining spear that now I have left at my home. 
 But if you be so bold as is said, tell me first if you 
 will grant me that which I ask." 
 
 "Courteous knight," answered Arthur, "if you 
 crave battle, it shall be given to you here." 
 
 " Nay, I fight not in battle. If I were in arms on 
 my steed no man here could match me. I crave at 
 this court but a Christmas sport, for it is Yule and 
 New Year, and here are many knights gathered. If 
 any man here holds himself so hardy and bold that 
 he dares strike me one blow in return for another, 
 I will give him a rich gift, this axe that I hold. I 
 will abide the first blow clad even as I am here. 
 If any dare this, let him now leap lightly to me, and 
 take this axe, and I will quit my claim to it, and I 
 will stand his blow here on this floor. You shall 
 grant me the right to deal him a blow in turn, with 
 a respite of a twelvemonth and a clay between." 
 
 If the knights were amazed at first, they were 
 stiller with surprise now. The knight rolled his red 
 eyes upon them, and glared under his green eye- 
 brows. 
 
 83
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 "What, is this Arthur's court?" he cried, when 
 none came forward to answer his challenge. " Where 
 are now your pride and your conquests, your wrath 
 and your high words? Now is the renown of the 
 Round Table abased by one man's challenge ! " 
 
 With that he laughed aloud, and all the knights felt 
 shame and sorrow ; the blood rushed to the King's 
 (ace, and he started up in wrath. 
 
 " Now, by heaven, your folly shall win its due 
 reward," he cried. " I know no man here that fears 
 your boast. Give me now your axe, and I will grant 
 your boon." 
 
 Lightly he leaped towards the Green Knight, and 
 laid hold of him ; and the knight dismounted from 
 his steed. Then Arthur took the axe and gripped it, 
 and swung it about, making ready to strike. The Green 
 Knight stood firm before him, and stroked his beard, 
 and drew down his coat for the blow, no more dis- 
 mayed than if a knight had brought him a cup to 
 drink of. 
 
 But Gawain, who sat by the Queen, turned to the 
 King, "I beseech you, fair lord," he said, "let this 
 encounter be mine. Bid me rise from this bench 
 and stand by you, that I may without discourtesy 
 leave the Queen's side at the table. I think it not 
 seemly that you yourself should take up this proud 
 challenge in your very court, while so many bold 
 knights sit nigh you to answer for you. I am the 
 weakest, I ween, and feeblest of wit, and if I die it 
 matters little. Let this challenge fall to me, and if I 
 take it not up honourably, let all this court blame me." 
 84
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 As he spoke, all the knights cried out that the 
 King should grant this deed to Gawain. 
 
 Then Arthur commanded Gawain to rise, and he 
 rose up and knelt before the King, and took the axe 
 in his hand. The King lifted up his hand and blessed 
 him, and bade him be hardy and strong. " Fare 
 safely, cousin," he said. "If I know ought, you will 
 easily abide the blow he shall give you in return, if you 
 do but strike true first. He will be a stout knight 
 who can give a blow after he has had one at your 
 hands." 
 
 Gawain strode to the Green Knight, the axe in his 
 hand. " Let us plight our word," said the Green 
 Knight, " ere we fall to. First tell me your name, Sir 
 Knight." 
 
 " My name is Gawain : that I vow," answered 
 Gawain. " And I will take your blow in return at this 
 a twelvemonth hence, with what weapon you will." 
 
 " I will take your buffet, Sir Gawain," said the 
 Green Knight. " You have readily rehearsed all the 
 covenant I asked of the King; but this thing I ask 
 also, that you shall seek me myself, wheresoever you 
 hope I may be found, that you may receive back the 
 gift you are to give me to-day." 
 
 " How can I seek you ? Where is your dwelling ? 
 I know not your court or your name, Sir Knight. 
 Teach me truly all this, and tell me how you are 
 called, and I vow I will spend all my wits in coming 
 to you for your return blow." 
 
 "That is enough," quoth the Green Knight. "I 
 will tell you truly when I have had your blow. Then 
 85
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 will I straightway teach you the way to my dwelling, 
 and my name, that you may keep our troth. Now 
 give your blow." 
 
 "Gladly will I," said Sir Gawain, and made ready 
 with the great axe. 
 
 The Green Knight bowed his head, and parted his 
 hair that his neck might be free for the blow. Sir 
 Gawain gripped the axe, and swung it high, putting 
 his weight on his left foot, and let the blow fall on 
 the Green Knight's neck. So true was the stroke, so 
 keen the axe, that it sundered the bones, and shore 
 through the neck, and the knight's head fell to the 
 ground. But the Green Knight neither faltered nor 
 fell, but stooped firmly, and lifted up the head. 
 Then he mounted his horse, still holding his head 
 in his hand, by the hair, as if he had been un- 
 touched. 
 
 When he was in the saddle, he turned the head 
 towards the dais ; and it opened its eyes and looked 
 full upon the King and his knights, and cried to 
 them : " Look, Gawain, be sure that you are ready to 
 go, as you have vowed before all these knights, and 
 seek till you find me. I charge you, ride in a 
 twelvemonth's time to the Green Chapel, and you 
 shall there have on New Year's morn such a stroke as 
 you have deserved. I am the knight of the Green 
 Chapel, known to many, and you shall not fail to 
 find me. Therefore come as I bid you, or be called 
 recreant for ever after." 
 
 He turned and rode out at the hall door, his head in 
 his hand, and his horse's hoofs struck sparks from the 
 86
 
 <3reen iknfflbt turned aitf ro5e out, bis bcaJ) in bis banD,'
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 ground. To what place he went, none there knew, 
 nor whence he had come. 
 
 Though Arthur the King was astonished in his 
 heart, he let no show of wonder be seen in his face, 
 but said courteously to the comely Queen : " Dear 
 dame, be not dismayed ; such craft is welcome at a 
 Christmas festival. Now let me turn to my meat, for 
 I have seen a wonder I may not forget. Sir Gawain, 
 hang up your axe : it has hewn enough." 
 
 The axe was hung above the dais, that all men 
 might look at it and know these wonders were true. 
 Then the knights fell a-feasting, with all manner of 
 mirth and minstrelsy. 
 
 II. Sir Gawain Rides Forth 
 
 Christmas waned, and spring followed winter, and 
 presently Michaelmas came again, and Gawain thought 
 of his appointed journey. Yet till All-Hallows Day 
 he lingered with Arthur, and they made a feast with 
 much revelry ; but courteous knights and comely 
 ladies were all in great grief for love of Sir Gawain, 
 who must needs endure the Green Knight's stroke so 
 soon. 
 
 After the feast Gawain spoke to Arthur. u Now, 
 liege lord of my life, I ask your leave to go, as I 
 vowed, to seek the Green Knight." 
 
 Then all the most famous knights gathered round 
 
 Gawain, to counsel him, and there was much sadness 
 
 in the hall that so worthy a knight should be going 
 
 forth on such an errand. But Gawain would have 
 
 89
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 put aside their grief, saying, " Why should I flinch 
 from destiny ? What may a man do but face it ? " 
 
 All that day he dwelt there. Early the next morn- 
 ing, when he had commended his soul to God, he 
 was arrayed in his armour, and took his shield with 
 the pentangle pointed thereon in pure gold. Now a 
 pentangle is a figure that Solomon the Wise dis- 
 covered, and it betokens truth, for it has five points, 
 and every line in it crosses two others, and it is end- 
 less, so that the English call it "the endless knot." 
 And this pentangle was a seemly device for Gavvain, 
 for he was found faultless in his five senses, and his 
 five fingers never failed him, and all his trust was in 
 the five wounds of Christ ; and he had five virtues 
 frankness, fellowship, purity, courtesy, and pity, that 
 passeth all the rest ; and these five virtues were joined 
 in Gawain, so that the pentangle on his shield was the 
 very sign and emblem of himself. 
 
 When all was ready, he mounted his good steed 
 Gringolet, and sprang on his way, so that sparks 
 struck from the stones as he rode. His road lay 
 first through the realm of Logres. Often he lay alone 
 at night, with his steed for his only companion. Long 
 did he journey, and came at last out of Logres into 
 North Wales, and, passing thence by the ford at 
 Holyhead, into Anglesea, and so into the wilderness 
 of Wirral. Ever and anon he asked, of all whom he 
 met as he tared along, if anywhere in that place was 
 to be found the Green Chapel or the Green Knight ; 
 but all said him nay, for that never had they seen 
 any knight of such hue. Many a cliff he climbed, 
 90
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 many a stream he crossed, and ever at the fords, ere 
 he could cross, he must needs slay some doughty foe- 
 man who guarded the way. Sometimes he warred 
 with dragons and wolves, with bears and boars, and 
 sometimes with savage men. Had he not been so stout 
 a knight, he had full often been slain. 
 
 It was many a day he pricked forward in sorrow 
 and hardship, until Christmas Eve came. As he rode 
 on that day he prayed in his heart that he might 
 come upon some shelter for Christmas, where he 
 might pay his vows to God and do worship. Even 
 as he prayed, he .looked up, and was aware of a 
 Castle before him in the wood : before it was a 
 lawn, and it stood on a mound, and a moat was 
 round about it. It was the comeliest castle that ever 
 a knight possessed, girt by great trees, with a spiked 
 fence all round the moat for more than two miles. 
 
 At the sight of this Castle Sir Gawain raised his 
 helmet, and thanked God that his prayer had been 
 heard. Then he spurred Gringolet and rode on to 
 the chief gate, where lay a drawbridge drawn up. 
 The gates were shut fast, and the walls were so stout 
 that they need fear no blast of tempest. 
 
 Sir Gawain called aloud at the bridge-end, and 
 soon there came a porter, who, from the wall, asked 
 his errand. 
 
 "Good sir,' quoth Gawain, "will you go to the high 
 lord of this Castle for me, and crave lodging ? ; ' 
 
 " Yea, that I will," answered the porter. " I ween 
 you may abide here so long as you like." 
 
 Then he went, and come back anon with other 
 9 1
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 folk to welcome the knight. They let down the 
 drawbridge, and opened the gates, and Sir Gawain 
 rode in, greeting them. When he had come into 
 the castle, squires held his stirrup for him to dis- 
 mount, and received his armour from him, and 
 served him in all things duly. 
 
 He entered the hall of the Castle, where a fire 
 burned ; there the lord of the Castle came forth 
 and greeted him. " Do here as it pleases you," he 
 said. " All that is here is yours to do with as you 
 will." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," said Sir Gawain, and looked 
 on him, and saw that he was a bold warrior, mighty 
 in stature. 
 
 Then led they Gawain to a chamber, and robed 
 him; and afterwards a great feast was held with all 
 mirth and gladness; and when the folk in that 
 Castle knew that they had for guest Sir Gawain of the 
 Round Table, they were filled with joy, and more 
 than ever strove to show honour to so fair a knight. 
 
 The next day, being Christmas Day, Sir Gawain 
 and all the folk in the Castle paid their vows to God 
 and His Son, and thereafter they held a great feast; 
 and for three days they did the like. But on the 
 third day Sir Gawain remembered his tryst, and 
 would fain have gone from the Castle to meet the 
 Green Knight But the knight of the Castle would 
 have had him tarry longer, until Gawain told him of 
 his errand, and how he might by no means fail to 
 find the Green Chapel by New Year's Day. 
 
 When the lord of the Castle heard Sir Gawain's 
 92
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 errand, he laughed. " Now shall you stay," he said, 
 "for I will teach you the way to the Green Chapel, 
 which is hard by this Castle. I know that dread 
 Chapel. Rest and take your ease in bed for yet three 
 days more, and on the fourth, which is New Year's 
 Day, you shall ride forth, and even so shall come 
 to the Green Chapel by mid-morn." 
 
 Then was Gawain full glad, and he laughed merrily. 
 "Now I thank you for this counsel," quoth he. "My 
 errand is achieved : I will dwell here at your will, 
 and do as you deem right." 
 
 " See," said his host, " let us make a covenant for 
 these three days. You have travelled far, and even 
 now are not refreshed from your long journey. Lie 
 at your ease to-morrow and the day after and the 
 third day, and my lady wife shall comfort you, while 
 1 go a-hunting; and we will make this pledge, that 
 whatsoever I win in the wood on each day, shall be 
 yours ; and whatsoever you win here in my house, 
 you shall exchange for what I win. Let us vow this." 
 
 " I grant it," said Sir Gawain. 
 
 "Bring wine," cried his host; "the bargain is 
 made." 
 
 They pledged one another with regard to this cove- 
 nant, and then with friendly talk they went to bed. 
 But when the lord of the Castle was in bed, he oft 
 remembered their covenant in his mind.
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 III. The Three Gifts 
 
 Full early, before day, the folk rose up, some to 
 take their leave and go elsewhere, some to abide at 
 the Castle and hunt with its lord, who speedily, after 
 prayer, blew his bugle and went forth to the chase. 
 Nigh a hundred went with him, and all day they 
 hunted, and fared well. 
 
 But while the lord hunted, Gawain lay in the Castle 
 and took his ease in his bed till long after daylight 
 shone on the walls. As he lay there he heard a 
 little sound at the door ; and he lifted his head out 
 of the clothes, and pulled back a corner of the bed- 
 curtain, that he might see who it was. 
 
 It was the fair lady of the Castle, who entered 
 softly, and shut the door, and came towards the bed. 
 
 Gawain made as if he slept. But the lady came 
 close to the bedside, and sat down thereby to wait 
 till he should wake. Thereupon Gawain wondered 
 to himself what this might mean. " It were more 
 seemly," he thought, "to -ask her what she would 
 with me." 
 
 Thereat he made pretence to wake, and turned 
 towards her, and looked on her with surprise. 
 
 "Good morrow, Sir Gawain," said that fair lady. 
 "You sleep heedlessly, if I can enter thus unheard. 
 Now are you my prisoner, since I have come upon 
 you suddenly.'' 
 
 "Good morrow to you, dame," answered Gawnin. 
 94
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 " I will do what you will, and I yield me prisoner 
 gladly," 
 
 "Then shall I keep you here," said the lady, "and 
 talk with my knight whom I have caught. You are 
 Sir Gawain, whom all the world worships, and I too 
 worship yon." 
 
 "Nay, lady," quoth Gawain, "I am not worthy of 
 such worship. I were glad if I might set myself at 
 your service in any way." 
 
 " Sir Knight, you are very fair, and worthy of all 
 worship. Truly I find it in my heart to love you." 
 
 "Nay, dame, that were not seemly; you are the 
 wife of a true and valiant knight." 
 
 Thus they talked for long, the lady speaking words 
 of love, and seeking by her arts to make him forget 
 his knighthood and give her his love in return, and 
 Sir Gawain ever setting aside her words, for his 
 honour bade him pay no heed to such things. Till 
 mid-morn did they converse ; and then the lady took 
 her leave. But as she gave him good-day, she glanced 
 at him, and said, " I thank you for your courtesy, Sir 
 Knight ; but that you be Gawain, that must I doubt." 
 
 "Wherefore?" asked Sir Gawain, for at her words 
 he feared that he had failed in courtesy. 
 
 " So good a knight as Gawain is said to be," quoth 
 the lady, "could not have dallied so long with a lady 
 without of courtesy he craved a kiss when they 
 parted." 
 
 " I will do even as it pleases you," said Sir Gawain. 
 
 At that the lady came near, and stooped over him 
 Then with all courtesy she kissed him. 
 95
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 That evening, when the lord of the Castle returned, 
 he brought the plenteous spoils of the chase, and 
 showed them to Gawain. 
 
 "How like you this, Sir Gawain?" he asked. "All 
 this have I won for you to-day. What have you won 
 for me, according to our covenant?" 
 
 "This have I won," said Sir Gawain, and put his 
 arms round him and kissed him courteously. 
 
 " It is good," said the other. " I thank you. Yet I 
 would fain know where you won this gift." 
 
 "Nay, that was not bargained," said Gawain. "I 
 give you what I received, neither more nor less. Ask 
 me no more. You have your due." 
 
 Thereafter they feasted, and presently went to rest 
 in all content and good fellowship. 
 
 On the morrow the lord of the Castle went forth 
 hunting, and slew a great boar. Again his lady came 
 to Ga wain's chamber and gave him a kiss at parting ; 
 and in the evening Gawain rendered up the kiss even 
 as at the first day, taking in exchange the slain boar. 
 And on the third day it happened likewise that the 
 lady kissed Gawain. But as the lady was leaving 
 Gawain, having given him the third kiss, she said : 
 "Now, dear knight, at this parting, do me this kind- 
 ness ; give me somewhat for a gift, if it be but your 
 glove, that I may think of my knight and lessen my 
 sorrow at his going. I have tempted you sorely, and 
 you have resisted with all courtesy ; yet I would fain 
 have a remembrance of this pleasant converse of 
 ours." 
 
 " Now I would that I had here the least thing," 
 96
 
 stoopcD over bini, a;iD witb all courtesy fcisseD bfm.'
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 answered Sir Gawain ; " and if I had ought, I would 
 that I might give it you for your love of me, for you 
 have deserved more reward than ever I could give. 
 But it is not to your honour to have at this time a 
 glove as a gift from me, for I am here on a wondrous 
 quest, and have no gifts nor treasures with me, and 
 may heed nothing but my quest." 
 
 " Nay, then," said the lady, " if I may have nought 
 of yours, you shall have somewhat of mine." 
 
 She took from her finger a rich ring of red gold 
 with a bright stone upon it. But Sir Gawain would 
 not have the ring. " I will take no gift at this time, 
 lady, for I am bound upon a quest," said he, "and 
 think of nought else." 
 
 " If you will not have my ring, take this girdle," 
 said the lady; and she loosened a strip of lace that 
 was fastened at her side, of green silk with a golden 
 braid. 
 
 But Gawain would have nothing of her, and he 
 prayed her to ask him no more. 
 
 "You will not have this silken scarf?" said the 
 lady. " Peradventure it seems simple and of little 
 worth, and you despise it. But whosoever knew its 
 virtue would value it at a great price, I trow. For 
 if a knight be girt with this green scarf, there is no 
 man under heaven can wound him, no, not by any 
 guile on earth." 
 
 Then Gawain was sorely tempted in his heart to 
 
 take this gift from her, for it would aid him in his quest 
 
 and save him, peradventure, when he came to receive 
 
 the Green Knight's blow. He pondered long ; and 
 
 99
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 at last, since fear of the Green Knight had entered 
 ever so little into his heart, he took the scarf, and 
 gave thanks to the lady right courteously. 
 
 When the lord of the Castle returned that night, 
 he brought with him but one fox that he had hunted 
 long ; and when he gave it to Gawain, Gawain gave 
 him in return only the third kiss, concealing from 
 him the green scarf, for he was minded to break his 
 covenant in this little point, and keep the scarf for 
 his own safety. Then he thanked him for the glad 
 sojourn he had made at the Castle ; and after they 
 had feasted, they went to bed. 
 
 IV. The Green Chapel 
 
 Sir Gawain slept but little that cold New Year's 
 Eve. Early in the morning he arose, and was clad 
 and armed by the chamberlain. Then, with the lady's 
 scarf about his waist, he sallied forth upon his good 
 steed Gringolet, commending the Castle and all in it 
 to Christ. The drawbridge was let down, the great 
 gates thrown open, and Sir Gawain rode out with 
 but one man to guide him to the Green Chapel. 
 
 They pricked on apace past bare hedges, and climbed 
 the frost-bound cliffs. The sky was lowering; a mist 
 lay on the moor and on the hill-tops like a cloak. 
 
 They came at length about sunrise to a high hill, 
 where the snow lay white and bare around them. 
 There the guide bade Gawain farewell. 
 
 " I have brought you now not far from the place 
 you seek," he said. " But it is held to be a full 
 100
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 perilous place, and he who dwells there is stark and 
 stern and mighty, greater of body than any man at 
 Arthur's court. He slays all men who would pass 
 by the Green Chapel, without mercy. I say sooth, 
 that though you had twenty lives, yet you will be 
 slain if you encounter him. Therefore, Sir Gawain, 
 go some other road ; seek not this man. I vow that 
 I will hie me home again, and say no word to show 
 that you fled." 
 
 " Gramercy," said Sir Gawain in anger. " You wish 
 me well. But if I fled I were a coward knight, and 
 could not be forgiven. I will go to this Green Chapel, 
 come what may, and meet the Green Knight." 
 
 "If you will willingly lose your life," said the man, 
 " 1 will not stay you. Ride down this road till you 
 come to the bottom of the valley ; there a little on 
 your left will you see the chapel, and the knight who 
 keeps it. Now farewell, and God keep you, noble 
 Gawain ; for all the gold on earth I would not go 
 one step farther with you." 
 
 With that he turned and rode off, leaving Sir Gawain 
 alone. 
 
 " I will neither grieve nor groan," quoth Gawain : 
 " I give myself up to God's will." 
 
 Then spurred he Gringolet, and rode down into 
 the valley. But he saw no sign of a chapel, but 
 only high banks and rugged rocks. He halted his 
 horse and looked about him. He discerned nought 
 but a little green mound not far distant, to which he 
 went. By it ran a swift stream, and the water 
 bubbled as it ran. 
 
 101
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Sir Gawain alighted from Gringolet, and tied the 
 horse to a linden tree. Then he turned to the 
 mound. It had a hole at the end, and on either 
 side, and was all hollow within, as it were an old 
 cave or a crevice in a crag. It was all overgrown 
 with grass, and green from end to end. 
 
 "Is this the Green Chapel?" quoth the gentle 
 knight. "It is an ugly place, overgrown with weeds, 
 and it is seemly that the Green Knight should do 
 his devotions here. This is a chapel of mischance, 
 worthy of so fierce and fell a knight." 
 
 With his helmet on his head and his lance in his 
 hand he roamed over the mound. Suddenly he 
 heard from the hill beyond the brook a wonderful 
 shrill noise, that rang loud through the cliffs, as if 
 to cleave them ; it was a sound as of a man whetting 
 a scythe upon a grindstone, and it whirred and 
 hissed like water on a mill-wheel. 
 
 " I trow there is one making arms ready for the 
 knight who is to meet me here," quoth Gawain grimly. 
 "Yet I fear not, even if my life be lost." 
 
 Then he called full loud: "Who waits in this 
 steading to keep faith with me ? Now is Gawain 
 come here to keep his tryst, and to serve any man 
 if he will but come hither speedily." 
 
 "Abide there," quoth one on the bank above Sir 
 Gawain's head, " and you shall have all that I 
 vowed to you." 
 
 The noise of the grindstone continued for a little. 
 But suddenly it ceased, and from a cave by a crag 
 on the hill came the Green Knight, rushing out of 
 
 TO2
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 the dark cave as in a whirlwind, and bearing in his 
 hand a fell weapon, a Danish axe new whetted. 
 
 He was clad all in green, as of old, but fared on 
 foot now. When he came down the hill to the 
 water, he would not wade, but leaped it by the aid 
 of his axe, and strode boldly across to where Gawain 
 stood. He did him no reverence, but only said : 
 "Gawain, you are welcome to this my place, and 
 have timed your journey as a true man should. You 
 know the covenant between us : here at this New 
 Year I am ready to quit me of my debt to you. 
 There are no knights here to stay us. Do off your 
 helmet from your head, and have your pay. Let 
 there be no more talk than when you shore off my 
 head at one blow." 
 
 " Nay, by the God who gave me the breath of 
 life," said Gawain, " I shall not flinch : I will stand 
 still whatsoever you do." 
 
 He leaned his neck forward and bared it, and 
 made as if he were undaunted, for he would show 
 no fear. 
 
 Then the Green Knight gathered up all his strength 
 and swung the grim axe aloft to smite Gawain. 
 Had it driven downwards as true as he meant, 
 Gawain would have been dead from that one blow. 
 But Gawain, as the axe glided down, shrank a little 
 with his shoulders, for fear of the sharp edge. 
 
 The Green Knight turned the bright axe aside in 
 a twinkling, as he saw Gawain flinch. 
 
 " You are not that Gawain who is held so good a 
 knight," he said in rebuke. " He never shrank from 
 103
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 any man by hill or vale, but you flinched before 
 ever harm came to you. Never could 1 hear such 
 cowardice reported of Gawain. Not so did I flinch 
 when in King Arthur's hall my head was shorn from 
 my shoulders and fell at my feet. Wherefore I 
 must needs be called A better knight than you." 
 
 "I shrank once," quoth Gawain, "and so will 1 
 never again, though my head be cleft from my body. 
 Haste you, Sir Knight, and deal my fate to me. I 
 will abide your stroke and start from it no more, 
 till your axe has hit me have here my word 
 upon it." 
 
 " Have at you then," quoth the other, and heaved 
 the axe aloft like a madman. He swung it down 
 heavily, but ere ever he hurt Sir Gawain, turned 
 the axe aside once more, meaning to try him yet 
 again, to see if he would flinch. 
 
 Gawain awaited the stroke unmoved, and flinched in 
 no wise, but stood still as a stone. 
 
 Then merrily cried the Green Knight, " I have proved 
 you, and I see that your heart is whole. Now will 
 I smite. Hold aside the hood of your cloak, and 
 let me strike." 
 
 "You threaten too long," said Sir Gawain in anger. 
 ' Have done with your blow." 
 
 " For sooth, so angrily you speak," said the knight, 
 "that I will no longer wait." 
 
 Then he made ready to strike, frowning with lips 
 and brow, so that it was no marvel that Gawain mis- 
 liked him and had no hope of rescue. 
 
 The Green Knight struck. The edge of the blade 
 104
 
 'The leaneD bis neck torwaro anD bareS It.'
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 smote Sir Gawain on his bare neck, but though it 
 cut the skin a little so that the blood came, it hurt 
 him no more than that. 
 
 When Sir Gawain knew that the blow was done, 
 he sprang away more than a spear's length, and took 
 his helmet and shield swiftly, and drew his bright 
 sword. 
 
 "You have had your blow, Sir Knight," he said, 
 blither than ever since first he was born. " I have 
 stood your stroke without repaying it, and if you 
 give me more I will speedily requite you, and pay 
 you back readily." 
 
 The Green Knight held aloof from him and rested 
 on his axe, setting the shaft on the ground. He 
 looked on Sir Gawain, and saw how he faced him 
 undaunted ; and in his heart he liked it well. 
 
 "Bold knight," he cried merrily, "no man here 
 has used you in unknightly fashion or will. I vowed to 
 give you a stroke, and you have had it. Hold your- 
 self well paid. Know now that I am the lord of 
 the Castle where you have lodged, and I have re- 
 quited you for the three days of our covenant. You 
 yielded a little to temptation in those days, and by 
 these blows have I rewarded you. On the first day 
 my wife kissed you, as I knew full well : I gave you 
 in return the first blow, whereat you flinched. For 
 the second kiss, I gave you the second blow, and 
 held my hand from harming you. For the third kiss, 
 I struck the third blow with my might and with fell 
 intent. It is my green scarf, which my wife wrought 
 for me, that you wear, which saved your life. That 
 107
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 also I know, for I myself sent her to prove your 
 knighthood in the three days of my hunting, and in 
 sooth by this test I find you the truest knight that 
 ever went on foot. As a pearl among white peas 
 is of more price than they, so is Gawain among all 
 other knights. The kisses I make nought of : they 
 were but courtesy. You lacked a little in your good 
 faith in taking the gift of the green scarf; but that 
 was for love of your life, and for no baser purpose, 
 and I blame you not for it ; a man may not be per- 
 fect, be he never so gentle a knight." 
 
 Gawain stood still in thought a great while, so 
 grieved and sorry was his mind. The blood rushed 
 to his face, and he shrank for shame as the knight 
 talked. "Woe on you, cowardice and covetousness," 
 he cried at last : " you are villainy and vice, that 
 destroy virtue. You have undone me in this my 
 quest." 
 
 Then he unloosened the green scarf, and gave it to 
 the knight, saying, "Lo, take the sign of my false- 
 hood. For fear of your stroke cowardice drove me 
 to make friends with covetousness, so that I forsook 
 the generous loyalty that beseems a knight. Now am 
 I faulty and false, and have been afraid. Do your will 
 with me, Sir Knight." 
 
 The Green Knight laughed. "I hold you purged 
 of your sin," he said, "for you stood my blow like 
 a true knight. This green scarf I give you, Sir 
 Gawain. You may think upon this adventure of 
 the Green Chapel when you go forth among princes 
 of fame and might." 
 
 108
 
 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 
 
 Gawain took the scarf, and thanked the Green 
 Knight full courteously. " I will take it with good 
 will," he said, " not for the worth of it, though it is 
 precious and wondrously wrought, but to keep as a 
 sign of my sin. One thing more I would pray of 
 you. Since you be lord of yonder Castle and land, 
 tell me your right name." 
 
 "That will I truly," quoth the other. "I am called 
 Bernlak of Hautdesert. Morgan le Fay dwells in my 
 Castle, and she has much magic lore, and has taken 
 many men by craft. There is none so high and 
 haughty that Morgan le Fay cannot abase him. She 
 sent me in this green gear to Arthur's hall, to prove 
 and test the pride and renown of the Round Table ; 
 and I have proved the Round Table by your knight- 
 hood, and find it the very mirror of chivalry. Come 
 now to my Castle and greet Morgan le Fay, and 
 make merry, for I love you as well as any man." 
 
 But Gawain said him nay, for he must ride to 
 King Arthur's court. So they took their leave one 
 of another with all love and courtesy, and parted 
 there. The Green Knight took his way whithersoever 
 he wished, and Sir Gawain rode back through wild 
 ways to the King's city of Camelot. And when he 
 was come thither, and had told his shame and what- 
 ever else had befallen him, all the knights vowed to 
 wear thereafter a baldric of bright green, in remem- 
 brance of Sir Gawain's temptation and of his courage 
 and of all his adventure with the Green Knight 
 
 100
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 GAWAIN had a son, and 
 l}e was fair to look on, bright 
 of face and well - favoured 
 in body. He was named 
 Geynleyn. But for love of 
 his fair face his mother called 
 him Beau-fys, and no other 
 name ; and he never asked her 
 what he was truly called, for 
 Sir Gawain had wedded this 
 lady secretly, and none knew 
 that he was Geynleyn's father. 
 
 It befell on a certain day that Geynleyn went to 
 the woods to hunt the deer, and there he found a 
 knight in strong gay armour, lying slain. Geynleyn 
 wondered thereat for a space ; but in a little time 
 he took off the knight's garments, and ciad himself 
 in that rich armour ; and when he had done this, 
 he went to Glastonbury, where King Arthur lay at 
 that time. He came into the hall before the knights 
 and greeted them with honour. 
 
 "King Arthur, my lord," he said, "grant that. I 
 may speak a word, I pray you. I would fain be 
 made a knight." 
 
 Then said Arthur the King, without tarrying, "Tell 
 no
 
 
 lOimO a knigbt Iging slain.'
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 me your name, for since I was born never saw I 
 before me one so fair to look on." 
 
 " I know not what is my true name," answered 
 the lad. " While I was at home, my mother, jesting, 
 called me Beau-fys, and nought else." 
 
 Then said Arthur the King, "This is a wondrous 
 thing, that the boy should know not his name when 
 he would become a knight ; and yet he is full fair 
 of face. Now will I give him a name before you all. 
 Let him be called Le Beau Disconus, which is to 
 say, 'The fair unknown': so is he to be named." 
 
 Thereupon King Arthur made him a knight on 
 that self-same day, and gave him bright arms, and 
 girt him with a sword of might, and hung round him 
 a shield, wrought with the design of a griffin. Sir 
 Gawain took charge of him to teach him knightly 
 ways. 
 
 When Le Beau Disconus had been made a knight, 
 he asked yet another boon of the King. " My lord 
 so free," he said, "I were right glad in heart if I 
 might have the first fight that is asked of you." 
 
 " I grant your asking," answered Arthur the King, 
 "whatsoever the combat be. But by ought that I can 
 see you seem too young to do well in a great fight." 
 
 Then sat they down to feast. Not long had they 
 feasted ere there came a maiden riding, and a dwarf 
 beside her, in a great heat as though with haste. 
 This maid was called Elene the bright and gentle; 
 no countess or queen could be her equal in loveli- 
 ness. She was clad richly in cloth of Tars, and 
 the saddle and bridle of her milk-white steed were 
 "3
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 full of diamonds. Her dwarf wore silk of India : a 
 stout and bold man was he, and his beard, yellow 
 as wax, hanged down to his girdle. His shoes were 
 decked with gold, and truly he seemed a knight that 
 felt no poverty. His name was Teondelayn ; he was 
 skilled in playing all musical instruments the citole, 
 the harp, the psaltery, and the fiddle. 
 
 The dwarf spoke to the maiden, and would have 
 her tell her errand, and lose no time. 
 
 The maiden kneeled in the hall before all the 
 knights, and greeted them with honour, and said, 
 " Never was sadder tidings than I bring. My lady 
 of Synadown is brought into a strong prison ; she 
 prays King Arthur to send her a knight of stout 
 courage, to win her out of prison." 
 
 Up started the young knight Le Beau Disconus ; 
 his courage was stout and high. "Arthur, my lord," 
 he said, " I shall take up this combat, and win the 
 lady bright, if you are true to your word." 
 
 "Certain it is that I have promised even so," said 
 King Arthur. "God grant you grace and might." 
 
 Then began Elene to complain, and said, "Alas 
 that I was ever sent hither. Now will the word go 
 forth that Arthur's manhood is lost, if you send a 
 witless arid wild child to deal doughty blows, when 
 there are here knights of proved valour, Lancelot, 
 Perceval, and Gawain." 
 
 Le Beau Disconus answered, " Yet never was I 
 afraid of any man ; I have learned somewhat of fight- 
 ing with spear and sword. I will take the battle, 
 and never forsake it, as is Arthur's law." 
 
 TI4
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 Then said Arthur, " Maiden, you get no othei 
 knight of me. If you think him not man enough, 
 go get another of greater might where you may." 
 
 The maid said no more; but for wrath she would 
 neither drink nor eat at their feast, but sat down 
 with her dwarf till the tables were taken away. 
 
 King Arthur bade four of the best knights of the 
 Round Table arm Le Beau Disconus straightway in 
 arms true and perfect. "Through the help of Christ, 
 he shall hold to his word, and be a good champion 
 to the lady of Synadown, and uphold all her rights," 
 he said. 
 
 When he was armed Sir Le Beau Disconus sprang 
 on his horse and received the King's blessing, and set 
 forth a-riding with the maiden and the dwarf. Till 
 the third day she ever chided the young knight ; and on 
 the third day, when they came to a certain place, she 
 said, "Caitiff, now is thy pride undone. This vale 
 before us is kept by a knight who will fight every man 
 that comes ; and his fame is gone far abroad. William 
 Selebranche is he named, and he is a mighty warrior. 
 Through heart or thigh of all those who come against 
 him he thrusts his spear." 
 
 " Does he fight so mightily then ? " asked Le Beau 
 Disconus. " Has he never been hit ? Whatsoever be- 
 tides me, against him will I ride and prove how he 
 fights." 
 
 On they rode all three with gay and steadfast hearts 
 
 till they came to a castle adventurous in a vale 
 
 perilous. There they saw a knight in bright armour. 
 
 He bore a shield of green, with a device of three 
 
 "5
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 lions : and he was that William Selebranche of whom 
 maid Elene had spoken. 
 
 When the knight had sight of them he rode to- 
 wards, and said, "Welcome, fair brother. He that 
 rides here, day or night, must fight with me, or ieave 
 his arms here shamefully." 
 
 "Now let us pass," said Sir Le Beau Disconus. 
 "We have far to go to our friends, I and this maid; 
 we must needs speed on our way." 
 
 " You shall not escape so," answered William. " Ere 
 you go we will fight, a furlong here to the west." 
 
 Then said Le Beau Disconus, "Now I see that it 
 must be so. Make ready quickly and do your best. 
 Take a course with the spear, if you are a knight of 
 skill, for I am in haste." 
 
 No longer did they abide, but rode together in 
 arms. Le Beau Disconus smote William in the side 
 with his spear ; but William sat firm in his saddle. 
 Nevertheless so mightily was he struck that his stirrup 
 leathers brake, and he swayed over the horse's crupper 
 and fell to the ground. His steed galloped away, 
 but William started up speedily. " By my faith, 
 before this day never found I so a stout man," he 
 said. "Now that my steed is gone, let us fight on 
 foot." 
 
 Le Beau Disconus agreed, and they fell to on foot 
 with falchions. So hard they struck that sparks flew 
 from their helmets. But William drove his sword 
 through Le Beau Disconus's shield, and a piece of it 
 fell to the ground ; and thereat Le Beau Disconus 
 was wroth. He smote with his sword downwards 
 116
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 from the crest of William's helmet even to his 
 hawberk, and shaved off with the point of his blade 
 the knight's beard, and well nigh cut the flesh also. 
 Then William smote him back so great a blow that 
 his sword brake in two. 
 
 " Let me go alive," cried William at last, seeing 
 himself reft of his arms. " It were great villainy to do 
 to death an unarmed knight." 
 
 " I will spare you," said Le Beau Disconus, " if you 
 swear a vow ere we go from one another. Kneel 
 down, and swear on my sword to go to King Arthur, 
 and say to him, ' Lord of Renown, a knight sent 
 me hither, defeated and a prisoner : his name is Le 
 Beau Disconus, of unknown kith and kin.' " 
 
 William went upon his knees and took a vow as 
 Le Beau Disconus bade him, and thus they departed 
 each on his way. William took the road to Arthur's 
 court ; and it chanced that as he went, he met, on 
 that self-same day, three proud knights, his own 
 sister's sons. 
 
 " William our uncle," said they when they saw his 
 wounds and his sorry array, "who has done you this 
 shame ? " 
 
 " Nought is the man to blame," answered William. 
 "He was a knight stout and stern ; a dwarf rode 
 before him as if he were his squire, and also there 
 went with him a fair damsel. One thing only grieves 
 me sorely, that I must at his bidding go to King 
 Arthur's court." And he told them of his vow. 
 
 " You shall be full well avenged," said they. " He 
 alone against us three is not worth a straw. Go your 
 117
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 way, uncle, and fulfil your vow; and we will assail 
 this traitor ere he be out of this forest." 
 
 Then William went on his way to the court of 
 King Arthur. But the three knights his nephews 
 armed themselves, and leapt on their steeds, and with- 
 out more tarrying went after Le Beau Disconus. 
 
 Le Beau Disconus knew nought of this, but rode 
 on with the fair maid, and made great mirth with 
 her, for she had seen that he was a true and doughty 
 knight. She asked pardon for the ill things she had 
 said against him at the King's court, and he forgave 
 her this trespass; and the dwarf was their squire, and 
 served them in all their needs. 
 
 At morning when it was day, as they rode on 
 towards Synadown, they saw three knights in bright 
 mail riding out of Caerleon, armed for a fight to the 
 death. They cried to him straightway, "Thief, turn 
 again and fight." 
 
 " I am ready to ride against you all," quoth Le 
 Beau Disconus. 
 
 He pricked his horse towards them. The eldest 
 brother (Sir Gower was his name) ran against him 
 with a spear ; but Le Beau Disconus smote him such 
 a blow that he brake his thigh, and ever thereafter 
 was lame. The knight groaned for pain, but Le Beau 
 Disconus with might and main felled him altogether. 
 The Dwarf Teondelayn took the riderless steed by 
 the rein, and leapt himself into the saddle, and rode 
 to where the fair maid sat. Then laughed she, and 
 said, "This young knight is the best champion we 
 could have chosen." 
 
 118
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 The next brother came riding fierce as a lion, as 
 if to cast Le Beau Disconus down. Like a warrior 
 out of his wits he smote Le Beau Disconus on his 
 helm with his sword; he struck so hard that the 
 blade drove through the helm and touched the young 
 knight's head. 
 
 Then Le Beau Disconus, when he felt the sword touch 
 him, swung his sword as a madman, and all that he 
 struck he clove through. Though two were against him 
 for the third brother also came riding to the fray 
 they saw that they had no might to withstand him 
 in his fury. They yielded up their spears and shields 
 to Le Beau Disconus, and cried mercy. 
 
 " Nay," answered Le Beau Disconus, " you escape 
 not so unless you plight me your faith to go to King 
 Arthur, and tell him that I overcame you and sent 
 you to him. If you do not so I will slay you all 
 three." 
 
 The knights swore to go to King Arthur, and 
 plighted their troth upon it. Then they departed, 
 and Le Beau Disconus and the fair maid rode on 
 towards Synadown. All that day they rode, and at 
 night they made their lodges in the wood out of green 
 leaves and boughs, for they came nigh no town or 
 castle ; and thus for three days they pricked ever 
 westwards. 
 
 But as they slept at night the dwarf woke, fearing 
 that thieves might steal their horses. Suddenly his 
 heart began to quake, for less than half-a-mile away 
 he saw a great fire. 
 
 " Arise, young knight," he cried. " Arm vourself, 
 119
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 and to horse ! I doubt there is danger here : I hear 
 a great sound, and smell burning afar off." 
 
 Le Beau Disconus leapt on his war-horse and took 
 his arms, and rode towards the fire. When he drew 
 nigh he saw there two giants, one red and loathly 
 to look upon, the other swarthy as pitch. The black 
 giant held in his arm a maiden as bright as a flower, 
 while the red giant was burning a wild boar on a 
 spit before the flaming fire. 
 
 The maiden cried aloud for help. "Alas," she said, 
 " that ever I saw this day ! " 
 
 Then said Le Beau Disconus, " It were a fair venture 
 to save this maiden from shame. To fight with 
 giants so grim is no child's game." 
 
 He rode against them with his spear, and at the 
 first course smote the black giant clean through 
 the body and overthrew him, so that never might he 
 rise again. The maiden his prisoner fled from his 
 grasp, and betook herself to maiden Elene ; and they 
 went to the lodge of leaves in the wood, and prayed 
 for victory for Le Beau Disconus. 
 
 But the red giant, seeing his brother fall, smote at 
 Le Beau Disconus with the half-roasted boar, like a 
 madman ; and he laid on so sore that Le Beau 
 Disconus's horse was slain. But Le Beau Disconus 
 leapt out of the saddle, like a spark from a torch, and 
 drave at him with his falchion, fierce as a lion. The 
 giant fought with his spit till it broke in two ; then 
 he caught up a tree by the roots, and smote Le Beau 
 Disconus so mightily that his shield was broken into 
 three pieces. But ere the giant could heave up the 
 120
 
 arise, soung fenfsbt arm yourself, tbere is Danger.
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 tree again, Le Beau Disconus struck off his right arm ; 
 and at that sore wound he fell to the ground, and 
 Le Beau Disconus cut off his head. 
 
 Then Le Beau Disconus turned to the two maidens; 
 and he learned that she whom he had saved was 
 called Violette, and her father was Sir Autore, an 
 earl in that country. Long had the two fell giants 
 sought to take her ; and the day before at eventide 
 they had sprung out upon her suddenly and carried 
 her off. 
 
 Le Beau Disconus took the giants' heads, and when 
 he had escorted the maidens to the castle of Sir 
 Autore, he sent the heads to King Arthur. Sir Autore 
 would fain have given him Violette to wife ; but Le 
 Beau Disconus refused, saying that he was upon a 
 quest with fair Elene. And with that they set forth 
 once more on their journey. 
 
 Anon they came to the fair city of Kardevyle, and 
 saw there in a park a castle stout and stark, royally 
 built: never such a castle had they seen. "Oh," said 
 Le Beau Disconus, "here were a worthy thing for a 
 man to win." 
 
 Then laughed maid Elene. " The best knight in all 
 the country round owns that castle, one Giffroun," 
 she said. " He that will fight with him, be it day or 
 night, is bowed down and laid low. For love of his 
 lady, who is wondrous fair, he has proclaimed that 
 he will bestow a gerfalcon, white as a swan, on 
 him who brings a fairer lady. But if she be not so 
 bright and fair as his lady, he must fight this knight 
 Giffroun, who is a mighty warrior. Giffroun slays 
 123
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 him, and sets his head on a spear, that it may be 
 seen afar abroad ; and you may see on the castle 
 walls a head or two set thus." 
 
 "I will fight this Giffroun," said Sir Le Beau 
 Disconus, " and try for the gerfalcon ; I will say 
 that I have in this town a lady fairer than his ; and 
 if he would see her I will show him you." 
 
 "That were a great peril," said the dwarf. "Sir 
 Giffroun beguiles many a knight in combat." 
 
 "Heed not that," answered Le Beau Disconus. "I 
 will see his face ere I go westward from this city." 
 
 Without more ado they went to the town, and 
 dwelt there in Hie inn for the night. In the morn 
 Le Beau Disconus rose and armed himself, and rode 
 with the dwarf towards Giffroun's palace. 
 
 Sir Giffroun, when he came out of his house, saw Le 
 Beau Disconus come pricking as proudly as a prince. 
 He rode out to him, and cried in a loud voice, 
 "Come you for good or for ill?" 
 
 "1 should have a great delight in fighting you," 
 answered Le Beau Disconus, "for you say a grievous 
 thing, that there is no woman so fair as your lady. I 
 have in this town one fairer, and therefore I shall take 
 your gerfalcon and give it to Arthur the King." 
 
 "Gentle knight," said Giffroun, "how shall we prove 
 which of the two be fairer ? " 
 
 . w Here in Kardevyle city," said Le Beau Disconus, 
 " they shall both be set in the market-place where all 
 men may look on them. If my lady be not esteemed 
 so fair as yours, I will fight with you to win the 
 gerfalcon." 
 
 124
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 "All this I grant," said Sir Giffroun. "This day 
 shall it be done." And he held up his glove for a 
 proof. 
 
 Sir Le Beau Disconus rode to his lodging, and bade 
 maid Elene put on her seemliest robes. Then he set 
 her on a dappled palfrey, and they rode forth to the 
 market-place. 
 
 Presently came also Sir Giffroun riding, with his 
 lady and two squires. And the lady was so lovely 
 that no man could describe her. All, young and old, 
 judged that she was fairer than Elene ; she was as 
 sweet as a rose in an arbour, and Elene seemed but 
 a laundry-maid beside her. 
 
 Then said Sir Giffroun, " Sir Le Beau Disconus, 
 you have lost the gerfalcon." 
 
 " Nay," said Le Beau Disconus, " we will joust for 
 it. If you bear me down, take my head and the 
 falcon ; and if I bear you down, the falcon shall go 
 with me." 
 
 They rode to the lists, and many people with them. 
 At the first course each smote the other on the shield, 
 so that their lances were broken ; and the sound of 
 their onset was as thunder. 
 
 Sir Giffroun called for a lance that would not 
 break. "This young knight is as firm in his saddle 
 as a stone in the castle wall," quoth he. "But were 
 he as bold a warrior as Alexander or Arthur, Lance- 
 lot or Perceval, I will shake him out over his horse's 
 crupper." 
 
 Together they charged again. Le Beau Disconus 
 smote Giffroun's shield from his arm at the shock : 
 125
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 never yet had man been seen to joust so stoutly, 
 Giffroun, like a madman, struck furiously back at 
 him, but Le Beau Disconus sat so firm that Giffroun 
 was thrown, horse and all, and brake his leg. 
 
 Then said all men that Giffroun had lost the white 
 gerfalcon; and they bore him into the town upon 
 his shield. But Le Beau Disconus sent the white 
 gerfalcon to King Arthur for a gift, and the King 
 sent him a hundred pounds' weight of florins. And 
 thereafter he feasted forty days in Kardevyle. 
 
 At the end of this feasting, Le Beau Disconus and 
 maid Elene took their leave of Kardevyle, and rode 
 towards Synadown. As they were riding, they heard 
 horns blowing hard under a hill, and the noise of 
 hounds giving tongue in the vale. 
 
 "To tell truth," said the dwarf Teondelayn, "I 
 know that horn well. One Sir Otes de Lyle blows 
 it; he served my lady some while, but in great peril 
 fled into Wirral." 
 
 As they rode talking, a little hound came running 
 across their way ; never man saw hound so gay ; 
 it was of all colours of flowers that bloom between 
 midsummer and May. 
 
 "Never saw I jewel," said maid Elene, "that so 
 pleased me. Would I had him ! " 
 
 Le Beau Disconus caught the hound, and gave 
 him to her. And they went on their way. 
 
 They had scarce ridden a mile before they saw a 
 
 hind fleeing, and two greyhounds close upon it. 
 
 They stopped and waited under a linden tree to 
 
 watch ; and they saw riding behind the hounds a 
 
 126
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 knight clad in silk of India, upon a bay horse. He 
 began to blow his bugle, so that his men should 
 know where he was. But when he saw Le Beau 
 Disconus, and the dog in maid Elene's arms, he 
 drew rein and said, " Sir, that hound is mine ; I 
 have had him these seven years past. Friends, let 
 him go." 
 
 "That shall never be," said Le Beau Disconus, 
 "for with my two hands I gave him to this maiden." 
 
 Straightway answered Sir Otes de Lyle (for it was 
 he), "Then you are in peril." 
 
 "Churl," said Le Beau Disconus, "I care not for 
 whatever you say." 
 
 "Those are evil words, sir," said Sir Otes. "Churl 
 was never my name. My father was an earl and 
 the Countess of Karlyle my mother. Were I armed 
 now, even as you are, we would fight. If you give 
 me not the hound, you shall play a strange game 
 ere evening." 
 
 "Whatsoever you do," answered Le Beau Disconus, 
 "this hound shall go with me." 
 
 Then they took their way westwards once more. 
 But Sir Otes rode home to his castle, and sent for his 
 friends, and told them that one of Arthur's knights 
 had used him shamefully and taken his little hound. 
 
 "The traitor shall be taken," said they one and all, 
 "though he were a doughtier knight than Lancelot 
 of the Lake himself." 
 
 They armed themselves, and when all was ready, 
 rode out after Le Beau Disconus. Upon a high hill 
 they saw him riding slowly. 
 127
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 "Traitor, you shall die for your trespass," they 
 cried to him, when they came a little distance from 
 him. 
 
 Sir Le Beau Disconus beheld how full was the 
 vale of knights. "Maid Elene," he said, "we are 
 come into a sorry case for the sake of this little 
 hound. It were best that you go into the green- 
 shaws and hide your heads. For though I be slain, 
 yet will I abide combat with these knights." 
 
 Into the woods they rode; but Le Beau Disconus 
 stayed without, as beseems an adventurous knight. They 
 shot at him with bows and arbalists, but he charged 
 with his horse, and bare down horse and man and 
 spared none, so that they thought him a devil ; for 
 whosoever Le Beau Disconus struck, after the first 
 blow that man slept for evermore. 
 
 But soon Le Beau Disconus was beset as in a net. 
 Twelve knights he saw come riding through the 
 forest, in arms clear and bright : all day they had 
 rested, and thought thereby to slay Le Beau Disconus. 
 One of them was Sir Otes himself; and they smote 
 at Le Beau Disconus all at once, and thought to fell 
 him. 
 
 Fierce was the fight ; sword rang on steel, sparks 
 sprang from shield and helmet. Le Beau Disconus 
 slew three, and four flew. But Sir Otes and his four 
 sons stayed to sell their lives there. 
 
 Le Beau Disconus against those five fought like a 
 
 madman. His sword brake, and he took a great 
 
 blow on his helmet that bore him down. Then the 
 
 foeman thought to slay him outright ; but Le Beau 
 
 128
 
 armed, even as \?ou are, we woulO
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 Disconus was minded suddenly of his axe that was 
 at his hinder saddle-bow. Then quitted he himself 
 like a true knight : three steeds he hewed down in 
 three strokes. Sir Otes saw that sight, and turned 
 his horse and fled. Le Beau Disconus stood no 
 longer on defence, but pursued him, and caught him 
 under a chestnut tree and made him yield. 
 
 Le Beau Disconus sent this knight also to King 
 Arthur for a sign of his powers ; and himself and 
 maid Elene went to Sir Otes' castle, and there rested 
 and were refreshed. 
 
 When they had tarried at this castle a certain time, 
 they rode forth again. It was the month of June, 
 when the days are long and birds' songs are merry. 
 Sir Le Beau Disconus and maid Elene and the 
 dwarf Teondelayn came riding by a river-side, and 
 saw a great and proud city, with high strong castles 
 and many gates. Le Beau Disconus asked the name 
 of this city. 
 
 "They call it Isle d'Or," answered maid Elene. 
 " Here hath been more fighting than in any country, 
 for a lady of price, fair as a rose, has put this land 
 in peril. A giant named Maugis, whose like is no- 
 where on earth, has laid siege to her. He is as 
 black as pitch, stern and stout indeed. He that 
 would pass the bridge into her castle must lay down 
 his arms and do a reverence to the giant." 
 
 Then said Le Beau Disconus, "I shall not turn 
 aside for him. If God give me grace, ere this day's 
 end I will overthrow him." 
 
 They rode all three towards the fair city. On a
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 wooden bridge they saw Matigis, as bold as a wild 
 boar. His shield was black, and all his armour 
 clack also. 
 
 When he saw Le Beau Disconus, he cried, "Tell 
 me, fellow in white, what are you ? Turn home again 
 for your own profit." 
 
 "Arthur made me a knight," said Le Beau Disconus, 
 "and to him I made a vow that I would never turn 
 back. Therefore, friend in black, make ready." 
 
 They rode forthright at one another. Many lords 
 and ladies leant from the towers hard by to see the 
 light, and prayed with good-will for Le Beau Disconus. 
 
 The two met. Their lances brake at the first blows. 
 But they drew swords in a fury and rushed at one 
 another. Le Beau Disconus smote the giant's shield 
 so that it fell from him ; but Maugis in turn slew 
 Le Beau Disconus' steed with a great blow on its 
 head. Le Beau Disconus sa;d nought, but started up 
 from his dead charger and took his axe : a great 
 blow he struck, thai shore the head of Maugis' horse 
 clean from its body. Then they fell to on foot, and 
 no man can tell of the blows that passed from one to 
 the other; and they fought till evening drew nigh. 
 
 Sir Le Beau Disconus thirsted sore, and said, 
 " Maugis, let me go to drink. I will grant you what 
 boon you ask of me in like case. Great shame would 
 it be to slay a knight by thirst." 
 
 Maugis granted his will, but when Le Beau 
 Disconus went to the river and drank, Maugis struck 
 him unawares such a blow that he fell into the 
 river. 
 
 132
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 "By St. Michael," cried Le Beau Disconus, "now 
 am I truly refreshed. I will repay you for this." 
 
 Then a new fight wa^ begun, and they continued 
 till darkness grew apace At length Le Beau Disconus 
 struck such a blow that the giant's right arm was 
 shorn off. Thereupon Maugis fled, but Le Beau 
 Disconus ran swiftly after him and with three stern 
 strokes clave his backbone. Then Le Beau Disconus 
 smote off the giant's head, and went into the town ; 
 and all the folk welcomed him. 
 
 A fair lady came down to meet him, called La 
 Dame d'Amour ; and she thanked him for his aid 
 against the giant, and led him to her palace. There 
 he was clad in clean raiment, and feasted, and the 
 lady would have had him be lord of her city and 
 castle. 
 
 Le Beau Disconus granted her prayer, and gave 
 her his love, for she was indeed fair and bright. 
 Alas that he did not refrain ! Twelve months and 
 more he dwelt there; and fair Elene was afraid lest 
 he might never go thence, for the lady of the castle 
 knew much of sorcery, and put a charm upon 
 Le Beau Disconus so that he wished never to 
 leave her. 
 
 But it fell on a day that Le Beau Disconus met 
 maid Elene by chance within the castle. " Sir 
 knight," she said, "you are false of faith to King 
 Arthur. For love of a sorceress you do great dis- 
 honour. The lady of Synadown lies in prison yet ! " 
 
 At her words Le Beau Disconus thought his heart 
 would break for sorrow and shame. By a postern- 
 133
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 gate he crept away from the lady of the castle, and 
 took with him his horse and his armour and rode 
 forth with maid Elene and the dwarf and a squire 
 named Gyfflet. Fast they rode without ceasing till on 
 the third day they came in sight of the strong city 
 cf Synadown, with its castle and its fair-wrought 
 palace. 
 
 But Le Beau Disconus wondered at a custom he 
 saw as he descried the town. For all the waste and 
 refuse that was cast outside the town was gathered 
 again by the folk and kept. 
 
 " What means this ? " asked Sir Le Beau Disconus. 
 
 "This it is," said maid Elene. "No knight may 
 abide here without leave of a steward called Sir 
 Lambard. Ride to that eastern gate yonder, and 
 ask his leave to enter fairly and well ; ere he grants 
 it, he will joust with you. And if he bears you 
 down, he will blow his trumpets, and all through 
 Synadown, at the sound thereof, the maidens and 
 boys will throw on you this filth and mud that they 
 have gathered ; and so to your life's end will you be 
 known as coward, and King Arthur shall lose his 
 honour through you." 
 
 " That were great shame for any man living," 
 said Sir Le Beau Disconus. "I will meet this man. 
 Gyfflet, make me ready." 
 
 Then they made ready and rode to the castle gate, 
 and asked where adventurous knights might find 
 lodging. 
 
 The porter let them in and asked, "Who is your 
 overlord ? " 
 
 134
 
 '"Sir ftnigbt/ sbe said, 'sou arc false of faitb to 
 Brtbur/"
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 " King Arthur, the well of courtesy and flower oi 
 chivalry, is my lord/' answered Le Beau Disconus. 
 
 The porter went and told Sir Lambard of the 
 knight who had come, and Sir Lambard was glad 
 thereat, and vowed to joust with him. Thereat the 
 porter came again to Le Beau Disconus, and said, 
 "Adventurous knight, do not tarry, but ride to the 
 field without the castle-gate, and arm you speedily, 
 for my lord would fain joust with you." 
 
 "That is a tale that I like well," said Sir Le Beau Dis- 
 conus ; and he rode to the field and made ready. 
 
 Presently there came the steward all armed for the 
 fight, and they fell to. Long and fierce was the fray, 
 but at the last Le Beau Disconus struck Sir Lambard 
 so fiercely that he was borne clean out of his saddle 
 backwards. 
 
 " Will you have more ? " asked Sir Le Beau 
 Disconus. 
 
 " Nay," answered Sir Lambard. " Never since I 
 was born came I against such a knight. I have a 
 thought that you must be kin to Sir Gawain, who is 
 so stout and gay a knight. If you will fight for my 
 lady, you are welcome, Sir Knight." 
 
 "Nay," said Sir Le Beau Disconus, "but I fight 
 for a lady even now." And he told him the story of 
 his errand. Then they went into Sir Lambard's castle 
 and feasted and were right merry. 
 
 Sir Lambard and Sir Le Beau Disconus spoke much 
 of adventures, and at last Sir Le Beau Disconus asked 
 him concerning his quest. " What is the knight's name 
 who holds in prison the gentle lady of Synadown?"
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 "Nay, sir, knight is he none. Two magicians are 
 her foes, false in flesh and bone : Mabon and Irayn 
 are their names, and they have made this town a 
 place of strange magic arts. They hold this noble 
 lady in prison, and often we hear her cry, but have 
 no might to come to her. They have sworn to slay 
 her if she will not do their will, and give up to them 
 all her rights in this fair dukedom which is hers." 
 
 "I will win that lady from Mabon and Irayn," 
 quoth Le Beau Disconus, " and will shame them 
 both." 
 
 Then took they their rest. On the morrow Le 
 Beau Disconus clad himself in his best armour, and 
 rode forth to the gate of the great palace of Syna- 
 down ; and with him for escort came Lambard and 
 his knights. They found the gate open, but no further 
 durst any man go save Le Beau Disconus and his 
 squire Gyfflet; and Le Beau Disconus made Gyfflet 
 also turn back with the rest. 
 
 Then he rode alone into the palace, and alighted at 
 the great hall. He saw minstrels before the dais, and 
 a fire burning brightly, but no lord of the palace was 
 there. Le Beau Disconus paced through all the 
 chambers, and saw no one but minstrels who made 
 merry with citole and psaltery : before each burnt a 
 torch, and so much melody was never heard within 
 walls. Le Beau Disconus went further, seeking those 
 whom he should fight. He peered into all the 
 corners, and looked on the wondrous pillars of jasper 
 and fine crystal ; but never a foe did he see. 
 
 At last he sat him down at the dais in the great 
 138
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 hall. As he sat, the minstrels ceased their music and 
 vanished, and the torches were quenched ; doors and 
 windows shook like thunder, and the very stones of 
 the walls fell round him. The da'is began to quake, 
 and the roof above opened. 
 
 As he sat thus dismayed, believing that he was 
 betrayed by magic, he heard horses neigh. "Yet may 
 I hope to joust," he said, better pleased. He looked 
 out into a field, and there he saw two knights come 
 riding with spear and shield ; their armour was of rich 
 purple, with gold garlands. 
 
 One of the knights rode into the hall. "Sir knight 
 adventurous," he cried, "proud though you be, you 
 must fight with us. Cunning indeed will you be if 
 you win from us the lady who is so precious." 
 
 " I am ready to fight," answered Le Beau Disconus, 
 and he leapt into his saddle, and rode against the 
 knight. His might bore Mabon (for it was he) over 
 his horse's tail : the hinder saddle-bow broke, and he 
 fell. With that rode in Irayn fully-armed, fresh for 
 the fight, and meaning with main and might to assail 
 Sir Le Beau Disconus. But Le Beau Disconus was 
 aware of him, and bore down on him with his spear, 
 leaving Mabon where he had fallen. They brake their 
 lances at the first stroke, and fell to with swords. As 
 they fought, Mabon rose up from the ground, and ran 
 to aid Irayn. But Le Beau Disconus fought both, 
 and kept himself back warily. 
 
 When Irayn saw Mabon, he smote fiercely at Le 
 Beau Disconus and struck his steed. But Sir Le 
 Beau Disconus returned his blow, and shore off his 
 139
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 thigh, skin and bone and all : of no avail were his 
 arms or his enchantments then ! 
 
 Then Le Beau Disconus turned swiftly again to 
 Mabon ; and Mabon with a great blow brake the 
 knight's sword. But Le Beau Disconus ran to Irayn, 
 where he lay dying, and drew from him his sword, 
 and rushed fiercely upon Mabon once more, and 
 smote off his left arm with the shield. 
 
 "Hold, gentle knight," said Mabon, "and I will 
 yield that to your will, and will take you to the fair 
 lady. Through the wound from that sword I am 
 undone, for I poisoned both it and mine, to make 
 certain of slaying you." 
 
 " I will have none of your gifts, were I to win all 
 this world by them," said Le Beau Disconus. " Lay 
 on. One of us shall die." 
 
 Then they fell to again, and so fiercely did Le 
 Beau Disconus fight that in a little while he cleft 
 Mabon's head and helmet in twain. 
 
 When Mabon was slain, he ran to where he had 
 left Irayn, meaning to cleave his head also. But 
 Irayn was not there ; he had been borne away, 
 whither La Beau Disconus did not know. He sought 
 him everywhere, and when he found him not, he 
 believed that he was caught in a snare, and fell on 
 his knees and prayed. 
 
 As he prayed a marvel came to pass. In the stone 
 wall a window opened, and a great dragon issued 
 therefrom. It had the face of a woman, fair and 
 young; her body and wings shone like gold; her 
 tail was loathly, and her paws grim and great. 
 140
 
 '21 win&ow opened in tbe wall, and a,0reat Dragon issuei) 
 tberefrom."
 
 The Fair Unknown 
 
 Le Beau Disconus' heart sank within him, and he 
 trembled. Ere he could think, the dragon clasped him 
 by the neck and kissed him ; and lo ! as it kissed 
 him, the tail and wings fell from it, and he saw 
 before him the fairest lady that ever he looked upon. 
 
 "Gentle knight," she said, "you have slain the 
 two magicans, my foes, who would have done me to 
 death. Many men have they used shamefully with 
 their enchantments. They changed me into a dragon, 
 and bade me keep that shape till I had kissed Sir 
 Gawain or some other knight of kin to Sir Gawain. 
 You have saved my life : I will give you fifteen castles 
 and myself for wife, if it be King Arthur's will." 
 
 Then was Le Beau Disconus glad and blythe, and 
 leapt on his horse and rode back to Sir Lambard to 
 bring him these good tidings ; and presently there 
 came to him from the palace the lady herself, richly 
 clad, and all the people of the town made a fair 
 procession in her train. Every knight in Synadown 
 did her homage and fealty as was due to her. 
 
 Seven nights did they abide in the castle with 
 Lambard, and then Sir Le Beau Disconus returned 
 with the fair lady to King Arthur, and at his court 
 gave thanks to God for their adventures. King 
 Arthur gave the lady to Le Beau Disconus for wife ; 
 and the joy of that bridal can be told in no tale or 
 song. Lords and ladies, fair and rich, came thereto, 
 and there was a great feast of all that man could 
 devise. Forty days they feasted at Arthur's court, 
 and then rode to their own country, and abode there 
 in much joy and happiness to their lives' end. 
 143
 
 King Horn 
 I. Horn is Cast Away 
 
 ISTEN, all, and be joyous. 1 
 will tell you a tale of good 
 King Murry and his son 
 Horn. 
 
 Murry was King of Sud- 
 denne in the west country, 
 a wise King whom all his 
 subjects honoured. Godhild was his Queen, and 
 no woman of that day was lovelier than she. 
 Their son was named Horn ; and when Horn was 
 fifteen years old, the sun shone and the rain fell 
 on no fairer boy. White as a lily was his skin, rosy 
 red his cheeks. His courage was as high as 
 any man's, and in all things he was courteous and 
 debonair. 
 
 Twelve squires, each one the son of a man of 
 noble birth, were set to be Horn's companions. 
 Athulf was the best and truest of them, and dearest 
 to Horn's heart; and one Fikenhild was the basest 
 among them. 
 
 It pleased King Murry, on a certain summer's day, 
 to ride, as was his wont, by the sea shore, with but 
 two comrades. Suddenly, as they rode, they came 
 144
 
 King Horn 
 
 upon a strange sight. There before them on the 
 edge of the waves lay fifteen ships beached, full of 
 fierce Saracens ; and many other Saracens went busily 
 to and fro upon the shore, as if to make ready 
 for battle. 
 
 " What seek you here, pagan men ? " cried Murry 
 at that sight. " What wares do you bring to this 
 my land of Suddenne ? " For he thought them to 
 be merchants from a far land. 
 
 "We are come to slay all your folk who believe 
 in Christ," answered one of them; "and that we 
 will do right soon. As for you, you go not hence 
 alive." 
 
 Thereat Murry was sorely troubled in heart. Never- 
 theless, he made no sign of fear. He and his two 
 companions, with bold mien, leapt down from their 
 horses, to fight more readily, and drew their swords, 
 and fell upon the pagans. Many a stout blow they 
 dealt ; many a Saracen felt the strength of their arms : 
 but for all their might and valour, they were but 
 three against a host. From every side the enemy fell 
 upon them unceasingly, and in a little time they lay 
 there dead upon the sand. Then the Saracens left 
 their ships and spread over the whole of Suddenne, 
 slaying and burning and laying waste wheresoever they 
 came. None might live, were he stranger or friend 
 or native of the land, unless he foreswore the Christian 
 faith and became a pagan. 
 
 Of all women in those days Godhild the Queen was 
 saddest. Her kingdom was lost, her husband cruelly 
 slain, and all her days were filled with grief. But
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 worse befell her, for on a certain day the Saracens 
 came suddenly and took Horn prisoner and carried 
 him away. Godhild escaped, and in her dire distress 
 fled alone to a distant cave, and there lay hid, wor- 
 shipping her God in secret, and praying that He would 
 save her son from harm. 
 
 Horn and his companions for all his twelve squires 
 had been captured with him seemed in sorry case. 
 The savage pagans were for killing all Christians : 
 some would have slain Horn outright ; others would 
 have flayed the prisoners alive. But the chief Emir 
 of the Saracens wished to have no innocent blood on 
 his hands, and spake out boldly. 
 
 " We might well slay you, Horn," he said ; " you 
 are young and fair and strong, and will grow yet 
 stronger. Perchance, if we spare you now, you will 
 some day return and be avenged upon us, when you 
 have come to your full power. Yet we ourselves will 
 not put you to death ; the guilt shall not be on us, 
 but on the sea. To the sea will we give you and 
 your comrades ; the sea shall be your judge, to save 
 or drown you as it will." 
 
 Weeping and wringing their hands, Horn and his 
 comrades were led down to the seashore. There a 
 boat was made ready for them, with oars but no 
 rudder or sail. All their tears were vain : the Saracens 
 forced them aboard, and turned the little craft adrift 
 into the wide ocean. 
 
 The boat drove fast and far through the water, and 
 fear came down upon those in it. Soon they were 
 tossing haphazard upon the rushing waves, now rest- 
 146
 
 King Horn 
 
 ing forlornly, now praying for help, now rowing 
 wildly, as if for their lives, if ever the violence of the 
 sea abated for a moment. All that afternoon, and 
 through the long dark night, they voyaged in cold 
 and terror, till in the morning, as the day dawned, 
 Horn looked up and was aware of land at a little 
 distance. 
 
 " Friends," said he, " I have good tidings. Yonder 
 I spy land ; I hear the song of birds, and see grass 
 growing. Be merry once more ; our ship has come 
 into safety." 
 
 They took their oars and rowed lustily. Soon the 
 keel touched the shore, and they sprang out eagerly 
 on to dry land, leaving the boat empty. The waves 
 drew the little craft gently back to themselves, and 
 it began to glide away into the great sea. 
 
 " Go now from us, dear boat," cried Horn lovingly 
 to it, as he saw it drawn away ; " farewell, sail softly, 
 and may no wave do you harm. When you come 
 to Suddenne greet kindly all my kin, if there be any 
 left alive there, and most of all my mother, the good 
 Queen Godhild. Say that Christ, Heaven's King, hath 
 brought me safe to land." 
 
 The boat floated slowly away, and Horn wept sorely 
 at parting from it. Then they all turned their faces 
 inland, and left the sea behind them, and set forth 
 to seek whatsoever fortune might bring them in this 
 unknown, new land upon which they had been cast. 
 
 '47
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 II. Horn is dubbed Knight 
 
 The country to which Horn and his comrades had 
 come was called Westerness: Aylmer the Good was 
 King of it. But of that the wanderers knew nought 
 as yet. 
 
 They journeyed far over hill and dale, ignorant of 
 the way, and seeing no living man, until, as the day 
 drew to an end, there met them Aylmer the King 
 himself. 
 
 "Whence do you come, friends ?" asked he. "Who 
 are you that are so fair and straight of body ? 
 Never saw I a company so goodly, in all my king- 
 dom of W T esterness ! " 
 
 Horn spoke up for them all, for he was wisest 
 and bravest, and most skilled in the use of courteous 
 words. 
 
 "We are from Suddenne, sire, of good lineage and 
 Christian faith. The paynim came to our land, and 
 slew my father and many others, and drove us from 
 our homes. We thirteen whom you see were set 
 adrift in a boat, to be the sport of the sea ; a clay 
 and a night have we travelled without sail or rudder, 
 and our boat brought us to this land. We are in 
 your hands, sire : slay us, or keep us bound as 
 prisoners ; do with us as you will." 
 
 The good King was no ungentle boor : he spoke 
 them fair and graciously. 
 
 "Tell me, child," he said, "what is your name? 
 148
 
 ~'lt?ouDcr 3 epg land."
 
 King Horn 
 
 No harm shall come to you at my hands, whosoever 
 you be." 
 
 " Horn am I called, sire." 
 
 " Horn, child, you are well and truly named ; your 
 fame shall ring like a horn over dale and hill. Now, 
 Horn, come with me. You and your comrades shall 
 abide at my court." 
 
 They set out for the King's palace. When they 
 were come thither, Aylmer entrusted them to his 
 steward, Athelbrus, whom he charged to bring them 
 up in knightly ways. 
 
 " Steward," he said, "take Horn whom I have 
 found, and his comrades, and teach them all your 
 knowledge ; make them learn the craft of wood and 
 stream, the art of playing the harp, and of singing, 
 and the manner of carving before me, and of serving 
 my cup. Let them be instructed in the control of 
 steeds in the fray, and in all manner of arms." 
 
 So Horn and his twelve companions were added 
 to Aylmer' s household, and taught all that squires 
 of kings should know. But Horn was to come to 
 greater things than this. He learnt quickly, and 
 became beloved by every one ; and most of all, 
 Rimenhild, the King's daughter, loved him from the 
 day when she first set eyes on him. Her love for 
 him grew daily stronger and stronger, though she 
 durst speak no word of it to him, for she was a 
 princess, and he only a squire rescued by chance 
 from, the sea. 
 
 At length Rimenhild could hide her love no longer. 
 She sent for Athelbrus the steward, and bade him
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 bring Horn to her bower. But he, guessing her 
 secret from her wild looks, was unwilling to send 
 Horn to her, fearing the King's displeasure ; and he 
 bade Athulf, Horn's dearest companion, go to the 
 princess instead, hoping either that the princess 
 would not know him from Horn, for she had as yet 
 spoken to neither of them, and they were much alike 
 in face and mien, or that by this plan she would see 
 the folly of her desire. 
 
 Athulf came to Rimenhild's bower, and she knew 
 not that he was not Horn, and received him lovingly. 
 But soon the trick was made plain, for Athulf, as 
 beseems a loyal heart, could not hear himself praised 
 above all other squires at Aylmer's court, and vowed 
 that Horn was far fairer and better than he. Then 
 Rimenhild in a rage sent him from her, and bade 
 Athelbrus bring Horn to her without more ado. 
 And thus at last Horn came before the princess. 
 
 "King's daughter," said he with reverence and 
 courtesy, "Athelbrus, the steward, bade me come to 
 you here where you sit with your hand-maidens. 
 Say what you would have me do." 
 
 Rimenhild rose, answering nothing till she had 
 taken him by the hand, and made him sit by her, and 
 embraced him lovingly. "Welcome, Horn," she said; 
 "you are so fair that I cannot but love you. Take 
 me to wife ; have pity on my love, and plight your 
 troth to me." 
 
 Horn knew not what to say. "Princess," he began 
 at last, "may Heaven give you joy and prosperity. I 
 am too lowly for such a wife as you. I am but a 
 152
 
 King Horn 
 
 thrall and a foundling, and owe all that I have to the 
 King your sire. It were no meet wedding between a 
 thrall and the King's daughter." 
 
 At those words Rimenhild fell into a swoon ; and 
 Horn was filled with pity and love at the sight, and 
 took her in his arms, and kissed her. 
 
 "Dear lady," he said, "be brave. Help me to win 
 knighthood at the hands of my lord the King; if I be 
 dubbed knight my thraldom is ended, and I am free 
 to love you, as I do in my heart already." For 
 Horn had long loved the princess secretly, but 
 dared not hope that she would give him her love in 
 turn. 
 
 Rimenhild came to her senses as he spoke. " Horn," 
 she said, "it shall be as you wish. Ere fourteen days 
 have passed you shall be made a knight." 
 
 Thereupon she sent for Athelbrus again, and bade 
 him pray the King Aylmer to dub Horn a knight ; 
 and, to be brief, Horn was speedily knighted, and, 
 asking the King's leave, himself knighted in turn his 
 twelve companions. 
 
 As soon as he was knighted, Rimenhild called him 
 to her ; and Athulf, his dear comrade, went with him 
 into her presence. 
 
 "Sir Horn, my knight," she said, "sit by me here. 
 See, it is time to fulfil your word. Take me for your 
 wife." 
 
 "Nay, Rimenhild," answered Horn; "that may not 
 be yet. It is not enough that I am knighted. I 
 must prove my knighthood, as all men do, in combat 
 with some other knight. I must do a deed of prowess 
 
 153 
 
 K
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 in the field for love of you : then if I win through 
 with my life, I will return and take you to wife." 
 
 " Be it so, Horn. Now take from me this carven ring 
 of gold. On it is wrought : ' Be true to Rimenhild.' 
 Wear it always on your finger, for my love's sake. 
 The stone in it has such grace that never need you 
 fear any wound nor shrink from any combat, if you 
 do but wear this ring, and look steadfastly upon it, 
 and think of me. And you, Athulf, you too, when 
 you have proven your knighthood, shall have such 
 another ring also. Sir Horn, may Heaven bless and 
 keep you, and bring you safe to me again." 
 
 With that Horn kissed her, and received her bless- 
 ing, and went away to prove his knighthood in brave 
 feats of arms. 
 
 III. Horn the Knight Errant 
 
 When Horn had saddled his great black horse, and 
 put on his armour, he rode forth to adventure, sing- 
 ing gaily. Scarce had he gone a mile when he 
 spied by the seashore a ship, beached, and filled with 
 heathen Saracens. 
 
 " What do you bring hither ? " asked Horn. 
 "Whence do you come?" 
 
 The pagans saw that he was but one man, and 
 they were many, and answered boldly, "We are come 
 to win this land, and slay all its folk." 
 
 At that Horn gripped his sword, and his blood ran 
 hot. He sprang upon the Saracen chief and smote 
 him with all his strength, so that he cleft the man's
 
 "1boru took ber in bis arms an> ftisgeO ber. 5 '
 
 King Horn 
 
 head from off his shoulders. Then he looked at the 
 ring which Rimenhild had given him ; and immediately 
 such might came upon him that in a trice he slew 
 full live score of the pagans. They fled in terror 
 before him, and few of those whom he did not slay 
 at the first onset escaped. 
 
 Horn set the head of the Saracen leader on the 
 point of his sword, and rode back to Aylmer's 
 court. When he had come to the King's palace, 
 he went into the great hall, where the King and all 
 his knights sat. 
 
 "King Aylmer," he cried, "and you, his knights, 
 hear me. To-day, after I was dubbed knight, I rode 
 forth and found a ship by the shore, filled with out- 
 landish knaves, fierce Saracens, who were for slaying 
 you all. I was fain to set upon them ; my sword 
 failed not, and I smote them to the ground. Lo, here 
 is the head of their chief." 
 
 Men marvelled at Horn's prowess, and the King 
 gave him words of praise. But not yet did Horn 
 dare speak of his love for Rimenhild. 
 
 On the morrow, at dawn, King Aylmer went a-hunt- 
 ing in the forest, and Horn's twelve companions rode 
 with him. But Horn himself did not go to the chase ; 
 he sought instead to tell his lady Rimenhild of his 
 deeds, and went to her tower secretly, thinking to 
 hear her joy in the feats he had done. But he found 
 her weeping bitterly. 
 
 " Dear love," he said, " why do you weep ? " 
 
 " Alas, Horn, I have had an evil dream," she an- 
 swered. *' I dreamed that 1 went fishing, and saw my 
 157
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 net burst. A great fish was taken in it, and I thought 
 to have drawn him out safely ; but he broke from my 
 hands, and rent the meshes of the net. It is in my 
 mind that this dream is of ill omen for us, Horn, and 
 that the great fish signifies you yourself, whereby I 
 know that I am to lose you." 
 
 "Heaven keep this ill hap from us, dear princess." 
 said Horn. " Nought shall harm you, I vow ; I take 
 you for my own for ever, and plight my troth to you 
 here and now." 
 
 But though he seemed to be of good cheer, he too 
 was stirred by this strange dream, and had evil fore- 
 bodings. 
 
 Meanwhile Fikenhild, riding with King Aylmer by 
 the River Stour, was filled with envy of Horn's great 
 deeds against the Saracens; and at last he said to 
 the King, " King Aylmer, hear me. This Horn, whom 
 you knighted yesterday for his valour in slaying the 
 Saracens, would fain undo you. I have heard him 
 plotting to kill you and take Rimenhild to wife. Even 
 now, as we ride here by the river, he is in her bower 
 he, Horn, the foundling, is with your daughter, the 
 Princess Rimenhild, as often he is. Go now, and 
 take him, and drive him out of your land for his pre- 
 sumption." For Fikenhild had set a watch on Horn, 
 and found out the secret of his love for Rimenhild. 
 
 Thereupon King Aylmer turned his horse, and rode 
 home again, and found Horn with Rimenhild, even as 
 Fikenhild had said. 
 
 "Get you hence, Horn," he cried in anger, "you 
 base foundling ; forth out of my daughter's bower, 
 158
 
 King Horn 
 
 away with you altogether ! See that you leave this 
 land of Westerness right speedily ; here is no place 
 nor work for you. If you flee not soon, your life is 
 forfeit." 
 
 Horn, flushed with rage, went to the stable, and set 
 saddle on his steed, and did on his arms ; his chain 
 mail he laced securely, and girt on his sharp sword ; 
 and so fierce was his mien that none dared withstand 
 him or say him nay. 
 
 When all was ready for his going, he sought out 
 Rimenhild. 
 
 "Your dream was true, dear love," he said. "The 
 fish has torn your net, and I go from you. But I 
 will put a new ending to the dream ; fear not. Now 
 fare you well ; the King your father has cast me out 
 of his realm, and I must needs seek adventure in 
 other lands. Seven years will I wander, and it may 
 be that I shall win such fortune as shall bring me 
 back to sue honourably for you. But if at the end of 
 seven years I have not come again to Westerness, nor 
 sent word to you, then do you, if you so will, take 
 another man for husband in my stead, and put me 
 out of your heart. Now for the last time hold me in 
 your arms and kiss me good-bye." 
 
 So Horn took his leave. But before he went away 
 from Aylmer's court, he charged Athulf his friend to 
 watch over Rimenhild and guard her from harm. 
 Then he set forth on his horse, and rode down to 
 the sea, and took ship to sail away alone from 
 Westerness. 
 
 159
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 IV. Horn in Exile 
 
 Ere Horn had sailed long, the wind rose, and the 
 ship drove blindly before it for many leagues, till at 
 length it was cast up on land. Horn stepped out 
 on to the beach, and there before him saw two 
 princes, whose names (for they spoke him fair and 
 greeted him in friendly sort) were Harild and Birild. 
 
 " Whence are you ? " they asked, when they had 
 told him who they were. "What are you called?" 
 
 Horn thought it wise to hide his real name from 
 them, lest it should come to Aylmer's ears, and his 
 anger reach Horn even in this distant land. "I am 
 called Cuthbert," he answered, " and I am come far 
 from the west in this little ship, seeking profitable 
 adventure and honour." 
 
 "Well met, Sir Knight," said Harild. "Come now 
 to our father the king : you shall do knightly deeds 
 in his service." 
 
 They led him to King Thurston their father ; and 
 when Thurston saw that Horn was a man of might, 
 skilled in arms, and a true knight, he took him into 
 his service readily. 
 
 So Horn or Cuthbert, as they knew him abode 
 at Thurston's court, and won honour in tournaments 
 and in serving the King in battle. But no great 
 and notable thing befell him until the coming of 
 Christmas. 
 
 It was King Thurston's custom to make each 
 Christmas a great feast, lasting many days. To this 
 160
 
 King Horn 
 
 feast Horn was bidden, with all the other knights 
 of the court. Great mirth and joy was there that 
 Yule-tide ; the minstrels sang songs of gladness, and 
 the music of harps and psalteries sounded ceaselessly ; 
 all men feasted with light hearts. 
 
 Suddenly, about noon-day, the great doors of the 
 King's hall were flung open, and a monstrous giant 
 strode in. He was fully armed, in pagan raiment, 
 and his mien was proud and terrible. 
 
 "Sit still, Sir King," he roared, as Thurston turned 
 to him. "Hearken to my tidings. I am come hither 
 with a Saracen host, and my comrades are close at 
 hand. From them I bring a challenge ; and this is 
 the challenge. One of us alone will fight any three 
 of your knights, in a certain place. If your three 
 slay our one, then we will depart and leave you and 
 your land unscathed. But if our one champion 
 slays your three, then will we take your land for our 
 own, and deal with it and you as it pleases us. To- 
 morrow at dawn we will make ready for the combat ; 
 and if you take not up this challenge, and send your 
 appointed knights to battle, then will we burn and 
 lay waste and slay all over this realm." 
 
 Thereupon he turned, and stalked out of the hall, 
 saying never another word. 
 
 "This is a sorry hap," said King Thurston, when the 
 Saracen had gone and left them all aghast. "Yet 
 must we take up this challenge. Cuthbert," he said, 
 turning to Horn, "you have heard this pagan 
 boast ; will you be one of our three champions ? 
 Harild and Berild, my sons, shall be the other two, 
 161
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 and may God prosper all three ! But alas ! It is of 
 little avail. We are all dead men!" 
 
 But Horn felt no fear. He started up from the 
 board when he heard the King's sorrowful words. 
 "Sir King," he cried, "this is all amiss. It is not to 
 our honour that three Christian knights should fight 
 this one pagan. I alone will lay the giant low, with 
 my own sword, unaided." 
 
 Thurston hoped little of this plan, but none the 
 less he agreed to it; and when the next day came, 
 he arose betimes, and with his own hands helped to 
 arm Horn ; and having made ready, he rode down 
 to the field of battle with him. 
 
 There, in a great open space, stood the Saracen 
 giant awaiting them, his friends standing by him to 
 abide the issue of the combat. 
 
 They made little tarrying, but fell to right soon. 
 Horn dealt mightily with the giant ; he attacked him 
 at once, and showered blows upon him, so that the 
 pagan was hard pressed, and begged for a breathing 
 space. 
 
 " Let us rest awhile, Sir Knight," he said. " Never 
 suffered I such blows from any man's hand yet, 
 except of King Murry, whom I slew in Suddenne." 
 
 At that dear name Horn's blood ran hot within 
 him : before him he saw the man who had slain his 
 father and had driven himself from his kingdom. 
 He fell to more furiously than ever, and drove hard 
 at the giant beneath the shield ; and as he smote he 
 cast his eye upon the ring Rimenhild had given 
 him. Therewith his strength was redoubled ; so 
 162
 
 King Horn 
 
 straight and strong was the blow, so true his arm, 
 that he pierced the giant to the heart, and he fell 
 dead upon the ground. 
 
 When they saw their champion slain, the Saracens 
 were stricken with panic. They turned and fled 
 headlong to their ships, Thurston and his knights 
 pursuing. A great battle was fought by the ships : 
 Harild and Berild were slain in the mellay, but 
 Horn did such deeds of prowess that every pagan 
 was killed. 
 
 There was great lamentation over the two princes. 
 Their bodies were brought to the King's palace and 
 laid in state, and lastly buried in a great church built 
 for them of lime and stone ; and for many days all 
 men mourned them. 
 
 V. Horn's Return 
 
 There was now no heir to Thurston's kingdom, since 
 Harild and Berild were slain ; and in a little time, 
 when the King's grief abated, he bethought him of 
 what should befall his people when his time came 
 to die. 
 
 "Cuthbert," he said to Horn one day when he had 
 pondered long over these things, " there is no heir 
 to my kingdom, now that my dear sons have fallen 
 in the fight against the Saracens. There is but my 
 daughter Reynild to come after me. Will you 
 wed her, and be King and rule this land after my 
 death ? " 
 
 Horn was sorely tempted. But he looked on his 
 163
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 ring, and remembered Rimenhild. "Sir King," he 
 answerud, " you do me great honour, and I give you 
 thanks. But I am under a vow, and cannot wed 
 the lady Reynild." 
 
 He would say no more, but was firm in his 
 purpose ; and King Thurston had to be content with 
 his loyal service only. For seven years Horn abode 
 at Thurston's court, serving in arms under him and 
 winning great fame by his knightly deeds. No word 
 did he send to Rimenhild, nor received tidings of any 
 kind from Westerness. 
 
 About the end of the seventh year Horn chanced 
 to be riding in the forest, when he met a page jour- 
 neying as if towards Thurston's palace. 
 
 "What do you here?" he said. "Whither do 
 you go ? " 
 
 "Sir," answered the page, "I have a message for 
 one Sir Horn from Sir Athulf in Westerness, where 
 Aylmer is King. The Lady Rimenhild is to be 
 wedded on Sunday to King Modi of Reynes, and 
 I am sent to bring tidings thereof to Sir Horn. But 
 I can find him nowhere, nor hear even so much as 
 his name, though I have wandered far and wide." 
 
 At this heavy news Horn hid his name no longer. 
 He told the page who he was, and bade him go back 
 with all speed, and say to Rimenhild that she need 
 no longer mourn : her true lover would save her ere 
 Sunday came. 
 
 The page returned blithely with this message. But 
 he never delivered it, for as he went back he was 
 by chance drowned ; and Rimenhild, hearing no word 
 164
 
 King Horn 
 
 of Horn, despaired. Athulf, too, watching long for 
 Horn each day on a tower of Aylmer's palace, gave 
 up hope. 
 
 But Horn was not idle or forgetful. When he had 
 despatched the page, as he thought, safely back to 
 Athulf and Rimenhild, he went straight to King 
 Thurston, and without more pretence told him his 
 true name and all the story of the adventures. 
 
 " Sire," he said, at the end, " I have served you 
 well. Grant me reward for my service, and help me 
 to win Rimenhild. See, you offered me the hand 
 of your daughter Reynild ; that I might not accept, 
 for I was pledged already ; but perchance my com- 
 rade Athulf might be deemed an honourable suitor. 
 If you will but help me, Athulf shall be Reynild's 
 husband ; that I vow. Sire, give me your aid." 
 
 "Be it so," said Thurston, loath to lose Horn, but 
 glad to hear of a knight waiting to wed the lady 
 Reynild. 
 
 Straightway a levy of knights was made, and Horn 
 set forth in a ship with a brave body of fighting men. 
 The wind blew favourably, and ere long they came to 
 Westerness. Even as they touched the shore, the 
 bells ceased ringing for the marriage of Rimenhild to 
 King Modi. 
 
 Horn saw how late they had arrived, and that he 
 must needs act warily, if he would save Rimenhild in 
 the midst of the rejoicings over her wedding. He left 
 his men on board ship, and landed alone, setting out 
 to walk to the palace, where the wedding-feast was 
 about to be held. 
 
 165
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 As he walked thus, he met a palmer, clad in 
 pilgrims' weeds ? "Whither go you, Sir Palmer?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I have just come from a wedding," he answered, 
 "from the wedding of Rimenhild, the King's daughter; 
 and sad and sorrowful she seemed to be, in truth, on 
 this wedding day." 
 
 "Now Heaven help me, palmer, but I will change 
 clothes with you. Take you my robe, and give me 
 your long cloak. To-day I will drink at that wedding- 
 feast, and some shall rue the hour that I sit at the 
 board with them." 
 
 Without more ado he changed clothes with the 
 palmer, taking also his staff and scrip, and staining 
 his face till it was like that of a toil-worn traveller. 
 Then he set out for the palace once more. 
 
 He came soon to the gates, where a porter strove to 
 bar his entrance. But Horn broke in the wicket-gate, 
 and entered, and threw the man over the drawbridge, 
 so that his ribs were broken. None other stood in 
 Horn's way, and he went into the great hall, and 
 took his place in a lowly seat among the beggars and 
 poor men. 
 
 As he looked about him, he saw, at a little distance, 
 Rimenhild, weeping and lamenting sorely, Athulf he 
 did not see, for he was still keeping watch in the 
 tower for Horn's return. 
 
 Before long Rimenhild rose from her seat and began 
 
 to minister to the guests, according to custom, pouring 
 
 them out wine and ale in horn beakers. When she 
 
 came low down among the guests, Horn spoke to her. 
 
 166
 
 King Horn 
 
 " Fair Queen," he said, " serve us also ; we beggars 
 are athirst.'' 
 
 She laid down the vessel she bore, and took a 
 great gallon cup, and filled it with brown ale, and 
 offered it him, thinking him a glutton. "Take this 
 cup," she said, "and drink your fill. Never saw I 
 so forward a beggar." 
 
 " I will not drink your ale, lady," answered Horn, 
 for he was minded to let her know who he was, and 
 yet to hide himself from all others at the feast. 
 "Give me wine; I am no beggar. I am a fisherman, 
 come hither to search my nets, and see what I have 
 caught. Pledge me now yourself and drink to Horn 
 of horn." 
 
 Thus by his strange words he thought to recall to 
 her that dream she had formerly dreamed, of a great 
 fish that escaped from her net. 
 
 Rimenhild looked on him, and hope and fear 
 sprang up in her heart together. She knew not 
 what his saying about his nets and "Horn of horn" 
 might mean. With a steadfast look, she took her 
 drinking-horn, and filled it with wine, and gave it to 
 Horn. 
 
 "Drink your fill, friend," she said, "and tell me if 
 you have seen aught of this Horn of whom you 
 seem to speak." 
 
 Horn drained the beaker, and as he put it down 
 dropped into it the ring that Rimenhild had given 
 him so long ago. 
 
 When Rimenhild saw the ring she knew it at once. 
 She made an excuse, and left the feast, and went to 
 167
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 her bovver. In a little time she sent for the palmer 
 secretly, and asked him where he got the ring. 
 
 "Queen," said Horn, "in my travels I met one 
 named Horn. He gave me this ring to bring to 
 you ; it was on shipboard I met him, and he lay 
 dying." 
 
 He said this to prove if her love were still constant 
 to him. But Rimenhild believed him, and when she 
 heard him say that Horn was dead, became as one 
 mad with grief. Then Horn, seeing how strong was 
 her love, threw off his palmer's cloak, and showed 
 her the false stain on his face, and told her that he 
 was in very truth Horn, her lover. 
 
 When their first joy at meeting again was over, 
 Horn told the princess of the men he had brought 
 with him in his ship. Secretly they sent for Athulf, 
 and when he too had learnt all Horn's tidings, a 
 message was sent to the men in the ship, who came 
 to the palace speedily, and were admitted by a private 
 door. Then all the company of them broke suddenly 
 into the banquet-hall, and fell upon those there, 
 and slew many ; but Modi and Fikenhild escaped 
 and fled from Westerness. 
 
 VI. The King of Suddenne 
 
 When they had made an end of slaying, Horn re- 
 vealed himself to Aylmer, and reproached him for 
 giving his daughter in marriage to Modi, whom she 
 did not love; and Aylmer, when he heard of Horn's 
 deeds for the fame which Horn had won under the 
 168
 
 iDrevv ort tbe cloak an& tolo bcr tbat be wa0 t>ocn.
 
 King Horn 
 
 name of Cuthbert had gone into many lands could 
 not but feel sorrow that he had sent Horn away in 
 anger seven years ago ; and he begged Horn to stay 
 at his court and wed Rimenhild, for the marriage 
 with Modi was not fully complete when Horn and 
 his men broke up the feast. 
 
 "Nay, I am of royal blood," answered Horn. 
 "You thought me a foundling and despised me. 
 For that insult you formerly put upon me, I vow 
 I will not take Rimenhild for my wife until I have 
 won my kingdom of Suddenne back from the Sara- 
 cens, and avenged my father King Murry, whom 
 they slew. I am a King's son ; I will be a King 
 before my wife shall come to me." 
 
 Aylmer could not gainsay Horn in his purpose, 
 and once more Horn set out on his wanderings. 
 With him went Sir Athulf and a band of brave 
 knights. They took ship and for five days sailed 
 the sea with a favouring wind, till at last, late at 
 night on the fifth day, they came to the shores of 
 Suddenne. 
 
 Horn and Athulf landed, to spy out the country. 
 A little way inland they came upon an old knight 
 sleeping by the wayside ; on his shield was the de- 
 vice of a cross. 
 
 Horn woke him gently. "Tell me, Sir Knight, who 
 are you ? " he asked. " Your shield shows thai you 
 are a Christian ; but this land is ruled by pagans, 
 as I have been told." 
 
 " I am a Christian, truly," said the old knight. 
 "But I serve the pagans perforce. They hold the 
 171
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 power, and I must needs fight for them, against my 
 will. This land is in a sorry case through their 
 dominion. If King Murry's son, Horn, were here, 
 perchance we might drive the pagans out. But I 
 know not where to find him, nor where my own 
 son is ; for Athulf, my son, was Horn's dearest com- 
 panion." 
 
 Such changes had the long absence wrought in 
 Horn and Athulf and the old knight that they did 
 not recognise one another. But at these words Horn 
 and Athulf knew for certain that they were indeed 
 in Suddenne. They told the old knight who they 
 were, and learnt that Horn's mother, the Queen 
 Godhild, was still alive, and many knights in the 
 land besides, desirous of driving the Saracens out, 
 but unable to fulfil their desire through lack of a 
 leader and of men. 
 
 Horn forthwith summoned his men from the ships, 
 and blew his trumpet for battle, and attacked the 
 Saracens. There was a great fight, but before long 
 the heathen were defeated, and those who were not 
 slain were driven altogether out of the land. Then 
 Horn set to work to build churches, and castles to 
 guard them, and held a great feast, at which he and 
 Queen Godhild, and Athulf and his father, with all 
 their brave knights, made merry for many hours. 
 
 Thus Horn came into his kingdom again ; but he 
 had yet to punish Fikenhild the traitor, who first 
 separated him from Rimenhild (for this Aylmer had 
 told him), and King Modi, who had sought to wed 
 her against her will. 
 
 172
 
 King Horn 
 
 Fikenhild, when Horn came back to Westerness in 
 time to save Rimenhild from Modi, had fled; but he 
 still plotted deep treachery in his heart By bribes 
 and favours he won many knights to follow him ; 
 and he built himself a great castle of stone, set on 
 a rock, surrounded on all sides with water, so that 
 none could come at it easily. Then by stealth one 
 night he carried off Rimenhild, and married her in 
 this castle, holding a great feast at sunrise to cele- 
 brate the marriage. 
 
 Horn knew nought of this by word of mouth or 
 letter. But in a dream he beheld Rimenhild : she 
 seemed to him as though shipwrecked, calling upon 
 his name ; but when she tried to swim to him, Fiken- 
 hild appeared and prevented her. 
 
 When he awoke, Horn told Athulf this vision ; and 
 when they had thought upon the lore of dreams, 
 they agreed that it meant that Rimenhild was in 
 Fikenhild's sea-girt castle, the fame of which was 
 known to all men. Straightway they took a ship 
 and sailed to the land hard by where the castle lay. 
 
 There a certain knight named Arnoldin, cousin of 
 Athulf, met them, and told them that Fikenhild had 
 just wedded Rimenhild, and the wedding-feast was 
 now beginning. 
 
 They could not come nigh the castle openly as 
 enemies, for none could approach it across the water 
 unless those within were willing to let him enter. 
 But Horn and some of his knights disguised them- 
 selves as harpers, hiding their swords under long 
 cloaks. They took a boat and rowed under the walls 
 173
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 of the banqueting-hall, and there they played and 
 sang merrily, till Fikenhild heard them, and called 
 them in to the feast. 
 
 When they had come into the hall, they began to 
 sing again, at Fikenhild's bidding. Horn sought to 
 stand near Rimenhild, and sang to her a lay of for- 
 saken love. The song smote her to the heart, and 
 she fell into a swoon. Horn looked once more, for 
 the last time, upon the ring she had given him long 
 ago, and then, with a shout, he and his companions 
 fell upon Fikenhild and his men, and slew every one 
 of them. 
 
 The tale is soon told. Horn made Arnoldin King 
 in Fikenhild's castle. Then he set sail for Modi's 
 kingdom : M.odi he slew, and made Athelbrus the old 
 steward King in his stead. Athulf he sent to Thurs- 
 ton's court, where in a little time he married the 
 princess Reynild; and Horn went back to his king- 
 dom of Suddenne, and there made Rimenhild his 
 Queen. Long and happily they reigned in true love 
 and in fear of God ; now both are dead ; may they 
 be taken into God's Heaven, and may Christ lead us 
 thither also. 
 
 174
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 HEN Diocletian, Emperor of Rome, 
 i|;jj was growing old, his mind ran 
 upon the fate of his kingdom 
 after his death. His wife was 
 dead. His eldest son Florentin 
 was but seven years of age, 
 and as yet knew nothing of 
 wisdom and government. After long thought, the 
 Emperor called to him the Seven Wise Masters of Rome, 
 and asked their advice. Each Master, as he questioned 
 him, rose in turn, and declared that he would teach 
 the prince some one branch of learning, if he were 
 entrusted to him. But Diocletian was not satisfied ; 
 his son must know all the arts, if he were to rule 
 the great empire of Rome. One teacher would not 
 suffice ; and in the end, Florentin was set to learn 
 at the hands not of one, but of all the Seven Wise 
 Masters, so that he might gain something of the 
 wisdom of each. 
 
 For seven years Florentin studied under the Wise 
 Masters. Towards the end of that time, they made 
 a plan to test his knowledge. His bed was a great 
 one, set on four posts. One night under each post 
 they laid four ivy leaves pressed together, saying 
 nothing to Florentin of their device. 
 
 175
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Florentin went to bed as usual. But when he 
 woke in the morning, and his Seven Masters came, 
 as was their wont, to wait upon him, he looked 
 wildly upon them. He cast his eyes up and down, 
 and peered on either side of his bed, like a man 
 sore afraid. 
 
 "Why do you look thus?" asked the first Wise 
 Master, Baucillas by name. "Are you afraid?" 
 
 " I fear no man," answered Florentin. " But I 
 marvel greatly at a thing I see. This house is 
 strange to me ; either the sky has sunk lower, or 
 the floor has risen on high, since last I saw the 
 light." 
 
 "Certes," quoth the fourth Master, Maladas, "that 
 would be a wonderful thing, if it were so. But it 
 can in no wise be so." 
 
 "Yet 1 lie higher to-day, by four leaves' thickness, 
 than I lay yestermorn," answered Florentin. 
 
 With that the Masters were satisfied ; they knew that 
 the prince had perceived even so little a change in 
 his bed, and that he had profited by their teaching. 
 
 Now while Florentin was being taught by the 
 Seven Wise Masters, the Emperor had married again. 
 The new Empress was young and lovely, and before 
 they had been married long, Diocletian loved her so 
 fondly that he forgot Florentin altogether. But the 
 praises of the young prince, of his beauty and learn- 
 ing, were in every man's mouth, and speedily came 
 to the hearing of the Empress, who besought the 
 Emperor, and at last persuaded him to summon her 
 stepson back to Rome. 
 
 176
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 "Wise Men," said the Emperor's messenger, when he 
 came into the presence of the Seven Masters, "our lord 
 the Emperor greets you. He bids you come to him 
 \\ithin three days, bringing with you his dear son." 
 
 The messenger was nobly entertained by the prince 
 and the Masters. But the wise men were sorely 
 distressed at the tidings he brought, for they feared 
 they knew not what from tin's sudden summons. 
 Hastily they took their books and instruments of 
 magic, and consulted the signs of the stars and the 
 moon to see whether the journey to Rome could be 
 safely undertaken ; and the fifth Wise Master, Cato, 
 found that a terrible thing was foretold. 
 
 "It is the prince's stepmother," he said, "who has 
 contrived that the prince should be called to Rome. 
 He is not her son, and she wishes him ill. Through 
 her magic arts she knows that if the Prince Florentin 
 does but open his lips when he comes to court, he 
 will die ; and if he dies, we too shall surely be put 
 to death." 
 
 " Master," said Florentin, " I also have consulted 
 the stars, and I read them as you do. But I read 
 this also ; 1 read that if I keep silence for seven 
 days and seven nights, and pass that time without 
 harm, no other evil shall befall me." 
 
 " This is a great marvel," said Baucillas, when he 
 had looked at the stars ; " it is even as the prince 
 says. We must take counsel to overcome the Em- 
 press." 
 
 " I will keep silence, even as I have said," an- 
 swered Florentin ; " and you, dear Masters, you con- 
 177
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 trive that each one of you is able to save my life 
 for a day. Thus shall I live out the seven days 
 securely, and no ill shall come upon us." 
 
 " If it may be, I will save your life for a day," 
 vowed Baucillas ; and the rest promised the same, 
 each taking a day upon himself. 
 
 The next day the prince set out for Rome. When 
 he came thither, he went with his Master Baucillas 
 into the Emperor's presence, and did a reverence, 
 but said never a word. 
 
 " Dear son, how do you fare ? " asked the Emperor. 
 
 Florentin bowed low, but answered him never a 
 word. 
 
 " What is this, Master Baucillas ? " asked the Em- 
 peror angrily. "Why does my son not speak? Is 
 this all your teaching, that he cannot open his mouth ? 
 You have done your work ill : look to it that my 
 wrath does not fall upon you." 
 
 " Sire," quoth Baucillas, " it is in truth a marvel. 
 Yesterday, I vow, he spoke as well as any of us. 
 Without doubt he will speak soon, and his words will 
 show you how wise our teaching has been." 
 
 But the Emperor could not make Florentin utter a 
 word, and he grew more and more angry. As he 
 raged against Baucillas, who bore all his wrath 
 meekly, knowing the true cause of the prince's silence, 
 the Empress came into the hall, eager to see if the 
 prince had spoken. But she found him standing as 
 still and dumb as a stone, and knew that he was safe 
 unless she could make him speak. She went to him 
 graciously, and greeted him with soft and fair words, 
 178
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 welcoming him as her dear husband's son whom she 
 had longed to see. 
 
 But Florentin answered never a word. 
 
 Then the Empress saw that this device too had 
 failed ; and she made as if she had received a sore 
 insult, and turned to the Emperor in wrath. 
 
 " I have greeted your son in friendly wise, sire," 
 she cried; "but he spurns me. His mouth is stuck 
 fast ; he will not say a word." 
 
 "He will give me no answer," said the Emperor. 
 " I know not what ails him." 
 
 " Perchance if I speak him fairly and gently, alone, 
 he will not be afraid to answer," said the Empress, a 
 new plan coming into her mind. 
 
 "Take him apart, dear Queen," replied the Em- 
 peror. " Do with him as you please ; only make him 
 speak." 
 
 The Empress took Florentin by the hand, and led 
 him to her chamber ; and there, alone with him, she 
 told him that a great love for him had sprung up in 
 her, so that she forgot her husband the Emperor, and 
 loved only him, her stepson. Thus she thought to 
 make him speak, if only in anger at what she told 
 him. 
 
 But all her pretended love could not bring Florentin 
 to open his mouth. His lips were closed fast, and he 
 uttered no word. 
 
 Seeing that this plot also had failed, the Empress 
 
 tried yet another device. She rent her garments, and 
 
 tore her hair, and cried loudly for help. When 
 
 her guards came, she bade them seize the prince, for 
 
 179
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 he had become mad, she said, and had set upon her 
 in a frenzy, and would have slain her. 
 
 Florentin was brought by the guards before Diocle- 
 tian, and the Empress told her false tale once more ; 
 but the prince spoke no word. 
 
 " Call my tormentor," cried the Emperor in great 
 wrath, for he believed his wife's tale, and saw that 
 Florentin would not deny it ; and when the tormentor 
 came, "take my son," he commanded, "bind him, and 
 take him to the place where thieves are hanged, and 
 there scourge and afterwards hang him." 
 
 The tormentor bound the prince securely and pre- 
 pared to lead him away. All the court looked on 
 with wonder and pity, and at length certain great lords 
 implored the King to have mercy. 
 
 " Sire," they said, " you do yourself little honour 
 by slaying your son thus hastily. Let him at least 
 live to see to-morrow's light; perchance by then he 
 will speak. If not, then pass judgment on him." 
 
 "My lords," answered the King, "be it as you say." 
 And he bade the guards keep the prince in prison 
 till the morrow. 
 
 When Florentin was taken to his prison, the Em- 
 press perceived that her plan had failed for that day, 
 and she feared that on the morrow some chance 
 might again prevent the death of Florentin. She 
 resolved to make sure that he should be hanged ; 
 and that night, when she was alone with the Emperor, 
 she began to set about a new plot. She wept, and 
 moaned, and wrung her hands, till Diocletian asked 
 the cause of her grief. 
 
 1 80
 
 " wbe Empress tolD ber false talc once more.'
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 "It is no wonder I grieve," she said; "you were 
 better dead than take bad advice. You followed those 
 who bade you spare Florentin, and you are stirring 
 up for yourself great evil. You are like the vine tree 
 that was cut down because of its young branch." 
 
 ' I know you wish me well, and perchance you 
 speak truly on this matter," said the Emperor, who 
 dearly loved to hear tales and old fables. "What is 
 this story of a vine tree ? " 
 
 The Vine Tree 
 
 There was once a knight who had a fair arbour 
 (began the Empress) in the midst of which, among 
 the apple-trees, there stood a great and fruitful vine 
 Early and late the knight walked by that vine, and 
 took pride and joy in seeing the wide spread of its 
 branches. 
 
 One spring the vine tree put forth a shoot, and 
 the knight was filled with delight in watching it wax 
 strong and grow tall. But on a certain day he came 
 to the vine and saw the young shoot bent a little 
 aside. A bough of the old tree overshadowed it, 
 so that the sun did not fall upon it, ana it grew 
 crookedly. 
 
 "Go fetch an axe," said the knight to the 
 gardener." " Hew down this great bough, and give 
 the young shoot room." 
 
 The gardener did as he was bade, and the young 
 shoot sprang up tall and strong ; and it waxed so 
 183
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 great that in time it took all the nourishment of 
 the old vine, which began to wither and die. 
 
 "See, sir," said the gardener to the knight, "all 
 the virtue of the vine is gone into the new shoot." 
 
 " Faith if that be so," said the knight, " there is 
 nought for it but to dig up the vine by the root." 
 
 Thus was the old tree wronged by the young one ; 
 the great vine came upon evil days, and the little 
 shoot had the mastery. 
 
 " Even so, sire," said the Empress, " this young 
 shoot, Florentin, will cause your boughs to be hewn 
 down, and your glory to diminish. Your power is 
 spread wide now, but in time his will wax great, 
 and bring you low." 
 
 "I vow it is true," cried Diocletian; ''to-morrow 
 he shall die, even though all men that live withstand 
 me." 
 
 The next morning the Emperor called a knight 
 to him. 
 
 "Go to the prison," he said. "Bid my tormentor 
 put my son to the torture. He shall die to-day ; but 
 first we will try if we cannot make him speak." 
 
 They put the prince to the torture, but he spoke 
 never a word. Then he was brought again to the 
 Emperor. As he came into the great hall of the 
 palace, he cast his eye sadly upon the Wise Master 
 Baucillas, whom he spied there ; but he said nothing. 
 
 But Baucillas had taken thought, and remembered 
 his vow. As soon as Florentin was led before the 
 Emperor, he came forward boldly. 
 184
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 "Sire, this is a new thing," he cried, "that you 
 should slay your own son, guiltless and unheard." 
 
 " I have other sons," answered the Emperor. 
 " And you Wise Masters have had Florentin in your 
 charge this seven years ; have you taught him nothing 
 but to hold his tongue ? Have you taught him to 
 beat and wound my wife ? He shall die, I say ; and, 
 by He;iven, so shall you, all seven of you, since 
 you have done your work so sore amiss." 
 
 "Alas, sire, be not wroth," said Baucillas. "We 
 have taught the prince well and truly, as you shall 
 tind ere long. And 1 dare wager my life that he 
 wrought the lady Empress no harm." 
 
 "He will not speak," answered Diocletian; "and 
 I saw my wife's garments torn and her hair rent, 
 as if by him. Your words are vain, Baucillas." 
 
 Florentin was weeping, for he saw no hope of 
 his life. But Baucillas still pleaded. "Sire, on your 
 life do not slay your son. If you do, it may be with 
 you even as with the knight who slew the hound 
 that saved his son's life. All his days thereafter that 
 knight grieved for what he had done in his haste." 
 
 "Tell me how that tale was," said the Emperor. 
 
 " What were the use, sire ? " answered Baucillas. " Ere 
 I could tell the half of it, the prince's life would be 
 ended." 
 
 The Emperor was eager to hear the tale. He bade 
 the guards take Florentin back to prison ; and as 
 soon as Baucillas knew that the prince was spared 
 for a time, he began his tale. 
 
 M
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 The Knight and the Greyhound 
 
 There was once a rich and powerful knight who 
 dwelt in a.H happiness and prosperity with his wife. 
 They had a son, fair and strong, and he was but a 
 twelvemonth old. There was nothing in the world 
 the knight loved so well. 
 
 The knight had also a greyhound of great price ; 
 he loved this hound well, and trusted him more than 
 all his other beasts ; and the hound served him faith- 
 fully. 
 
 It chanced that one day in May a tournament was 
 held near by, and the knight and all his household 
 went to it, leaving the child at home with but two 
 nurses. But the nurses, when they heard the drums 
 and trumpets sounding for the tournament, and saw 
 that they alone of the household remained at home, 
 stole away to the lists secretly, and left the child un- 
 guarded. 
 
 In the court of the knight's castle stood an old 
 tower, long fallen out of use; and in a crevice in 
 its walls lived an adder, with its brood. The noise 
 of the tournament woke this great serpent, and it 
 crept out of its hole. Into the castle it wound its 
 way, and came into the room where the child lay 
 sleeping in its cradle. The adder drew near and 
 yet nearer : the little babe seemed almost in its 
 power. But the good greyhound lay in the room, 
 and as the serpent crept in he rose and bristled in 
 anger. The serpent paid no heed, but glided on 
 186
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 swiftly. In a trice the greyhound sprang upon the 
 creature. They fought long ; the serpent bit the 
 hound, but he would not let it go. All over the 
 room they struggled ; the cradle was upset, and stood 
 upon its pommel, so that the child lay under it, 
 hidden safely, and slept quietly while the hound 
 fought the enemy. 
 
 At length the adder was slain, and lay dead among the 
 cradle clothes. The hound, sore wounded, stretched 
 himself upon the floor ; and the blood of both was 
 upon the cradle clothes and the hangings of the 
 chamber. 
 
 When the jousting was ended, the household came 
 back. They found the greyhound in the chamber, 
 weary and panting, and his eyes still wild from the 
 fight. The two nurses, who came thither first, were 
 sore afraid : they did not look for the child under 
 the overturned cradle, and they saw it nowhere. 
 
 " Alas," they cried, " the greyhound is mad, and 
 has killed the child." 
 
 They flew to the knight's wife, and brought her 
 to see the hound. At the sight she gave a great cry, 
 believing that her little son was dead. 
 
 The knight heard her cry, and hastened to her. 
 " Dear wife, what ails you ? " he asked. 
 
 " See," she said, " our babe is lost. This vile hound 
 has slain our child : look at his eyes, and the torn 
 cradle clothes. Of a surety it is as I say." 
 
 The faithful dog understood not the meaning of 
 her words, but he knew his master, and struggled to 
 his feet, wagging his tail painfully ; and in his great 
 187
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 love for the master whose child he had saved, he 
 rose and stood on his hind legs, and set his forefeet 
 upon the knight's breast. But the knight, mad with 
 rage and sorrow, drew his sword, and slew the 
 hound in an instant. 
 
 '.' Take away the cradle," he cried. " I have lost 
 my dear son, and the hound whom I trusted." 
 
 The nurses lifted the cradle and its clothes ; and 
 lo, underneath lay the child asleep, and hard by, the 
 serpent, dead. 
 
 " You may guess, sire," said Baucillas, " how the 
 knight grieved when he saw what wrong he had done. 
 It is said in the story that he went straightway out 
 of his castle to a fish-pond, and there, for very sorrow, 
 drowned himself. Even so, if you slay your son, you 
 too will repent. This knight obeyed his wife without 
 taking thought ; he did not make inquiry whether 
 she spoke truth or not. Even so may you act, sire, 
 if you put your son to death in haste, while your 
 anger is hot within you." 
 
 " Master Baucillas," said the Emperor, " no word of 
 my wife's alone shall bring that to pass. Florentin 
 shall not die to-day. I will inquire more concerning 
 his deeds." 
 
 Thus Florentin was spared for another day. But 
 the Empress was ill pleased, and considered how she 
 might gain her will on the morrow. That night she 
 spoke falsely to the Emperor : " What have you done, 
 sire ? Did you not see with your own eyes how I was 
 like to die by your son's hand, and yet he is but cast 
 188
 
 Cbe faftbful Dog strugfllefc to bis feet."
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 into prison again, unpunished ? You are even as the 
 boar who was beguiled to his death." 
 
 " I know not if what you say against my son be 
 true, nor why you have enmity against him," said the 
 Emperor. " But I would fain hear this tale of the 
 boar ; tell it me now." 
 
 The Tale of the Boar 
 
 There was a great boar (said the Empress) who 
 lived in a forest, where were many trees, whose 
 berries and nuts and fruit he was wont to eat. He 
 loved especially one tree therein. Every day he 
 came and stood under it, that he might eat the nuts 
 that had fallen from it. 
 
 Now a certain herdsman of that forest knew of 
 this boar, and feared him greatly, and dared not 
 pasture his herd near the boar's tree. But it chanced 
 one day that he lost his way, and found himself 
 close to the tree. He was hungry, and picked up 
 from the ground some of the nuts to eat. The 
 nuts pleased him, and he eat his nil ; and when he 
 had eaten, he filled his hood with them. Even as 
 he did so, the boar spied him, and came running 
 at him in a rage. The herdsman made short work 
 of climbing the tree ; and there he sat upon a branch, 
 not daring to come down. Below the boar whetted 
 his tusks, and charged the tree madly, foaming at 
 the mouth. 
 
 The tree was old and strong, but the herdsman 
 feared lest the boar, by dint of many stout blows, 
 191
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 should at last fell it, or perchance shake him from 
 his perch. He plucked the ripe nuts and cast them 
 down, to see whether the beast would eat them 
 and forget him. The boar eat greedily, but did not 
 go from the tree. Then the herdsman tried yet 
 another plan. He cast down more nuts, and, as 
 the boar eat them, climbed from bough to bough 
 and leant down, holding the tree with his legs and 
 one hand. With the other hand he reached down- 
 wards stealthily, and scratched the boar's hide as 
 he eat. 
 
 The boar had eaten well, and liked the scratching. 
 He leant against the man's hand in pleasure ; and 
 before long he sank on his haunches, and fell asleep. 
 Then the crafty herdsman drew his long knife from 
 his belt, and stabbed the beast as he lay sleeping. 
 
 " Even so, sire," said the Empress, " will you 
 be beguiled and slain by the false words of your 
 flatterers, and your son will be Emperor in your 
 stead." 
 
 " By St. Bride, that shall not be," said the Emperor, 
 his whole mind changed by the story. " Florentin 
 shall do me no more harm. I will not be cozened 
 into sleeping, as the boar was. Florentin shall die 
 to-morrow." 
 
 As soon as it was day upon the morrow the Emperor 
 bade his men go fetch his son and slay him. They 
 led Florentin out of the town to the place of execu- 
 tion. But as they went the second Wise Master 
 Ancillas met them, and remembered his vow to save 
 192
 
 reacbeo Downward ano scratch tbe boar's biDe/
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 the prince for a day. With all speed he ran to the 
 Emperor, and begged him to have mercy. 
 
 " For all you say, good sir," answered Diocletian, 
 "my son shall die. I gave him to you to teach, and 
 you Wise Masters have but taken his speech away. 
 You shall die too, all seven." 
 
 "Heaven have mercy on us," answered Ancillas. 
 " Be not so angry, sire. You know not how it is 
 with the prince. He has done no evil. If he loses 
 his life, I pray there may befall you such a 
 sorry fate as came upon Hippocras, that slew his 
 cousin who had done no wrong, and himself died 
 thereafter." 
 
 "You shall have no peace till 1 hear the fate of 
 this Hippocras," said the Emperor. 
 
 " What avails it, sire ? " said Ancillas. " Ere my 
 tale were told, the prince would be dead. If I might 
 save his life till to-morrow, I could tell this tale of 
 Hippocras." 
 
 Straightway the King sent and forbade the guards 
 to slay his son ; and as soon as he heard that com- 
 mandment given, Ancillas began his story. 
 
 The Physician and his Cousin 
 
 There was once a noble physician called Hippocras, 
 who had a cousin who studied medicine under him. 
 This cousin learnt readily, and speedily became .as 
 skilful a physician as Hippocras himself. 
 
 It chanced that the King of Hungary's son fell 
 195
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 sick of a strange malady which no leech of his own 
 land could cure. In despair the King sent abroad 
 into all the world to find physicians; and especially 
 he begged Hippocras to come and cure his son. 
 But Hippocras waxed old. It was a long journey 
 from his home to Hungary, and he was loath to 
 go. Instead of himself he sent his cousin, knowing 
 that his skill would cure the prince if mortal man 
 could avail at all, but believing in his heart that 
 all was in vain. 
 
 The cousin rode to Hungary, and saw that the 
 King's son was indeed sick almost to death ; but, before 
 long, by his skill, he found out the cause, and 
 cured the boy. Great rewards were given him, and 
 he returned home to Hippocras well pleased, and told 
 him how he had fared. 
 
 Now Hippocras had guessed what ailed the King's 
 son, and little thought that any man would avail 
 to cure him. When he heard of his cousin's success, 
 he was jealous, and took counsel with himself how he 
 might be rid of this upstart, whose skill was so great 
 greater, it seemed, even than his own. 
 
 It was not long before he found occasion for his 
 design. One day he was walking with his cousin 
 in a fair meadow, bright with many a flower. Sud- 
 denly he stopped still, and cast his eyes upon the 
 ground. 
 
 "Good cousin," quoth he, "here is a herb of great 
 virtue. If it were digged up by the root, much good 
 might come of it." 
 
 " Dear master, whe~e is the herb ? " 
 196
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 "Here," said Hippocras. "Look, it is at my feet. 
 Kneel down on your knee, and dig it up and give it 
 me ; I will show you what virtue is in it." 
 
 The young man knelt down. As he stooped, 
 Hippocras drew his sword and slew him, unarmed, 
 unready. He buried the body there as it lay, and 
 went home, and burned even his cousin's books, that 
 no fame might come to the dead man, and no person 
 be healed by his skill after his death. 
 
 Thus Hippocras was rid of his rival. But in a 
 little while he himself fell ill of a disease which he 
 could not cure. All his books and all his lore availed 
 him naught. But his cousin, had he not been foully 
 slain, could have healed him, for he had great skill in 
 curing this very disease. And so, by the result of his 
 own wickedness, Hippocras died. 
 
 " Take warning, sire," said Ancillas ; " do not let 
 your son go to death ; you will need him ere long. 
 There are but a few who will withstand you so as 
 you be in health ; but if you do but grow weak, and 
 have not your son to aid you, then will evil betide 
 you." 
 
 " By my head, he shall not die," said Diocletian. 
 
 Thus again the Empress was defeated in her wicked 
 plot. But that night once more she began to sob 
 and weep, until the Emporer asked her the cause of 
 her grief. 
 
 " \Voe is me, sire," said she ; " I grieve for you. 
 You are lord and King, master of all this Empire, and 
 you are about to come upon evil days. If these wise 
 197
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 men have their will, that villain your son will live. 
 If you love him more than you love me, may the 
 same fate befall you as came upon the man whose 
 head was cut off by his own son." 
 
 " Tell me how that came to pass," said the 
 Emperor. 
 
 The Thief and his Son 
 
 There was an Emperor of Rome (said the Empress) 
 vho loved riches right well. To keep his treasure 
 .safe, he caused a tower to be built wherein it was 
 stored. 
 
 This Emperor had seven counsellors, even as you 
 have these Seven Wise Masters, sire. It chanced that 
 at a certain time, five of these masters were away 
 from Rome. Of the other two, one was in charge of 
 the treasure tower. The seventh was a rich man, 
 who loved a merry life ; and he spent his substance 
 so readily and heedlessly that he had come well nigh 
 to beggary. His money was all gone, his lands and 
 castles sold ; nought was left upon which he might 
 feast and revel as of old. 
 
 In this evil plight he found a desperate remedy. 
 He and his son one night broke into the treasure 
 tower, and stole away from it great store of silver and 
 gold. Thereafter they feasted and made merry until 
 their gains were once more gone. 
 
 The wise master who guarded the treasure had seen 
 the loss, though he could not discover the thief. To 
 198
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 make the treasure safe if the thief came again, he set 
 a great cauldron of brass in the midst of the strong 
 chamber in the tower, and filled it all with sticky 
 glue, so that if a man fell therein he might in no 
 wise escape. 
 
 Before long the seventh wise master and his son, 
 in sore strait for money, came again. In at a hole 
 he made in the tower wall the father crept, un- 
 suspecting any trap, and straightway fell into the 
 cauldron, and stuck there. 
 
 " Son," he cried, " I am lost. Flee, or you too are 
 undone ! " 
 
 " Alas, father, what shall I do ? They will find you 
 here, and know from you the rest of us, and slay all 
 your family." 
 
 "There is nought for it," answered the father, "but 
 that you should smite off my head. I must die if 
 they find me, and assuredly they will find me ; but if 
 I die at your hands, and you bear away my head, I 
 alone shall suffer, for they will not know who 1 am 
 or who aided me. But oh, my son, if it so befall that 
 you find occasion, give my head burial in a Christian 
 grave." 
 
 The son was in great doubt. He saw no way to 
 help his father, and he knew that if his father were 
 caught and recognised, he himself and all their family 
 would be put to death. Sorrowfully he bade his 
 father farewell ; then he drew his sword, and struck off 
 his father's head, and made his escape, taking the 
 head with him. 
 
 But when once he was free of danger he thought 
 199
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 little of his father's honour ; he cared nought for his 
 shameful death, and forgot that he had asked that his 
 head should have Christian burial. As he ran from 
 the tower, he cast the head from him into a well, and 
 left it there. 
 
 On the morrow the treasurer came to the tower, 
 and found there that he had indeed caught the 
 robber, but might in no wise discover who he was, 
 for the body was headless. But he contrived a cun- 
 ning plan. He took the dead body, and had it set 
 on a barrow and dragged through the streets of 
 Rome by horses. 
 
 " Look well about you," he charged tlie guards 
 who went with it, "and if any man or woman cries 
 or starts back at the sight of this thing, seize them 
 and bring them to me straightway, for surely they 
 will be the heir of the dead man." 
 
 It was done as he bade ; and it chanced that the 
 wife and sister and son of the robber saw his body 
 as it was dragged through the streets. At that sight 
 the women cried aloud. But the crafty son knew 
 what would befall them if their cry were noticed, 
 and drawing his sword he smote himself in the thigh. 
 
 "Seize these women," cried the captain of the 
 guard. "They are the kin of this dead thief; they 
 cried aloud at the sight of him." 
 
 "Nay," said the son, "it was at me, their brother, 
 that they cried. See, I have cut myself by mischance, 
 and it was for that that they were grieved." 
 
 The guards were deceived, and went on their way, 
 dragging the wise master's body through Rome in 
 200
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 disgrace. Thus the son saved himself, but let his 
 father be slain and his body dishonoured. 
 
 " Even so, sire, will you fare," said the Empress. 
 " Your son will slay you, and when you are dead 
 he will dishonour you : as this son in the story did, 
 so will your son also do, if you put faith in that tale 
 of Hippocras and his cousin." 
 
 "You speak truly, dame," answered the Emperor. 
 "My son shall die to-morrow." 
 
 On the morrow the same thing happened as before ; 
 the prince was sentenced to die at once ; but this 
 time the third Wise Master Lentulus interfered to 
 save him. 
 
 "Sir Emperor," he cried, "in all deeds be wary 
 and wise. If you slay your son, such evil will come 
 upon you as befell the rich old man who was turned 
 out of doors by his wife." 
 
 " How could a wife turn her husband out of 
 doors?" asked the Emperor. "Tell me that, Wise 
 Master." 
 
 " Gladly will I tell you, sire, if you will send your 
 son again to prison for a day and night, and not 
 slay him. But if he is killed, I cannot tell you this 
 story." 
 
 The Emperor once more consented, and Lentulus 
 began his tale. 
 
 201 
 
 N
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 The Husband Shut Out 
 
 There was once a rich burgess of this city who 
 had a wife whom he loved as his own life. But 
 though he loved her, she cared little for him. She 
 was young and fair and gay, and liked rather to go 
 to feasts and merry-makings, and to talk and jest 
 with younger men instead of with her old husband. 
 
 Now there was a law in Rome at that time that 
 if any man or woman, whether nobly born or lowly, 
 were found in the streets after the sound of the cur- 
 few bell, he or she should be seized by the watch, 
 kept in durance till the morrow, and then driven 
 publicly through the town as a vagrant and a rogue. 
 The burgess remembered this law, and resolved to 
 teach his wife a lesson by means of it. He pre- 
 tended one night that he was ill, and went early tc 
 bed, knowing full well that she would take this chance 
 to leave him and join her riotous friends. 
 
 It fell out as he expected. No sooner was he in 
 bed than he heard his wife hasten out of the house. 
 At once the burgess ran to the door after her, and 
 closed it securely ; then he went up to the window 
 and called to her as she hurried away. 
 
 " Farewell, my lady," he said. " You have forsaken 
 me. Go stay with your friends ; I will have no more 
 of you." 
 
 " Oh sir," she answered, abashed and afraid, " have 
 mercy. Let me in; right soon the curfew bell will 
 be sounded." 
 
 202
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 " Nay, I give you up. You do not enter here again." 
 
 She wrung her hands, and made great lamentation. 
 "Alas! what care I for life now?" she cried. "I have 
 lost my husband's love, and he has turned me out of 
 doors, and I must be disgraced ere long, when the 
 watch find me after curfew." 
 
 But she had in her mind a crafty plot to get back 
 into her house, and be revenged on her husband. 
 She moaned and wept, and at last, with a despairing 
 cry, "Husband," she called to him, "here is the 
 well hard by. I will go drown myself, since you no 
 longer want me for your wife." 
 
 " Drown yourself, then," answered the burgess, care- 
 lessly, for he did not believe her threat. "You have 
 lived too long in idleness and gaiety." 
 
 She said no more, but in the darkness took up a 
 great stone and cast it into the well. It fell with a 
 loud splash ; and she went straightway and crouched 
 close to the house door. 
 
 "What is that sound?" thought her husband, when 
 he heard the splash. " Can my wife have done as she 
 said ? Alas if it be so, for though she be heedless and 
 heartless, I would not have her die." 
 
 He went out straight to the well, and looked for 
 her, and called her by name, but found her not ; for 
 as he rushed headlong from the house, leaving the 
 door open, she slipped in and bolted the door fast 
 from inside. 
 
 Presently the burgess gave up looking for her, and 
 came back to the door. "What is this?" he cried, 
 when he found it barred. 
 
 203
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 "Ah, husband," answered his wife from the window 
 above, " is it not time you came into the house ? 
 Curfew will be rung ere long." 
 
 " I thought you drowned," he said. "Now let me in, 
 dame, for it is nigh the time of curfew, as you say." 
 
 "Nay," she said, "abide there and let the watch 
 find you. You are an old rogue to be out after 
 curfew. You shall taste the dish you would have set 
 before me." 
 
 As she spoke, curfew sounded, and anon the watch 
 came riding by, 
 
 "See," she cried to them, "here is an old reveller 
 out of doors after curfew. Take him and give him 
 his due." 
 
 What more need I say ? That night the woman lay 
 warm in bed, while her husband was in hardship and 
 sorry plight in jail ; and in the morning he was led 
 through the town in disgrace, according to the law. 
 
 " Was she not full of guile, this woman ? " asked 
 the Wise Master Lentulus, at the end of his tale. 
 "Would you put your faith in such an one, sire?" 
 
 " Faith, she was a traitor," answered Diocletian. 
 " I would have nought to do with her." 
 
 "There are others like her, sire," said Lentulus. 
 " You have one for your wife. She will surely betray 
 you, even as the woman in my story betrayed her 
 husband, if she but finds the chance." 
 
 " It may be that your words are wise," said the 
 Emperor. "Whatever be the truth, I will not let her 
 beguile me. My son shal) not die for all her pleading." 
 204
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 But that night the Empress once more persuaded 
 him with a tale, and on the morrow he bade the 
 guards bring Florentin forth to die. But as the prince 
 was led from his prison, he met the Wise Master 
 Maladas, who went straightway to the Emperor and 
 begged him to spare his son. 
 
 " It will be a strange thing if you put him to death 
 for the sake of an idle tale of your wife's," he said. 
 "You will deserve such things as were wont to come 
 upon the old man with the young wife, until he cured 
 her of her evil ways." 
 
 " I have never heard that tale," said the Emperor. 
 "Tell it to me." 
 
 "If you will spare the prince for another day, sire, 
 I will tell it," answered Maladas ; and the Emperor 
 gave his promise for that day. 
 
 The Man who Tamed his Wife 
 
 There was once an old burgess who gathered to 
 himself great store of this world's goods. He was 
 twice wedded, but when his second wife died he took 
 no other for many years. At length, when he was old 
 and grey, he married a young girl whose only thought 
 was of the riches and happiness and constant pleasure 
 she would have in being married. 
 
 They lived together in content for a little while, but 
 
 before long the wife grew weary of her old .husband. 
 
 He could not share her pleasures, nor love the gay 
 
 things and mirth which were dear to her. He showed 
 
 205
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 neither love nor dislike of her, and his coldness 
 angered her. Meeting her mother one day by chance, 
 she told her of her loneliness. 
 
 " My husband is old and cares little for me," she said. 
 " I wish I were rid of him." 
 
 " Nay, daughter, bear with him," said her mother 
 wisely. "Old men are crafty: perchance he puts on 
 an air of coldness in order to test your love. See, do 
 you make trial of him in turn, in this manner. He 
 has a fair garden, has he not? and an orchard which 
 he loves, and in it is a young tree of which he is 
 specially fond; he likes well to sit in its shade. I 
 have seen you there with him. When he is away 
 from home, summon the gardener, and bid him hew 
 down this tree and cut it into logs for the fire. 
 If your husband asks any reason for this deed, tell 
 him it was done that his old bones might be warmed. 
 Then if he believes you and is not wroth, but is more 
 gentle to you than before, he must surely love you ; 
 but if he grows angry, he loves you not. So will you 
 test his love for you." 
 
 " I will do it, lady mother," she answered ; and 
 straightway went home and found the gardener, and 
 commanded him to cut down the tree on a day when 
 his master should be absent. 
 
 When the burgess came home, he went into his 
 garden to enjoy the sun and shade. But alas ! his 
 favourite tree was hewn down to the very ground ; 
 and when he asked the reason, his wife told him that 
 the tree made good logs for the fire to warm him ; 
 therefore had she bidden it be hewn down. 
 206
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 "Oho!" thought the old man, in his heart, "this is 
 a trick of yours, I see." 
 
 But he said nothing in complaint or anger, and his 
 wife found that thereafter he showed her no more 
 love than before. Before long she went again to her 
 mother, and asked once more what she should do. 
 
 " Do nothing rash, my daughter ; it must be that he 
 is testing your love, as I have said. I will give you 
 a plan. Your husband has a little greyhound which 
 he loves to fondle, and often it sits in your lap, as I 
 have seen ; when it does this again, make as though 
 you were suddenly angered, and stab the dog with 
 your knife. See if that will not cause your lord to 
 show some spirit, and thereafter to be more loving." 
 
 The wife did as her mother advised. As she and 
 her husband, with their squire, sat by the fireside, she 
 suddenly uttered a cry of anger, and stabbed the poor 
 little greyhound to the heart. 
 
 "Be not wroth, my lord," she said. "The dog bit 
 me." 
 
 " You need not have slain my dog," answered her 
 husband. Yet he showed no great wrath outwardly. 
 "You could have beaten it, or set it down from your 
 lap without harm." 
 
 With that he went from the room, and said no more. 
 But his love for her seemed no warmer than before. 
 
 Once more the wife sought counsel of her mother. 
 
 "Try him a third time, my daughter," said her 
 
 mother. "In a few days' time he gives a great feast 
 
 to his rich friends. That day you will be busied with 
 
 preparing the feast, and you will sit at the table when 
 
 207
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 all is ready. Hang at your girdle a great bunch of 
 keys, and, as you sit at the feast, make fast one of the 
 keys to the table-cloth ; then, upon some pretext, rise 
 suddenly and leave the table. The key will drag the 
 cloth after you, and the cups and the plates and the 
 wines will be scattered, and all the feast spoiled. Will 
 that provoke him, think you ? Will that make him 
 show either love or anger ? " 
 
 " Yes, faith," answered she ; and she put the plan 
 into practice even as her mother had advised. As she 
 rose from the feast, cloth, cups, wines, and meats were 
 dragged helter-skelter by her bunch of keys. 
 
 The old burgess said never a word at this last 
 offence, but only made amends to his guests as best 
 he could. But on the morrow he sent hot-foot for a 
 neighbour, a skilful barber and surgeon ; and when 
 this man was come, a great fire was made in the 
 wife's chamber, and many basins and cloths set out. 
 
 "What is this, my lord?" she asked in surprise, 
 when she saw these preparations. 
 
 "This is for you, wife," he answered. "Your blood 
 is too hot, and your spirits too high. You have cut 
 down my tree and stabbed my greyhound and spoiled my 
 feast; and you must needs be in ill health to do such 
 things. The surgeon here will bleed you ; and then we 
 will eat and drink well, and be merry, and afterwards 
 again you shall be bled : and you shall be bled thrice, 
 for thrice in your madness you have done me wrong ; 
 you shall be cured of your sickness very speedilv." 
 
 It was done as he said, though when they came to 
 eating and drinking, the poor wife, for terror and 
 208
 
 l l?ou sball be cureo of gout sickness very speeOUg.
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 shame, had no appetite. When the surgeon had done 
 with her, she sent straightway for her mother, be- 
 lieving herself, in her weakness, on the point of 
 death. 
 
 "My lord has nigh slain me," she said, "for fol- 
 lowing your counsel these three times." 
 
 " Daughter, are you contented with him now ? " asked 
 her mother. 
 
 "Yes, truly," she answered; "I shall not complain 
 again that he is cold and heartless and without spirit. 
 Truly he knows best, and his heart is alive, whatever 
 be the outward show." 
 
 " I said that old men were crafty, my daughter. 
 Your lord has taken his own way to show you that 
 what he does is best. Obey him, and love him, and 
 do his will, and you shall have all that you desire." 
 
 " Even so, sire," said Maladas, " should you control 
 your wife. As this old man was driven by her dis- 
 content to put a check upon her, so should you too 
 refuse to do your wife's will, unless you would have 
 her rule you in all things. Spare your son, and you 
 will win the mastery over your wife ; but if you spare 
 him not, she will be for ever seeking some new and 
 yet harder boon at your hands." 
 
 'You say well, Maladas," said Diocletian; " Florentin 
 shall not die to-day." 
 
 But the Empress was not defeated. That night she 
 told the Emperor yet another story to make him 
 change his mind. 
 
 211
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Croesus the Gold-lover 
 
 The great necromancer Vergil (said the Empres^) 
 wrought many wonders in this city of Rome. He 
 made a fire in the midst of the city which no man 
 could quench ; all the poor men of the land warmed 
 themselves thereat, and cooked their meat by its heat. 
 Close by the fire Vergil set a tall brazen statue of a 
 man with a bow in his hand, stretched to the full, 
 with an arrow on the string, ready for shooting. On 
 the forehead of the figure was carved, "Who strikes 
 me shall himself be struck in turn." 
 
 One day there came a noble of the Lombards, a 
 vain, boastful man, and saw this marvel of the fire and 
 the statue. He asked the men of Rome if he might 
 smite the statue ; and when they idly said that he 
 might, he struck it. Straightway the statue let the 
 arrow fly from the string; it flew into the fire, and 
 put out for ever the flame that no man yet had been 
 able to quench. 
 
 " Was that a good deed, sire ? " asked the Empress, 
 breaking off her tale. 
 
 "No, dame, in truth, it was a foolish deed," he said. 
 
 " Hear then what other marvels Vergil wrought, and 
 how foolish men in after days made his magic arts of 
 no' avail ; and learn from these things a lesson fo 
 yourself." 
 
 in the midst of the city of Rome (continued the 
 212
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 Empress) this Vergil made yet another image of a 
 man, greater than human size, holding a mirror in his 
 hand. In this mirror was reflected all that befell in 
 Italy within seven days' journey of Rome. At the east 
 gate also he set a third statue, that held in its hand a 
 golden ball, and over against it on the western gate 
 yet another like it ; and the Romans affirmed that 
 these two statues on the gates played ball together, 
 and threw the golden ball one to the other. 
 
 Now the King of Apulia at that time bore great 
 enmity to the King of Rome, and would fain have 
 done him an injury. He made many a plan to take 
 the city by surprise, but could not, for the enchanted 
 mirror reflected all his doings. If ever he set his 
 men in array, the mirror told the people of Rome, 
 and they were full ready long before he could reach 
 them. 
 
 At length the King of Apulia, growing weary of 
 failure, sought counsel of the wise men in his realm, 
 and told them all his grievance. " And I will highly 
 advance him who can cause this magic statue to be 
 overturned for me," he said. 
 
 There were two wise masters in Rome at this time, 
 and they heard of the King's promise. Within a little 
 time (for they were traitorous and cunning men) they 
 came to Apulia and vowed to do as the King desired, 
 saying to him that they would ask their reward when 
 they had caused the magic statue to be broken down. 
 
 "This much we ask, Sir King," they said. "You 
 must till us two great chests of gold and precious 
 stones, and give them into our charge." 
 213
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 The King of Apulia did as they asked, and they 
 returned to Rome with their chests of treasure. On a 
 feast day, when none were by, they took the chests and 
 dug pits, and laid one chest under the eastern statue, 
 and one under the western. Then they covered the 
 pits so that no man could tell that the earth had been 
 moved, and left secret marks in the places by which 
 to know them again, and went to the King of Rome. 
 
 " Sire," they said, " we have knowledge of great 
 treasure buried in this city, hidden under the earth. 
 If you will, we will discover it to you. But if we do 
 this we must have half of it for ourselves." 
 
 "So be it," said Croesus; "go about finding the 
 treasure." 
 
 "Nay," said the elder of the two, "we must wait 
 till the morrow, sire. To-night the exact place of the 
 treasure will be revealed to us in a dream ; to-morrow 
 it shall be found." 
 
 The King agreed ; and on the morrow the wise 
 masters went to the eastern statue, and dug under it, 
 and pretended to find afresh the treasure which they 
 had hidden there. 
 
 At the sight of so much treasure Crcesus was aflame 
 with desire of more ; and when the wise masters 
 offered to search under the west gate also, he readily 
 agreed. There they found the second chest, and the 
 King was so pleased thereat that he would have 
 granted them anything in the world. 
 
 "There is no one alive so wise as you," he said. 
 
 "This is a good treasure that we have found," said 
 the elder wise master. " But we know a better yet, 
 214
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 We can show you all the marvellous riches and jewels 
 of Vergil the necromancer. Let us but dream once 
 again to-night, and the spot where this great treasure 
 lies shall surely be made known to us." 
 
 They went to bed, and the next morning, whe'.i they 
 arose, hastened to the King. 
 
 " Sire, we know where all Vergil's riches lie hid," 
 they said. " We learnt in our dreams last night that 
 under the image that holds the mirror we shall find 
 such wealth as is not in all Rome and all Apulia, 
 You shall have a marvel of gold if we can but dig 
 under that image." 
 
 "Nay, for all the wealth in the world I may not 
 bring harm to that statue,' answered Croesus. 
 
 "Sire, it is all Vergil's treasure that lies thereunder, 
 wealth such as no man knows ! And we shall so 
 prop the image from underneath, if we may but dig, 
 that no harm can come to it. When we have taken 
 the gold from the ground, we shall fill the earth in 
 again, and make the statue as though it had never 
 been touched, for we are cunning masters as well as 
 wise masters." 
 
 " Do as you say, then," said Crcesus, " but do not 
 harm the statue." 
 
 "The treasure shall be yours, sire," they answered; 
 "we will dig and yet save the image, and to-morrow 
 you shall be the richest man in all the world." 
 
 So they went to the statue and dug under it, with 
 
 the King's leave. Right under the foundations of it 
 
 was a great pit hollowed out, till the statue stood all 
 
 insecure, propped up from underneath only by wooden 
 
 215
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 beams. Still the two wise masters laboured on, till all 
 Rome was gone to bed ; and at last, in the dead of 
 night, they built a great fire in the pit they had dug, 
 and fanned it till the wooden props were kindled and 
 burnt, so that they gave way and fell, and the statue 
 toppled and was broken. Then the two wise masters, 
 having done their work, left the pit, and fled to Apulia, 
 where the King rewarded them as they deserved. 
 
 On the morrow the King of Rome arose, and learnt 
 what had befallen. His heart sank within him when 
 he knew that the magic statue was overturned, and he 
 would fain have fled ; but all the people of Rome, 
 seeing the evil that had been done, came to his palace, 
 and he could not escape. They took King Croesus, 
 and bound him to a table, and prepared molten gold 
 in a crucible. 
 
 "See, King, here is gold," they cried; "you have 
 betrayed us for gold. Gold you shall have, till 
 never more shall you covet it." 
 
 With that they poured the molten gold into his 
 mouth and his eyes and his ears, till he died. And 
 so Croesus was deceived by the wise masters, and 
 came to his end with great shame. 
 
 "You say true, dame," said the Emperor; "King 
 Croesus came to a shameful end." 
 
 "Yes, sire, and why?" answered the Empress. 
 " He died because he trusted these wise masters 
 who played him false. Even so, if you heed the 
 counsel of these Seven Wise Masters, will you also 
 come to a shameful end." 
 
 216
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 " By heaven," said Diocletian, " I will not wait for 
 that. For all they say, my son Florentin shall die 
 to-morrow morn." 
 
 The next morning Diocletian sent for his tormentors 
 and bade them put Florentin to death. But ere the 
 sentence could be carried out the fifth Wise Master 
 Cato came riding to the Emperor's palace, and 
 strode into the presence, and greeted his lord on 
 bended knee. 
 
 "Mercy, sire," he cried, "for holy charity's sake. 
 Hear me speak, lord Emperor. I tell you here to 
 your face that if you do not spare your son, you 
 will fall in like case to the burgess and his magpie." 
 
 " Ha ! The burgess and his magpie," quoth the 
 Emperor. "What is that tale? Tell it me, I 
 pray you." 
 
 "Send and bid them keep your son alive this whole 
 day, sire," said Cato, " and you shall hear this tale." 
 
 It was done as the Wise Master besought, and he 
 began his tule. 
 
 The Magpie 
 
 There was a burgess lived in the city of Rome, 
 a man of great renown, a merchant of rich posses- 
 sions. He had a young wife, very fair to look upon, 
 bat fickle in heart, so that she loved playing and 
 sporting with young men when she should have been 
 busied with ordering her house and keeping it for 
 her husband. 
 
 This burgess had a magpie in his hall, dwelling in 
 217 
 
 O
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 a ricL cage. It was a bird of much cunning and 
 wisdom, and could speak with a human voice like 
 any man. Every day it was wont to tell its master 
 all that befell : who had come in, who had gone out, 
 what follies his wife had done, who of the gay young 
 nobles had been to visit her; and all that passed in 
 the burgess's hall from one day to another. The 
 burgess's wife knew of this, for many a time had 
 her husband, learning from the magpie of her mis- 
 doings, rebuked her ; and he put such faith in the 
 magpie that he would trust it rather than any man, 
 and would never believe that it could lie to him. 
 Little wonder, then, that the wife made up her mind 
 to be avenged on the bird, and stop its tale-bearing. 
 
 It befell on a certain day that the burgess went 
 away from home on his affairs, and left his wife 
 alone. "Now," thought she, "I will play a trick 
 upon this crafty bird." 
 
 She sent for one of her gay friends. When he 
 came to the hall-door, he stopped and would not 
 come inside, for he was sore afraid. He could hear 
 the voice of the magpie chattering within. "Yea, 
 my lord is gone abroad," it said. "You come here 
 for no good, in his absence : I will betray you 
 to him." 
 
 But the wife had a cunning plan. She called her 
 maid, and together they set up a ladder, reaching 
 to the ratters above the top of the magpie's cage. 
 They loosened a tile or two in the roof with a great 
 noise, as if it had been struck violently. Over the 
 magpie's head they set a brazen basin, brightly 
 218
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 polished, and a lighted candle, the flame whereof 
 danced and flickered with a thousand reflections in 
 the shining brass of the basin. Then they beat upon 
 the basin loudly, and waved the candle to and fro, and 
 emptied a pot of water down upon the magpie's head. 
 
 That was the woman's plan ; and when she had done 
 thus, she bade the man come in, and they played 
 idly as long as they pleased. 
 
 The good burgess came home in due time, and 
 asked his bird what news there was for him. A fine 
 tale the magpie had to tell. "Master, many things 
 came to pass when you were absent. Such and 
 such a man visited your wife, and sported with her, 
 even as I have told you many times before. And 
 before he came there was such a thunderstorm as 
 I never heard or saw. The lightning flashed, the 
 thunder rolled, and the rain poured down ; yes, and 
 the very tiles of your roof were struck by the storm." 
 
 The burgess's wife heard all this tale. " I have 
 caught you, base magpie," she thought in her heart. 
 "My lord," she said aloud to her husband, "this 
 bird is lying to you. There was no storm ; the 
 weather has been fair, and no cloud has been seen 
 in the sky, and yet this magpie says it has thundered. 
 Ask any man you will of these parts ; he will tell 
 you whether there was a storm or not. The bird 
 has lied to you, I say, as it has done many a time 
 betore. You would always believe the magpie ; see 
 now whether it can tell a lie or not." 
 
 The good man asked his neighbours of the weather, 
 whether it had thundered or had been fair. They 
 219
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 answered that there had been no rain nor thunder 
 nor lightning for many days past. 
 
 Back into his hall came the burgess, and looked 
 at his magpie very sorrowfully. "The bird has lied 
 to me," he said to himself; "never more shall it 
 deceive me." 
 
 And straightway, with no word more spoken, he 
 wrung the magpie's neck. 
 
 But when he saw the bird dead, he was wild with 
 sorrow. He remembered his love for it, and how 
 truly and well it had served him. "What if this 
 should be some trick ? " he thought. 
 
 He went out of his hall and looked about. He 
 spied the ladder lying a little out of place, as though 
 it had been lately moved ; and he brought it into 
 the hall, and set it up by the magpie's cage. Up 
 to the roof he mounted. There he saw the brazen 
 basin still fastened, and the candlestick and the tiles 
 loosened, and the water-pot on a beam where his 
 wife had left it. All the plot was made clear. 
 
 He climbed down from the ladder, grim and wrath- 
 ful at heart. He took a stout staff, and found his 
 wife, and beat her full sore; and when he had beaten 
 her, he turned her out of doors. "Go," he said; "1 
 have had enough of your guile and your evil ways." 
 
 " Lo, sire," said Cato, " mark well this story. The 
 good magpie, just for the word of a treacherous 
 woman, was slain by its master who had loved it 
 dearly. Had he taken good counsel, the magpie would 
 have been whole and well. Even so are you and your 
 220
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 ion. The lady Empress, like the burgess's wife, goes 
 about day and night seeking to slay the prince ; and 
 you would put your son to death for a word of hers." 
 
 " It is a good tale, Master Cato," said the Emperor, 
 "and you say well. I will not be hasty in my 
 judgments. My son shall not die to-day." 
 
 So Florentin was spared yet a fifth day. But he 
 was not yet out of danger. 
 
 The night came, the day was gone, and the Emperor 
 went to his chamber. Thither speedily came also the 
 Empress, with a mien as of one in great grief and 
 anger. 
 
 " Lady Empress, you make sorry cheer," said the 
 Emperor. "Tell me why you look sad and sorrowful." 
 
 " It is no wonder that I weep, sire. For your sake 
 I lament, and for what you have done this day. 
 Your Seven Wise Masters will surely undo you. See 
 how they have caused you to spare Prince Florentin : 
 they would have you love your foes. If you do any 
 longer as they bid you, there will come upon you 
 the fate of King Herod, who lost his sight in won- 
 drous wise." 
 
 " 1 must hear that tale, dame," quoth Diocletian. 
 
 "Blithely will 1 tell it you, fair lord, if so be that 
 you may fare the better for it." 
 
 Herod and the Bubbles 
 
 There was an Emperor of Rome, Herod by name, 
 the richest man in all Christendom. He had at his 
 
 221
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 court seven wise masters to give him counsel ; all 
 that the Emperor did was done by their advice. 
 They were nigh as rich as Herod himself, for all men 
 who sought office or power or reward gave them 
 presents, in order that through them the Emperor's 
 favour might be won. 
 
 It befell upon a day that the Emperor rode out to 
 hunt. But as he passed the gate of Rome, a sudden 
 blindness came upon him. He could see nothing, nor 
 could any man there avail to give him back his sight ; 
 he was as blind as a stone. The seven wise masters 
 read their books and put forth all their magic arts, 
 but could do nought to cure the Emperor. 
 
 At length a man bethought him of the sage, Merlin, 
 the wise man that never had a father. Merlin, he 
 said, could cure the Emperor if it was in the power 
 of man. So Merlin was sent for and brought before 
 the Emperor, who told him the evil that had befallen 
 him. 
 
 "Sir," quoth Merlin boldly, "come to your bed- 
 chamber, and I will solve this evil." 
 
 They went to the King's bedchamber, and Merlin 
 told them his thoughts. " Under your bed, Sir 
 Emperor, far down, there is a great cauldron of 
 water, boiling day and night, with seven bubbles in it. 
 So long as the bubbles boil, your sight will never 
 come back." 
 
 The Emperor marvelled at this strange saying. But 
 Merlin bade him remove the bed and the floor to see 
 if his words were not true. 
 
 It was done as he said. They dug deep into the 
 
 222
 
 sour beJ> is a great cautfcron ot water, boiling 
 anO
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 ground beneath the floor of the bedroom, and there, 
 hidden in the earth, lay a wondrous cauldron, in 
 which water was for ever boiling; and on the water 
 were always seven great bubbles floating. All men 
 wondered thereat; and it was told to the Emperor. 
 
 "Merlin, what marvel is this that I am told?" 
 asked Herod. 
 
 "Sire, I will tell you what it is," he answered. 
 "These seven bubbles signify seven evil spirits who 
 do always abide near you ; they are your seven wise 
 masters. They take your wealth, Sir Emperor, and 
 turn aside your justice by receiving bribes. They 
 have done away with the old customs of this land, 
 and brought in new and evil ways. You are blind to 
 them, and see them not, even as you saw not these 
 great bubbles till I revealed them. Heaven struck 
 you with blindness in your eyes because of the blind- 
 ness of your heart." 
 
 "Tell me, then, magician, what shall I do to be 
 rid of this double enchantment, the seven sages and 
 the seven bubbles ? " 
 
 "Thus and thus, sire," said Merlin; and he bade 
 him first take and behead the chief of the wise 
 masters. " Even as his head is struck off," he 
 said, " the greatest bubble in the cauldron will 
 vanish. And thereafter you must behead every one 
 of these evil masters, if you would be rid of your 
 blindness." 
 
 There and then Herod sent for the chief of the 
 wise masters, and slew him by the side of the cauld- 
 ron. Even as the man's head was struck off, all the 
 225
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 court looked at the cauldron ; and lo, the greatest 
 bubble was there no longer. 
 
 " By St. Martin, you speak true," said the Emperor, 
 when he heard of it. "Henceforth I will do all that 
 you counsel." 
 
 "You will never regain your sight, sire," answered 
 Merlin, " until you have slain all these seven evil 
 men." 
 
 "They shall die, every one," said the Emperor; and 
 forthwith they were all put to death. As they died, 
 the great bubbles vanished in turn ; and when they 
 were all gone the Emperor received his sight again. 
 He rode out at the city gate to see if the sight were 
 truly restored, or if it would once more be taken 
 from him at the gate. But he came safely through 
 the gate into the green fields outside, and his sight 
 was not taken away ; and there he fell on his knees 
 and thanked God for the wonder that had been 
 wrought by the wisdom of Merlin. 
 
 " See, sire, what wickedness seven wise masters can 
 accomplish," said the Empress, as she finished her 
 tale. "Thus will your Seven Masters do to you, 
 or worse." 
 
 "Thus they shall not, dame," answered the Emperor 
 in wrath. "At dawn they and my son shall die." 
 
 The cock crew, and it was day. The Emperor 
 went to his judgment hall and seated himself on his 
 throne. " Bring forth my son, Florentin, and put him 
 to death," he cried. 
 
 Florentin was led from his prison into the hall to 
 226
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 hear this stern decree. At the sight of him many 
 wept, for he was young and fair, and unworthy of 
 death. But the King had no mercy. He bade the 
 executioners smite off the prince's head forthwith. 
 
 " Hold ! " cried the sixth Wise Master, Jesse, starting 
 up. "You will rue this, sire. It does you little honour 
 to slay such a man as your son would be, for the 
 bare word of a woman. If you let him lose his life, 
 may that betide you which came upon the knight 
 who died for grief at the cutting of his wife's finger 
 with a knife." 
 
 "You shall tell me that tale," said Diocletian. 
 
 "Never a word shall you hear from me, sire, until 
 your son be spared for this day." 
 
 " Be it so," answered the Emperor. "Take Florentin 
 back to prison," he said to the guards, "and you, 
 Jesse, begin your tale." 
 
 The Widow who would be Comforted 
 
 There was a rich knight in this country who 
 married a fair young wife whom he loved very truly ; 
 and she also loved him dearly, but not so dearly as it 
 seemed. 
 
 It befell one day that they were looking at a 
 new knife, curiously wrought, with a sharp edge. 
 Suddenly, by an evil chance, the knife slipped, and 
 cut the lady's finger. It was but a little cut ; but the 
 knight sorrowed so deeply to see his dear wife 
 wounded that out of grief he fell sick, and within a 
 little time died. 
 
 227
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 He was buried with great splendour, and the 
 widow could by no means be comforted for his 
 death. 
 
 " I will not leave his grave," said she. " I can live 
 no longer, now that he is taken from me. I will 
 dwell here where he lies." 
 
 " Dear lady," said her friends, " have regard for 
 yourself; you are fair and young, and may yet be 
 spared to the world for many years. Perchance you 
 will wed some other knight, and have fair gentle chil- 
 dren. Put away your grief, and take some comfort." 
 
 'No comfort will I have," said she, "but will die 
 here on my dear lord's grave." 
 
 They saw that she would not cease from her 
 sorrow ; yet they feared greatly for her if she abode 
 there, for it was a cold winter. At last they built her 
 a little hut by her lord's grave, and brought to it 
 food and warm clothing, and lit a great fire, that no 
 harm might come to her; and there she remained, 
 weeping and wailing without end. 
 
 It chanced that not far from the grave there were 
 three gallows set up. Three knights that had for- 
 gotten their knighthood and done evil deeds had that 
 very day been hanged thereon. A young knight of the 
 country had been appointed to watch by the gallows 
 for three nights, lest any man should try to steal 
 the bodies of the three caitiffs. He came armed in 
 iron and steel to keep the first night's watch. But it 
 was cold by the gallows, and he looked about him for 
 shelter. 
 
 Suddenly he was aware of a fire in the churchyard. 
 228
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 He began to walk towards it, to get warm ; and soon 
 he saw the lady making moan in her hut. 
 
 " Lady, may I also enter into your hut and be 
 warmed ? " he asked. 
 
 The lady would not let him in at first. But seeing 
 how cold he had grown, and how comely he was to 
 look upon, she had pity on him, and bade him come 
 inside ; and he sat down and warmed himself by 
 the fire. 
 
 " Lady, you make sorry cheer," said he anon, 
 seeing the grief in her face. "Why should one so 
 young and fair moan for the dead, who can do 
 neither harm nor good ? Comfort yourself, pluck up 
 your heart ; you do wrong to mourn. You should 
 instead love some gentle knight who might bring you 
 solace." 
 
 "Alas," she said, "this my husband who is dead was so 
 fair and gentle that I can love no other man so truly." 
 
 But she cast her eye secretly upon the knight, 
 and once more found him goodly and well-liking ; 
 whereat her sorrow began to abate. 
 
 Presently, as he grew warm, the knight bethought 
 him again of his charge. 
 
 " I am set to watch the bodies of three caitiff 
 knights hanged on yonder gallows," he said, " I trust 
 no man has touched them while I have sat here in 
 your company, fair lady. It were well if I went to 
 see." 
 
 He walked to the gallows. There hung two bodies, 
 but the third was gone. It had been stolen in his 
 absence. 
 
 23Q
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 " Woe is me ! " he cried. " I am undone, and my 
 honour is lost ! Some rogue has stolen one of those 
 who were hanged here, and I should have watched 
 against it, but have not. What shall I do ? I am 
 dishonoured for ever ; I have betrayed my knight- 
 hood." 
 
 He stood gazing at the empty gallows. Suddenly 
 he bethought him of the fair lady. "Women can 
 oft help men in their need," he said to himself. " I 
 will ask her aid." 
 
 He went back to her hut, and told her of his ill 
 fortune, and begged her to help him. The lady 
 looked on him, and was more than ever pleased 
 with his appearance. 
 
 "I will help you, sir," said she, "if you will wed 
 me." 
 
 "Wed you, dame?" cried he. "Gladly will I do 
 that." 
 
 The widow's sorrow was all gone. " Help me, 
 dear knight," she said ; " we will dig up my lord who 
 is dead. He shall help us; he shall be hanged in 
 place of this caitiff whose body is stolen away." 
 
 They did as she said. They dug up her husband's 
 body and bore it to the gallows, and hanged it in the 
 empty place. 
 
 " I like it not, lady," said the knight. " If it were 
 known that I had hanged a dead knight here, men 
 would with truth call me coward." 
 
 " A fig for your fears," said she, and made the 
 body fast to the gallows. 
 
 " Dame, I had forgot," said the knight suddenly. 
 230
 
 "Sbc cast bcr ege upon tbe fciugbt, an5 tounD bim 
 anD
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 "The caitiff that was hanged here had a great wound 
 in his head, whereby all men could recognise him. 
 They will know that this is not he." 
 
 "Take your sword, Sir Knight," answered she, 
 "and smite this my lord in the head with it. None 
 then shall know that it is not the right man that 
 hangs here." 
 
 " Nay, dame, for no cause, great or little, would I 
 smite a dead knight." 
 
 " No, sir ? Give me your sword, then, and I will 
 with my own hand smite his crown." 
 
 She took the sword and smote her lord's head in 
 the midst, striking with might and main. All her 
 old love was clean forgotten in her evil desire for 
 this new lover. 
 
 The knight saw full well how false and fickle she 
 was. Yet he tempted her once more. 
 
 " This is still unlike the caitiff who was hanged, lady ; 
 his fore teeth were broken," he said. 
 
 " Smite them out," said she. 
 
 "Nay, lady, that will I never do," he answered. 
 
 "Then will I," she said, and took a stone, and 
 smote out two teeth. " Now, Sir Knight, I have won 
 your love ! " 
 
 " Nay, dame, by Heaven you have not ! " answered 
 he sternly. " Not for gold nor for silver, not for land 
 nor for house would I wed you. One day you would 
 serve me even as you have served this your lord. I 
 will -have none of you." And, the night being well 
 nigh ended, he left her there. 
 
 233
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 " So, sire," quoth Jesse the Wise Master, " was not it 
 shameful that a man who died for love should be 
 thus treated by his wife after his death ? Even so 
 will your wife treat you if you obey her in all 
 things." 
 
 The Emperor was once more persuaded, and he 
 made up his mind not to slay his son. But that 
 night the Empress told him yet another story that 
 moved him from his purpose. 
 
 Master Genever 
 
 Three heathen kings (said the Empress) once upon 
 a time came to besiege this city of Rome. They 
 sat down before it, and pressed the defence sorely, 
 until, in despair, the Emperor gave over the rule to 
 seven wise masters. Each man of them saved the 
 city for a day, though hard put to it, until the turn 
 of the last one, Genever, came ; and to him fell the 
 hardest task of all, for the heathen had by now well- 
 nigh triumphed. 
 
 Genever made a cunning device to save Rome. He 
 bade the people of Rome arm themselves fully, and 
 be ii\ readiness for battle at a certain time. For 
 himself he caused to be made a strange dress; it was 
 a black cloak, covered all over with black squirrel's 
 tails, that fluttered and waved with every breeze ; on 
 his face he put a double mask, showing a different 
 face on either side, and each the most horrible that 
 234
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 could be imagined ; on the top of his head was fixed 
 a mirror, which would reflect the sun's rays dazzlingly 
 before him. 
 
 A little before the time appointed for the Romans 
 to be in readiness, Mister Genever mounted upon a 
 high tower of the battlements of the city, fronting 
 the sun, and looking down upon the heathen host. 
 When he had come to the summit, he waved his 
 arms, and leapt to and fro like a madman, screaming 
 at the top of his voice. 
 
 "I am mighty, I am powerful, I am strong," he 
 cried ; " I have fought with hosts and put them to 
 flight. None can stand against me." 
 
 At the strange sight the heathen were aghast. They 
 knew not what the figure on the tower, with its 
 waving arms, and its fluttering garment, and its flash- 
 ing rays, might be. They thought that either it was 
 some evil spirit of great might whom the Romans 
 had called up to help them, or else that one of the 
 Roman gods had come down in person to aid his 
 people. Whichever it should be, the thing would 
 be too strong for them. They turned and fled head- 
 long. 
 
 As soon as Master Genever saw the heathen in 
 flight, he made a sign to the Romans below. They 
 threw open the gates, and sallied forth, and fell 
 upon the enemy. In a little time they had slain 
 many thousands, and put the rest utterly to rout. 
 Then they returned in triumph to Rome, and, since 
 Master Genever had by his cunning arts saved the 
 city from the heathen, they deposed the old Em- 
 235
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 peror, and made Master Genever their ruler in his 
 stead. 
 
 "So, too, sire, will you lose your kingdom at the 
 hands of these cunning Wise Masters," said the Em- 
 press ; " and they will make your son lord and 
 king in your stead, and rule through him." 
 
 " Florentin shall not be Emperor," vowed Diocletian. 
 " He shall die to-morrow." 
 
 On the morrow Florentin was led forth to death 
 once more. But the seventh Wise Master Marcius 
 came before the Emperor and pleaded for him. 
 
 "Sire," he said, "you are lord of justice here. See 
 that you be careful and wise. It is shame to you 
 that you would work ill upon your son whom you 
 should love. Be his friend but one day more, or 
 you will fare as did the earl who trusted his wife's 
 words more than his own eyes." 
 
 "That earl lacked wit, if he did not believe his 
 eyes," said Diocletian. 
 
 " So, too, will you lack wit, sire, if you put faith 
 in your wife's words. Let Florentin live. To-morrow 
 he will recover his speech and tell you all ; then 
 shall you see which is wrong, your wife or he." 
 
 "That would I fain know, Sir Master," said Dio- 
 cletian. " He shall live this day. Tell me now this 
 story." 
 
 The Two Dreams 
 
 There was formerly a knight in Hungary (said 
 Marcius) of great prowess and might, and very fair 
 236
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 to look upon, even as many other knights. But in 
 one thing he surpassed all others ; in wit and subtlety 
 of mind there was none like him, and not even the 
 most learned clerks of that day could equal him. 
 
 One night a strange dream came to this knight. 
 He beheld himself, in the dream, being wedded 
 to a bright lady of exceeding loveliness, and after- 
 wards sailing away in a ship with her. 
 
 (The lady of whom he dreamed, it chanced, had 
 exactly the same dream that night, and long treasured 
 it in her heart, hoping that the knight who in the 
 dream wedded her would one day come to her. But 
 she lived in a far country, and neither as yet had 
 so much as seen or heard of the other. Yet their 
 dreams showed that in time they would meet.) 
 
 The knight put great faith in this vision ; and when 
 he woke he could not rid his thoughts of the fair 
 lady, whose image was ever before his eyes. As 
 soon as he was able, he took his arms and his horse, 
 and set forth to seek her, though he knew not where 
 in all the wide world he would find her. 
 
 For three weeks the knight journeyed over hill 
 and dale. Oft he sighed sore for love of the lady 
 of his dream, but never once did he hear tidings 
 of any who might be she. At last he came to the 
 coast of Apulia, to a great castle by the sea. On 
 one side of the castle \vas a town and a harbour, 
 full of ships ; on the other it could be reached only 
 through a gate in one strong tower. 
 
 In this strong tower lay the lady whom the knight 
 had seen in his dream. She was the prisoner of the 
 237
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 earl of that country ; and he was so jealous of her 
 beauty that he would let no other man so much as 
 speak to her. The tower was richly furnished within, 
 but no man might enter it, nor could the lady leave 
 it, for her chamber had but one door, whereof the 
 earl alone had the key ; and all the windows were 
 stoutly barred. Often had the lady prayed for some 
 knight who would take her from this prison, for 
 though the earl used her courteously, she did not 
 love him. 
 
 It chanced that as the knight of Hungary rode by 
 the great gate of the castle, which was beneath her 
 chamber in this tower, the lady was at the window. 
 He looked up and saw her face, and great joy came 
 upon him as he recognised the lady of his dream. 
 He sang merrily of love as he rode; and the lady 
 would fain have answered in song, but durst not, for 
 on a little lawn below the window sat the earl her 
 husband, playing chess with one of his vassals. 
 
 The knight, having found what he sought, rode 
 swiftly on to the town which lay hard by, and took 
 lodging at the inn. 
 
 " Who lives in yonder great castle ? " he asked the 
 host. 
 
 "The lord of this country, fair sir," said the host, 
 and told him who the earl was, and how strong was 
 his castle, and how jealously the lady therein was 
 guarded. "But the earl hath been much harassed 
 of late, for all his great power," said he. " His enemies 
 have made war upon him these two years past, and 
 have pressed him hard." 
 
 238
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 On the morrow the knight rode again to the castle, 
 and sought speech with the earl. 
 
 "Sir Earl," he said, "I am a knight from a far 
 country. In my own land I loved a lady bright ; and 
 another knight loved her also, and I slew him in fair 
 combat. But he had powerful kinsmen, and they 
 drove me from my country. Since then I have 
 wandered seeking honourable adventures. I come to 
 offer you my sword, for I hear that you have many 
 foes." 
 
 "You are welcome here, fair knight," answered the 
 earl. " Of men like you I have great need. Help me 
 well, and I will reward you richly." 
 
 The knight entered into the earl's service, and 
 fought in his wars. There was no knight that bare 
 shield who could stand against him ; and his subtlety 
 in counsel caused the earl to outwit his enemies till 
 they were well-nigh driven utterly from his borders. 
 He gave the knight rich rewards, and made him 
 steward of all his land, and would have had him stay 
 with him for ever. 
 
 But the knight had come for other work than fight- 
 ing. Every day he rode past the window of the 
 tower, in the hope that he might have speech with 
 the lady of his dream ; and when the earl was absent, 
 he would play and sing there, that she might know of 
 his presence. But she gave him no sign until a 
 certain day, when she cast down to him through the 
 bars of her window a letter writ upon fine parchment. 
 
 The knight took up the parchment with glad heart, 
 and read it. In it the lady told him of her dream, 
 239
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 and vowed that she could love him only, and besought 
 him to deliver her from the earl. 
 
 The knight was much cheered by this letter ; and 
 now that he knew that the lady loved him, he set to 
 work with might and main to win her from her prison. 
 He besought the earl, when he returned home, to 
 give him a little plot of waste land in a place joining 
 the strong tower. He purposed, he said, to build 
 himself a house and dwell there. 
 
 The earl suspected nothing, for the knight spoke 
 him fair and courteously ; and he was well pleased at the 
 thought that so brave a warrior would build a house 
 and abide by him always ; and he gave the knight the 
 land which he asked. " Do as you will," he said ; 
 "build a tower at your liking." 
 
 As soon as he had the land, the knight put a plan 
 in train. He summoned to him many masons to 
 build his little tower, and in particular one very 
 skilled in the making of underground passages ; he 
 was lately come to that country, and no man \vas 
 more cunning than he. Many dungeons and chambers 
 were built, as if the knight expected to take a multi- 
 tude of prisoners ; and among them the skilful mason 
 made a passage to run underneath the earl's strong 
 tower. 
 
 " May I trust in you, to tell you my private plan ? " 
 said the knight to this mason. 
 
 "Truly, sir," he answered; "you may trust me even 
 with your life." 
 
 " You shall build a passage into the chamber of the 
 lady who is in this strong tower," said the knight. 
 240
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 " It shall be so," answered the mason ; and he 
 made the passage open into the lady's chamber so 
 cunningly that none who knew not the secret of it 
 could by any means discover it. 
 
 " It is well, mason," said the knight, when he saw 
 what had been wrought. "And now I will quit you for 
 this service. Come hither." And he took him apart, 
 and slew him secretly, for he feared lest he might 
 betray him. 
 
 When all the building was finished, the knight 
 went by the underground passage to visit his lady ; 
 the earl knew nought of this. The lady received her 
 lover with glad cheer, and together they plotted to 
 escape thence. 
 
 When they had made an end of their converse, the 
 lady gave the knight a ring. " Put this on," she said, 
 "and let my lord the earl see it on your finger, 
 and then bring it back to me secretly, without tarry- 
 ing ; thus and thus will we do, and soon shall I be 
 free." 
 
 The knight put the ring on his finger, and went 
 away. He came into the great hall of the castle, and 
 sat down at the board to feast according to his custom ; 
 and the earl made merry cheer with him. 
 
 Suddenly the earl saw on the knight's finger the 
 ring. It was one which he himself had given the 
 lady, very costly, and curiously wrought ; the like of 
 it, the earl thought, was not to be found in the world, 
 for he had caused it to be made specially by a cun- 
 ning goldsmith. 
 
 Long he pondered when he saw that ring. There 
 241
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 could not be two so alike in the world, he thought ; 
 had the knight seen the lady ? And how had he got 
 the ring from her ? 
 
 He rose from the board suddenly, and strode out 
 of the room in silence. The knight saw that he had 
 observed the ring, and went out also. He ran swiftly 
 to his secret passage, and went to the lady's chamber 
 and gave her the ring ; then he went forth again with- 
 out tarrying, just before the earl came in by his own 
 door. 
 
 " Dear lady, I greet you," said the earl, and talked a 
 while with her lightly. Then he spoke suddenly as if a 
 thought had come to him. " Dame, show me the first 
 gift I gave you, that curious ring ; I would fain look 
 upon the design of it." 
 
 " Sir, you shall see it, and many another jewel that 
 you have given me," answered the lady. 
 
 " Let the others lie, dear lady," said the earl. " It 
 is only this ring that I am fain to see." 
 
 " Do you think I have it not, that you ask for it 
 so straitly, my lord ? " asked the lady. " I do not 
 wear it every day, but I have it safely." 
 
 " I pray you, grant me sight of it," said the earl. 
 
 Thereupon the lady drew out her purse, and opened 
 it, and took therefrom the ring. 
 
 The earl looked at it. It was his own ring; he 
 knew it well. He could make nought of what had 
 happened. He gave back the ring, and with a few 
 more words went away, assured that the knight cou'd 
 not have taken the ring from the lady, but sorely 
 puzzled none the less. 
 
 242
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 On the morrow he sent for the knight, and asked 
 him to go a-hunting with him. 
 
 " Dear lord," answered the knight, " that may I not 
 do ; of your grace, I pray you hold me excused. I 
 have received good and wondrous tidings, and must 
 abide here. I learn that my peace has been made 
 with the kinsmen of him whom I slew in my own 
 land, and I may return thither in safety ; and my 
 dear lady, for whose sake I slew him, has herself 
 come to me with these tidings, and would have me 
 return with her speedily. I have served you well, lord 
 earl ; I pray you let me go with her. But first, if it 
 be seemly, be pleased to dine with me this evening 
 in my tower, and see my gracious lady ere we depart." 
 
 "Gladly will I do all I can for your comfort and 
 well-being," said the earl. " You have been my true 
 man, and I am loath to let you go. Nevertheless, I 
 cannot in honour bid you stay. I will dine at your 
 board when I return from my hunting, and will greet 
 your lady bright." 
 
 The earl went a-hunting, and the knight repaired to 
 his lady's chamber. He took to her a rich Hungarian 
 robe, gaily dight, with gold and jewels in great plenty, 
 and garlands of gold for her head, and a head-dress 
 that hid her face and made her look far other than 
 she was. These he bade her put on ; and when all 
 was prepared, he led her to his feast, and showed her 
 to the earl as his bright lady, who had come to him 
 from his own far country. 
 
 The earl was struck dumb at the sight. He saw 
 before him one so like the lady in his strong tower 
 243
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 that it must be she; and yet she was strangely garbed, 
 in gear that he had never given her. He sat glum 
 and wild-looking at the feast; while they spoke to him 
 gaily and made merry cheer, hardly a word did he 
 answer, but ever and anon looked fixedly and long 
 at the bright lady. 
 
 When the feast was ended, and the boards taken 
 away, the lady suddenly made as if she swooned. The 
 knight started from his seat, and lifted her tenderly 
 in his arms, and bore her out. But as soon as they 
 were outside, the lady recovered from her swoon, and 
 hastened back to her chamber. 
 
 The knight came back to the earl. " My lady is 
 better," he said ; " it was but the heat of this chamber 
 that made her swoon. I pray she will be recovered 
 by to-morrow morn, when we depart from your land 
 to sail to my own country." 
 
 The earl was deep in thought, for he still doubted 
 whether it might not be his own lady who had sat at 
 table with him. But he heard the knight's words. 
 
 "Sir knight," he said, "I give you God-speed and 
 a fair voyage. But will you not wed your lady before 
 you go ? With a glad heart I would aid you, and be 
 your neighbour in this matter ; I will cause my chapel 
 to be made ready, if you will wed her here." 
 
 The knight smiled in his heart. But openly he 
 thanked the earl for his gracious words, and said that he 
 would gladly wed the lady ere he went from that land. 
 
 The earl departed from the knight's tower, and 
 went to the lady's chamber. By this time she had 
 doffed her Hungarian robes, and was clad as of 
 244
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 wont; and when the earl came, he found her as she 
 always was. His mind still was perplexed ; but he 
 could find nought to satisfy his doubts. 
 
 The knight had caused a fair ship to be made 
 ready against his going ; it was filled with good 
 victuals, and gaily bedecked ; and on it all his gold 
 and silver was set. On the next day, he made mirth 
 and glee ; trumpets were blown, and minstrels played, 
 as if for a great festival ; and the knight led the lady, 
 clad again in her Hungarian garments, to the earl's 
 chapel. The earl himself stood as his man, and when 
 they were wedded showed the lady to the people as 
 the knight's bride. 
 
 The sails were set, the men made all ready. "God 
 prosper you, lord earl," said the knight. "Fare you 
 well, sir knight," said the earl, "and you, gracious 
 lady." 
 
 And so the knight sailed away with his lady. But 
 the earl went back to his castle, to the strong tower, 
 to find that his prisoner was gone from her cage. 
 
 "Sir Emperor, right thus and in this manner will 
 your wife beguile you, if you wait not till to-morrow 
 before condemning the Prince Florentin," said Marcius. 
 
 " I would rather than anything on earth hear my 
 son speak again," said the Emperor, " that I may 
 know whether he or my wife is guilty. I will wait 
 till to-morrow, as you say." 
 
 "It is well, sire ; wait with good courage," quoth 
 Marcius. -'To-morrow you shall have your will, and 
 learn which of these two is guilty." 
 245
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 When the Empress heard those words, she knew 
 that her cause was lost. That night she told no story 
 to turn aside Diocletian's mercy, but lay awake think- 
 ing, and oft-times sighed and wept. 
 
 On the morrow, early, the Emperor went to church 
 with all his knights and barons, in great splendour ; 
 and when the service was ended, he went back to 
 the judgment hall and ordered Prince Florentin to be 
 brought before him. By his side sat the Empress, and 
 hard by stood the Seven Wise Masters. 
 
 They led Florentin in. He was dressed befittingly, 
 but was pale and wan, for in prison he had fared 
 ill. At his appearance the people raised a great cry 
 of joy; but he heeded them not. He kept silence 
 till they had made an end. Then he fell on his knee 
 before Diocletian, and asked his pardon for his long 
 silence. 
 
 "Father, I am guiltless," he said; "the wicked will 
 of your wife has raised up all this strife. She found 
 by sorcery that I should die if I spoke within seven 
 days of my coming to Rome. I too saw the same 
 in the moon and the stars, and when I knew that I 
 could not speak against her charges, I thought my 
 heart would have broken asunder, for if I were 
 put to death, these, my Seven dear Masters, would 
 perchance have been slain also for their ill teaching 
 of me. I would have them suffer nothing for my 
 sake. I held my peace, and suffered all that men did 
 to me till now. I have no more guilt than the son 
 who was cast into the sea by his father." 
 
 "Dear son, you say well," answered the Emperor. 
 246
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 " But what is this tale that you speak of, concerning 
 a, son and his father? There is time for us to hear 
 it ; tell it now." 
 
 " Gladly, sire, at your will," said Florentin. 
 
 The Ravens 
 
 At a certain seaport far to the west of this city, 
 began Florentin, there once dwelt a merchant cour- 
 teous and free ; his virtue was high, and all men 
 loved him. It had pleased Heaven to give him a 
 wondrous power ; he could understand the tongue of 
 every bird that flew. He prospered also exceedingly 
 in his traffics, so that he need no longer spend all his 
 hours in making more gains, but could take what 
 pleasure he wished; and it was his wont for his 
 pleasure to sail in a boat upon the sea. 
 
 This merchant had one son, comely and fair to 
 look upon, and of much wisdom. He had been bred 
 in every kind of learning, and he also was skilled to 
 understand the tongue of birds. 
 
 It befell on a certain day that the father and the 
 son together went sailing on the sea. After a time 
 they landed on a little island ; and when they went 
 thence, two ravens followed them, fluttering about 
 their boat, and sometimes sitting upon the mast, and 
 making a great chattering. 
 
 " See this merchant," the son heard one raven say 
 to the other. " Is he not prosperous and well-liking ? 
 Yet I tell you surely that one day his son wiU be 
 247
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 richer and more powerful than he ; and the merchant 
 will be glad to bring water for his son, and hold his 
 sleeve while he washes his hands ; and his mother 
 shall hold the towel for him to wipe his hands." 
 
 The merchant had not listened to the ravens. But 
 the son understood, and suddenly broke into laughter, 
 and looked at his father. 
 
 " Why do you laugh, my son ? " asked the merchant. 
 
 " I laughed at the strange things these ravens say," 
 answered the son. " Did you not hear them ? " 
 
 "Nay, I heeded them not," said the merchant 
 "What did they say?" 
 
 The son told him. 
 
 " Is it indeed so ? Said they that ? " the merchant 
 cried, in great wrath. "And are you so discontented 
 and jealous that you must needs believe them, and 
 laugh at such a saying ? I will soon show you that 
 the ravens spoke falsely." And with that he caught 
 his son suddenly by the waist, and cast him into 
 the sea, meaning to drown him ; then he changed 
 the course of his boat, and set sail swiftly for port. 
 
 The son could swim well, but he gave up hope 
 when he found himself in the sea, far, as he thought, 
 from any land. He struck out despairingly, and as 
 he swam he prayed. The wind blew hard, the waves 
 ran high ; but at length, sore, wearied, and buffeted, 
 he was borne to the shores of a lonely island. 
 
 On this island he abode four days. Meat he had 
 none ; a few shellfish and some roots were all his 
 food. But the birds of the island spoke to him con- 
 tinually, bidding him be of good cheer, for he would 
 soon find himself in better case. They told truth ; 
 248
 
 "Ibe caugbt bis son suOfcenlg b tbe watst, an5 cast bim 
 into tbe sea."
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 on the fifth day a fisherman came in sight in his boat, 
 and at the youth's cry rowed to the shore. 
 
 " Help me, good sir," cried the castaway ; " I am 
 alone here." 
 
 "Truly, that will I," said the fisherman; and he 
 took him on board his boat, and rowed him to the 
 mainland. But he was very poor, and knew not how 
 he should take another into his home ; and when he 
 had come to land, he sold the youth to a certain 
 knight, the warden of a strong castle. Into this 
 knight's service the youth entered, and quitted him- 
 self well, so that in a little time he was beloved of all 
 men. 
 
 Now the King of that country was tormented in a 
 strange way. Three ravens followed him whitherso- 
 ever he went, and made a great screaming and crying 
 about him night and day. In church, in his justice- 
 hall, at the feast, whensoever he rode abroad or when 
 he stayed at home, these ravens were with him, 
 croaking and chattering always, so that he had no 
 peace. No man could hit them with bow or sling ; 
 they could not be driven away. The King offered 
 great rewards to the man who should rid him of this 
 plague, but none could do it, not even when the hand 
 of the King's daughter, with half the kingdom, was 
 offered as the reward. 
 
 At last in despair the King called a great council 
 of all his nobles and wise men ; and to it went the 
 lord of the castle, taking with him the merchant's 
 son as his page. " You shall come with me," he 
 said ; " you will hear the King speak, and many great 
 251
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 and reverend men ; take care that you profit by their 
 words." 
 
 The King sat in council, and set forth his distress 
 before them all. Even as he spoke, the ravens cawed 
 round his head. But no man there could find any 
 remedy. The great lords sat stone still ; none dared 
 answer. 
 
 " My lord," said the merchant's son to his master, 
 in a whisper, " I can rid the King of this evil. Let 
 me be sure that the King will not withhold the reward 
 he has offered, and I will speak out." 
 
 " Be silent, boy," said his master. " Let such idle 
 words be. If you were to speak, and give a wrong 
 answer, it would be the undoing of us both." 
 
 " Sir, fear not. I know what all birds say in 
 wood or cage, and I understand the speech of these 
 ravens." 
 
 His master stood up. " Sir King," he cried, " I 
 have here a lad who can tell you a remedy for your 
 evil case, if you will hold to your promise of a re- 
 ward." 
 
 " Let him speak," said the King. " I have promised 
 the reward, and I will keep my word." 
 
 " Sire," said the youth, " as all men see, yonder by 
 you sit three ravens. I know their speech. They are 
 two males and one female. This female was formerly 
 the mate of the older male j for thirty years they 
 were mated. But in a year of great scarcity of corn, 
 for gluttony's sake the elder raven broke his faith, 
 and left her, and fed himself only. But the younger 
 one, seeing her distress, succoured her, and fed her 
 252
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 well, 'ind is now her mate. But the cold and the 
 famine have passed away, and the old raven has come 
 back, and claims her for his mate again. Hence they 
 quarrel ceaselessly. Yet they have agreed this much, 
 that you, sire, shall judge between them, for they 
 know how true is your justice. When you have 
 judged, they will depart, and trouble you no more." 
 
 The King was amazed at this saying. But he stood 
 up to speak, and when he had pondered a little, he 
 turned towards the ravens, and gave judgment; he 
 decreed that since the elder raven had deserted his 
 mate in time of trouble, she belonged now to the 
 younger one who had succoured her. 
 
 The old raven gave a loud and rueful cry, and shook 
 his wings, and flew away in a rage. But the other 
 two cawed their thanks to the King's Majesty, and 
 in a little while flew off, making merry cheer. 
 
 Then was the King cured of his trouble. Right 
 there before his lords and barons he thanked the 
 merchant's son ; and he led forth the princess his 
 daughter, and betrothed her to him, giving for 
 dowry the half of his kingdom. In a little time the 
 merchant's son and the princess were married, and 
 lived in great happiness and honour. 
 
 But before long the merchant's son remembered 
 his father, who, though at the last he had used him 
 ill, had bred him kindly and generously ; and, having 
 made inquiries, he learnt that they had fallen on great 
 poverty. For very shame they had left their country, 
 and had come to the same town where now their son 
 was in wealth and power. 
 
 253
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 When their son heard these tidings, he sent two 
 sergeants to his parents, bidding them prepare to re- 
 ceive on a certain day the great lord who had married 
 the King's daughter. They made ready so far as their 
 poor means would let them, and on the appointed 
 day welcomed their son humbly. 
 
 " Sir," said the old merchant, not recognising him, 
 "we are too poor to do you such honour as is 
 seemly. Nevertheless you are welcome here." 
 
 "All that we have is yours, sir, if you wish it," 
 said the mother. 
 
 " Will you be pleased to wash your hands, sir ? " 
 said the merchant. " I will hold your sleeve, lest it 
 be wetted. Wife, bring you the towel." 
 
 " Do you remember, sir, how certain ravens pro- 
 phesied to you?" asked the son gently. "They 
 said that you would hold my sleeve, and my mother 
 bring the towel for me. I am your son." 
 
 The old merchant remembered the prophecy, and 
 with great joy recognised his son. But in his glad- 
 ness he trembled, and was afraid, for he remembered 
 also how he had thrown his son into the sea. But 
 the son readily forgave him. He gave orders that 
 thereafter his parents should be lodged in his own 
 palace; and there they abode in good cheer and 
 mirth till death came upon them. Their son lived 
 long and happily with his wife the princess, and 
 when the King died, reigned in his stead for many 
 years, doing justice and serving God. 
 
 Florentin brought his tale to an end, and did a 
 254
 
 The Seven Wise Masters 
 
 reverence to his father the Emperor. " You would 
 have slain me, father, even as this merchant in my 
 tale would have slain his son. Dear father, why 
 would you do me ill ? I have trespassed no more 
 than this son against his father. And if when I 
 am Emperor I came to great honour, would that 
 grieve you ? I would sooner die than do you harm." 
 
 The King turned to his wife. "Dame," he said, 
 "does my son speak truth, or do you?" 
 
 The Empress knew that her treachery was of no 
 avail. " He speaks truth, sire," she said. " He has 
 done harm to no one. I was jealous of him, and 
 therefore I would have slain him. Do with me as 
 you will." 
 
 " You are not worthy to live," said Diocletian, in 
 great wrath. "Make a great fire," he ordered; "cast 
 this woman into it." 
 
 A great fire was built. They took the Empress, 
 and tied her feet to her neck, and cast her into the 
 midst of the fire ; and so her evil-doing came to 
 its end. 
 
 Prince Florentin lived in great honour, and was 
 Emperor after his father. All his life he did wise 
 and good works, and served God truly. 
 
 255
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 N Britain there was once a King 
 of great might and power, strong 
 in arms and much renowned 
 in the field. There was no 
 man who could smite him 
 out of his saddle in the lists, 
 or make him flinch so much 
 as to lose his stirrup. 
 
 This King had no son for his heir, but only a 
 daughter, fair and gentle and of great beauty. Her 
 fame went into all lands, so that many suitors sought 
 her for wife. But the King loved her as his own 
 life, and would give her hand to no man unless first 
 he overcame him in a tournament ; and so stout a 
 warrior was the King that none yet had accomplished 
 this. 
 
 The King's wife was long since dead. But the 
 King had loved her dearly, and every year he set 
 apart a certain day in her honour. On that day, 
 with all his court, he would ride to an abbey, built 
 to her memory in a forest ; and there with prayers 
 to Heaven and deeds of charity to the poor he 
 lamented her the whole day. 
 
 It chanced that one year on this day of mourning 
 the princess also rode out with the King. With her 
 256
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 were her chamberlain and two handmaidens. As they 
 rode along, the Princess's shoe became unfastened, 
 and she alighted from her horse to tie it again. Her 
 attendants stayed with her, and in a little time, as 
 the rest of the company hastened on towards the 
 Abbey, followed them through the forest. But by 
 evil hap they took a wrong road, and lost the way. 
 The path became broken, the forest grew in thick- 
 ness, and before long they were in despair. They 
 wandered up and down, but found no way out ; 
 and at last, wearied, they halted and lay down under 
 a great chestnut tree, and all fell asleep save the 
 Princess. 
 
 The Princess, while her attendants rested, wandered 
 to and fro and gathered flowers, and listened to the 
 song of the birds. Soon she strayed from her com- 
 panions, and was lost once more. She knew not 
 which way to turn, for the forest was dark and thick, 
 and there was no path to be seen in it. 
 
 " Alas that I was born ! " she cried. " I am alone 
 and forlorn in this wild forest. Savage beasts will 
 find me and devour me." 
 
 Even as she spoke she saw coming towards her a 
 knight, gentle, young, and seemly to look upon. He 
 wore a coat of scarlet, and was as richly clad as any 
 man in the King her father's realm. 
 
 "Welcome, damsel," said he, when he was come 
 nigh, " be not afraid of me. I that come here am a 
 Fairy Knight, who bear arms and go a-riding for love 
 of chivalry and combat. Know that I have loved you 
 many a year, and would fain wed you." 
 257
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 The Princess wept to find herself in his power. 
 She cried for help, but none came ; and at length 
 the Fairy Knight persuaded her, and took her to a 
 hermit's cell at a little distance, where they were 
 wedded. Together they abode in the forest for a 
 space, and then the knight gave her unwelcome tidings. 
 
 " Lady wife, I must leave you," he said : " I am 
 bidden to go to another place speedily. But re- 
 member that you are my wife, whom I have wedded 
 here in this forest. It is fated that for many a year 
 you shall not have speech with me again. But I 
 know by magic arts that you shall bear me a son. 
 Give him this my sword when he is of age to wear it. 
 It is a good blade ; but it has no point, for with it 
 I slew a giant, and the point broke off short at 
 the blow I dealt him. Take the sword, lady wife : 
 fare you well. If it chances that I meet my son in 
 the time to come, I shall know him by this broken 
 sword, for I myself have the point of it. Take these 
 gloves also ; they are enchanted, and their virtue is 
 such that they can be worn by none save by you 
 and by the lady whom my son shall wed." 
 
 He went from her at that, as suddenly as he had 
 come. The Princess wept sorely at his going. But 
 soon she took his sword and the enchanted gloves, 
 and hid them in her gown, and wandered through 
 the forest until at last she was found by those who 
 had set forth in search of her. 
 
 The Princess abode at the King's court as before, 
 and said nothing of the strange knight whose wife 
 she was. In due time she bore a son, but feared to 
 258
 
 "Sbe saw coming toward bet a fcntflbt."
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 tell her father of it because of his vow that none 
 should wed her who could not overcome him in the 
 lists. She called to her a trusted handmaiden, and 
 gave the boy to her to keep for a little, till he was 
 old enough to send away secretly. Then, while the 
 child was yet a babe, he was richly clad and laid in 
 a cradle, with four pounds of gold and ten of silver, 
 and the enchanted gloves. About his neck she tied a 
 letter to be read by whoever found the babe: "For 
 the love of our Lord," the letter said, "if any man 
 find this hapless child, let him procure Christian 
 baptism for him, and help him to live till he be 
 grown to man's estate. The silver and gold which 
 are here shall pay for his nurture. When the boy 
 shall be twenty years of age, let him be told where 
 he was found and how he was brought up ; and these 
 gloves shall be given him then also ; they are magic 
 gloves, and none can wear them save his mother and 
 the lady whom he shall wed. If any man brings him 
 up as I have said, and tells him all these things duly, 
 the blessing of Heaven shall surely come upon him." 
 
 The handmaid took the child in his cradle, and 
 bore him by night to a far-off hermitage. Outside 
 the door of it she laid him, and sped back to the 
 Princess once more, and comforted her in her grief 
 at losing her son. 
 
 Early in the morning the hermit rose, and found the 
 babe at his door. He read the letter, and saw that 
 the child was nobly born. The gloves and the treasure 
 he kept safely till the boy should have grown of age 
 to use them, for he would not take money for an act 
 261
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 of kindness; but the child himself he gave in charge 
 to his sister, a merchant's wife in a town hard by, 
 having first christened him by the name of Degore", 
 which means, "almost lost." There for ten years 
 Degore abode, and was well and seemly nurtured. 
 In his tenth year he went back to the old hermit, 
 who for another ten years taught him clerkly and 
 knightly lore, so that he was more learned and more 
 courteous and more skilful in arms than any ot his time. 
 
 When Degore" had come to his twentieth year, the 
 hermit gave him his little store of wealth and the 
 magic gloves, and told him all that he knew of his 
 birth ; for till then Degore" had believed the merchant 
 and his wife to be his father and mother, and the 
 hermit his uncle. When he heard the truth, he knelt 
 down and thanked the hermit for his care, and gave 
 him half his money for a remembrance of him. 
 
 "Now it is time that I went into the world," he 
 said. " I will never cease to wander till I have found 
 my kindred." 
 
 "Nay," said the hermit, "you cannot go forth as a 
 wandering knight without a horse and good armour." 
 
 " I will take something instead at first," he an- 
 swered. And he hewed down, for a staff, a great oak 
 sapling ; he was so strong that if ever he smote a 
 man with this staff, that man, be he never so stout 
 and valiant, must fall. 
 
 Then Degore" received the good hermit's blessing, 
 
 and set out on his adventures. All that day he saw 
 
 and met no man till it was far past noon. Then he 
 
 heard a great noise in a valley near, and the sound 
 
 262
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 of sturdy blows. He ran swiftly to the spot, and saw 
 a strange sight. A dragon great and grim, full of fire 
 and venom, with a wide throat and monstrous tusks, 
 was pressing sore a gallant Earl. The dragon had 
 the feet of a lion ; its body was as large as a wine 
 tun, and measured twenty-two feet from head to tail. 
 Its eyes were bright as glass, and its scales hard as 
 brass, shining against the sun. As it raised its great 
 neck to strike a neck as thick as a horse's it 
 breathed out fire. 
 
 The Earl defended himself in manly sort, and laid 
 on stoutly with his sword. But he was no match for 
 the dragon, and his sword glanced harmlessly off the 
 beast's iron scales. As Degore came up, the Earl 
 had turned to flee ; he ran from tree to tree, hiding 
 for a moment, and then hastening on ; and as he 
 ran, he suddenly was aware of Degore*, and cried to 
 him in a loud voice, " Help me, for charity's sake : 
 help ! " 
 
 Thereupon Degore" hastened into the open, though 
 he had no weapon but his oaken club. The dragon 
 saw him coming, and turned towards him, leaving the 
 Earl. It blew and roared as if it would swallow him. 
 But Degore" took his club in his hand with high courage, 
 and smote the creature on the head, and brake the 
 bone of its forehead. At that stout blow the dragon 
 fell down, beating the earth with its tail ; and though 
 the lashing tail struck Degore" full hard, he laid on 
 bravely with the club, and at last saw the dragon 
 dead as a stone. 
 
 " Young sir," said the Earl, " you have quitted your- 
 263
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 self valiantly, and served me well. Come with me to 
 my castle, and I will reward you." 
 
 They went to the Earl's castle, and feasted with 
 great mirth and joy. When they had made an end 
 of their rejoicings, the Earl said to Degore", "You have 
 fought well for me this day. I would fain have you 
 in my service. Abide here at my castle, and be my man, 
 and you shall have my daughter for your wife." 
 
 " I thank you for your grace, lord Earl," said Degore" ; 
 ' but I must needs be wary in such a matter. I am 
 under a vow to seek out my kinsmen, whose very 
 name I know not. And I can wed none but her whose 
 hands certain enchanted gloves which I have will fit 
 exactly. If I may make trial with these gloves, I will 
 say yea or nay to you truly, Sir Earl." 
 
 "So be it," said the Earl. "My daughter shall put 
 on the gloves, and all the ladies of her train." 
 
 The Earl's daughter and all the ladies of his court 
 were brought to try the magic gloves. One after the 
 other they essayed to put them on, but none could 
 succeed. Then Degore", remembering the counsel that 
 had been given him with the gloves, told the Earl 
 that he must go a-wandering once more, for not yet 
 had he found his kin or the lady whom he might 
 wed. He took his leave honourably ; and at his going 
 the Earl bestowed on him a fair steed for battle, and 
 a palfrey for riding upon the road, and noble armour, 
 with a bright sword, and a squire to attend him ; and 
 last of all he knighted him, saying that he was worthier 
 to go forth on horse and under arms than on foot 
 with but a club for weapon. 
 264
 
 'Cbe Dragon blew ano roared as if it would swallow bim.*
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 Forth Sir Degore rode with his new arms, and for 
 many days wandered as a knight-errant. At length he 
 came to a city where was a great gathering of earls 
 and barons and knights. 
 
 "What tidings?" he asked a sergeant whom he met. 
 "Whence are all these knights come?" 
 
 "The King has held a great council, sir," answered 
 the man, " and he has proclaimed that if any man 
 can overthrow him in the lists, he shall have his 
 daughter the Princess for wife, and this kingdom for 
 his heritage, for there is no other heir. Many have 
 essayed this combat before now, but have failed. Of 
 some the King broke the back in fight, of others the 
 neck; some he pierced through the body. Each one 
 he maimed and hurt, so great a warrior is he." 
 
 "I am a stalwart man," said Sir Degore. " I have 
 a steed and weapons of my own, and never yet have 
 I met the man who could withstand me. I will ride 
 against this King." 
 
 He rode to the King's court, and knelt before him 
 and greeted him. 
 
 " Sir King," 'he cried. " I have heard your pro- 
 clamation and would fain tilt against you in the lists." 
 
 " I will refuse no man's challenge," said the King. 
 "To-morrow we will fight." 
 
 On the morrow the lists were set ready for the fray. 
 The King came clad in splendid armour, surrounded by 
 courtiers and friends; but Degore knew no man, but 
 trusted only in the help of God and his own valour. 
 
 The King was a skilful and cunning fighter, and at 
 the first shock he aimed to break Degor6's neck ; his 
 267
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 lance struck full on Degore"'s helmet, and so stout 
 was the blow that the shaft broke. But Degore held 
 firm in his saddle, and his feet were not driven from 
 the stirrups. 
 
 "Never has it befallen me," said the King, in wonder, 
 "that a man could withstand that blow." 
 
 He took a stronger lance. " I will break his back, if not 
 his neck, or go from the lists for ever," he said. And 
 with that he thundered down the lists to meet Degore. 
 
 The lance struck Degore' full in the breast, and was 
 not broken at first. Degor6 sat his horse firmly, but 
 the steed reared up with the shock of the blow, and 
 came nigh to falling over backwards with him. But 
 as the steed gave way, the King's lance bent and was 
 broken, and once more Degore came off unharmed, 
 though he rode out of -the lists ashamed that he had 
 been so near defeat. 
 
 "Twice hath the King smitten me," he thought, 
 " and I have not touched him yet. Now I must quit 
 my best." 
 
 With that he turned his horse, and rode against the 
 King with set, grim face. Together they rushed at 
 full speed, and both lances struck full on the oppos- 
 ing shields and were shivered. 
 
 "Bring me a shaft that will not break," cried the 
 King. " By my troth, I will throw him though he be 
 as strong as Samson." 
 
 He took a great lance stronger than all the others, 
 
 and once more the two met. But the King this time 
 
 missed his aim, while Degor6 struck him fair and 
 
 true. The King's horse rose on its hind-legs with the 
 
 268
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 blow, and Sir Degore hastened to strike once more 
 before it could recover. Out of the saddle the King 
 was hurled, heels over head, and lay vanquished on 
 the ground. 
 
 The victory was with Degore, and all the spectators 
 cheered his prowess. When the King rose, he spoke 
 fairly to Degore". 
 
 "Come, sir knight, the victory is yours. If you are 
 as gentle a man as you are valiant in the fight, you 
 shall have my daughter and after my death my 
 kingdom." 
 
 Then was Degor6 glad and blithe, and thanked the 
 King for the gift in seemly wise. But he was mind- 
 ful of the magic gloves, and told the King of his vow 
 that he would wed no woman who could not put on 
 the gloves. 
 
 "What is this, Sir Degore?" said the King. "Let 
 the Princess try the gloves. If they fit her, then all 
 is well ; but if not, then we will take counsel about 
 this vow of yours." 
 
 Degore brought out the gloves, and the Princess 
 was sent for. But when she came and saw the gloves, 
 she turned pale, and then red again. She took them 
 in her hands, and put them on ; and lo, the gloves 
 fitted as close as her own skin. 
 
 " My lord King," she said, " I must needs now tell 
 you a thing which I had hoped to hide from all men. 
 Many years ago I was wedded secretly, and this 
 knight must needs be my son, since he has the magic 
 gloves that were mine, and knows the virtue that is in 
 them." 
 
 269
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Sir Degore had indeed come by chance to the 
 court of his mother's father, and fought with him. 
 He knew that the Princess spoke truth, for the gloves 
 fitted her. He took his mother in his arms and kissed 
 her, and great was their joy. But the King was sore 
 amazed, for he knew, not what their sayings meant. 
 
 " Daughter, what is this thing ? " he asked. 
 
 " Father, this knight is my son," she answered. 
 "Twenty years ago I was married in the forest." 
 And with that she told him all that had happened. 
 
 The King heard the Princess's tale with great 
 wonder. But he was well pleased that in Degore' he 
 had found an heir to his throne, and that, too, the 
 most valiant knight with whom he had ever jousted. 
 
 "Dear mother," said Sir Degore", when the King had 
 heard all the tale, "tell me where I can find the 
 Fairy Knight my father ? To what land shall I turn ? 
 I long and yearn to seek him." 
 
 "Son, I can tell you nought of him," she answered, 
 "save this one thing, that he gave me his own sword 
 and bade me bestow it on you if you lived and came 
 to man's estate." 
 
 She fetched the sword and showed it to him. It 
 was broad, and long, and heavy. No such sword 
 was to be seen in all that kingdom. But there was 
 no point to it. 
 
 "Who bore this sword was a man indeed," said 
 Degore". " Now have I that which I will keep. 
 Henceforth I will journey till, if it be God's will, I 
 find my sire." 
 
 In the city he rested that night. At daybreak on 
 270
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 the morrow he rose, and when he had prayed, put on 
 his armour and rode out of the city, with only his 
 squire to attend him. Many a pace and many a 
 day's journey he rode, ever speeding westward, till at 
 length he came to a forest. Through the forest he 
 rode long, mile after mile, and found no trace of 
 man, though wild beasts were there in great plenty. 
 So long he rode that the sun sank down in the 
 heavens and night drew nigh without his finding any 
 place to lodge. 
 
 Suddenly he was aware of a moat, and on the 
 other side of it a fair castle of lime and stone. Yet 
 no man was in sight, neither were any guards upon 
 its walls. 
 
 " Come what may," said he to his squire, " I ride 
 no further this day. We will abide here, and ask 
 lodging at this castle for charity's sake, if so be that 
 living man dwell therein. Sound upon your trumpet." 
 
 The squire blew a call loudly ; but there came no 
 answer. Again he blew, and after that again, but no 
 sign of life came from the castle. The drawbridge 
 was down, the great gate open wide ; and at last Sir 
 Degor6 and his squire rode boldly in without further 
 tarrying. They stabled their horses ; there was great 
 plenty of corn and hay for them. Then Sir Degore 
 strode into the hall of the castle, and called loudly ; but 
 no man answered. 
 
 In the midst of the hall was a fire burning. "I 
 wonder who made this fire, my lord," said the squire. 
 
 " If he comes hither this night, I will abide his 
 coming, whatever he says," said Sir Degore. 
 271
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 He sat him down at the dais, and made himself 
 well at ease. Suddenly he was aware of four maidens, 
 fair and free, who came in at the door of the hall. 
 Two of them bore bows and arrows, as if for the 
 chase ; and the other two carried the deer which they 
 had just slain for venison. 
 
 Sir Degor6 rose up from his seat, and greeted the 
 maidens courteously. But they answered never a 
 word. They passed through the hall into a chamber 
 beyond, and shut the door after them. 
 
 In a little while came another into the hall, a dwarf. 
 Four foot was the length of him, though his hands 
 and feet were as large as a full-grown man's. His 
 face was milk-white and goodly, and his beard was as 
 crisp and yellow as wax. He wore a surcoat of 
 green, edged with black and white fur ; his shoes 
 were long and curved at the toes like a knight's. 
 
 Sir Degore looked on him, and did him a reverence ; 
 but the dwarf answered no word, but made ready to 
 set the board. He brought trestles and laid the board 
 on them, and on it a fair white cloth. Bread he 
 brought, and wine white and red, and he lighted 
 torches round the hall, and made all things ready as 
 if for a feast. 
 
 When all was prepared, from a chamber door came 
 a lady fair and bright, and with her fifteen maidens, 
 some clad in red, some in green, comely of body 
 and sweet of looks. They sat them down at the board 
 on the dais, the lady in the midst of her maids; it 
 was as fair and goodly a sight as might be. 
 
 Sir Degor< greeted them, but they answered him not. 
 272
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 The lady sat down to meat, and her damsels with 
 her. The dwarf served them blithely with rich foods, 
 and filled their cups with wine. Sir Degore", with all 
 courtesy, set a chair by the lady, and sat thereon, and 
 took a knife, and eat. But he eat little, for all his 
 looks were upon the fair lady ; never had he seen 
 one so lovely. 
 
 When they had supped the dwarf removed the 
 cloth, and bore away the board and trestles. The 
 lady and her maidens washed their hands, and went 
 out of the hall to a chamber, whither Sir Degore" 
 followed. The lady sat herself down on a couch, with 
 a handmaiden at her feet ; and she took a harp 
 and played so sweetly that Sir Degore" fell into sleep 
 at the sound. When she ceased he did not wake ; 
 and the lady caused a pillow be put under his 
 head, and warm coverings over his body, and left 
 him there. 
 
 On the morrow Sir Degore" was awakened by the lady. 
 "Arise," she said, "and go." 
 
 "Dear lady," answered Sir Degore, "forgive me for 
 sleeping here. Your sweet harp brought slumber 
 upon me. Now tell me, lady, ere I go, who is lord 
 of this land and castle ? And are you widow or maid 
 or wife?" 
 
 The lady sighed and began to weep. " Sir, I would 
 fain tell you all. This is my castle, and the maidens 
 and the dwarf whom you saw are all my retinue. 
 My father was a rich baron, and I his only child. 
 He had many a town and castle, and I inherited them 
 from him. So rich am I that many knights have 
 273
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 come to seek my hand from far countries. There 
 was one, a giant, who was strongest and fiercest of 
 them all : I ween in all Britain there is no man so 
 strong as he. He loved me sorely, but 1 could not 
 love him. But when he saw that he could not win 
 me by love, he turned to force. He has slain all 
 knights who would have defended me, one on each 
 day for many days past. Yesterday he slew the last 
 of them, and now I have left only my dwarf and my 
 twelve maidens, for protection against him." 
 
 Thus she spoke, and as she ended she' swooned for 
 very fear of this terrible lover. Sir Degore* looked 
 on her with great pity, and, when her maidens had 
 restored her out of her swoon, " Lovely dame," quoth 
 he, " I will help you with all my might." 
 
 "Alas, it is no avail against this giant," she said. 
 " But if you will rid me of him, you shall have my 
 hand and all my goods and riches." 
 
 Even as she spoke a maiden came running, and 
 cried : " Here comes our enemy. Draw up the bridge 
 and shut the gate, or he will slay every one of us." 
 
 Sir Degore" started up. Through a window he saw 
 the giant, well-armed and stout of body. He armed 
 himself speedily, and rode out across the drawbridge 
 to do battle for his lady. 
 
 The two galloped together. So fierce was the giant's 
 onset that Sir Degore"'s horse fell, and his back was 
 broken. But Sir Degore recovered himself, and drew 
 from its sheath his father's sword. 
 
 "Alight, base knight," he cried. "Do battle on 
 foot, or I will slay your steed outright." 
 274
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 The giant lighted down from his great horse, and 
 they fought on foot, with swords. But Sir Degore's 
 sword was too strong for his enemy. With a great 
 blow he clove the giant's helm, head, and neckpiece 
 all together, so that he fell down dead as a stone. 
 
 The lady watched the combat from her castle, and 
 when she saw the giant fall, came down and greeted 
 her knight. 
 
 " Sir, I pray you dwell with me," she said, when 
 she had given him thanks for his prowess. "All my 
 lands will I give you, and I will be your wife." 
 
 "Dame, can you wear these gloves?" said Sir 
 Degore. 
 
 He gave her the enchanted gloves. She took them 
 and drew them on ; they fitted her closely and well. 
 
 "You shall be my wife," said Sir Degore", with 
 great joy in his heart " But I have a quest, dear lady, 
 and may not wed you yet. I must needs fare into 
 the world, and cannot abide with you now. I must 
 ride till I find the Fairy Knight my sire. Give me leave 
 to go from you for a year ; then will I come to you 
 again." 
 
 The lady mourned at this saying, but could not but 
 bid him go. Forth rode Sir Degore' once more, and 
 wandered through divers countries, over hill and dale, 
 through wood and forest, pricking ever westwards. 
 
 After many days he came suddenly upon his last 
 adventure. In a little dale, he met a doughty knight 
 upon a fair steed, clad in rich armour. His shield was 
 of azure, and the sign on it was three boars' heads 
 of gold, 
 
 2 75
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 When he saw Sir Degore, the knight cried out in 
 .1 loud voice, "Villain, what do you here in my 
 forest, slaying my deer ? " 
 
 " I slay no deer," answered Sir Degore", gently. " I 
 am an adventurous knight, riding to seek wars and 
 fighting." 
 
 " If you come to seek war," said the strange knight, 
 " here you have found your desire. Arm you now 
 where you stand." 
 
 Sir Degore did on his arms, and took a fair keen 
 lance that his lady had given him. The two knights 
 rushed together. At the shock of their meeting 
 neither was harmed ; but their two horses were slain, 
 so fiercely did they come together. They leapt to 
 their feet, and drew swords. Long and bitterly did 
 they fight, but could not wound one another. 
 
 At last they rested for a space. 
 
 " Where were you born, gentle knight ? " asked the 
 stranger. " You fight well." 
 
 "I am a knight of England, where I was born," 
 answered Sir Degore. "A King's daughter was my 
 mother, but who my sire was none knows ! I am 
 called Sir Degore." 
 
 The strange knight's eyes fell on Degore"'s pointless 
 sword as he spoke. He turned and drew out from 
 his wallet a piece of steel. Then he took the sword 
 by the blade and held the piece, of steel to it : it 
 fitted exactly. It was the broken point of the sword 
 which the Fairy Knight had given Sir Degore^s 
 mother. 
 
 "Sir DegoreY' said the knight, "you are my son. 
 276
 
 'Cbe labv came Sown and greeted bcr hnifibt.
 
 Sir Degore and the Broken Sword 
 
 We will fight no more. Take me with you to the 
 Princess your mother, my wife." 
 
 Sir Degore" saw that it was indeed as the knight 
 said. Back rode father and son together; and when 
 they came to the King's court, the Fairy Knight was 
 made known to all men as the husband ol the 
 Princess. Then Sir Degor6 rode back to his lady 
 in her castle, and wedded her with great feastings 
 and rejoicing. His quest was ended, and no longer 
 did he ride abroad, but abode in peace and happiness 
 with his wife to the end of their days. 
 
 279
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 I. Guy wins his Spurs 
 
 N former days a certain Rohaud 
 was one of the most power- 
 ful nobles in England. Rich 
 he was, and of great might ; 
 much store of gold and 
 silver lay in his strong 
 castles, and so doughty was 
 he that no man in all Eng- 
 land durst ride against him when he was armed in 
 his pride. He was Earl of Warwick, of Oxford, and 
 of Buckingham. 
 
 Earl Rohaud had a daughter named Felice, whose 
 like, for beauty, was not to be seen upon the earth. 
 Gentle she was, and courteous, and wise, and free, 
 and learned in the seven arts : cunning masters had 
 come from Toulouse to teach her, and had instructed 
 her in knowledge of the stars, and arithmetic, and 
 letters, and eloquence, in music, geometry, and all 
 manner of learning. There was no maiden so fair in 
 hall or in bower. 
 
 To win Felice to wife many earls and barons and 
 knights had come from every corner of the world ; 
 but not one of them would she wed. 
 280
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 The Earl ruled his dominions justly and well. He 
 had for steward a very prudent and wise man, one 
 Segward: no lord of that day had a better steward or 
 truer man. Segward had a son named Guy, a youth 
 courteous and free, cup-bearer to Earl Rohaud. Guy 
 had been taught all knightly ways by Heraud of Ardern, 
 a famous knight ; and so good a pupil was he that 
 there was none at Earl Rohaud's court who was 
 more loved, or who could vie with him at hunting 
 and hawking and warlike exercises. 
 
 It was the custom of Earl Rohaud to hold festival 
 for many days at the season of Pentecost in each 
 year. To that feast came all the chivalry of England, 
 with many fair ladies and maidens of renown. One 
 year, when Guy was nigh man's estate, it fell to his 
 lot to wait upon the Earl at the feast. 
 
 "Guy," said Earl Rohaud suddenly, "go to my 
 daughter and her ladies, and serve their table well." 
 
 " My lord, I do your bidding blithely," answered Guy, 
 who had looked upon the fair Felice as yet only from 
 a distance. 
 
 Guy served Felice courteously and well. He was 
 very comely to look upon, and all the maidens, even 
 Felice herself, spoke to him fairly and sweetly. As 
 for Guy, he no sooner came near Felice than he fell 
 in love with her. 
 
 When the feast was over Guy went alone to his 
 chamber, and thought upon this new love that had 
 carried him away. "This is my lord's daughter," he 
 said to himself, "and I am but his cup-bearer. If 
 Earl Rohaud knew that I loved Felice, he would hang 
 281
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 me or beheaa me or burn me straightway for my 
 insolence. Yet I cannot bear to keep my love secret 
 from her. I will tell her now, come what may." 
 
 He sought audience of the lady Felice privately. 
 When he came before her he fell on his knees, 
 trembling, and spoke in a low firm voice : " For love 
 of you, dear lady, I die. There is nought under 
 heaven, good or evil, that I would not do for you. 
 Unless you have pity on me, I shall slay myself 
 for sorrow." 
 
 "You are a foolish dreamer, Guy," answered Felice. 
 " You are overweening, unless you take me to have 
 as little wits as you. What could I, an Earl's 
 daughter, have to do with you, the son of my father's 
 steward? The great men of England have sought 
 my hand in vain ; how then should you hope to be 
 more successful ? Begone from my sight, and trouble 
 me no more." 
 
 Guy obeyed with rueful cheer. He went to his 
 chamber, and rent his clothes, and mourned so sted- 
 fastly that he fell grievously ill. He cared nought 
 for his life, and would not try to win back his health, 
 but lay like one about to die. The Earl and all his 
 court were much troubled, for Guy was well loved ; 
 but they could not discover what ailed him, for Guy 
 said no word of his love to any man. Wise physicians 
 came, and tended him, but availed nothing ; and when 
 one of them said, "He has a fever," Guy answered 
 " Yes," being content that they should think him sick 
 to death, and commend him to God's grace : which 
 indeed they did with sorry hearts. 
 282
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 Felice heard of Guy's illness, but heeded it little, 
 until on a certain night she had a dream. In this 
 dream an angel appeared to her, and bade her look 
 favourably on Guy's love, for he would before long 
 win great honour for her sake. Thereafter she pur- 
 posed, if ever Guy spoke to her again, to grant him 
 mercy. 
 
 The next day Guy seemed to be at the very point 
 of death. He lay in his chamber, looking out of the 
 window upon the curving walls of the castle, which 
 were stretched out on either side of him. "Alas," he 
 said to himself, " there is no hope for me : this great 
 castle belongs to my lady's sire, the Earl of War- 
 wick and of Oxford and of Buckingham, whereas I 
 am but a poor squire's son. I must needs die of this 
 love that fills and overflows my heart. Nevertheless, 
 I will try whether I may not see Felice again ere 
 I die." 
 
 He rose from his couch, all weak as he was, and 
 crept painfully out of his chamber, down the stairs, 
 and into an arbour in Felice's garden, where he knew 
 she was wont to walk. There he found his lady; but 
 he had only strength to gasp, " Lady Felice, I love 
 you ; I have broken your command and come to see 
 you ; I pray you forgive me," before he fell in a swoon 
 at her very feet. 
 
 Felice and her maidens raised him up, and in a 
 little time restored him to his senses. When he 
 remembered where he was, he would have gone 
 miserably away ; but Felice held him in converse, 
 remembering the angel's message in her dream. 
 283
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 " Guy," she said, u why would you die for love ? 
 Why not put aside your love and live ? If I were 
 lo tell my father the Earl that you have dared to love 
 me, he would hang you." 
 
 " I wish it were even so," sighed Guy. " I cannot 
 live without you." 
 
 " Certes, Guy, your love is very great," said Felice, 
 relenting a little, yet not willing to tell him that she 
 loved him. " You almost lose your wits from it." 
 
 " Do not mock me, Felice." 
 
 " I do not mock you, Guy. Hear now what I must 
 say to you, and take no offence thereat. You know 
 full well that I may not love you : you are a poor 
 cup-bearer, I an Earl's daughter : how then can I 
 love you ? I can only love one of noble rank. If you 
 were a knight, good and hardy and well-tried in arms, 
 I might look on you with more readiness." 
 
 At that Guy's heart was filled with joy. He did a 
 reveience to Felice, and took his leave. In a few 
 days, so great was his gladness, he had forgotten all 
 his sorrow, and came back to his duties as blithe and 
 merry as a bird. 
 
 Before long Guy sought audience of Earl Rohaud. 
 Falling on his knees before him, he said humbly, 
 " My lord, I beg you to knight me and give me arms, 
 if I be worthy of so great an honour." 
 
 The Earl knew Guy's worthiness to be knighted, 
 and at a great feast which was held soon after, he 
 dubbed him knight, with twenty other youths of valour 
 and good birth. 
 
 As soon as possible, Guy went to Felice. " Lady 
 284
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 Felice," he said, " I am knighted : I may declare my 
 love to you worthily." 
 
 " Nay, Guy," said Felice, " you may be a knight 
 in rank, but you are not yet a knight in deed. You 
 have done nought in arms, you have won no fame. 
 When your name is on all men's lips, then come to 
 me and speak to me of love." For Felice wished to 
 prove his valour before she obeyed her dream and 
 looked on him with favour. 
 
 Guy said no word, but left her, sad at heart, yet 
 resolved to win her. He went straightway to his 
 father the steward, and did him a reverence, and 
 asked him a boon. 
 
 " I have been dubbed knight, my father," he said : 
 " I pray you grant me that I may win honour as a 
 knight. Let me go overseas and play my part worthily 
 among other men.'" 
 
 " So be it, Guy," answered Segward : " I will not 
 say you nay if you seek fame in other lands. God 
 grant you safe return. Take what gold and silver, 
 horses and arms, may be needful for your intent. 
 Sir Heraud shall go with you, for he is wise and 
 discreet, as befits his years ; Sir Thorold and Sir Urry 
 also shall be your comrades." 
 
 Soon all was ready, and Guy set out with his three 
 companions, richly equipped in all things. They sailed 
 overseas, and came in time to the coast of Normandy, 
 and so at last to Rouen. There they lodged for a 
 time, to gather news. 
 
 Ere long they saw a great to-do in the town ; knights 
 and squires went to and fro, blacksmiths were hard 
 285
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 at work sharpening swords and lances, bright flags 
 and streamers were flown on every house. Guy sent 
 lor the host of the inn, and asked what these prepara- 
 tions meant. 
 
 " Have you not heard, good sir ? " answered the 
 host. "Know then that to-morrow will be held in 
 this city a tournament, in honour of the fair daughter 
 of Regnier, the Emperor of Germany. Many lords and 
 knights of renown have come hither to joust. The 
 prize in the tournament is a milk-white falcon, a white 
 horse, and two white greyhounds ; and if the victor 
 be not already pledged in his own country to some 
 fair lady, he may ask in marriage the Emperor's 
 daughter herself." 
 
 "That is good hearing, master host," answered Guy. 
 " I give you thanks. Go now to my squires and bid 
 them bestow on you a white palfrey, in reward for 
 your glad tidings." 
 
 The host departed. Guy and his comrades vowed 
 to enter the lists on the morrow, and straightway fell 
 to making their arms and gear ready for the fray. 
 
 What more need I say ? Many a seemly knight 
 came to that tournament, but Guy overthrew all 
 whom he met : Gaire, the Emperor's own son, fell 
 before him, and Otho, Duke of Pavia, who vowed to 
 make Guy rue the day of his victory, and afterwards 
 came nigh accomplishing his desire. Heraud, Thorold, 
 and Urry likewise fought well. But Guy showed such 
 might that all men judged him the best knight of the 
 day ; and when the jousting was ended, the white 
 falcon, and the horse, and the greyhounds were 
 286
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 <jiven to him. He sent them to Earl Rohaud as 
 signs of his prowess, and, having done honour to the 
 Emperor and his fair daughter, set forth to roam yet 
 further. 
 
 For a year's space Guy and his comrades wandereu 
 in divers lands, fighting in many wars, jousting often 
 in tournaments, and winning fair fame as bold and 
 hardy knights. At the end of a year, they returned 
 home to England, Guy hoping that by now Felice 
 would be willing to listen to him. 
 
 " I have come back to you, dear lady," he said as 
 soon as he saw her, " because I have done your 
 bidding. For your sake I have ventured my life in 
 many battles ; yet it is you who gave me that life, 
 for had you not been gracious to me, I should have 
 died ere now by my own hand. My life is yours. 
 Tell me your will, now that I have come again to 
 give you my love." 
 
 " You have done well, Sir Guy, but not well 
 enough," answered Felice haughtily. "Your fame is 
 fair and great, but not greater and fairer than that 
 of many another knight. If I were to wed you, you 
 would win no more glory, but would give up fighting, 
 and live a life of sloth and ease. I love you well, and 
 will take you for my lover. But I will not wed you 
 till you are known as the best knight under the wide 
 heaven, the very flower of all the world's knighthood." 
 
 Guy sighed deeply. " I do your will, lady Felice, 
 in all things," he said. " I will go a- wandering again, 
 since for your sake I must win glory ; no fear of 
 death shall hinder me." 
 
 287
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 He went from her, and told Earl Rohaud and his 
 father that he was fain to journey overseas again. 
 They said many things to turn him from his purpose, 
 but in vain. He would neither stay at home nor tell 
 them the reason of his going. And so he set forth 
 once more to win such fame as fell to no other 
 knight of that day. 
 
 II. The Enmity of Otho 
 
 Duke Otho of Pavia, whom Guy overthrew in the 
 tournament at Rouen, cherished deep hatred because 
 of his defeat ; and he plotted to be revenged on Guy. 
 Guy, when he set forth from England again, went 
 to many countries in turn, jousting in tourneys and 
 fighting in all lands, and at last came into Italy not 
 far from Pavia. Here it chanced that he was wounded 
 slightly in a tournament; and when Otho heard of 
 this, he thought that now he would easily gain his 
 end and take vengeance on Guy. 
 
 He set spies at work, and learnt the road which 
 Guy with his comrades, Urry, Thorold, and Heraud, 
 meant to take after the tournament. He summoned 
 to him one Earl Lambard, and fifteen other knights 
 bold and fierce. 
 
 " Lambard, and you, my friends," he said, " I have 
 called you hither that you may avenge me on a 
 traitor who is my bitter foe, none other than Guy of 
 Warwick. He journeys this day by such and such a 
 road, in the forest hard by this place. Do you there 
 288
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 lie in ambush, and when he comes with his three Com- 
 rades, fall upon them suddenly. Kill his three friends, 
 if you will, but himself save alive, and bring him to me, 
 that I may make his death more hard for him. With 
 sorrow and with woe shall he end ; never shall he 
 go forth of my dungeons, when once I have him 
 there." 
 
 The base knights did as he bade them, and hid 
 themselves in the forest. Presently came Guy riding 
 slowly on a little mule. His wound hurt him sorely, 
 and he was glad of this ride in peace under the shade 
 of great trees, without the weight of his heavy armour, 
 which was carried after him on his war-horse. 
 
 Suddenly he saw the sun gleaming on polished steel 
 at a little distance; and a few moments after, a horse 
 whinnied. 
 
 "There is some mischief here," said Guy to his 
 comrades. " We are betrayed." 
 
 He sprang from his mule and began to arm hastily. 
 "Dear Guy," said Heraud, "you are wounded. Let 
 us not fight. I think from the gleaming , arms yonder 
 there must be many men in front of us, and we are 
 but four. Do you turn back : there is no dishonour 
 in retreat if you are wounded. We will stay here and 
 abide the onset ; do you save yourself." 
 
 "Nay, Heraud," answered Guy, with high courage, 
 as befits a stout knight, "if you abide here to die, 1 
 too will die with you." 
 
 With that he made ready to fight. First there came 
 a Lombard riding at him, a fell knight full of pride. 
 
 " Guy," cried the Lombard, " yield to us, or you 
 289
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 are all dead men. We have vowed to take you dead 
 or alive to Duke Otho." 
 
 As he spoke, Guy smote him through the heart, and 
 laid him dead on the grass. 
 
 "By the vows I pay to my lady," he said, "you 
 shall not keep your vow to Otho." 
 
 Another Lombard came against him. " Nor you, 
 traitor; you shall not take me to your proud Duke," 
 he cried ; and he ran him through the body with his 
 sword, so that he died. 
 
 Meanwhile his three comrades had slain three who 
 rode against them, so that five of the enemy were gone. 
 But the stoutest were those that remained. Earl 
 Lambard thrust Sir Urry through the heart with his 
 lance, and laid him low ; but in a moment Guy was 
 upon him, and bore him down, and slew him. Hugo, 
 nephew of Duke Otho, beat Sir Thorold from his 
 horse, and pierced him through the heart. But Sir 
 Heraud turned upon him like a swift hound, and 
 smote him dead at one blow. Even as he struck, 
 one Gauter, a doughty knight, felled Heraud with a 
 mighty stroke, and he tumbled headlong and lay like 
 a dead man. 
 
 And now Guy was left alone. When he saw Heraud 
 fall, he turned on Gauter so fiercely that fire sprang 
 from his horse's hoofs. 
 
 "You shall pay sore for this day, sir knight," 
 he cried; "never shall you live to boast of this 
 deed." 
 
 He swung his great sword aloft, and smote down 
 with all his force; clean through the helm of Gauter 
 290
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 the blade shore, through head and shoulders and breast, 
 and clove him to the very pommel of his saddle. 
 
 Guy turned on his other foes. So fierce was his 
 onset that ere long but two were left. But he was 
 very weary and sorely wounded, and Sir Guichard, one 
 of the two remaining knights, and the most valiant of 
 all Duke Otho's men, called on him to surrender. 
 
 "Yield, Guy/' he cried; "all your friends are slain, 
 your armour is pierced, your limbs full weary. You 
 must needs yield yourself my prisoner." 
 
 Guy answered no word, but fell upon the two in- 
 continently. One he slew outright, and Sir Guichard 
 he wounded. " Yield you, Sir Guichard," he said ; 
 "it is my turn to bid you lay down your arms." 
 
 But Sir Guichard for answer turned his horse, and 
 galloped away in full flight. He returned to Otho at 
 Pavia, and told how ill he and his comrades had 
 fared ; and Otho was more fiercely set upon harming 
 Guy than ever. 
 
 Guy did not pursue Guichard far, for his horse was 
 as weary as himself. He looked upon the dead bodies 
 of his dear comrades, and his heart was heavy within 
 him. 
 
 "Alas, Felice," he said, "for your sake, fair maid, 
 many brave knights have fallen this day, and Sir 
 Heraud, the flower of them all, lies here at my feet." 
 
 He rode away from the place till he came to a 
 hermit's cell in the forest. He called the good hermit 
 out, and took him back to where his friends lay, and 
 bade him give them Christian burial. For his services 
 he bestowed on him a horse ; and then he took on 
 291
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 his own horse the body of Sir Heraud, which he was 
 loath to leave, and rode away. 
 
 Presently he came to a rich abbey, where he was 
 entertained hospitably. When he was refreshed, he 
 rode on, leaving there Sir Heraud's body, to be cared 
 for. But his wounds were too serious for him to fight 
 again for many a day. He could not journey openly 
 through Italy, for fear of Duke Otho's enmity. So he 
 went secretly back to the hermit, and dwelt in his 
 cell till his wounds were healed. 
 
 As soon as he was strong enough to ride and fight, 
 he rode away from Italy to Saxony, and then to 
 Burgundy, to the court of Duke Milon, who enter- 
 tained him well. Here Guy abode some time, fighting 
 and jousting. 
 
 At length his thoughts turned again to England. 
 He saw no hope, as yet, of winning fresh fame, for 
 his feats in arms had won him renown throughout 
 Christendom, and unless some great and unexpected 
 adventure befell him, he could have no higher glory 
 than was his already. He took leave of Duke Milon, 
 and set forth to ride through France to a port whence 
 he might set sail for England. 
 
 He had not ridden far before he was aware of a 
 man sitting at rest upon a headland jutting into the 
 sea. The man was clad in pilgrim's weeds, and his 
 face was well-nigh covered with a hood, so that Guy 
 could not see it. 
 
 "What news, gentle pilgrim?" asked Guy, when he 
 came near the stranger. " Whence have you come ? " 
 
 From Lombardy. But I know no news. I have 
 292
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 long lain sick, for I was sore wounded in a fight for 
 my dear lord against Duke Otho of Pavia. For my 
 lord's sake I wear these weeds ; I wander as a pilgrim 
 till I find him again." 
 
 Guy knew not what this strange story might mean. 
 He thought that his three comrades, Heraud, Urry, 
 and Thorold were all slain ; yet here was one who 
 spoke of fighting against Duke Otho in Lombardy. 
 
 " What was your lord's name ? " he asked. 
 
 "Guy of Warwick," answered the pilgrim, "the 
 best knight ever known." 
 
 Guy trembled at hearing himself spoken of. "What 
 is your own name ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " Heraud," replied the pilgrim. 
 
 Guy threw himself from his horse, and ran to the 
 pilgrim, and drew the hood from his face. It was 
 indeed his loved comrade Heraud, come to life as it 
 were from the dead. 
 
 Heraud soon told his tale. Guy had left, as he 
 thought, his dead body at the abbey. But he was 
 not dead ; he was but stunned by Gauter's blow in 
 the great fight. The abbot, being very skilled in heal- 
 ing wounds and all manner of ailments, soon saw that 
 Heraud still lived, and by his care and wisdom nursed 
 him back to strength again. Since then he had wan- 
 dered in search of Guy. 
 
 The two friends were overjoyed to meet again, and, 
 as soon as Heraud had been re-armed and equipped 
 fully, they set forth to go to England together. They 
 journeyed through France till they came at last to 
 St. Omer, where they rested a little. 
 293
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 As they lay at their inn, they heard tidings which 
 once more turned Guy's face away from England. 
 Segwin, Duke of Louvain, had by chance slain a 
 cousin of his overlord, Regnier, the Emperor of 
 Germany, in a quarrel ; Regnier, very wroth, had 
 marched against Segwin with an army, and laid waste 
 his lands, and was even now besieging him in his 
 strong city of Arascon. Segwin was hard pressed, 
 and begged Guy or any other knights-errant who were 
 able to come to his aid. 
 
 Guy and Heraud made up their minds to help Seg- 
 win. They mustered as quickly as they could three 
 score of bold knights, and rode to Arascon. They 
 contrived to enter the besieged town secretly, and on 
 the morrow after their coming sallied forth and attacked 
 Regnier's men so fiercely that they put them utterly 
 to flight. 
 
 The Emperor was very wroth when he heard of 
 this defeat, and he sent against Arascon a fresh host, 
 wherein fought Otho of Pavia, and Terry, son of 
 Earl Aubry, and many another gallant warrior. But 
 even thus he could not prevail. Guy and his knights 
 sallied forth, and attacked the new army so fiercely 
 that it fared no better than the first, and fled head- 
 long. Guy and his men pursued it many leagues, 
 taking great plenty of prisoners; and Guy himself 
 wounded Duke Otho sorely, and took Gaire, the 
 Emperor's son, captive. 
 
 Thereafter Regnier himself came against the town, 
 and sat down before it with a great army, to starve 
 it into yielding. Never would he fight a pitched battle, 
 294
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 but lay idle outside with his men at a little distance, 
 suffering no man to leave the town and none tc 
 come in. 
 
 But on a certain day a spy brought news to Guy 
 that the Emperor would that day hunt in the forest 
 near the town. Guy took his men and went to the 
 forest ; and before long he had surprised Regnier 
 and cut him off, unarmed and helpless. 
 
 " God save you, sire," said Guy courteously. " Duke 
 Segwin would fain have had me meet you ; this is 
 a good hap. The Duke bids me ask you to lodge 
 with him in Arascon. He will give you a seemly 
 welcome, with a feast of swans and cranes and 
 herons, and will make you right well at ease, if you 
 do but honour him by coming. And I say to you 
 that he will yield himself and his city and his 
 lands to you at that feast. Do you therefore come 
 with me, Sir Emperor, seeing that you are in my 
 power." 
 
 The Emperor could not but go with Guy; and 
 that night he supped royally in Arascon, and was 
 honourably entertained. 
 
 On the morrow Duke Segwin summoned to him all 
 those of the Emperor's men whom he held prisoners, 
 among them the Emperor's own son, and begged 
 them to plead with Regnier for him. Then, when 
 they had promised him this, he went before the Em- 
 peror bareheaded and barefooted, with a rope round 
 his neck, and in his hand an olive branch. 
 
 "Mercy, sire," he cried, falling on his knees. "If 
 i have harmed you in this war, put not the blame 
 295
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 on me. I slew your cousin in fair fight ; he would 
 fain have slain me. Have mercy, lord Emperor." 
 
 Thereupon Gaire and the other prisoners in turn 
 begged Regnier to be merciful ; and he, seeing that 
 Segwin by Guy's advice had spoken him fair and 
 courteously, and had sought to take no harsh ad- 
 vantage of him, relented and forgave the Duke. Guy 
 himself he asked to enter his service ; and under 
 him Guy and Heraud, putting off for a space their 
 return to England, fought and jousted for many 
 months. 
 
 III. Among the Saracens 
 
 It chanced that as Guy rode by the seaside one 
 day at this time, he saw a great ship sail into the 
 port hard by. No ship had come thither from afar 
 for many months, and he rode down to the port to 
 hear the news. By now he was weary of fighting 
 in the different countries of Europe, and longed 
 to return to England, unless he could find some 
 new and high adventure first. Great was his joy, 
 then, to learn that the ship bore Greek merchants 
 from Constantinople, with tidings of grievous ill- 
 fortune that had befallen the Christian Greek Em- 
 peror Ernis. The Sultan of the Saracens had come 
 against him with a vast host, and besieged him in 
 Constantinople. Ernis was sorely pressed, and unless 
 help came speedily the city and all who were in it 
 must soon be given up to the cruel Saracens. 
 
 Sir Guy and many another Christian knight felt 
 296
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 great sorrow at these tidings. They made up their 
 minds to succour Ernis. Before long they brought 
 together well-nigh a thousand goodly knights, and set 
 out for Constantinople, Guy being chosen leader. 
 
 They reached Constantinople safely, and Ernis was 
 right glad to see them, and promised to Guy the 
 hand of his daughter Clarice, if he would rid his 
 Empire of the Saracens. It was not long before 
 Guy set to work. With his brave knights he sallied 
 forth from the city and fell upon the enemy; long 
 and fiercely did they fight ; Guy slew in mortal 
 combat Coldran, the chief Emir of the Saracens, 
 cousin to the Sultan himself, and did many another 
 deed of valour ; and in the end the Saracens were 
 defeated with great slaughter. But they were not 
 driven away from the city, for their army was so 
 huge that Guy and his men had routed only a small 
 part of it. The rest, under the Sultan himself, pressed 
 the siege more closely than ever. 
 
 Great fame came to Guy through this battle. But 
 it won him also a fierce and crafty enemy, one 
 Morgadour, steward to Regnier of Germany, who 
 loved the Princess Clarice and was jealous of Guy 
 for his prowess. Many a time did he seek to injure 
 Guy by false tales and slander, and once nearly 
 succeeded in persuading Ernis that Guy was a traitor. 
 But all his plans failed until, as the Sultan's army 
 seemed to grow stronger and stronger without being 
 driven away, he found a chance to bring Guy into 
 great peril. 
 
 He learnt by spies that the Sultan had vowed to
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 put to death every Christian who fell into his hands, 
 whoever he might be and whatever his errand. But 
 at a great council which Ernis held he hid this 
 knowledge, and persuaded the Emperor to announce 
 a plan which Guy could not but fall in with. 
 
 "The Sultan is gathering yet more men against us," 
 said Ernis to his lords and barons and knights. " If 
 we do not rid ourselves of him right soon, he will 
 have so many that his very numbers will overcome 
 all our might and skill. Let us therefore end the 
 matter thus : one of us shall fight in single combat 
 with the chiefest warrior in the Sultan's host; if he 
 falls, then will \ve yield ; but if he conquers, then 
 will all the Saracens yield themselves to us." 
 
 They cried out assent to his words. 
 
 " It is well, friends," said Ernis, who knew nought 
 of the guile in Morgadour's plan. "But there is yet 
 one thing needful. One of us must bear this challenge 
 to the Sultan : and he will go in great peril, for the 
 Sultan is fierce and full of treachery. Who will do 
 this errand ? " 
 
 Guy and Heraud started up with many another, all 
 eager to bear the Emperor's message to the Sultan. 
 But when they saw that Guy was eager to go, they 
 cried out that he alone was worthy to bear the mes- 
 sage and afterwards to be their champion. 
 
 Ernis was loath to let Guy go, for he feared treachery, 
 and would fain have kept the best of his knights safe. 
 But at last he was persuaded. 
 
 Guy put on his finest armour, and set on his 
 head a gold circlet and a rich plume, and rode 
 298
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 forth from Constantinople alone, for he would have 
 none share the peril with him. Anon he came to the 
 Saracens' camp, and saw in the midst the Sultan's 
 pavilion. He knew it because on top of it was the 
 image of a golden eagle, standing on a great carbuncle 
 stone. All the country seemed full of tents and 
 pavilions, but there was none like the Sultan's. 
 
 Guy rode boldly into the midst of the camp, and 
 on through it till he came to the Sultan's pavilion. 
 Within the Sultan and his barons, and ten kings, 
 his vassals, were feasting and holding revelry, when 
 Guy rode into the great tent on his war horse. He 
 halted before the Sultan to give his errand. But the 
 sight of so many foul Saracens, the bitter enemies of 
 all Christendom, so enraged him that he broke out 
 into reviling them. 
 
 The Sultan knew not how to answer a word, so 
 great was his wonder. But Guy in a little time grew 
 calmer, and delivered his challenge in seemly wise. 
 
 At that the Sultan grew furious with rage. " Dog 
 of a Christian," he cried, "you shall die. Seize him, 
 slaves, and put him to death." 
 
 "Guy of Warwick does not die by a Saracen's 
 hand," said Guy. 
 
 At the sound of his dreaded name, the Saracens 
 pressed close to take him. But he forced his horse 
 through their midst, and came very near to the Sultan, 
 and with a sudden sweep of his sword clove his pagan 
 head from his body. Then he stooped and picked up 
 the head, and while all there were still aghast at what 
 he had done, turned and rode away at full speed. 
 299
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Now it chanced that about this time Heraud lay 
 asleep in Constantinople. As he slept, he dreamed 
 that he saw his dear comrade Guy assailed by a host 
 of wild beasts. He woke with a start; and in a 
 moment he knew that his dream was a warning that 
 Guy was in peril. He armed himself with all speed, 
 and called together a band of brave knights. In 
 haste they rode out of Constantinople towards the 
 Saracen camp, ready to give up their lives if only 
 they might bring Guy out of peril. 
 
 Before long they saw the dust of many riders com- 
 ing towards them. Soon they were near enough to 
 distinguish who they were who rode so furiously. 
 Guy was galloping towards Constantinople, his horse 
 very weary, but struggling to reach the city before his 
 pursuers. At his saddle-bow was the Sultan's head. 
 Behind came a host of Saracens, eager to overtake 
 him. But when they saw the Christian knights, well 
 armed and unwearied, they gave up the chase, and 
 turned and rode back to their camp. Not long after- 
 wards, their Sultan being slain, they gave up the 
 siege and went thence. But Guy rode in triumph into 
 Constantinople, and was welcomed by Ernis, who was 
 fain to give him his daughter Clarice in marriage, in 
 reward for his great deeds. 
 
 It was many years now since Guy had seen Felice. 
 In those years he had so ^rown in fame as to be 
 thought the very flower of chivalry of that day, even 
 as Felice had bidden him. Yet he knew not whether, 
 if he returned, his proud lady might not set him yet 
 harder tasks to do. At first, in all his tournaments 
 300
 
 came a bost of Saracens, eager to overtake (Bug.
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 and battles, he had fought for her love and glory. 
 But as time passed, he began to forget her a little, 
 until now the Emperor's daughter seemed to him 
 almost as fair as Felice, and Constantinople as good 
 a dwelling-place as far-off Warwick. Yet at first he 
 would not say yes or no to Ernis when he offered 
 him the Princess Clarice, but put him off with doubt- 
 ful answers. 
 
 When the Saracens had gone altogether from Con- 
 stantinople, Ernis made a great progress through all 
 his dominions, putting aside for a little time Guy's 
 answer. With him went Guy. As they rode through a 
 desert one day, they suddenly were aware of a lion 
 coming towards them. Ernis knew not whether to 
 flee or to await the beast. But Guy, looking more 
 closely, saw that behind it ran some other animal. 
 The lion was running slowly, as if very weary ; 
 and when Guy went towards it, it looked at him 
 beseechingly, and seemed to ask him for help. He 
 cast his eyes upon the creature following. It was a 
 great dragon, wounded and weary, but still pursuing 
 the lion. 
 
 Guy lost no time. He drew his sword and fell 
 upon the dragon fiercely. Though it was weak from 
 its fight with the lion, it had yet great strength, and 
 it was long before Guy won the mastery. But at last 
 the dragon lay dead before him. 
 
 The lion, when it saw its enemy slain, came towards 
 
 Guy as gently as if it had been a dog, and licked his 
 
 feet and fawned upon him. By no means would it 
 
 leave him, but followed him in all his journey with 
 
 303
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Ernis, and back to Constantinople at the end. All 
 men who saw it loved its gentleness and friendly mien, 
 save only Morgadour the steward, who still plotted 
 harm to Guy. 
 
 When they came back to Constantinople again, 
 Ernis once more asked Guy if he would wed Clarice ; 
 and Guy at last answered yes. 
 
 Great preparations were made for the wedding ; and 
 soon the appointed day came. All was ready, when 
 the wedding ring was brought forth and given to Guy. 
 
 At the sight of the ring, Guy's thoughts went suddenly 
 back to Felice. "Ah, fair maid," he thought, "what 
 wrong am I doing you ! Forgive me, dear lady ; you 
 and no other maid shall have my heart." 
 
 With that he swooned. When he came to his 
 senses, he put away from him the courtiers who had 
 gathered round, and bidding them ask Ernis to hold 
 him excused, went to his chamber, and there gave 
 himself up to such misery and sorrow that he fell ill. 
 There he lay for three days, taking no meat nor drink, 
 and seeing no man. But on the third day a thing 
 happened to bring him back to court again. 
 
 When Guy fell ill, the faithful lion grew very sad 
 and mournful. It would touch no food, but roamed 
 about the palace looking for its master and making 
 sorry cheer. On the third day of Guy's illness the 
 lion lay asleep in an arbour in the palace garden. 
 Now Sir Morgadour chanced to be in the garden at 
 that time, and, seeing the lion asleep, he stole up and 
 stabbed it deep in the side. 
 
 The lion rose with a great roar ; bui the wound 
 34
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 was mortal. The poor beast could do nought but 
 creep to Guy's chamber, and scratch at the door to 
 be let in, whining sorrowfully. When Guy opened 
 the door, the lion staggered in, and fell dead at his feet. 
 
 "Alas, dear lion," said Guy in great wrath, "who 
 has done this wrong ? Now my lion is dead, all my 
 joy is gone. There was nought in all this city that 
 I loved better." 
 
 In rage and sorrow he drew his sword, and went 
 forth with it in his hand. Soon he met a maiden of 
 the court, and asked her who had slain his lion. 
 
 " It was Sir Morgadour," she said. " He stabbed 
 the lion as it lay asleep in the arbour. I saw him 
 from an upper window." 
 
 With bitter anger in his heart, Guy sought Sir 
 Morgadour. "Traitor," he cried when he met him, 
 "you have wronged me sorely." 
 
 "You lie," said Morgadour smoothly, "or you are 
 mistaken, perchance. What treason or wrong have I 
 done ? I slew your lion, it is true ; but the creature 
 would have slain me." 
 
 Even as he spoke he drew nearer ; and suddenly, 
 snatching a dagger from his belt, he tried to stab 
 Guy. But Guy was watching him closely, for he 
 trusted him not. As Morgadour struck, he sprang 
 aside, and swinging his sword aloft, with one blow 
 clave the steward from head to foot. 
 
 There was a great outcry in Constantinople when 
 
 it was known that Guy had slain Morgadour, for 
 
 Morgadour's master, the Emperor of Germany, was 
 
 a man of great might, and would be wroth at his 
 
 305
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 steward's death. But Guy was glad of the fear which 
 Ernis felt at his deed, for now he could without losing 
 his honour give up the hand of Clarice, and go back 
 to Felice. Before long he had told Ernis that he 
 would no longer abide in Constantinople, to bring 
 trouble on the city, but would return to his own 
 land; and Ernis, though he was loath to lose him, 
 could not but let him go. 
 
 So Guy left the East, and set out with Heraud to 
 ride back through Europe to England. But he was 
 not to win Felice for many a day yet. 
 
 IV. The End of Otho 
 
 It was on a day in spring, when eveiy bird is in song, 
 that Guy and Heraud were riding westwards through a 
 forest, on their way towards England. Suddenly, as 
 they rode, they heard a sound as of a man groaning 
 in anguish. 
 
 "O death," it seemed to say, "why do you so long 
 tarry ? Come to me and free me from this torment." 
 
 They listened, and soon were certain whence the 
 voice came. They made their way through the trees 
 and bushes towards the sound, and found a knight 
 lying sorely wounded, almost to death. 
 
 "Fair sir," asked Guy, "who are you who cry so 
 grievously ? " 
 
 " Sir Guy," answered the wounded knight, " I know 
 you well, and have met you in the fight. I am Sir 
 Terry, son of Aubry of Gurmoise, and 1 serve Loyer, 
 306
 
 '-V 
 
 Dear lion, wbo bas &one tbis wrong?
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 Duke of Lorraine, for love of his daughter Ozelfe, 
 Ozelle loves me and I her, and we had planned to 
 flee together, for Loyer had promised her to Otho 
 o Pavia, so that I durst not ask his leave to wed 
 her. But Otho heard of our plan, and his men fell 
 upon us here as we would have escaped ; me they 
 left wounded as you see, and Ozelle they carried off, 
 meaning doubtless to bring her to Otho." 
 
 "Otho of Pavia, say you?" said Guy. "It will give 
 me great joy to aid you against him. I too have some- 
 what to pay him for what he has done to me. Which 
 way did his men ride ? It were best to save the lady 
 Ozelle from him before we essay ought else." 
 
 Terry showed them the road, and Guy and Heraud 
 galloped off. It was not long before they came up 
 with Otho's men, carrying Ozelle in their midst. They 
 fell upon them furiously, and in a little time put to 
 flight those of them whom they did not slay. Then 
 they rode back with Ozelle to where they had left 
 Terry. But when they came to the place there was 
 no sign of him. 
 
 Guy and Heraud searched the ground. Soon they 
 saw the prints of horses' hoofs, going to the place 
 where Terry had lain, and leading away thence into 
 the forest. They left Ozelle there, and followed the 
 tracks as fast as they could, till at length they came 
 up with a little body of horsemen, with Terry in their 
 midst. 
 
 The men were servants of Otho, who had chanced 
 to come that way and had carried off their master's 
 enemy when they found him wounded and helpless. 
 39
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 With a great cry Guy and Heraud bore down upon 
 them. So fiercely did they attack that in a little 
 time Otho's men were in full flight, while Guy and 
 Heraud bore Terry back with them towards Ozelle. 
 
 But alas ! when they came to the place where she 
 should have been, she in turn was not there. No 
 sign of her could they see, and they were about to 
 give up searching for her, when Guy's squires, who 
 had ridden on before him to a town hard by, came 
 riding back. 
 
 " Sir," they said, " is all well with you ? " 
 
 "All is well," answered Guy; "but this knight, 
 Sir Terry, has lost a fair lady in this place." 
 
 "She is safe, sir," said one of the squires. "When 
 you did not come after us to the town, we rode 
 back, fearing that some mischance had overtaken you. 
 Here in this forest we found the lady Ozelle, and 
 bore her in safety to the town, when she had told 
 us all that had befallen her. Then we came back 
 to await you." 
 
 "It is well," said Guy; and they all rode to the 
 town. There Guy and Heraud rested many days, 
 guarding Terry and Ozelle, and caring for Terry's 
 wounds. 
 
 "Sir Terry," said Guy one day, when the knight 
 was well-nigh healed, " I have seen and know that 
 you are a brave man. Will you be my sworn brother 
 in arms, even as Heraud is ? Will you plight your 
 word to stand by me in all perils, and fight in my 
 battles, even as I will stand by you and fight for 
 you ? " 
 
 310
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 " Guy," answered Terry, " you do me such honour 
 as could never else come upon me. All men would 
 take pride in being your brother in arms, for you 
 are the very flower of chivalry. Gladly will I plight 
 my word, and may God give me grace to keep it 
 worthily." 
 
 So they swore brotherhood and friendship ; and 
 it chanced that their bond was put to proof right 
 soon. As they sat one day at the window of their 
 inn, they saw a knight riding wearily by. 
 
 " Sir knight," said Guy to him, " I pray you tell 
 me what you seek in this country. Perchance I may 
 give you aid in your quest." 
 
 "Sir, I seek the good knight Sir Terry of Gurmoise," 
 answered the knight. "May Heaven guide me to 
 him, for his sire is in sore straits. He is old and 
 cannot bear arms with such might as he wont to 
 show in former days; and many enemies beset him, 
 Duke Otho of Pavia " 
 
 "Ha!" cried Guy, "Otho, say you? I am fain 
 to meet Duke Otho." 
 
 "Duke Otho of Pavia," continued the knight, "and 
 Loyer Duke of Lorraine have come against Aubry, 
 Sir Terry's sire, with a great host, vowing vengeance 
 because Sir Terry has carried off the fair Ozelle, 
 whom Otho would have taken to wife. If Sir Terry 
 come not to Aubry's aid, all his lands will be lost 
 and himself put to shame and harm. Therefore do 
 I wander, seeking till I may find Sir Terry." 
 
 "Seek no longer, sir knight," said Terry. "I am 
 Aubry's son ; and with me is Guy of Warwick, the 
 3"
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 flower of all chivalry. Together we will come to my 
 sire and deal with this felon Otho of Pavia." 
 
 They lost no time. Before long they had collected 
 five hundred brave knights from Germany, to serve 
 under them, and led them to the strong city of Gur- 
 moise. Outside the city lay Lbyer with an army. 
 But Guy and his knights fell upon him so fiercely 
 that they drove him and his men headlong from the 
 siege, and entered the city in triumph. 
 
 In a few days came Otho with yet a greater host, 
 and sat down before Gurmoise. Many a fierce fight 
 was there between his men and those in the city. 
 But neither could prevail ; and Otho, seeing that it 
 was vain to fight, betook himself to treachery. He 
 won over Loyer with fair words, for Loyer would 
 fain have ended the matter honourably ; and Loyer 
 in the end sent an ambassador to Aubry, offering 
 him peace and forgiveness, and bidding him come 
 to a certain place, unarmed, with his chief knights, 
 to make fast their friendship with solemn promises. 
 
 Guy put little trust in Lover's message. Neverthe- 
 less the ambassador with skilful speech persuaded 
 him to go with Aubry to the appointed place ; and 
 with them went also Terry and Heraud. For a 
 day's space they journeyed from Gurmoise, and came 
 at last to Loyer's camp. The Duke and his knights 
 met them, and gave to each in turn his hand and the 
 kiss of friendship. Then he bade his own men do 
 the like. 
 
 "Nay," said Guy, "I will take no kiss of friendship 
 from Otho of Pavia. I will be your friend, lord 
 312
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 Duke ; but with this man I make no terms, neither 
 will I take his pledge." 
 
 "You are a stern man, Guy," said Otho ; "do 
 you never forgive a wrong? See, I am ready to lay 
 aside our enmity." 
 
 And he went towards Guy as if to offer him his 
 hand in friendship. But his movement was a signal 
 to his men. In a moment they drew swords which 
 were hidden under their cloaks, and surrounded Aubry 
 and his knights. To Aubry they did no harm. But 
 Heraud and Terry they overcame and bound, and 
 would fain have done the like to Guy. But he, 
 knowing the falseness of Otho's heart, had been 
 wary ; and when a certain cousin of Otho caught 
 him by the cloak and would have held him, he 
 wrenched himself away, so that the clasp of the 
 cloak was broken, and it fell from him ; and with 
 his empty hand he struck the man so mightily that 
 his neck was broken. Then he sprang aside, and 
 beat off those who would have laid hands on him. 
 He hastened to his horse, which had been left at a 
 little distance when they dismounted to greet Loyer, 
 and leapt into the saddle, Otho's men close upon 
 him. In a moment he was free of them, and galloping 
 off at full speed. They pursued him for a little time, 
 but he pressed his good horse on, and soon left them 
 far behind, so that they gave up the chase and re- 
 turned home. 
 
 Heraud was taken to Lorraine as a prisoner by 
 Loyer, and Terry was cast into a dungeon by Otho. 
 Ozelle, who had come with her lord Terry to the 
 313 
 
 U
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 meeting, was carried to Pavia by force. There Otho 
 bade her make ready to marry him ; all her prayers 
 and tears were in vain, save in that she persuaded 
 him to put off their wedding for forty days. 
 
 When Guy was free of his pursuers, he slackened 
 his horse's speed, and rode idly at a gentle pace. He 
 had little knowledge of that country, and cared not 
 whither he turned, so great was his wrath at Otho's 
 treachery. As he rode, he was aware of a fair castle 
 on a high rock; and seeing that nightfall was nigh, 
 he rode to it, and besought lodging. The lord of the 
 castle came out to greet him, and lo, it was a certain 
 Sir Amys of the Mountain, who many times had 
 fought on Guy's side in tournaments and wars, and 
 knew well his prowess. 
 
 " Sir Guy," said he, " all that I have is yours. Abide 
 here so long as it pleases you, as if you were in 
 your own castle." 
 
 He led Guy into his hall, and set him down to 
 feast, and gave him a silken mantle. Then he asked 
 him whither he fared, and Guy told him all that had 
 lately befallen him. 
 
 " I will aid you," said Sir Amys. " I have many 
 friends, and can speedily gather a host of knights to 
 fight in your cause, to deliver the lady Ozelle, and 
 Sir Terry, and Sir Heraud. Five hundred will come 
 ?t my call." 
 
 "Nay, that were a work of time," answered Guy. 
 
 " I give you thanks, Sir Amys ; but it would take 
 
 overlong to gather five hundred knights as you say, 
 
 and perchance, when we had gathered them, Otho 
 
 3H
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 would slay both Ozelle and Terry before we could 
 come nigh him. What must be done must be done 
 right speedily, and 1 alone can best do it. Grant me 
 lodging and refreshment for the space of a few days, 
 and certain other things which I will require of you ; 
 thus will you lend me greater aid than if you gathered 
 a thousand knights to fight for me." 
 
 So Guy rested and was refreshed for eight days. 
 At the end of that time he made ready to go. He 
 stained his skin as though he had been in the East, 
 and dyed his hair a dark colour, and put on new 
 armour given him by Sir Amys, so that no man might 
 recognise him. Then, taking from Sir Amys two 
 horses, one for himself, and one, very swift of foot, 
 for a purpose which he had in mind, he rode alone 
 to Pavia. 
 
 He came to Otho's castle, and demanded audience 
 of the Duke, and was shown into his presence. 
 
 " Lord Duke," he said, " I would fain take service 
 under you. I have fought in many wars, and will 
 serve you well ; and I have brought hither, as a 
 gift, a fleet-footed horse ; in all the world there is no 
 beast so swift, no, not a leopard, nor a dromedary, 
 nor a roe." 
 
 With that he led in the horse given him by Sir Amys. 
 
 11 It is a good beast," said Otho, when he saw it. 
 41 I need such a one to catch a certain enemy of mine, 
 one Guy. " I thank you for this gift. What shall I 
 give you in turn ? " 
 
 "Sir, 1 ask but a little boon," answered Guy. "Have 
 you not a prisoner named Sir Terry ? " 
 3'5
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 " It is so," said Otho. ' He is my enemy ; and in 
 a little time I shall wed his lady, Ozelle the fair." 
 
 "This Terry, lord Duke, formerly did me a great 
 wrong," said Guy. "I pray you let me slay him." 
 
 This he said, knowing full well that Otho would 
 rather keep Terry in misery and durance than slay 
 him outright. 
 
 " Nay," answered Otho, " he shall not be slain. But 
 he shall be so kept that death will seem a pleasant 
 thing to him." 
 
 "Let me guard him, then, lord Duke," said Guy. 
 "If I be his jailer, he shall truly long for death rather 
 than life in my power. And I would that I could lay 
 hands on this Guy also, your enemy of whom you 
 have spoken, for he aided Terry against me." 
 
 "You shall guard Terry," said Otho, "and I vow 
 that if this Guy comes into my hands, you shall be 
 near him, since you know him so well." 
 
 Guy was shown Terry's dungeon. It was a deep 
 pit, full forty fathoms beneath the castle, with but one 
 entrance to it. Only a Lombard guarded the entrance, 
 and Guy was given authority over him. 
 
 Guy soon set to work. He sent the Lombard away 
 on some message, and went into the dungeon. Terry, 
 loaded with chains, lay in a dark corner, half-starved, 
 and ill-kempt. 
 
 "Terry," said Guy in a low voice. 
 
 "Who is that?" said Terry. "Is it Otho come to 
 jeer at me again ? " 
 
 " It is I, your brother-in-arms, Guy of Warwick,' 
 answered Guy. 
 
 316
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 "Guy, you shall be hanged," said a voice from be- 
 hind. " I heard what you said ; I go to Otho straight- 
 way." 
 
 Guy looked round. In the doorway, which he had 
 left open, stood the Lombard. He had never gone 
 on his errand, for he suspected the new jailer, and 
 had followed him secretly to the dungeon. Even as 
 Guy turned, the man fled in haste. 
 
 " We are lost," said Terry. " Alas that I ever brought 
 you into my quarrels." 
 
 "Nay, I too have a quarrel against Otho," answered 
 Guy. " 1 will save you yet." 
 
 He turned and ran after the Lombard. The man 
 had got a start, and Guy did not easily come up with 
 him. After him he flew, up stairs and along corridors 
 to the hall of Otho's castle, where the Duke sat at 
 meat. As he ran, Guy caught up a staff which he 
 saw lying by a door ; and at the very edge of the 
 Duke's dais he raised the staff, and smote down upon 
 the Lombard so mightily' that the man fell dead at 
 Otho's feet. 
 
 "What is this?" cried the Duke, starting up. "Why 
 have you slain my servant ? " 
 
 Guy knew that his secret was safe now, and he 
 answered with a bold front. 
 
 "The man was a traitor, lord Duke," he said. "He 
 would fain have taken food to Sir Terry ; and when 
 1 turned upon him for it, he fled hither. You are 
 well rid of so false a knave." 
 
 "He would have given food to my prisoner!" said 
 Otho. "I bade him feed Terry but once a day, and 
 317
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 that sparingly. The man did evil ; you have slain 
 him justly, friend. I see that you know how to guard 
 Terry as I wish. See that you treat Guy as you 
 treat Terry, if ever he falls into my hands." 
 
 Guy went from Otho's presence and returned to 
 Terry. He freed him from his bonds, and brought him 
 food and wine. But he bade him abide in his prison 
 till all was ready. Then he sought secret audience of 
 the fair Ozelle, and revealed to her who he was. 
 
 " I will save both you and Terry, lady," he said. 
 "Thus and thus must you do. You must tell this 
 false Otho that you are ready to wed him now, before 
 the forty days you besought of him are ended. On 
 the wedding-day, when you ride in state with him to 
 be married, look for me, and be prepared to flee." 
 
 He left her, and for many days, while the prepara- 
 tions for the wedding were being made, occupied 
 himself with caring for Terry, and bringing back to 
 him the health and strength which he had lost in 
 prison. He sent also certain messages to Sir Amys, 
 that he might help him in his plan. 
 
 The night before the wedding-day, Guy set Terry 
 free, and led him secretly to the city walls. There 
 he had a ladder ready. Terry climbed over and let 
 himself down on the other side. A squire on horse- 
 back was waiting, with another horse for Terry. 
 Terry mounted, and before long was on his way to 
 Sir Amys, a free man once more. 
 
 Guy knew that Otho would not seek to see Terry 
 that night or on the wedding-morn ; the escape would 
 not be known till Guy himself and Ozelle were free ; 
 318
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 and he went to sleep that night with a glad heart, 
 joyful at having saved his friend, and sure ol ven- 
 geance on Otho on the morrow. 
 
 The \vedding-day dawned. All Otho's barons and 
 knights had come to Pavia to do him honour ; and 
 they set out for the church in a great procession, 
 Otho riding in the midst, Ozelle at his side on a fair 
 steed. 
 
 Suddenly there came riding among them the Duke's 
 new jailer, fully armed, with a drawn sword in his 
 hand. Right fiercely he spoke. 
 
 "Stand, Duke Otho," he cried. "There is no wed- 
 ding for you to-day, save only with my sword. Your 
 time is come. I am Guy, whom you have betrayed 
 many times, whose friends you use despitefully, whose 
 body you would fain shut up in your dungeon. 
 Shall I treat Guy even as I treated Terry ? Terry is 
 free, loosed from bonds by my own hand. I too am 
 free, and thus I use my freedom ! " 
 
 With that he swung his sword high in the air. 
 Down, down it fell, and shore Otho's head in twain 
 to the very shoulders. Then, before any man could 
 stop him, Guy seized Ozelle's steed by the rein with 
 one hand, and cleaving a path with his sword with 
 the other, set the two horses at a gallop. Only one 
 man tried to bar his way, Berard, Otho's cousin ; 
 and him Guy struck down and sorely wounded. The 
 rest were too dazed to pursue till it was too late, 
 and Guy bore Ozelle away in safety to Terry, who 
 was awaiting her at the castle of Sir Amys, where 
 they were wedded happily. 
 
 319
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 After the wedding Guy and Terry began to sum- 
 mon men to attack Loyer, Duke of Lorraine, whose 
 prisoner Heraud was. But Loyer, when he heard 
 that Otho was dead, and heard of their plan, repented 
 of his treachery, and freed Sir Heraud without more 
 ado. He made his peace also with Sir Terry, and 
 restored to him all his honours and possessions. 
 
 And now Guy was full weary of righting. There 
 was no adventure in all Europe that could bring him 
 more fame than he had already. He was the chief 
 knight of Christendom, the flower of chivalry; and 
 he knew that Felice would ask no more of him. He 
 longed to see her, and to be at home in England 
 again ; and at last he set out. Through all France he 
 passed, and into Brittany, where he slew a monstrous 
 boar, and thence into England. 
 
 When he landed, he hastened first of all to York to 
 greet King Athelstan ; and Athelstan received him 
 with great honour, and feasted him for many days. 
 Yet one more adventure befell him before he returned 
 to Felice. As he sat with the King one day, there 
 came in haste four messengers from Northumberland, 
 and cast themselves at the King's feet. 
 
 "Sire," cried the chief of them, "we pray you to 
 come to aid us. We are in sore straits. A great 
 dragon has come into our country. U has jour- 
 neyed from Ireland, doing havoc wherever it has 
 passed. It is shaggy and grim to look on, black as a 
 coal, swift as a war-horse, with paws like a lion's. 
 So hard is its hide that no man of us can pierce it. 
 All that it touches it slays. None of us can prevail 
 320
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 against it, for it has wings to fly withal, and cannot 
 l)e harmed. Never was so terrible a beast. Send us 
 some doughty knight, we pray you, sire, for else this 
 dragon will eat all our country up." 
 
 " Sire, I will do battle with this dragon," cried Guy, 
 "God forbid that so many folk should come to harm 
 and sorrow by reason of this one beast. I will com- 
 bat it. It is a worthy adventure for a bold knight." 
 
 " Go, then, Guy. I bid you God-speed," said Athelstan. 
 
 Guy returned with the men of Northumberland, and 
 they led him to the dragon's lair. They had spoken 
 truly of the beast never was so grim a monster. But 
 Guy had no fear of it. He thrust fiercely at it with 
 his spear, and struck it in the side. It was even as 
 the messengers had said ; the spear broke in his hands, 
 without piercing the thick hide. Guy drew his sword, 
 and showered blows on the creature as it sprang upon 
 him. But for all the harm he wrought, he might 
 have been beating the air. 
 
 The dragon grew enraged at Guy's blows. It roared 
 loudly, and lashed its tail with so wide a sweep that 
 it struck Guy, and broke three of his ribs. But the 
 movement gave Guy an opening. He thrust with 
 his sword by the beast's leg, where the hide was thin 
 and tender. The blade bit deep, and as the dragon 
 turned and roared in pain, Guy thrust again and 
 again, leaping to and fro to find some softer spot. 
 The beast became weaker and weaker with its wounds, 
 and at last a great b'ow under the wing slew it 
 altogether. 
 
 Thereafter the men of Northumberland would fain 
 321
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 have kept Guy among them, and held feasts in hu 
 honour. Bui he put them aside, and, in spite of his 
 wounds, journeyed with all speed to Warwick. He 
 found that his father and mother had died while he 
 was warring in Europe. But Earl Rohaud still lived, 
 and Guy went to him and told him all his adventures, 
 begging leave to take Felice to wife, if she would 
 consent. Rohaud could not say nay to the bravest 
 knight in all Christendom, and soon Guy was with 
 his dear lady. 
 
 Guy's fame was spread far among all men, and 
 Felice knew now that there was not his peer among 
 Christian knights. When he asked her hand she gave 
 it him with all love and gladness; and in a little time 
 they were married, with such splendour and rejoicing 
 as was never before seen in Warwick. 
 
 V. The Wandering Palmer 
 
 For a little time Guy lived in great joy and happi- 
 ness with Felice. She bore him a son, to whom the 
 name Raynburn was given ; later, when the boy grew 
 of an age to learn knightly ways, he was put under 
 Sir Heraud, who, in hn old age, taught him the arts 
 of war, even as long ago he had taught Guy. Guy 
 himself could not teach him, for he was once more 
 a wanderer ; and it was in this wise that he came 
 again to leave England. 
 
 On a bright starry night Guy was riding homewards 
 from the chase. He had had good hunting, and was 
 322
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 well content in heart. But as he looked up, and saw 
 the sky thick with stars, his thoughts were changed 
 within him. 
 
 "What is this?" he said to himself. "Do I take 
 pride in hunting the deer and the boar ? It is an 
 idle, profitless life that I lead. Neither ease now nor 
 glory hard-won aforetime avails me at all : my soul is 
 dead within me. I have done hurt to many men ; 
 many have I slain, and many a land burned and 
 destroyed with war, and all for the love of Felice. 
 No glory have I won for God : nothing noble have I 
 sought save fame for my lady's sake." 
 
 He rode home sad and sorrowful. Felice saw his 
 grief, and asked the cause ; and he told her his thoughts. 
 
 "Dear wife, I must leave you," he said. "All my 
 days henceforth will I give to God, in repentance for 
 my heedless life. I will go hence and wander in 
 pilgrimage to many lands, ending my life in humility 
 and peace." 
 
 Felice wept bitterly. Long and eagerly did she 
 seek to turn him from his purpose. But his mind 
 was set. Her words were vain. He garbed himself 
 as a palmer, taking neither sword nor armour, nor 
 any possession save a gold ring which Felice gave 
 him in remembrance of her ; and so he left England 
 once again, and turned his face to go towards the 
 Holy Land. 
 
 He wandered through many countries, visiting holy 
 
 places and doing all things as beseemed a humble 
 
 pilgrim. At last he came to Jerusalem ; and when he 
 
 had paid his vows there, he set out to go to Antioch. 
 
 323
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 It chanced that one day he rested by a wayside 
 well. As he sat there, a pilgrim came by, a man tall 
 and well-built, and, by his mien, of high lineage ; but 
 great sorrow was in his face. 
 
 "Greeting, friend," said Guy. "Whither do you go ? 
 You bear a sad look, as of one in great grief." 
 
 "Truly I am in great grief," answered the stranger. 
 " I am seeking one or other of two valiant knights to 
 do me a service ; they are Sir Guy and Sir Heraud. 
 But I have wandered in every land, and I do not 
 think they are to be found anywhere upon earth." 
 
 " What is your need of them ? " asked Guy. " Per- 
 chance even a humble pilgrim, as I am, may be able 
 to help you." 
 
 " I trow not," answered the other. " But you shall 
 hear my story. Know that I am Earl Jonas, a Chris- 
 tian knight, who, with my fifteen sons, formerly made 
 war on the heathen Saracens. In a fight against one 
 Triamour, a king among the Saracens, we gained the 
 victory ; but we pursued Triamour rashly, and went too 
 far, and were every one of us captured, and became 
 Triamour's servants. Now a little time after this 
 Triamour and his son Fabour were bidden to the 
 court of their overlord, the Sultan of Alexandria ; and 
 Fabour, playing chess with the Sultan's son, roused 
 his anger by his skill, so that high words passed 
 between them, and they quarrelled so fiercely that in 
 the end Fabour slew the prince. Great was the 
 Sultan's wrath thereat ; and he hardly refrained from 
 putting Triamour and Fabour to death without more 
 ado. But he gave them this respite, that within a 
 324
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 year and a day Fabour, or some champion found by 
 him to take his place, should fight with Amoraunt of 
 Ethiopia, a giant who is in the Sultan's service. This 
 Amoraunt is pitch black, and so mighty that ten 
 ordinary men could not prevail against him. Unless 
 Fabour or his champion kills him, both Fabour and 
 Triamour are to die. When Triamour heard this 
 judgment, he was distraught with grief and fear, 
 knowing that Fabour could not overcome Amoraunt, 
 nor could any but the very stoutest knights in all 
 Europe. He asked me if I knew any Christian knight 
 doughty enough to take up the challenge ; and 1 
 answered (alas that I did not keep my words unsaid) 
 that Sir Guy or Sir Heraud peradventure might slay 
 the giant. Then Triamour bade me find one or olhei 
 ot them, within the appointed time. If I come back 
 without Guy or Heraud or some champion equally 
 mighty, or through fear do not return at all, my 
 fifteen sons, whom Triamour holds in ward, will every 
 one of them be put to death. And now there are but 
 a few days before I must needs return, and I have 
 not found a champion. Woe is me : I and all my 
 sons are as good as slain." 
 
 "Long ago," said Guy, "before I put on these pil- 
 grim's weeds, I was a doughty man of war in my own 
 land. I will take up this battle, and slay Amoraunt, 
 and save you and your sons." 
 
 Guy had indeed given up wars and fighting ; but he 
 thought that if he could slay the heathen Saracen, it 
 would be a good deed, and would save the lives of 
 the Christian prisoners of Triamour. 
 325
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Jonas looked askance at his words. He knew not 
 that he was speaking to Guy himself, and thought that 
 this pilgrim, though plainly he was a stout warrior, 
 could by no means be the equal of the great knights 
 whom he sought so vainly to find. Nevertheless, 
 seeing that he had as yet found no man at all to 
 tight for him, he thanked Guy, and took him as 
 Fabour's champion. Together they journeyed to the 
 Sultan's court, and on the appointed day Guy, clad 
 in rich armour given him by Triamour, stood forth to 
 do battle with the giant in a field where the lists 
 were set. 
 
 Amoraunt was a grim figure of a man, black and 
 lowering in mien, and as large in bulk as two ordinary 
 men. " He is a fiend, and no man," said Guy, when 
 he saw him. " Nevertheless I will lay him low." 
 
 They came together first with lances ; but the lances 
 vvere shivered in a moment. Then they fell to with 
 swords. Before long Guy's armour was cleft and 
 hacked in a thousand places, for Amoraunt had an 
 enchanted sword, which no armour could withstand. 
 So fiercely did he fight that he beat Guy to his knees : 
 no man yet in all the world had done so much. Yet 
 Guy fought on, and in his turn pressed the giant 
 hard. All the morning they strove with one another, 
 yet neither prevailed. 
 
 It drew towards noon, and Amoraunt grew thirsty 
 with the heat and long fight. 
 
 " I pray you let me drink at yonder river," he cried 
 to Guy ; for a river ran alongside the meadow where 
 they fought. "If I drink not, I shall die of thirst. 
 326
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 You would not have me slain thus \vhen your own 
 might cannot prevail to take my life." 
 
 " I grant it," answered Guy ; " see that you do but 
 drink, and not rest longer than is needful to check 
 your thirst." 
 
 Amoraunt drank and was refreshed. Then he fell 
 upon Guy so mightily that Guy in turn grew faint 
 with thirst. 
 
 "Yield you, Christian dog," cried the giant, when he 
 saw Guy's plight. 
 
 " Never," said Guy. " I pray you let me drink even 
 as I let you." 
 
 " Nay," answered Amoraunt. " Why should I let 
 you drink ? You are my enemy. I know not even who 
 you are, nor what your name may be. If you will 
 tell me your name, perchance I may find that you are 
 a worthy foe, to be met with all courtesy : then will I 
 let you drink." 
 
 " I am Guy of Warwick," said Guy. 
 
 "Guy of Warwick!" cried Amoraunt. "No mercy 
 shall you have at my hands ; I would not let Guy of 
 Warwick drink so much as one drcp, no, not for all 
 the riches in this land. I will slay you, and mine will 
 be the greatest victory ever won by man." 
 
 With that he attacked furiously. Guy's heart sank 
 within him, for he knew that he was weary, while 
 Amoraunt was refreshed. But he did not give up 
 hope. He sought a cunning means to gain rest. Step 
 by step, little by little, he yielded ground, defending 
 himself stoutly, until he drew near the river. Then 
 suddenly he turned and dived in. 
 327
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Amoraunt stood on the bank waiting for him to come 
 to land again, unless first the weight of his armour 
 should be too great for him to keep above water. But 
 Guy swam easily, and the cool water gave him new 
 strength. As Amoraunt watched, he suddenly dived 
 and swam swiftly beneath the surface, and before the 
 giant could discover where he was, came to land 
 at a little distance. Then he rushed upon his enemy 
 and began the fray again more furiously than ever. 
 
 But now Amoraunt began to lose heart, seeing that 
 Guy had outwitted him and won fresh courage and 
 strength. Weaker and weaker grew his blows ; hardly 
 could he raise the sword to smite, so weary were his 
 arms ; and at last Guy with one blow shore off his 
 right arm, and with the next struck his evil head 
 clean from his body. 
 
 At that a great shout went up from all those who 
 looked on. The Sultan's men would fain have set upon 
 Guy, to avenge their champion ; but the Sultan for- 
 bade them, knowing that the fight had been fairly won 
 by the Christian knight. Triamour and Fabour and 
 Earl Jonas ran to Guy, and fell at his feet, crying out 
 blessings upon him, and giving him unceasing thanks 
 for saving their lives. But Guy would not pay heed to 
 their words. He put them aside graciously, and when 
 he had eaten and drunk and rested, robed himself 
 again in his palmer's weeds, and set out to wander 
 over Europe once more. 
 
 In this guise he roamed into many lands, doing 
 good deeds of kindness wherever he might, and praying 
 unceasingly in penitence for the days when he went 
 328
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 a -warring idly for his own and Felice's glory. He 
 travelled again to Jerusalem, and then to Constan- 
 tinople ; thereafter he went through Hungary, and so 
 at last came into Germany. 
 
 It chanced that one day as he walked he was aware 
 of another pilgrim by the wayside, who made moan 
 and sorry cheer. "Alas, alas," he cried, "would that 
 I might die ! To-day I am disgraced : why have 
 I lived so long?" 
 
 Guy started when he heard the pilgrim's voice. He 
 looked upon him steadily ; it was his friend and brother- 
 in-arms, Sir Terry of Gurmoise. But Guy himself was 
 much changed by his long wanderings, and Terry did 
 not recognise him. 
 
 "What ails you, friend?" asked Guy. 
 
 Sir Terry looked at him narrowly, for he knew his 
 voice ; but he did not recognise Guy. 
 
 " 1 am in sore straits," he answered. " I am he 
 who was formerly known to all men as Sir Terry of 
 Gurmoise. I seek Guy of Warwick, my comrade and 
 brother-in-arms of old. If I do not find him all my 
 goods will be taken from me and I shall be cast into 
 prison." 
 
 " What is your need of Guy of Warwick ? " asked 
 Guy. 
 
 " This is my need," answered Terry. " Berard, 
 the kinsman of Otho of Pavia, whom Guy slew long 
 ago, has ever been my bitter foe. Long has he 
 sought to do me ill, and at last won his end by 
 bringing a false charge against me before our lord 
 the Emperor of Germany, whose vassal we both are. 
 
 329 
 
 X
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 The Emperor put faith in him. But I challenged 
 Berard to fight, to prove his words ; and he was 
 willing, and we fixed a certain day for the fight. But 
 when the Emperor bade me give pledges that I would 
 come forward on that day, no man would stand by 
 me and give his word for me, for Berard has grown 
 powerful and all men feared him. Therefore, since 
 I could give no pledge, my challenge is vain and 
 empty, and all my goods are forfeit. But the Emperor 
 gave me this grace, that I might seek Sir Guy, and 
 bring him on the appointed day as my champion. 
 Long and far have I sought, but have found him 
 not. No man knows where Guy is : it is said that 
 he is wandering alone as a pilgrim, even as you are, 
 fair sir ; but I can hear no tidings of him. I trow he 
 is dead ; if he be, I have lost the truest friend and the 
 best knight that ever lived. But whether he lives or 
 is dead, I cannot find him, and to-morrow shall be 
 cast into misery and disgrace ; I am all undone." 
 
 Guy made up his mind, as he heard this tale, to 
 aid his friend. But he did not wish to reveal himself, 
 for if he did, he would have to fight in his own name 
 as Terry's champion. 
 
 " Heaven will aid you, Sir Terry," he said. " Comfort 
 yourself. See, you are weak and faint with grief and 
 hunger. Rest here by my side, and I will guard you 
 while you sleep. You will gain new strength and 
 hope thereby." 
 
 " I thank you, friend," said Sir Terry. " I will rest : 
 I am indeed very weary." 
 
 He lay down to sleep beside Guy, and Guy sat by 
 33
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 him and watched him as he slept. As he watched, 
 he seemed to see a strange thing. A shape as of a 
 white weasel issued from Terry's mouth, silently and 
 with a quick running step. It halted on the ground 
 beside him, looked round, and darted suddenly towards 
 an ancient rock hard by. Up the face of the rock it 
 ran swiftly, and disappeared into a cleft. 
 
 Guy looked at it in wonder, and when it vanished 
 he was lost in marvel at what he had seen. Suddenly, 
 as he gazed at the rock, the white shape appeared again, 
 and running as swiftly as before, entered once more 
 into Terry's mouth, and disappeared. 
 
 A moment afterwards Terry awoke. " I have slept 
 well," he said ; " yet I dreamed very strangely. I thought 
 I saw before me a wondrous treasure, and by it lay a 
 fair bright sword, such as a knight might take joy in 
 using. Thereafter my dream changed, and I seemed to 
 be in some deadly peril, from which you delivered me." 
 
 " I can interpret your dream," said Guy, when he 
 had thought upon Terry's words and the strange sight 
 he had seen. "First, you shall come into your own 
 again, and Berard's slander shall not harm you. 
 Secondly, it is through me that this shall come to 
 pass. Lastly, I cannot tell what the vision of the 
 sword may mean, unless it be this." 
 
 With that he rose and strode to the rock into which 
 the white weasel had disappeared. He peered into 
 the cleft. There, as he hoped, he saw something 
 shining. He put his hand in and grasped it. It was 
 the hilt of a great sword. 
 
 He pulled the sword out. It was long and well- 
 331
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 tempered and of the finest steel. "It is a goodly 
 brand," he said to Terry. "With this sword I deem 
 that your enemy shall be overcome ; it is a sign from 
 Heaven. Take it, and when I require it of you again, 
 give it to me. Now go : refresh yourself well, and 
 return to the Emperor's court. Fear not : help will 
 come to you against Berard, and you will be saved 
 from disgrace." 
 
 Terry knew not what Guy meant, nor that it was 
 Guy himself who spoke. Nevertheless he obeyed, for 
 there was nought else to do. 
 
 When Terry had gone, Guy himself hastened to 
 the Emperor's palace, and when he had come thither, 
 asked charity, as all pilgrims were wont to do. Meat 
 and drink were willingly set before him, and the men 
 of the court crowded round him to ask him what 
 tidings he bore, for by his pilgrim's dress they saw 
 that he had fared through many lands : and Guy 
 gave them free and courteous answer. At last the 
 Emperor himself spake to him. 
 
 "Pilgrim, you have journeyed through my realm," 
 he said, wishing to hear some praise of himself; "what 
 do men say of me ? Am I a good ruler, think you ? " 
 
 "Sir," answered Gu)', "I know not if your rule be 
 always good and just. But in one thing men say 
 often that you are unjust, in that you have listened 
 to Sir Berard and cast down Sir Terry, a valiant 
 knight whom all men love and honour." 
 
 " Say you so, base knave ? " roared the Emperor, 
 in great wrath. " I rule unjustly ? I wrong Sir 
 Terry ? You shall rue that word ! " 
 33 2
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 "So be it, sire," answered Guy courteously. "Yet 
 I speak truth, and I will uphold it with my life." 
 
 He drew off his glove and cast it down before the 
 Emperor. "There is my challenge, Sir Emperor," he 
 cried. "This man Berard is a false caitiff, and has 
 wronged Sir Terry foully : and that I will do him to 
 wit by force of arms whensoever it may please you. 
 Here will I abide till he takes up my glove." 
 
 Sir Berard was present, and came forward. "You 
 are overbold, pilgrim," he said. " How do I know 
 that you are not some base-born rascal with whom 
 no noble knight may fight ? " 
 
 "There is my glove, Sir Berard," answered Guy. 
 'Take it up, or by my faith and my honour, I will 
 strike you dead here with my open hand. I say you 
 are a caitiff and false, and I will prove it with my 
 sword upon your body." 
 
 "Sir Berard, this is the day when Sir Terry's 
 brother Sir Guy should have met you in arms," 
 said the Emperor. " Sir Terry has come back boot- 
 less from his quest. Will you take this man in Sir 
 Guy's stead, and fight him in proof of your charge 
 against Sir Terry ? " 
 
 " That will I gladly," said Sir Berard, who was no 
 coward, for all his baseness. "Go arm you, pilgrim," 
 he added, turning to Guy with contempt: "soon shall 
 your pilgrimage upon earth come to an end." 
 
 Guy straightway sought out Sir Terry, and told him 
 
 what had befallen ; but he revealed not his own name. 
 
 Sir Terry gave him armour, and the sword which had 
 
 been drawn from the rock ; and Sir Guy went back 
 
 333
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 to the Emperor to do battle with Sir Berarcl. The 
 lists were set in a courtyard of the palace. 
 
 Long and bitterly did they fight. All that after- 
 noon they strove with one another. Sir Berard was 
 as stout a warrior as ever Guy had met, and he 
 could not break down his guard. Evening fell, and 
 they had not made an end ; and the Emperor bade 
 them cease, and fight again on the morrow. Sir Guy 
 he caused to be lodged in the palace. 
 
 But Berard knew that in the end he could not 
 prevail against the strange knight. He cast about in 
 his mind to escape from fighting on the next day, 
 and soon he found a way. That night, when all 
 men were asleep, his servants entered the palace 
 secretly, and came by stealth to Guy's chamber. 
 Guy lay in a deep sleep, worn out with his efforts. 
 Berard's men lifted up his mattress ; he neither woke 
 nor stirred, so sound was his slumber. Then they 
 carried him, mattress and all, and cast him into the 
 sea. But the mattress was light, and floated, and bore 
 him away before they could do him a worse mischief. 
 
 Presently the swell of the waves woke Guy. He 
 opened his eyes. " What is this ? " he said to himself. 
 "I see the stars and the moon above me." 
 
 He put his hand over the edge of the mattress. 
 It touched the water. " Where am I ? " said Guy, 
 sitting up and looking round. Nought could he see 
 but sky and stars and sea. 
 
 "Alas, I am betrayed," he thought. "Now will 
 Berard triumph over Sir Terry. Why did I not 
 watch against treachery ? " 
 
 334
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 But when he had lamented a little, he fell to pray- 
 ing for help in his sore straits ; and his prayer was 
 answered. About dawn he saw a fisherman in his 
 boat at a little distance. He called to him, and when 
 the man came, he told him all, and bade him row to 
 land, promising him great rewards in Sir Terry's name. 
 
 The man obeyed, for the fame of the fight had 
 reached him. Guy came to land safely, and hastened 
 to the Emperor's palace. 
 
 "Justice, sire," he cried, when he came into the 
 Emperor's presence. " Berard has betrayed me." 
 And he told what had happened. 
 
 The Emperor's brow grew dark as he listened. 
 "You spoke truth," he said at the end. "Berard is 
 a caitiff. He shall die. But I ween that you would 
 take joy in fighting him ; and I think you will over- 
 come him." 
 
 "Gladly will I fight him again," answered Guy. 
 "By God's help I will lay him low." 
 
 "So be it," said the Emperor. "You shall fight 
 again." 
 
 Anon came Sir Berard to the courtyard, hoping to 
 find that his enemy had not appeared. Great was his 
 surprise and dismay when he saw Sir Guy waiting 
 for him, a grim smile on his lips. Nevertheless, he 
 put a bold front ^n it, and fell to with might and 
 main. But Guy was vvroth, and anger lent him new 
 strength, while Berard, since his plots had failed, lost 
 courage. Before long Guy beat down his guard, and 
 clove his head, helmet and all, to the shoulders ; and 
 Berard fell dead at his feet. 
 335
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 '' I have upheld Sir Terry's honour," cried Guy. 
 "Now will I reveal myself, Sir Emperor. I am Guy 
 of Warwick." 
 
 At that name no man wondered at Berard's fall. 
 They would fain have feasted Sir Guy, or kept him 
 at the Emperor's court ; and Sir Terry begged him 
 to abide with him for a space. But Sir Guy would 
 take no honours from them, nor would he remain in 
 Germany. 
 
 " I am a pilgrim," he said. " Many journeys have 
 I made to atone for my former vain-glory. Twice 
 have I fought since I wore these weeds, once for 
 Earl Jonas and once for my dear brother-in-arms, Sir 
 Terry ; and each was a just fight. But I will not 
 take up again my old life of jousting and feasting and 
 lighting. I will don my pilgrim's weeds, and fare 
 forth again ; I grow old, and would fain look upon my 
 country and my lady before my time comes to die. I 
 bid you fare well, live justly, and do good deeds : 1 
 go to my own land to end my days." 
 
 With that he went from them, and donned his 
 pilgrim's garb again, and set out for England, where, 
 after many days, he arrived without adventure. 
 
 VI. The Last Fight 
 
 The Danes had come to England in great force, 
 
 and overrun the land. Athelstan the King could do 
 
 nought against them. Anlaf, King of Denmark, 
 
 pressed him sorely, and drove him into Winchester 
 
 33<>
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 and besieged him there ; nor would he raise the siege, 
 he proclaimed, until an English champion was found 
 to meet a warrior named Colbrand, the strongest man 
 in all the Danish army. 
 
 Athelstan was grievously troubled in soul. He covild 
 see no help coming to him from any man, and he 
 prayed earnestly to Heaven for aid. An answer to 
 his prayer was revealed to him in a vision. He 
 dreamed that an angel came to him and gave him 
 counsel. "Go straightway to the ncrth gate of your 
 castle," the angel said. "There you will see one clad 
 in pilgrim's weeds. Take him for your champion. He 
 will deliver you from the Danes." 
 
 The angel vanished, and Athelstan woke. It was 
 morn. When he had risen, he went with all speed to 
 the north gate of his castle. Even as he came to the 
 gate, there entered in one clad in pilgrim's weeds. 
 
 " The angel spoke truth," thought Athelstan. 
 "Stranger," he said to the pilgrim, falling on his 
 knees before him, " I crave a boon of you. I have 
 been warned in a dream that you shall deliver Eng- 
 land from the Danes who so grievously oppress us. 
 I pray you be my champion against them, and fight 
 Colbrand their great warrior." 
 
 " Pray not to me, sire," said Guy, for it was he. " I 
 am an old man, of feeble body. My strength is gene 
 from me." 
 
 But Athelstan did not cease to pray to him, and at 
 last Guy had pity. " For the sake of England I will 
 take this battle on me," he said. 
 
 Then was the King glad and blithe, and thanked Guy 
 337
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 a thousand times. Straightway he sent a messenger to 
 Anlat, saying that he had found a man who would 
 fight for England against Colbrand ; and a certain day 
 was fixed for the battle. 
 
 The Danes made ready for the fray. Colbrand 
 prepared his chain-mail and whetted his sword. So 
 mighty was he in bulk that no horse could carry 
 him. Fierce and terrible was his mien, and his 
 armour was black as pitch. There was no man like 
 him in all the world. 
 
 The day came, and Anlaf and Athelstan rode to 
 the appointed place and plighted their word one to 
 another. If Colbrand won, then Anlaf should possess 
 England and rule it altogether ; but if the 'English 
 champion won, then Anlaf and the Danes should go 
 back straightway to their own country, and never 
 more come to England again. 
 
 Thus they agreed ; and Colbrand came into the 
 lists on one side and Guy on the other. Guy was 
 armed in a good hawberk of fine steel, and a helmet 
 stoutly wrought, with a band of gold on it, set with 
 bright shining precious stones. As he entered the 
 lists he fell on his knees and prayed to God to give 
 him the victory over his country's enemy. But when 
 he saw Colbrand his heart sank never had he met a 
 man who looked so grim and mighty. 
 
 They chose whatever arms they pleased. Guy rode 
 on horseback, but Colbrand met him boldly on foot, 
 and cast at him three javelins. Two went astray, 
 but the third pierced Guy's shield, and passed clean 
 through it between his arm and his side, grazing his 
 338
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 armour, and stuck in the ground beyond, so fiercely 
 was it thrown. Thereat Guy drove at him with his 
 spear, and smote him on the shield ; but Colbrand 
 held firm, and the spear broke into five pieces. Then 
 Colbrand swung his sword aloft, and smote down- 
 wards at Guy's head ; but he missed by a little, and 
 the blade passed between Guy and the saddle-bow, 
 through the saddle, through the very body of the 
 horse itself, cleaving the beast in twain. 
 
 The horse fell, and Guy with it, but he started up 
 at once, and drove at Colbrand with his sword. 
 Down came the blow. It missed the Dane's head, 
 but struck him full on the shoulder, and shore off 
 the armour, and pierced the flesh deep ; the wound 
 was a handbreadth long. As Colbrand felt the smart 
 of it, he lifted his sword in turn, and struck at Guy : 
 so mighty was the blow that it clave Guy's helmet, 
 and burst the gold circlet ; but thereafter it glanced 
 aside, and fell upon Guy's shield. Through the shield 
 it cut, and split it into two pieces, so that it was 
 of no more avail. But Guy struck stoutly back, and 
 smote Colbrand's shield a fierce blow; yet so strong 
 was the shield that the sword did but pierce a little 
 way, and broke short in Guy's hand with the force 
 of the stroke. 
 
 And now Guy had lost both sword and shield, and 
 the Danes began to be well pleased. "Now is Eng- 
 land vanquished," they said one to another. " Eng- 
 land shall be subject to us and be our thrall." 
 
 "Yield you, sir knight!" cried Colbrand. "Sword, 
 shield, and steed, they have all gone from you. Yield 
 339
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 and ask mercy : I will not slay you ; I will lead you 
 to my lord the King, and he will do with you as he 
 pleases." 
 
 Even as he spoke, Guy turned and ran swiftly to 
 the English end of the lists, and seized a great axe. 
 " Have at you ! " he cried, as he came running back 
 with it : " your time is come ! " 
 
 Colbrand struck at him hastily with his sword. 
 But his aim was not true, and the blade missed Guy 
 altogether, and buried itself in the earth a foot and 
 more. As he struck, Guy heaved up his axe, and 
 brought it down on the Dane's shoulder. Through 
 armour it drove, through flesh and bone, and shore 
 off the sword arm, so that it fell to the ground still 
 grasping the sword. 
 
 Colbrand snatched at his sword with his left hand. 
 But he was not quick enough. Before he could do 
 aught, Guy smote him on the neck with his axe so 
 mightily that it struck his head clean from his body, 
 and he fell dead upon the ground. 
 
 Thereat the English shouted for joy. But Anlaf 
 turned away, sad at heart at Colbrand's defeat, and 
 led his men thence. Straight to the sea they went, 
 and embarked in their ships, and sailed to Denmark ; 
 and never more were they seen in England. 
 
 Long and merrily did the English rejoice. They 
 took Guy in triumph to Winchester, and would fain 
 have given him great honour and rewards, but Guy 
 refused everything ; he would not even tell his name 
 to Athelstan until the King promised not to reveal it 
 to any man for the space of a twelvemonth. Then 
 34
 
 44 ' 2>eav Iao& ms bour is come,' <3ug saiD to ber "
 
 Guy of Warwick 
 
 Guy told him and bade him farewell, and journeyed 
 to Warwick, wearing once more his old pilgrim's garb. 
 
 Earl Rohaud was long dead, and Felice ruled 
 Warwick in his stead. All through the long years 
 she had been faithful to Guy. Every day she prayed 
 for his safety, and did acts of charity in remem- 
 brance of him. Thirteen poor men she fed each day, 
 and did many another good deed. 
 
 Guy came to Warwick all unknown. He entered 
 the castle as a humble pilgrim, and sought arms ; 
 and Felice herself ministered to him. When he saw 
 her gentleness and charity, Guy's heart was filled with 
 love and gladness. 
 
 " It is well that I went away," he thought to him- 
 self. " My lady, who was so proud, is become the very 
 flower of love and humility. While I have done 
 penance in my long wanderings, she has turned to 
 good works and charity. So be it : thus will we 
 end our days, continuing good works always. Felice 
 without doubt does not hope to look upon me again, 
 and I have done too much evil and wrong in my life 
 to come into peace and happiness in the days that 
 are yet left to me. I will go hence, and not show 
 myself to her." 
 
 He left the castle, and made his way to a great 
 cliff near by, known to this day as Guy's Cliff. There 
 in a cave he lived a hermit's life, fishing often, and 
 praying to God to forgive him his heedless fighting 
 and slaying; while Felice in Warwick continued in 
 good deeds and charity, so that no one of that day 
 was .her equal in gentleness. 
 3-13
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 So Guy abode for many days. But at last the 
 archangel Michael appeared to him in a dream, and 
 bade him prepare for death. Then Guy called a little 
 peasant boy whom he saw near his cave, and sent 
 him to Felice with the gold ring she had given him 
 when first he set out as a pilgrim. 
 
 "Where did you get this ring?" asked Felice, when 
 the boy gave it to her. 
 
 "A hermit who dwells in the cave on the cliff gave 
 it to me, lady, and bade me bring it to you," he 
 answered. 
 
 " Lead me to him," said Felice. 
 
 The boy led her to the cave, where Guy lay dying. 
 
 " Dear lady, my hour is come," he said to her, as 
 she bent over him. " Farewell." And he kissed her 
 with love and courtesy, and fell back on his couch 
 and died. 
 
 They buried him with pomp and splendour. But 
 Felice could not be consoled. For fifteen days she 
 mourned as if her heart would break, and then she 
 also died, and was buried in the same grave as her 
 lord. 
 
 Raynburn, their son, ruled Warwick after them. 
 Many great deeds did he do, both in England and 
 against the Saracens. Much fame was his. But the 
 fame of no English knight, not even of Guy's own 
 son, was so high and glorious as that of Guy of 
 Warwick. 
 
 344
 
 The Ash and the Hazel 
 
 N former days there lived in the 
 the West Country two knights, 
 ' bold and free, and of substance. 
 All their lives there was closfc 
 friendship between them, and 
 when, about the same time, 
 they each married a lady fair, 
 this friendship did not cease : 
 they agreed that if ever one of them had sons or 
 daughters, the other should stand godfather to them. 
 
 In due time one of the fair ladies bore two fine 
 twin boys. Immediately the father sent a messenger to 
 his friend, commanding him to "go and greet him, 
 and bid him come to me." 
 
 The messenger went, and arrived at the other 
 knight's castle just as men were sitting at meat. He 
 greeted the lord and lady of the place and all their 
 company, on bended knee. 
 
 " My lord," he cried, " I am bidden to tell you to 
 come to my lord, to stand godfather according to 
 your promise." 
 
 " A godfather ! " cried the knight. " That is good 
 hearing. Has your lord a son or a daughter ? " 
 
 "Two sons, sir, God save them," answered the 
 messenger. 
 
 345 
 
 Y
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 The knight was full glad at those tidings, and gave 
 thanks to Heaven for his friend's happiness. Then 
 he bade the messenger say that he would come 
 speedily; and he gave him for himself a palfrey, be- 
 cause of the good news he had brought. 
 
 But the lady of that castle was unlike her lord in 
 goodness and friendship. She was proud and envious, 
 full of bitterness and evil-speaking : nothing she loved 
 better than to speak against the fair fame of others ; 
 and now, since she had as yet no children of her own, 
 she was filled with jealousy and hatred. 
 
 " I wonder, messenger," she said harshly, ere the 
 man left the knight's hall, " that you dare to bring 
 such tidings. Who is the man that counselled your 
 lord to tell such a tale ? A sorry counseller, in truth ! 
 The lady hath not borne twin sons : one is a poor 
 woman's son, that she hath bought and put with her 
 own, the better to please her lord." 
 
 " Wife, what is this ? " cried her husband in great 
 wrath. "Cease your evil-speaking, or I will have that 
 wicked tongue cut out and silenced for ever. Would 
 you do dishonour to my friend's fair name ? Go now 
 from this hall, and repent in your own chamber ! " 
 
 The lady went thence with proud and haughty mien, 
 while her lord strove to make amends to the mes- 
 senger and all the company for her cruel words. They 
 knew her envious nature, and did not believe the 
 slander she had uttered ; and in their hearts they 
 prayed that if ever she bore a child, some misfortune 
 might light upon her, to make her repent of her 
 wickedness. 
 
 346
 
 The Ash and the Hazel 
 
 Before long it befell that she herself bore children, 
 twin daughters ; and at once her former jealous words 
 came to her mind. "Alas!" she cried, "I have 
 spoken to my own hurt. I said evil things of my 
 neighbour, and my cruel words have fallen on my 
 own head. Men will say of my two daughters that 
 which I said of my neighbour's two sons. I must 
 slay one of my own children, and make it seem as 
 though I have borne but one, or I am for ever 
 disgraced." 
 
 She told those of her maids who knew of the birth 
 of her children what she meant to do. But they were 
 aghast at her plan, and tried to turn her from it. 
 In vain did they beseech her, in vain did they rail at 
 her cruelty ; she was resolved to slay one of her 
 daughters before it became known to all men that she 
 had borne two. 
 
 At last one of her maids found a device to prevent 
 such a terrible deed. " Weep no more, my lady," she 
 said. " I will help you, so that you need not slay this 
 innocent child. Give the child to me ; I will take her 
 to a certain place several miles from here, where 
 there is an abbey ; and I will lay the child where the 
 good folk of the abbey will find her. They will surely 
 care for her and bring her up. So will you be rid of 
 this daughter, and yet do her no harm." 
 
 "It is well said," replied the lady. "I give you 
 thanks. But before I send my child away, I will 
 contrive that whosoever finds her shall know that she 
 is born of noble parents." 
 
 She took a long rich mantle that her lord had 
 347
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 brought her from Constantinople, and wrapped the 
 little maiden therein; on her arm she tied a lace of 
 plaited silk, whereto was fastened a ring of fine gold. 
 
 When all was ready, the maid took the little babe, 
 and stole away from the castle at eventide. She 
 passed over a wild heath, and journeyed through field 
 and wood all the long winter night. The weather was 
 clear and cold, the moon shone bright; but ere long 
 she grew weary and sat down to rest till it was morn. 
 
 At last day drew nigh, and she heard cocks crowing 
 and dogs barking. She went towards the sound, and 
 right soon saw walls and windows before her ; it was 
 the abbey which she sought. 
 
 She went to the abbey door, and sank down on 
 her knees and prayed, weeping: "O Lord Christ, 
 who hearest sinful men's prayers, receive this gift ; 
 help this innocent child, that she may be christened 
 and honourably brought up ! " 
 
 As she ended she looked up, and saw beside her 
 and above her an ash tree, fair and high, of great and 
 ancient growth, with many a spreading branch. The 
 trunk of it was hollow ; and she laid the child therein, 
 wrapped in the mantle. 
 
 The sun's light shot up. The birds began singing 
 in the trees. Ploughmen came from within the abbey 
 walls and went to their work. The maid blessed the 
 child, and turned and took her way home again. 
 
 Anon came out the porter of the abbey, busied 
 about his daily tasks. Before long he saw a corner 
 of the rich mantle peeping out of the hollow of the 
 ash-tree.
 
 'Sbe went to tbe abbeg Soor, anD sank Down en ber fcneec.
 
 The Ash and the Hazel 
 
 " What is this ? " he said to himself. " It must be 
 some treasure. Perchance thieves have broken into 
 a rich house, and left their booty hidden here for 
 a time." 
 
 He went to the tree, and pulled out the mantle, 
 and, wrapped in it, the little babe. Home to his 
 house he took the child straightway, and warmed it, 
 for it was nigh dead with cold. Then he went to the 
 lady abbess and told her of what he had found. 
 
 "Go in haste," said the abbess, "and bring the child 
 hither. She is welcome to God and to this abbey. I 
 will help her as much as I can, as if she were my 
 own kinswoman." 
 
 The porter brought the babe, and the lady abbess 
 took charge of her. Anon she was christened, and 
 they gave her the name Le Frame, which is to say, 
 "The Ash," because of the tree in which she was 
 found. 
 
 Le Fraine throve from year to year ; the abbess 
 herself taught her all things, and called her her 
 dear niece. By the time she had grown up, there 
 was no fairer maiden in all England. In due season 
 the abbess told her how she was found, and gave her 
 the mantle and the ring, to keep for herself, if ever 
 she needed to prove her noble birth ; and she abode 
 at the abbey in peace and happiness. 
 
 There was in that country a rich knight, proud, 
 and young, and jolly ; and as yet he had no wife. 
 He was a doughty knight, of great renown, and his 
 name was Sir Gurun. He heard the praises of Le 
 Frnine sounded by those who had been guests at the
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 abbey (for all who came were made welcome there ; 
 it was a place of great riches and plenty), and he 
 vowed that he would see this fair maiden for himself. 
 
 He rode to the abbey gaily dressed, and asked 
 hospitality ; and it was granted him readily. The 
 abbess and her ladies greeted him, and Le Fraine 
 also did him all courtesy. So fair did she seem to 
 him that he fell in love with her at once ; and Le 
 Fraine in her turn was enchanted by his comeliness 
 and grace. Daily he came to the abbey to see her, 
 and at every visit they loved one another more ; and 
 at length, knowing that he might not publicly marry 
 one whose birth was unknown, however fair she might 
 be, he persuaded her to come to him secretly, and 
 be wedded to him in his castle. 
 
 The good abbess wept and moaned when she found 
 her dear charge was gone, but all in vain. Le Fraine 
 had left her, and could not be brought back. She was 
 wedded to Sir Gurun, and lived quietly and in all happi- 
 ness with him at his castle, beloved by him and by rich 
 and poor alike. 
 
 But they had not lived long thus ere Sir Gurun's 
 vassals came to him, and begged him to put Le Fraine 
 away from him ; in spite of her goodness and beauty, 
 they said, she was but a foundling, and no man knew 
 who her parents might be. If she had a son, men 
 would be loath to serve him, for he would not be nobly 
 born on his mother's side. They besought Sir Gurun 
 to take for wife the daughter of a knight who dwelt 
 near : she was fair and bright, they said, and would 
 be a seemly mate for him. 
 35 2
 
 The Ash and the Hazel 
 
 Loath was Sir Gu:u;i to listen to such counsel; but 
 his vassals pressed him sore, and ere long he yielded 
 and made a covenant with his neighbour to wed his 
 daughter ; and anon, with much sorrow, he told Le 
 Fraine of his purpose, and bade her make all things 
 in his castle ready for the new bride. 
 
 The maiden whom Sir Gurun was fain to wed was 
 called Le Codre, which is to say, "The Hazel," for her 
 eyes were as brown as a hazel-nut. All men esteemed 
 hazel more highly than ash ; and when they learnt the 
 new bride's name, they thought little of poor Le Fraine 
 But she, though her heart was well-nigh broken, went 
 about her duties with a smiling face ; never a word 
 of pride or complaint did she let fall from her lips, 
 so that at the great wedding-feast, when all made 
 merry with glee and high jollity, Le Codre herself 
 noted her humble and gracious mien, and loved her 
 well. 
 
 Presently, deeming it right to see that all things were 
 meetly ordered, Le Fraine went into the bridal chamber. 
 She found the bed but poorly set, with no fair covering 
 upon it ; and for love of her dear lord, whose honour 
 she would by no means bring low through any blemish 
 in his household goods, she spread upon the bed the 
 rich mantle wherein she had been wrapped long ago 
 by her mother. Then she left the chamber. 
 
 Scarce had she gone from the bridal chamber when 
 Le Codre and her mother entered it. The mother 
 looked upon the bed, and saw the mantle. She started 
 back, and trembled. 
 
 " Dear mother, what ails you ? " asked Le Codre. 
 353
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 " What mantle is this ? Send me Sir Gurun's cham- 
 berlain. I must know whence this mantle came." 
 
 The chamberlain was summoned, but he had never 
 yet seen the mantle, and could not tell whose it might 
 be. Then they fetched Le Fraine, and asked her if she 
 knew ought of it. 
 
 " Yea, I know this mantle," she said, with glad cheer ; 
 " it is mine. I have long had it, with this ring." 
 
 Le Codre's mother looked stedfastly upon her, and 
 upon the ring and the mantle, and then again upon 
 Le Fraine. "Child," she said at length, "you are my 
 daughter." 
 
 It was indeed Le Frame's mother, who formerly had 
 sent her child out into the world, to be rid of her. 
 
 When Sir Gurun heard all the story, he was filled 
 with joy. " Now will I wed again my dear and true 
 wife," he said ; and he took Le Fraine into his arms 
 before them all. 
 
 So Gurun and Le Fraine came together once more 
 and lived many years happily. Le Codre ere long was 
 wedded to another knight of that country, with whom 
 she too dwelt in all happiness to her life's end : and 
 thus ends the story of the twin sisters bright, the Ash 
 and the Hazel. 
 
 354
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 I. Blanchefleur is Sold 
 
 many years Prince Perse and 
 his wife, the Princess Topaz, 
 had lived and reigned happily. 
 But there was in their lives 
 a great sorrow : they had no 
 child, and they desired one 
 exceedingly. For many years 
 this sorrow lay upon them, 
 until at length they resolved to go on pilgrimage to the 
 shrine of St. James of Compostella, in Spain, to pray 
 there more fervently that their sorrow might be re- 
 moved. The journey was long and dangerous, but they 
 reached the shrine in safety ; and their prayers ere long 
 were answered, and a daughter was born to them. But 
 as they returned through Spain misfortune fell upon 
 them. The Saracen King, Felix, who at that time was 
 ravaging the country, attacked their escort, killed 
 Perse, and carried off Topaz and her child to his own 
 dominions. There he gave them in charge to his wife, 
 \vho had borne a son on the same day as the daughter 
 of Topaz was born. The girl was named Blanchefleur, 
 the boy Floris; and they were brought up together at 
 the court of King Felix from their earliest days until 
 355
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 they were seven years old. There was no fairer boy 
 in the land than Floris, no fairer maid than Blanche- 
 fleur ; and they grew so fond of one another that they 
 wished never to be separated. 
 
 When they were seven years old, King Felix saw that 
 it was time for Floris to learn all that young princes 
 should know. Blanchefleur he would bring up suitably, 
 but as she grew older, the King knew, she could no 
 longer be a companion for Floris. 
 
 " Dear son," he said to Floris, " it is time for you 
 to learn what beseems the prince who is heir to my 
 kingdom. You must give up your playing with 
 Blanchefleur, and learn to do a man's work." 
 
 " Sire," answered Floris, " may not Blanchefleur be 
 taught with me? I can learn nought, neither singing 
 nor reading, without her." 
 
 "Is it even so?" said Felix. "Then because of 
 your great love, dear son, Blanchefleur shall be your 
 companion still." 
 
 So the two were taught together ; and their love for 
 one another grew every day stronger. 
 
 But Felix was troubled at heart when he saw how 
 dear they were to one another ; for he knew that their 
 love would not have grown less when they were older, 
 but rather far greater. Yet for all their love, Blanche- 
 fleur, the daughter of a Christian prisoner, spared by 
 the King's grace, and brought up in her mother's faith, 
 could never wed Floris, who would one day be King 
 among the Saracens. 
 
 " See, dear wife," he said to the Queen on a certain 
 day when Floris and Blanchefleur had been taught 
 356
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 
 together for several years more, " this love between 
 them must cease. The Christian maid shall be put to 
 death, and Floris will forget her, and take such a wife 
 as befits my heir." 
 
 "Nay, sire," answered the Queen, "you cannot slay 
 Blanchefleur ; that would bring shame and dishonour 
 upon us ; and besides, her mother, the Lady Topaz, is 
 ill, and it would be cruel to slay her daughter uow. 1 
 have another plan." 
 
 "Tell me what to do," said King Felix. 
 
 " Let us send our son, Floris, away to my sister in 
 Mountargis. She will be glad to see him, and will 
 speedily win him away from this love of his for 
 Bhinchefleur." 
 
 "It shall be done," said the King; and forthwith he 
 sent for Floris, who came to him with Blanchefleur. 
 
 " To-morrow, dear son Floris," said Felix, " you must 
 go for a space to your aunt in Mountargis. She would 
 fain see you, and I wish you to do her all courtesy." 
 
 At that Blanchefleur cried lamentably, and Floris 
 caught her in his arms. " I cannot go without Blanche- 
 fleur," he said. 
 
 " I cannot send a Christian slave to visit your aunt," 
 said the King. " Blanchefleur is but a prisoner's 
 daughter ; you and your kin are of royal blood." 
 
 But no words prevailed with Floris. He refused to 
 go to Mountargis unless Blanchefleur went ; and in the 
 end they promised that if he would go to Mountargis, 
 Blanchefleur should follow him in fourteen days' time. 
 
 So Floris went to Mountargis, sorrowful and heavy at 
 heart at leaving Blanchefleur. For fourteen days he 
 357
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 abode there in great grief, moaning and making lamen- 
 tation, and taking little food. On the fourteenth day he 
 made merry cheer, for he looked to see Blancheflenr 
 come. But she came not, for King Felix meant to stop 
 their comradeship, and would not let her go. 
 
 When Floris found that she did not come, he doubled 
 his sorrow ; he would take neither meat nor drink, and 
 became so weak and ill that in dismay the chamberlain 
 of Mountargis sent and told King Felix that his son was 
 love-sick almost to death. 
 
 When the King heard how Floris mourned, his 
 anger against Blanchefleur broke out anew. " Bring 
 forth that maiden Blanchefleur," he cried ; " I will 
 strike her head from off her body." 
 
 "For God's love, Sir King," said the Queen, "have 
 pity, and do not kill Blanchefleur. See, here is a way 
 to be rid of her. Even now there are present at the 
 harbour, newly arrived, certain chapmen and mer- 
 chants from Babylon, traders of great wealth. If 
 you offer them merchandise so fair as Blanchefleur, 
 they will give you much store of rich goods in ex- 
 change. So we shall be rid of her without harm." 
 
 Against his will the King did as his Queen advised, 
 and sent for a citizen who was courteous and a 
 cunning trader, and skilled in many tongues, that he 
 might treat with the merchants of Babylon for the 
 sale of Blanchefleur. With them he speedily came to 
 terms, and the price paid for Blanchefleur was twenty 
 marks of gold, and a rich cup the like of which there 
 was not in all the world. On the cup were wrought 
 many devices, and on the handle there was a great 
 ' 358
 
 lR;ng, bave pits, anD &o not hill JSlancbcneuc/
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 
 carbuncle. Once in the old days Aeneas had won 
 this cup at the siege of Troy; and thereafter it lay 
 in Rome till it was stolen from the Emperor by that 
 same rogue who now gave it exchange for Blanche- 
 fleur. Great was the joy of King Felix when he saw 
 this costly cup. 
 
 So Blanchefleur was sold ; and the merchants bore 
 her away in their ships to far-off Babylon, where they 
 sold her to the Admiral of Babylon himself, for seven 
 times her weight in gold. 
 
 Floris, alone in Mountargis, had mourned many 
 days because Blanchefleur had not come. They told 
 him that she was delayed, and made many a lying 
 tale to deceive him. But at length he began to de- 
 spair of seeing her again unless he himself set to 
 work; and he left his lamentations, and rode back 
 to his home in a fury. He came straightway to the 
 King's presence, and as the King and Queen greeted 
 him, without more ado he asked where Blanchefleur 
 was. But tor all his asking they would give him no 
 answer. And he asked the lady Topaz, Blanchefleur's 
 mother, where she was. 
 
 " Prince Floris, in truth I know not," she answered, 
 and fell a-weeping. 
 
 "You lie," he cried. "These tales do but add to 
 my woe. Tell me where my love is." 
 
 "She is dead," said Topaz, and wept more bitterly 
 than ever. She believed in truth that her daughter 
 was no longer alive, for when Blanchefleur was sold, 
 the King had given out that she was dead, and had 
 built a splendid tomb in her honour.
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 At those tidings Floris swooned outright. The King 
 and Queen were sent for ; and as they gazed sorrow- 
 fully on him, Floris came to his senses. 
 
 "Take me to where Blanchefleur lies," he said. 
 
 They took him to the tomb; and at the words 
 graven on it " Here lies sweet Blanchefleur, the be- 
 loved of Floris " he swooned again. For many days 
 he lay ill, half in a swoon, half raving with madness. 
 He would eat nothing, but sat weeping or silent ; ever 
 and again he would start up, calling upon Blanche- 
 fleur's name, and once, in his madness, he came near 
 to taking his own life, had not the Queen prevented 
 him. 
 
 When the Queen perceived that no remedy cured 
 Floris's grief, she went to King Felix, and bade him tell 
 his son all the truth. " I would rather Blanchefleur 
 were his wife," she said, " than that my son should die 
 of sorrow." 
 
 " Dame, you speak truth," answered the King ; " would 
 that we had never gainsaid him ; " and forthwith he sent 
 for Floris, and told him all how Blanchefleur was not 
 dead, for they had sold her to certain merchants of 
 Babylon, who had carried her away overseas. 
 
 " Is this truth, my mother dear ? asked Floris of the 
 Queen, when the King had made an end of speaking. 
 
 "It is true," she answered. "Blanchefleur is not in 
 the tomb, nor in any place in this land." And they 
 took him to the tomb, and put aside the great stone 
 on it, and showed him that it was empty. 
 
 " It is true," said Floris. " Now hear me, my mother, 
 and you, my father. I will not rest night or day, at 
 362
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 
 any time, till I have found my love. I will go seek her, 
 if it be to the world's end." 
 
 The King spoke, and the Queen spoke, but they 
 could not say him nay; and at last they commended 
 him to God, and equipped him to go forth in search 
 of Blanchefleur. They gave him seven horses of price 
 for his gear, two of them laden with silver and gold, 
 two with money to spend on the way, and three with 
 costly raiment, the richest that was in the King's house ; 
 and with them seven knights and seven squires to 
 serve them. Also there went with Floris the King's 
 own chamberlain, a man noble and discreet, to guide 
 and give him counsel. Himself was given a fair white 
 palfrey, with a wrought saddle, and precious stones and 
 a golden fringe upon the saddle-bow. 
 
 "Dear son," said the Queen, when Floris took his 
 leave of her, "take also this ring. While it is yours, 
 fire cannot burn you, nor the sea harm you; neither 
 iron nor steel can do you hurt." 
 
 Forth Floris rode with all his company ; and so began 
 his search for Blanchefleur, his love. 
 
 II. The Quest of Floris 
 
 Before long Floris came to the haven by which the 
 merchants had taken Blanchefleur away to sea ; and by 
 chance he rested for a ' while at the very inn where 
 Blanchefleur also had lain before the merchant set sail 
 with her. Floris called for meat and drink for the 
 chamberlain and all his company ; but he himself would 
 363
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 neither eat nor drink. All his thoughts ran on Blanche- 
 fleur, as he sat apart, heavy-hearted and sorrowful. 
 
 "This is no merchant," said the hostess of the inn 
 to herself, when she saw his grief. "See how he sits 
 apart, fasting, and mourns to himself." And out of 
 kindness she spoke to him. "Sir, you are sad," she 
 said. " Even thus, as you do, did that fair maid, 
 Blanchefleur, sit and mourn, but a few days ago. 
 There were merchants here, who carried her away 
 to Babylon; and I vow that you lament just as she 
 lamented, though you are a man and she a maid." 
 
 Floris' heart leapt with gladness when he heard the 
 name of his love. He filled a rich cup with wine, and 
 gave it to the hostess. 
 
 "Dame, this is yours, both cup and wine," he said, 
 "for you have spoken of my dear lady. On her run 
 all my thoughts, for her I grieve, and her I seek 
 continually; neither wind nor weather shall stay me 
 till I find her again." 
 
 Floris lay at the inn that night, and dreamed hap- 
 pily of Blanchefleur. As soon as it was day he rose, 
 and took his leave of the kind hostess, and set sail 
 with good hopes for the port of Babylon. 
 
 When he came to the port, once again good fortune 
 befell him, for the keeper of his inn 'soon learnt his 
 errand from his sad demeanour, and gave him fresh 
 tidings of Blanchefleur. But the tidings were ill. 
 Blanchefleur had been sold, he said, to the Admiral 
 of Babylon, who desired to make her his queen : 
 she was kept among his maidens, in the tower of 
 his castle. "And for your goodness, sir," said the 
 364
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 
 innkeeper, " I will help you. When you come to 
 Babylon, you will see a great bridge, and a warden, 
 Sir Daris, at the gate of it. He is a courteous and 
 ready man, mine own friend, and he will serve you 
 well, as if it were myself, if you but give him this 
 ring for a token from me." 
 
 Floris took the ring, and set out once more. By 
 noon of that day he came to the bridge, and found 
 Daris as the host of the inn had said. 
 
 " Rest you merry, Sir Daris," he said and gave him 
 the ring. 
 
 Daris knew the token, and took Floris to his house, 
 and entertained him richly, with all his company. 
 But Floris eat and drank but little, for the thought 
 of Blanchefleur was in his heart. When Sir Daris 
 saw that he was sorrowful, he asked the reason. 
 
 " I am thinking of certain wares of mine," answered 
 Floris, veiling his true meaning at first, through cau- 
 tion. " I have come hither to find them ; and I know 
 not whether I shall find them, or, if I do find them, 
 whether I shall not lose them wholly." 
 
 Daris saw that something was hidden from him ; 
 but he answered courteously : " I would fain hear all, 
 sir : it would be better if you told me your grief 
 truly." 
 
 Floris trusted Sir Daris, and he told him all his 
 story. " I will find my lady, and rescue her, whatever 
 befall," he ended. 
 
 "You speak rashly," said the warden of the gate. 
 "You seek your own death. The Admiral of Babylon 
 is so mighty that more than a hundred great kings 
 365
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 are his vassals ; and the richest and greatest of them 
 all durst not try such a deed as you have vowed to 
 do. This city of Babylon, at the gate whereof we 
 now are, is as large as many other cities put to- 
 gether. It is sixty miles round ; twenty strong towers 
 are set round its walls, each great enough to contain 
 a market-town. Even if all the men on earth had 
 vowed to aid you, you might as easily steal the sun 
 and moon from the high heaven as Blanchefleur from 
 the Admiral of Babylon." 
 
 " Nevertheless I will do it," said Floris. 
 
 "Will you so?" said Sir Daris. "Hear now con- 
 cerning the castle where Blanchefleur lies. It is set 
 in the very midst of Babylon, and is a thousand 
 fathoms high ; its walls are of limestone and marble, 
 which no sword can cut. No man can come at it 
 without being seen, and neither torch nor lantern is 
 needed at night ; for in a cupola on the top of the 
 castle is a great carbuncle, that blazes and shines both 
 by day and by night : at night it is as bright as day, 
 and by day the carbuncle outshines the very sun. 
 Within the castle are kept always forty-four maidens, 
 strictly guarded, and one of them is Blanchefleur. 
 By our religion the Admiral may have many wives; 
 and every year he chooses from these forty-four 
 maidens a new wife, in this wise. There is in the 
 castle a fair orchard, wherein many birds sing ; it is 
 girt with a wall of precious stones, whereof the least 
 precious is crystal. In the midst of the orchard is an 
 enchanted well, wherefrom a stream bubbles perpet- 
 ually : it is said that the stream comes from Paradise
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 
 itself. The maidens may wash in this water ; but if 
 any woman that is married comes thereto, the water 
 boils with a screaming sound, and turns as red as 
 blood. Nigh this well stands a tree, the fairest that 
 may be on earth : it is called the Tree of Love, and 
 on it grow many blossoms. When the time is come 
 for the Admiral to choose a wife, the maidens are 
 brought to the orchard ; and when they have been 
 tested by the water of the well, they are led one 
 by one under the Tree of Love. The first on whom 
 a blossom falls from the tree is chosen to be the 
 Admiral's wife. But it is said that this choice is not 
 of chance only ; if there be any maiden whom the 
 Admiral loves especially, on her he causes a blossom 
 to fall ; and men say that this year it will assuredly 
 fall on Blanchefleur." 
 
 Floris had looked for many dangers in his search 
 for Blanchefleur ; but what Daris told him made him 
 almost despair ; and when the warden ceased speaking, 
 he fell suddenly into a swoon. 
 
 The good Sir Daris raised him up, and had him 
 cared for ; and when Floris came again to his senses, 
 the first words that he spoke were, " Sir Daris, I die 
 if you will not help me to win Blanchefleur." 
 
 " I like it not," said Sir Daris. " But I will rack my 
 brains to find a plan for you." 
 
 Before long he had thought of a plan. "You must 
 put on the garb of a mason," he said to Floris, "and 
 go to the castle, and look stedfastly upon the measure- 
 ments of it. Presently the warden of the castle will 
 r-otne to you, a fierce and cruel man ; he will take you 
 367
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 for a spy, and speak roughly to you. Do you answei 
 with gentleness and courtesy, saying that you are a 
 mason from a far country, bidden to make a castle like 
 this one, whereof the fame has spread into all lands. 
 The warden will then speak more courteously, and will 
 ask you many questions : answer him in friendly sort ; 
 and presently (for he is a crafty and avaricious fellow) 
 he will propose to play you at chess, in the hope of 
 winning money from you. Let him win, and lose a 
 wager of twenty marks or so on the game ; that will 
 make him desire to see more of you. On the next day 
 play with him again, and lose thirty marks, and let him 
 see a certain rich golden cup which you have. His 
 greed will make him long for this cup, but you must 
 refuse it to him, saying that it is very precious. On the 
 third day go to him yet again, and this time you must 
 give him the golden cup. You must make him alto- 
 gether your man by this gift ; he will do anything for 
 riches ; and if you show him thus that you are both rich 
 and generous, he will serve you well, and you may use 
 him to get into the tower where your lady lies. I can 
 give you no other plan than this. If you get into the 
 tower, you must trust to your own wits for the rest." 
 
 " I thank you heartily, Sir Daris," said Floris ; and 
 forthwith he set about carrying out this plan. In every 
 point he did exactly as Daris had said, until at last the 
 warden of the Admiral's castle vowed that he would 
 serve him in any way he pleased. 
 
 "You are my man, then," said Floris. "I trust you, 
 and you must help me thus and thus ; " and he told the 
 man his errand. 
 
 368
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 
 " Alas, I am betrayed," said the warden of the castle, 
 when he heard what Floris wished. " I am in sorry 
 case ; I have vowed to help you, and must do so, but 
 it will be to my death." 
 
 But Floris spoke him fair and soft, and promised him 
 yet greater rewards in return for his aid. 
 
 " I have great fears," said the man at last. " But I 
 will help you, none the less. Give me three days to 
 think of a plan ; go you to your inn for that space." 
 
 In three days Floris came again, and the warden of 
 the castle took him to a private room. There he 
 showed him a great basket, bigger than a man, filled to 
 the brim with flowers. "These flowers," he said, "I 
 have caused to be gathered from the meadows. They 
 are for the maidens' bowers, and I have to send them 
 many baskets like these from day to day. Now get you 
 into this basket, and try whether you can be seen in it 
 or not." 
 
 Floris crept into the basket, and they found that if 
 flowers were strewn upon him he was wholly hidden. 
 Then the warden covered him up, and summoned two 
 stout slaves, and bade them carry the basket to Blanche- 
 fleur's tower. 
 
 The slaves took up the basket, grumbling at the 
 heaviness of ii They bore it into the castle, but at 
 every step the weight pressed on them more, and 
 seemed heavier and heavier. So weary did they become 
 that at last they set the basket down in the first chamber 
 they reached, and left it there. 
 
 Now this chamber belonged to a maiden named 
 Clarice, who chanced to be very dear to Blanchefleur. 
 369
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 She was alone when the basket was brought in. At the 
 sight of the flowers, she rose and went towards them, 
 to admire their loveliness more closely. As he heard 
 her footstep near the basket, Floris, half stifled by the 
 flowers, and eager to see (as he hoped) his lady love, 
 lifted his head and shoulders, and sat up, the flowers 
 falling off him. 
 
 At that strange sight Clarice gave a loud cry ; and 
 in a moment the sound of footsteps drew near. The 
 other maidens had heard her cry. 
 
 " Now my life is not worth a straw," thought 
 Kloris. But he crouched down in the basket again, 
 and covered himself with the flowers, thinking that 
 even now he might remain hidden, if the maiden had 
 mercy on him. 
 
 Clarice was kind-hearted, and knew that it meant 
 death to this stranger if he were caught. She made 
 a reassuring sign to him, and as her friends came 
 running in, she began to laugh at their questions and 
 (ears. 
 
 "It is nought," she said. "This basket of flowers 
 has just been brought for me, and I went to look at 
 it. As 1 stooped over it, a great butterfly suddenly 
 flew out into my face and so startled me that I cried 
 aloud." 
 
 The maidens in turn laughed at the reason for her 
 cry, and left her. Then Clarice went once more to 
 the basket, and bade Floris come out; and in a little 
 while she had heard from him all his story. 
 
 " I will aid you," she said, and ran to Blanchefleur's 
 chamber. 
 
 37
 
 'tfioris sat up, tbe flowers falling off bim/
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 
 "Come, Blanchefleur," she said, " a fair and wondrous 
 flower has been brought to me, and I would fain show 
 it to you." 
 
 " Do not mock me with your flowers," said Blanche- 
 fleur. "Nought can give me joy when I know this 
 the Admiral is minded to make me his wife : I know 
 this without doubt; he will cause the blossom of the 
 Tree of Love to fall first on me. Ah ! why was I 
 ever born ? I am the most unhappy maiden in the 
 world ! Floris has forgotten me, and I must wed 
 this terrible Admiral. But Floris has my heart, and 
 I can love no other." 
 
 Clarice smiled at those words. "Come now and 
 see my flower," she said, and took Blanchefleur by 
 the hand, and led her to Floris. 
 
 No man can tell of the joy of those two at their 
 meeting. They thought of nothing but that they were 
 together again, and hardly heeded Clarice at all. 
 
 " Is it not a fair flower, dear friend ? " asked Clarice. 
 "You would not come to see this flower a minute 
 ago, and now you will not let it go from your 
 arms." 
 
 But at that moment she remembered that it was 
 the hour when she and Blanchefleur were appointed 
 to serve the Admiral with water and comb and mirror 
 for his toilet. 
 
 " Alas, we are undone ! " she cried. " But I will 
 none the less go to the Admiral, and make some 
 excuse for you, Blanchefleur." 
 
 She went to the Admiral. But when he saw not 
 Blanchefleur, whom he loved so fiercely that he was 
 373
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 minded to make her his wife, he asked angrily where 
 she was. 
 
 "My lord Admiral," answered Clarice, "Blanche- 
 fleur has fallen ill through regard for you. All last 
 night she sat at a book of devotions, and read it, 
 and thought upon you, so that to-day she is utterly 
 wearied, and is sleeping." 
 
 " Is it indeed as you say, Clarice ? " asked the Admiral. 
 
 "Yes, my lord; she is overcome with joy at finding 
 favour in your sight, and would fain spend all her 
 time in thinking of you." 
 
 " It is well," said the Admiral. " I shall do wisely 
 to make her my wife. But see that she comes with 
 you when next I need you." 
 
 With that Clarice withdrew, and returned to Floris 
 and Blanchefleur, and told them of the Admiral's 
 words. But they could think of no plan to escape. 
 
 Presently again came the hour for Clarice and 
 Blanchefleur to wait upon the Admiral. Clarice was 
 alone at the time, and went by herself to the Admiral, 
 expecting to find Blanchefleur there already. But 
 Blanchefleur was not with the Admiral, who asked 
 at once where she was. 
 
 Clarice was taken by surprise ; she had warned 
 Blanchefleur of the Admiral's command that she 
 should come without fail. She could utter never a 
 #ord of excuse. 
 
 "What, you know not where she is?" cried the 
 Admiral, seeing that she did not answer : " I will 
 look into this ! " 
 
 With that he drew his sword, and rushed from his 
 374
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 
 chamber. Straight to Blanchefleur's bower he went, 
 and threw the door wide open, and discovered Floris 
 and Blanchefleur together, aghast with fear at his sud- 
 den coming. 
 
 "Tell me now, young sir," roared the Admiral, 
 " who made you so bold as to creep into my castle 
 among my maidens ? It is an ill day for you that I 
 find you here : you shall die ! " 
 
 Forthwith he summoned his guards and ordered 
 them to bind both Floris and Blanchefleur, and cast 
 them into a dungeon. Then he sent forth messengers, 
 and bade all his barons and earls and vassals come 
 speedily to his castle, to a great council ; and when 
 they were come, he told them all that had happened, 
 and asked what punishment should be given to Floris 
 and Blanchefleur. 
 
 Up stood a free burgher. " Let us see and hear these 
 two, Lord Admiral," he cried, " before we condemn 
 them." 
 
 "Nay," said the King of Nubia, "they are felons; 
 burn them at the stake without more ado." 
 
 They debated long as to what was meet to be done. 
 In the end they decided to put Floris and Blanchefleur 
 to death by burning, and to send for them straightway, 
 that their sentence might be told to them by the Admiral 
 himself. 
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur were brought into the council 
 chamber weeping bitterly. As they came Floris took 
 from his finger the magic ring given him by his mother, 
 whereby no hurt could come to him, and gave it to 
 Blanchefleur. 
 
 375
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 " Dear Blanchefleur," he said, " take this ring and 
 wear it. While it is on your finger no hurt can come 
 to you. So shall you be saved ; I must needs die, for 
 I have brought about my own fate. I fear not even 
 death, so as you be safe." 
 
 " I cannot take it, Flons," answered Blanchefleur. 
 "Without you I cannot live ; if you die, then will I die 
 also." 
 
 As they spoke, they came into the council chamber, 
 and by chance the ring was dropped. A certain 
 Duke among the Admiral's vassals picked it up ; he 
 had heard how each had refused to live if the other 
 died. 
 
 "Floris and Blanchefleur," said the Admiral, "it is 
 decreed that you both be burnt at the stake. You, 
 Floris, tell me if there is any reason why you should 
 not die." 
 
 " Lord Admiral," answered Floris, " I have deserved 
 death at your hands by working secretly against you. 
 Slay me if you will. I am ready to die. But I be- 
 seech you spare this my lady Blanchefleur." 
 
 "Nay, my lord," cried Blanchefleur, "slay me, but 
 spare Floris ; or if you must slay him, let me too die." 
 
 "You shall both die," cried the Admiral, in a rage at 
 their love for one another ; and he drew his sword to 
 kill them where they stood. 
 
 "Hold, Lord Admiral !" said a voice; and the Duke 
 who had picked up the enchanted ring came forward. 
 
 "One of them could have been saved," he cried, "yet 
 neither was willing to live alone. Here is an enchanted 
 ring which would have saved one of them." And he 
 376
 
 Floris and Blanchefleur 
 
 told how he had heard Floris and Blanchefleur talking 
 together, and had picked up the ring when they dropped 
 it. "Have pity, my lord," he said. "Their love is so 
 great that they should be spared. Only let them tell all 
 their story, and see if there be not room for pity when 
 you have heard it." 
 
 The Admiral looked on Floris and Blanchefleur. 
 Never in the time of prosperity did Floris look so fair 
 or Blanchefleur so sweet as now they seemed in their 
 sadness. He saw many a man among his vassals weep- 
 ing at the sight of them ; and since he himself had loved 
 the fair maid so dearly, he let his sword fall, and turned 
 his head away weeping. 
 
 "Tell me how you came hither," he said to Floris, 
 after a space ; and Floris told all the story of their love, 
 from the day when first he was sent away from Blanche- 
 fleur to his aunt in Mountargis. 
 
 "Your love has been great," said the Admiral, when 
 Floris had made an end. "I pardon you, and I will 
 raise you to great honour." 
 
 He bade Floris kneel before him, and dubbed him 
 knight before all his vassals. Then he said to him, 
 " You are a King's son ; sit on my right hand. In a 
 little time you shall be wedded to Blanchefleur ; and for 
 her sake, since she is a Christian, I and all my people 
 will become Christians also. I will give up the having 
 of many wives, and will have but one ; if it please her, 
 I will wed the lady Clarice. Now let us hold festival 
 and merry cheer." 
 
 Many a day did they revel and make merry ; and at 
 the end the Admiral married Clarice, and Floris, having 
 377 
 
 AA
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 been baptized into the Christian faith, married Blanche- 
 fleur. Then Floris and Blanchefleur departed to go to 
 their home ; and when King Felix died, they ruled in 
 his stead, and lived many years happily and in the fear 
 of God.
 
 Amys and Amylion 
 
 WO barons dwelt formerly in Lom- 
 bardy, close together, lords of 
 high lineage, princes in town 
 and tower. Each had one son, 
 born on the same day. The 
 name of one boy was Amys, of 
 the other Amylion ; there were 
 none fairer alive, so courteous, comely, and good were 
 they. As if to strengthen the friendship that stood 
 between their fathers, they were wonderfully alike in 
 face and in figure ; and by the time they were twelve 
 years old, not even their own kin could tell one from 
 the other of them, save by the different hue of their 
 clothes. 
 
 It chanced that one year the Duke of Lombardy 
 held a rich feast, lasting fourteen days, and bade 
 thereto all his vassals and lords and barons. These 
 two barons were summoned, and took their sons with 
 them, and joined in the mirth and minstrelsy of their 
 lord. All the court saw how fair the two boys were, 
 and marvelled at the likeness between them ; and be- 
 fore the feast ended the Duke himself called their 
 fathers, and asked that Amys and Amylion might be 
 put in service with him, to be his pages, to learn the 
 379
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 ways of knighthood, and afterwards to be knighted if 
 they proved worthy. They readily agreed to this, and 
 Amys and Amylion remained at the Duke's court, and 
 were taught together, and grew to love one another 
 yet more closely. 
 
 When they came to man's estate, the Duke knighted 
 them, rinding them worthy of honour in all ways of 
 courtesy and knightly deeds ; and they swore to each 
 other to be thenceforth brothers-in-arms, and to help 
 each other at need from that day forward, in weal or 
 woe, in wrong or right, in will and in deed, in word and 
 work, so long as they lived. 
 
 Very soon the Duke gave them posts of honour at 
 his court. But there was one who was jealous of the 
 favour he showed them the chief steward, a doughty 
 man in battle, but fierce and treacherous in his 
 hatreds and dislikes. 
 
 It chanced within a year of their knighthood that 
 the father of Sir Amylion died, being old and feeble ; 
 and his vassals sent messengers asking Amylion to come 
 among them and rule over them. Amylion knew that 
 it was his duty to go ; but he was loath to leave 
 Amys. Nevertheless, he made up his mind to depart, 
 and bade Amys farewell tenderly. But before he went 
 he caused two cups of gold to be made, of great 
 price, curiously wrought, and as like to one another 
 as Amylion was to Amys. One he kept himself; the 
 other he gave to Amys, saying, " Keep this cup in 
 memory of me, dear brother. God speed you : be 
 true to me, and I will be as true to you. If ever you 
 need a friend, remember our oath of brotherhood, 
 380
 
 Amys and Amylion 
 
 and come to me or send a messenger to me, and I 
 will aid you with all the power of my lands." 
 
 " Farewell, Amylion," answered Amys. " I will be 
 true to you. Never will I let this cup go from me. 
 Whenever I look thereon I shall think of you." 
 
 So Amylion departed to his own lands, and married 
 a wife there, and dwelt happily ; and Amys abode 
 with the Duke, making sorry cheer when his brother- 
 in-nrms was gone. 
 
 But the false steward was glad when Amys was left 
 alone. He cast about for means to do him hurt, 
 but found none ; and he knew that if he wronged 
 Amys without a cause, the anger of the Duke and all 
 his court would fall heavily on him. But he soon 
 found a way to pick a quarrel. 
 
 "You grieve because your broth er-in-arms is gone," 
 he said to Amys one day, with all courtesy and 
 seeming friendliness. "So do I, for he was a fair 
 and goodly knight, and all men loved him. But take 
 comfort ; there are others who may be your friend as 
 well as he. Take me for your brother-in-arms, and 
 plight your word to me. You will find me a truer 
 friend than Amylion." 
 
 " Nay, that may not be," answered Amys. " I gave 
 my word to Amylion, and can be comrade in like 
 manner to no other man. No man can be so true as 
 Amylion." 
 
 The steward had looked for some such answer as 
 this. Nevertheless he fell into a rage at the slight 
 which seemed to be pat upon him. "Traitor! Base 
 knave 1 " he cried in wrath. " You will rue this day.
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 I warn you, from now I am your foe, by day and by 
 night, without ceasing," 
 
 " I care not a sloe for your enmity," sa>d Amys. 
 " Do what you please." 
 
 The steward went from him, his hatred of Amys 
 increased a thousandfold by the quarrel. Before 
 long he carried out a plot against him. 
 
 The Duke had one daughter, Belisaunt, of marriage- 
 able age, very fair to look on. Many earls and barons 
 and knights sought her hand, but she would 
 wed none of them ; for it chanced that a little while 
 before the steward quarrelled with Amys, she asked 
 her maidens who was the doughtiest knight at the 
 Duke's court ; and they answered with one accord 
 that Amys had no peer among them all for valour 
 and comeliness. Thereupon she looked with favour 
 upon Amys, and little by little fell deep in love with 
 him. So strong was her love that she felt as if her 
 heart would break if she could not wed him ; her 
 cheeks grew pale, all her mirth was lost, and she 
 looked like one stricken with wasting sickness. All 
 the court saw her sorry cheer, but none knew the 
 reason of it. 
 
 On a certain day the Duke went a-hunting. Amys 
 was left behind in charge of the palace, and he went 
 to sit in a little garden full of shady trees. The sun 
 shone bright through the boughs ; birds great and 
 small sang merrily, and all was fair and pleasant to 
 look on. 
 
 But it chanced that Belisaunt also came to walk in 
 this garden, and saw Sir Amys sitting under a tree. 
 382 '
 
 Amys and Amylion 
 
 She bade her maidens leave her, and went to Amys, 
 and sat down by his side. He greeted her courteously, 
 but knew not why she sought him out until she 
 suddenly began to tell him of her love. 
 
 "Sir knight, hear me," she said. "I have set my 
 heart upon you ; I think of nought but you, day and 
 night. I pray you wed me ; I will plight my troth to 
 you, and be true to you till God and death do part us." 
 
 Amys was filled with wonder. He answered gently, 
 "Bethink you, sweet lady, I am but a simple knight. 
 No king's son, no emperor is too high or too proud 
 to wed you. You do wrong to talk of love to one so 
 lowly as a knight." 
 
 But Belisaunt pleaded with him long, and at last he 
 yielded a little. "Dear lady," he said, for she was 
 very fair, and he would fain have given her his love 
 in return, if he had been of her rank, "you ask a 
 hard thing ; yet I am almost persuaded to grant it. 
 Give me seven days that I may think upon it ; on the 
 seventh day will I answer you." 
 
 " So shall it be," answered Belisaunt. 
 
 The seven days passed. But Belisaunt seemed 
 unable to hide her joy (for she felt sure that Amys 
 would yield), and her happiness showed itself in her 
 face. All her paleness and sorrow left her, and she 
 became lovelier than ever, so that the court marvelled 
 at the change in her. The steward also noticed that 
 her health had been suddenly restored to her, and he 
 watched her closely. All her looks, he saw, were bent 
 on Amys. If Amys was in the same chamber, her face 
 lit up with joy and gladness; if he was absent, she 
 383
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 seemed sad and weary. But Amys looked as if some 
 great matter hung heavy on his mind. 
 
 The seventh day came. The talse steward, still 
 watching, saw Belisaunt go to her chamber with a 
 look on her face as if she were going to some great 
 happiness. In a little while Amys followed her. The 
 steward stole after them, and contrived to enter the 
 chamber unseen, and hide himself behind the tapestries 
 that covered the walls; there he listened to their 
 words. 
 
 "It is the seventh day, Amys," said Belisaunt. 
 "What is your answer?" 
 
 "Dear lady, I would gladly wed you," answered 
 Amys, "but my lord the Duke would have none of it. 
 He would slay me if I so much as asked him for your 
 hand. I am but a poor knight. If I were king of 
 this land, rich in gold and silver, then might I hope 
 to win you." 
 
 " Will you for ever be saying nay ? Can you not 
 set aside your fears, and be bold, and claim me for 
 wife? Poor though you be, yet I have riches enough 
 for both. 1 pray you marry me, or I shall die." 
 
 " Lady Belisaunt, you have won all my love," 
 answered Amys. "I will wed you; the Duke himself 
 shalt not say me nay." . 
 
 And he took her in his arms and kissed her. 
 
 The steward had heard enough. He knew that no 
 bold words would save Amys from the Duke's wrath 
 when he heard what had come to pass. The Duke 
 looked for some king or great prince to wed his 
 daughter ; he would scorn a humble knight. 
 384
 
 ( &be raise steward listened to toetv
 
 Amys and Amylion 
 
 No time was to be lost. The steward went at once 
 to the Duke. 
 
 "Lord Duke," he said, "is not your daughter a 
 maid of great price ? Have not princes and kings 
 sought her hand ? " 
 
 " It is even so," answered the Duke. " But what 
 mean you by this talk, Sir Steward ? " 
 
 " Shall a plain knight win her in marriage ? " 
 
 " Nay, that may never be. Belisaunt is for no 
 knight ; she must look for a greater man." 
 
 " I tell you, lord Duke, that even now she is with 
 a knight of your court, and he has vowed to wed her. 
 Sir Amys is his name." 
 
 " Sir Amys ! " said the Duke. " Ah, have I trusted 
 him too well ? I have advanced him in my favour, 
 and he repays me thus ! " 
 
 He started up from his seat, and rushed from his 
 chamber, drawing his sword as he ran. Ha met 
 Amys coming from Belisaunt, and made at him as if 
 to slay him. 
 
 Amys was unarmed, and he could not resist. He 
 turned and fled down a long passage and into a room 
 at the end, slamming the door quickly just as the 
 Duke struck at him. The sword missed him, and 
 pierced the panel of the door, and stuck fast there, 
 buried deep in the wood. 
 
 When Amys saw that the Duke co'jld no longer 
 harm him, he came forth. 
 
 " What evil have 1 done, my lord ? " he asked, with 
 all reverence and courtesy. 
 
 " You have sought to wed my daughter, presump- 
 387
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 tuous knave," cried the Duke in wrath. " You shall 
 die." 
 
 In a moment all Amys' brave resolves were for- 
 gotten ; he remembered only once more that he was 
 a humble knight, and Belisaunt a great lady whose 
 love he durst not seek. 
 
 " It is false, my lord Duke," he answered. " I am 
 too lowly to beg the hand of the lady Belisaunt. Who 
 brings this charge ? I will prove my words upon his 
 body in single combat ! " 
 
 " My steward brings it. You shall answer him with 
 the sword, since you wish it. Come now, and you 
 and he shall give pledges that you will tight together 
 on a certain day. In fourteen days from now shall 
 you fight." 
 
 The steward easily found a score of men to pledge 
 their word that he would not shrink from the fight. 
 But when it was known that it was with the steward 
 that Amys was to fight, no man durst stand up for 
 him, for the steward was known to be both crafty 
 and powerful, and quick to take vengeance on his 
 enemies or the friends of his enemies. 
 
 "Will no man give a pledge for Sir Amys?" said 
 the Duke. " Then he cannot fight the steward ; or 
 if he must fight, he must abide in my dungeon till the 
 appointed day, since he can give no surety that he 
 will fight if I let him go free." 
 
 But Belisaunt heard her sire's words. "Never shall 
 
 he be cast into a dungeon," she cried. " I and my 
 
 lady mother the Duchess will pledge ourselves for 
 
 him. If he does not fight on the appointed day, but 
 
 388
 
 Amys and Amylion 
 
 shrinks and is a recreant knight, then slay us, his 
 sureties." 
 
 For Belisaunt had told her mother of her iove for 
 Amys ; and the Duchess took their part. But she durst 
 not say ought of it to the fierce Duke. 
 
 "So be it," said the Duke. "You shall be sureties 
 for Amys ; and if he fail to meet my steward, your 
 lives are forfeit : I will not spare you." 
 
 But when all things were agreed upon, and there- 
 was nought to do but wait for the day of the tourna- 
 ment, Amys began to wear so sad and strange a mien 
 that Belisaunt was filled with fear. 
 
 " Dear Amys," she said to him one day when they 
 were alone together, "what ails you? Why do you 
 look sorrowful and distraught ? " 
 
 "I am a false knight," said Amys; "that is my 
 sorrow. The steward brought a true charge against 
 me, for I love you and will wed you ; but I denied 
 it to his face. I am in the wrong and he is in 
 the right ; yet must 1 fight him to prove that he 
 is wrong. I dare not fight ; on the appointed day 
 I must take an oath that the steward spoke falsely, 
 and prove it by combat ; and if I swear that oath, 
 I am forsworn, and dishonoured, and no true 
 knight " 
 
 Belisaunt- knew that he was right; the cunning 
 steward had indeed brought a true charge, which Amys 
 must perforce deny or be slain. But she could see 
 no way but to fight. 
 
 " Is there no other guile that we can contrive to 
 bring that traitor down?" she asked. 
 389
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 "There is Amylion. Perchance he could aid me in 
 these sore straits." 
 
 " How could Amylion avail ? You must fight the 
 steward." 
 
 "Amylion is exactly like me," answered Amys ; 
 "none could tell that he was not 1, if he wore my 
 armour. He could deny the charge and fight the 
 steward for me without being himself forsworn. He 
 would willingly give his life for me, if needs be ; we 
 are pledged brothers-in-arms." 
 
 "Go to him, Amys. The steward is base and 
 treacherous, and deserves death ; but you must not 
 be forsworn or fight unjustly. Let Amylion, if he will, 
 take up the battle. Go to him ; haste, and tarry not." 
 
 Amys made ready his horse with all speed, and set 
 forth at a gallop to ride to Amylion. Many days he 
 rode, spurring the horse on furiously. But at last one 
 night the beast could go no farther, however fiercely 
 he urged it ; and as he tried to drive it on, it fell dead 
 under him. Then Sir Amys left it where it fell, and 
 pressed on on foot, now running and now walking, 
 eager to get to his journey's end. But in time his 
 strength, too, gave out, and a little before dawn he 
 sank down on the grass in a great forest on the borders 
 of Amylion's lands. There he lay, and slept heavily, 
 utterly wearied. 
 
 Sir Amylion at that time was at a castle not far 
 distant. As he slept that night he had a strange dream ; 
 he dreamed that he saw his brother-in-arms, Sir Amys, 
 in the forest near his castle, surrounded by wild beasts 
 and in great peril of his life. 
 39
 
 Amys and Amylion 
 
 He started up, and called for his horse. When it 
 was ready, he bade his attendants leave him, and rode 
 forth alone to the forest, to the spot where Amys had 
 seemed to be in the dream. 
 
 As he drew near, he saw a man stretched upon the 
 ground, asleep, his face hidden in his arms. 
 
 "Arise," cried Amylion in a loud voice. "Who are 
 you that sleep in my forest ? Wake, and rise up ; it is 
 dawn, and honest men should no longer sleep." 
 
 The man stirred and turned over. It was Amys. 
 
 Great was their joy at their meeting. But Amys 
 lost no time in telling Amylion of his mission, and 
 begging him to take his place and fight the steward. 
 
 "I will do it," answered Amylion. "Gladly will I 
 serve you, dear Amys. But none must know of it save 
 us twain and Belisaunt. My own wife must not know. 
 You must take my place here, and be to her in all things 
 like me." 
 
 Sir Amys agreed. They went back together to the 
 castle, and entered by a private door. Amylion showed 
 Amys all that was needful, and they changed clothes. 
 Then Amylion departed secretly, and set out for the 
 Duke's court. 
 
 Amys for a little time feigned sickness, so as to learn 
 the ways of the castle. But it was not possible to make 
 the pretence long, for they would have summoned sur- 
 geons, and made a great to-do, and he might have been 
 discovered. Before long he felt safer, and began to use 
 the castle and act in all ways as if he were its lord. 
 Only in one thing did he draw back. When he ca^ne to 
 lie down at night in bed beside Amylion's wife, he set 
 391
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 a naked sword between them, that he might not touch 
 her, since he was not her husband : and when she asked 
 him what this meant (for she believed that he was her 
 lord Amylion), he said that he had a disease, and feared 
 to touch her because of it ; therefore had he put the 
 sword between them, lest in his sleep he should draw 
 nearer to her. 
 
 The day for the tournament came, and Amylion had 
 not yet reached the Duke's court; Belisaunt was in 
 despair. But the false steward, when he rode into the 
 lists and found no enemy to meet him, was filled with 
 evil joy. 
 
 " Lord Duke," he cried, " Sir Amys is proved a 
 coward and a traitor; he has fled from this combat. 
 His sureties are forfeit, and my charge is proved true." 
 
 The Duke knew not how to answer. There was no 
 man there to meet the steward. But if Amys had 
 indeed fled, Belisaunt and the Duchess herself must 
 die, for they had stood surety to him. 
 
 " Bid them come hither," he said at last, with a stern 
 face, for he had made up his mind to keep his word 
 and slay them if Amys did not appear. 
 
 Belisaunt and the Duchess were brought in, and the 
 Duke told them their fate, and caused them to be 
 bound ; and there in the lists they waited, to see if by 
 good fortune Amys should come at the last moment. 
 
 Amylion had pricked his horse on unceasingly ; night 
 and day he rode, and came to the Duke's castle at last 
 on the very day appointed for the combat. He went 
 to Amys' chamber, and armed himself speedily, so that 
 in every way he looked like his brother-in-arms. Then 
 392
 
 Amys and Amylion 
 
 he rode towards the lists, hoping that he might even 
 now, though late, be in time. 
 
 As he rode, a strange prophecy was made to him. He 
 heard a voice as it were speaking from heaven to him, 
 and none but he heard it. 
 
 "Knight ! Sir Amylion ! " said the voice, "God sends 
 you word by me. If you take up this combat for Amys, 
 within three years strange chances shall befall you. Ere 
 three years pass, there shall be no man in all Christen- 
 dom more loathsome than you. Care and sorrow and 
 poverty shall come upon you. In all your lands those 
 who are your best friends shall be your bitter foes ; and 
 your wife and all your kind shall shun you, and forsake 
 you utterly." 
 
 Amylion stood still as a stone at the terrible words. 
 He believed that they were true, and he knew not what 
 he should do, whether to flee or to persevere and fight 
 and take whatever might befall him. 
 
 "If I be known by name," he thought, "shame will 
 come upon Amys for refusing the combat, and they will 
 slay him. I have given him my word, and I will not 
 depart from it. I will fight : let God do with me as it 
 pleases Him." 
 
 He spurred quickly to the lists. A great shout went 
 up from all men at the sight of him, for Belisaunt and 
 the Duchess were just being led away to death. 
 
 "Sir knight," cried the Duke, "you are late for your 
 tryst ; nevertheless, you are come, and you shall take up 
 your challenge. My steward charges you with having 
 secretly sought the hand of the lady Belisaunt. Do you 
 deny it, and swear that you have not done this thing ? " 
 393 
 
 BB
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 " I swear it," answered Amylion, truthfully. 
 
 " Will you put your oath to the test here and now, by 
 force of arms ? " 
 
 " I will," said Amys. 
 
 With that the Duke bade the fight begin, and the 
 marshals set the lists in order. 
 
 The knights charged. At the first shock Amylion 
 smote the steward's horse dead, and it fell with its rider. 
 
 " I will slay no man as he lies helpless," said Amylion ; 
 and he leapt off his horse, and helped the steward to rise. 
 
 Then they fell to on foot with swords. The steward 
 soon wounded Amylion in the shoulder, but Amylion 
 smote back at him so fiercely that his sword pierced 
 through breastplate and skin to the very heart, so that 
 he staggered and fell dead. 
 
 Amylion cut off his head and held it up. " I have 
 proved my words, lord Duke," he cried. 
 
 " It is well," said the Duke. " I vow I have never 
 seen a man fight more valiantly. For your prowess you 
 shall have the lady Belisaunt in marriage." 
 
 Amylion knew that that was what Amys sought. " My 
 lord, I thank you. I am but a humble knight ; may I be 
 worthy of so fair a lady. But I pray you give me leave 
 to go from your court for a space, till my wound be 
 healed." 
 
 " It is granted. You shall wed Belisaunt in fourteen 
 days from now. Till then take your ease, and heal your 
 wound." 
 
 Amylion departed. But he did not go to take his ease. 
 He saddled a fresh horse, and spurred over hill and dale 
 till he came again to his own land, and sought out Amys. 
 394
 
 Amys and Amylion 
 
 When he heard what had come to pass, Amys thanked 
 him a thousand times. " Brother," he said, when they 
 parted, " if it betide you too to need help, come to me 
 or send a message, and I will never stay, no, not for 
 anything in the world, till I have brought you aid. In 
 right or in wrong I will stand by you for ever." 
 
 He bade him farewell, and rode back home and 
 wedded Belisaunt. They dwelt together happily for a 
 year, and then the Duke died, and Amys, since he had 
 wedded the Duke's only child, reigned in his stead. In 
 due time Belisaunt bore him two children ; and they 
 were as merry and prosperous as could be. 
 
 But Amylion fared ill in his own land. His wife, 
 when she found that the drawn sword no longer lay 
 between them at night, spoke to him about it; and 
 Amylion, since Amys, in his haste to go, had told him 
 nothing of this, answered her in such a manner that 
 suspicion awoke in her. She questioned him straitly, 
 and at last, seeing no other way to satisfy her, Amylion 
 told her all that he had done. 
 
 " Oh base knight, false and unworthy ! " she cried 
 in great wrath. " You would give me over to a 
 stranger, and fight his battles for him because, forsooth, 
 he had acted so unjustly that he dares not fight him- 
 self ! The steward has been slain wrongfully, and 
 you have slain him. You shall be no husband of 
 mine from this day forth ! " 
 
 Amylion could do nought to turn aside her anger. 
 
 She summoned her kinsmen, men of great might and 
 
 power, and so wrought upon them that they forced 
 
 him to leave her, and go and dwell in a lodge at the 
 
 395
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 gate of his own castle. Herself she dwelt in the 
 castle, and feasted and made merry with her friends. 
 
 In a little while yet heavier sorrow came upon 
 Amylion, for he was stricken with leprosy. No man 
 would come near him, save only one page, named 
 Child Owaines, who ministered to him faithfully and 
 lovingly without ceasing. 
 
 Thus for well nigh three years Amylion abode in 
 great misery. His leprosy grew worse, and he was 
 in great straits for even bread to eat, and water to 
 drink. And at last he had not so much as a roof to 
 cover his head, for his wife, urged on by a base 
 knight who had become her lover, sent men to turn 
 him out of his little lodge and raze it to the ground. 
 They brought with them two asses, and bade him 
 take them and leave the land altogether. 
 
 So sorely had the leprosy afflicted him that he could 
 no longer walk. He had no possessions, save the 
 gold cup which was fellow to the one he had given 
 Amys, and no money to buy food. He bade Child 
 Owaines sell the two asses, and buy with the money 
 a little cart and some provisions : and when this was 
 done Owaines set out to drag him in the cart to the 
 court of Lombardy, where Amys reigned as Duke. 
 
 Long and weary was the journey, and they passed 
 through many hardships. But Owaines tended his 
 master in all things gently and lovingly ; and so at 
 last, as the three years of the prophecy drew to an 
 end, they came to the court of Lombardy. 
 
 Many beggars stood at the castle gates. Amylion 
 *ook his place among them, for he would not show 
 396
 
 Amys and Amylion 
 
 himself in his forlorn state to his friend, and bade 
 Oxvaines conceal his name. There, as they waited, 
 they heard from within the sound of mirth and 
 minstrelsy; ughts and warmth and rich food were 
 within ; without were only hunger and cold and dis- 
 ease and sorrow. 
 
 Presently a knight came by chance from inside to 
 the gate. His eye fell on Amylion, sick and ragged 
 and a leper, and then on Child Owaines, who was tall 
 and comely to look on. 
 
 " What do you do here ? " he said to Owaines. 
 
 " I serve my lord. We seek alms," answered Child 
 Owaines, pointing to Amylion as his master. 
 
 "That is your lord?" said the knight in wonder. 
 " Do you serve a ragged leper ? I can give you a 
 better service than that. I will make you a page to 
 Duke Amys." 
 
 " I thank you, fair sir," answered Owaines. " But 1 
 will not leave my master : I will serve him always." 
 
 The knight marvelled, but said no more. He re- 
 turned to the court, and told Amys jestingly of the 
 leper who had a comely page, worthy to be the 
 servant of a great lord. 
 
 " He is faithful, in truth," said Amys, when he 
 heard the tale. " I will give him a reward." And he 
 filled with wine the golden cup Amylion had given 
 him. "Take this to him," he said to a squire. 
 
 The squire took the cup and brought it out to 
 Child Owaines. " My lord the Duke sends you this 
 wine," he said. 
 
 Owaines took the cup and gave it to Amylion to drink 
 397
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 first. When they had drunk it, Amylion felt among 
 his ragged garments, and drew forth the second cup. 
 
 The squire was amazed at the sight. The two cups 
 were exactly alike. He knew not how a beggar could 
 have come by so precious and rare a thing, and he 
 went in and told Amys. 
 
 Amys ran out swiftly, a drawn sword in his hand. 
 "What is this?" he cried to Amylion, who was so 
 disfigured by sickness and misery that Amys did not 
 recognise him. " Show me your cup." 
 
 Amylion held up the cup. " It is Amylion's cup," 
 said Amys. " Rogue, where did you get it ? " 
 
 " I got it in Amylion's land," said Amylion. " But 
 it is truly mine." 
 
 "You lie, knave," cried Amys. "You have stolen 
 the cup from my dear brother-in-arms, and have 
 come hither to try to sell it to me." And he fell 
 upon Amylion and threw him out of the cart and 
 beat him with the flat of his sword, and at last would 
 fain have slain him. But Child Owaines, forgetful of 
 Amylion's command, rushed between them. 
 
 "Hold, lord Duke," he cried. "Do not slay Sir 
 Amylion !" 
 
 "Amylion ! Is it my brother Amylion ?" said Amys. 
 
 "Even so, Amys," answered Amylion. "I have come 
 to you for aid, even as formerly you came to me. 
 Here is my cup in proof of it ; and on my shoulder 
 is the scar of the wound I took in fighting for you." 
 
 Amys led him within and heard all his story. Then 
 he and Belisaunt set good cheer before Amylion and 
 Owaines, and cared for them, and made ready to keep 
 398
 
 Amys and A my lion 
 
 them always at the court ; and they sent for skilled 
 physicians, and nursed the leper tenderly. 
 
 But no physician availed to take away the disease 
 which God had sent. There seemed to be no hope. 
 Yet deliverance was close at hand. 
 
 Christmas drew near, and a wondrous thing came to 
 pass. On a certain night both Amys and Amylion had 
 a vision ; they each dreamed that an angel appeared .to 
 them, and told them how the leprosy might be cured. 
 
 " On Christmas day," said the angel, " let Sir Amys 
 slay his two children at the hour when Christ was born ; 
 he shall take their blood, and anoint Amylion with 
 it ; and the leprosy shall be cured thereby." 
 
 On the morrow Amylion told Amys his dream. " But 
 i put no faith in it," he said, " neither will I seek to be 
 cured thus. I will abide God's will and endure my 
 affliction." 
 
 " Dear brother," answered Amys, " I too had the 
 same vision. It shall be done as the angel said." 
 
 On Christmas Day early Amys carried out the 
 angel's bidding. He slew his two children secretly, 
 and anointed Amylion with their blood. Immediately 
 the leprosy was healed, Hnd Amylion was clean and 
 whole. 
 
 Then Amys went to tell Belisaunt, for he had said 
 nought to her of his dreadful deed. She swooned 
 when she heard of it. But when she came to her 
 senses again, she took courage. " Dear husband, no 
 grief in the world could be like ours," she said. "Yet 
 we have deserved it. If we had not been secret in 
 our love ai the first, and if you had answered tne 
 399
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 steward's charge truthfully, we might perchance have 
 fared ill ; but Amylion would not have come to such 
 sorrow as he has lain in through what he has done 
 for our sakes. If it were my heart itself that were 
 needful to help him, I would gladly give it for him. 
 I rejoice that he is healed. Let us bear our woe as 
 best we may, since God has dealt justly with us." 
 
 She went from him to look once more upon her 
 little children. But when she came to the chamber 
 where their bodies lay, she found a great marvel 
 wrought. They were as whole and unhurt as if no 
 man had touched them, and were playing merrily 
 together. 
 
 Great was the joy of all at this miracle. And now 
 all sorrow was ended for Amys and Amylion. One 
 thing only was yet to be done. Amylion had been cast 
 out of his lands by his cruel wife ; and Amys, being 
 Duke of Lombardy and therefore Amylion's over- 
 lord, set matters in train to win back the lands. He 
 gathered a great host, and besieged the false wife in 
 her castle ; and at last he took the castle and cast 
 her into prison for the rest of her days, and gave 
 back the lands to Amylion. 
 
 But Amylion would no more leave his brother-in- 
 arms. He gave all his lands to Child Owaines, who 
 had served him so well, and persuaded Amys to dub 
 him knight. Himself he dwelt in peace and great 
 happiness for many years with Amys and Belisaunt : 
 and when their time came, the two brothers-in-arms 
 died on the same day, and were laid together in ont 
 grave. 
 
 400
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 EARKEN to me, good men, 
 wives, and maidens ; I will tell 
 you a tale of Havelok, a wight 
 full hardy, ready at need, the 
 stoutest warrior that ever rode 
 a horse. 
 
 In former days there was a 
 King of England called Athel- 
 wold ; the very flower of Eng- 
 land was he, and he ruled justly 
 and well. All things in his 
 realm he ordered strictly, and maintained truth and 
 right throughout the land. Under his rule robbers 
 and traitors were put down ; men bought and sold 
 freely, without fear, and wrongdoers were so hard 
 pressed that they could but lurk and creep in secret 
 corners. Athelwold set up justice in his kingdom. 
 There was mercy for the fatherless in his day; his 
 judgments could not be turned aside by bribes of 
 silver and gold. If any man did evil, the King's arm 
 reached him, to punish him, were he never so wary 
 and strong. 
 
 This Athelwold had no heir, save only one daughter, 
 very fair to look upon, named Goldborough. Bui ere 
 401
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 she grew up, when as yet she could neither walk on 
 her feet nor speak, the King fell ill of a dire sickness. 
 He knew well that his time was come, and that death 
 was nigh him. " What shall I do now ? " he said in 
 his heart. " I know full well my hour of judgment 
 is upon me. How shall my daughter fare when I am 
 dead ? My heart is troubled for her : I think nought 
 of myself. She cannot yet speak or walk : if she were 
 of age to ride, she could rule England, and I would 
 care nought about dying." 
 
 But it was idle to lament. The King was sure in 
 his mind that he must die, and he sent messengers 
 to all his vassals, to his earls, and his barons, rich 
 and ^oor, from Roxburgh to Dover, bidding them 
 come to him speedily where he lay sick. 
 
 All those who heard his message were sad at the 
 tidings, and prayed that he might be delivered from 
 death. They came with all speed to the King at 
 Winchester. 
 
 " Welcome," said he, when they entered the hall of 
 his dwelling. "Full glad am I that you are come, 
 though gladness helps little now, when I am nigh the 
 point of death. You see in what sorry case I lie. I 
 have bidden you here that you may know that my 
 daughter shall be your lady when I, your lord, am 
 dead. But she is yet a child, and I am fain to make 
 some true man her guardian till she be a woman 
 grown : I will that Godrich, Earl of Cornwall, do 
 guard her and bring her up. He is a true man, 
 wise in counsel and wise in deed, and men have 
 him in awe." 
 
 402
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 They brought a holy book to the King. On it he 
 made Earl Godrich swear a solemn oath to keep 
 Goldborough well and truly, till she was of age to 
 rule and to order the realm of England wisely. 
 Then the little maid was given to the Earl, her new 
 guardian. Athelwold thanked the Earl, and bade him 
 be true to his charge ; and in a little while death 
 took the good King. 
 
 When King Athelwold was dead, and the long 
 lamentation for him ended, Godrich ruled England. 
 In every castle he set some knight of his own, 
 whom he could trust : all the English folk he caused 
 to take an oath to be faithful to him ; and in a 
 little while Athelwold's realm was altogether in his 
 power. 
 
 In the meantime Goldborough was kept at Win- 
 chester, and brought up as befitted a King's daughter. 
 Every day she seemed to grow in wisdom and fair- 
 ness, till when she was twenty years old there was 
 none like her in the land. But Godrich, when he 
 saw how good and how fair she was, grew jealous 
 of her. " Shall she be Queen ovei me ? " he thought. 
 " Must I give up my kingdom and my power to her ? 
 She has waxed all too proud ; I have treated her with 
 too great gentleness. She shall not be Queen. I will 
 rule, and after me my son shall be King." 
 
 As that treason crept into his mind, he forgot his 
 oath to Athelwold, caring not a straw for it. Without 
 more ado he sent for Goldborough from Winchester, 
 and took her to Dover. There he set her in a strong 
 castle, and clad her meanly, and guarded her so 
 403
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 strictly that no man could see her or come at her 
 without his leave. 
 
 Now it chanced that about this time the same thing 
 came to pass in Denmark as in England. Birkabeyn, 
 King of Denmark, died, and at his death gave to one 
 Earl Godard the charge of his kingdom and of his 
 son Havelok and his two daughters, Swanborough 
 and Elfled. Godard stood by his oath no better 
 than Godrich, but cast all three children into prison, 
 and well nigh starved them to death. But when they 
 had lain in prison for a little time, and were nearly 
 dead of hunger, he went to see them. 
 
 "How do you fare?" he asked, for Havelok ran to 
 him, and crept upon his knees when he sat down, 
 and looked up joyfully into his face. " I hear that 
 you moan and cry : why is this ? " 
 
 "We hunger sore," answered Havelok. "We have' 
 nought to eat, and no man has brought us meat or 
 drink. We are nigh dead of hunger." 
 
 Godard heard his words, but felt no pity ; he cared 
 not a straw for their misery. He took Swanborough 
 and Elfled by the hand, and slew them then and 
 there. Thereafter he turned to Havelok and would 
 have slain him also. But the boy in terror cried for 
 mercy. " Have pity," he said. " Spare me and I will 
 give you all Denmark, and will vow never to take up 
 arms against you. Let me live, and I will flee from 
 Denmark this very day, and never more come back ; 
 I will take oath that Birkabeyn was not my father." 
 
 At that some touch of doubt came into Godard's 
 mind. He put up his knife, and looked at Havelok. 
 404
 
 '"Spare me, an> 3 will give sou all 2>emnarfc/ sai> "foavelofc "
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 " If I let hi:n go alive," he thought, " he might work 
 me much woe. He shall die, but not now. I will 
 cast him in the sea and drown him." 
 
 He went thence, and sent for a fisherman named 
 Grim. 
 
 " Grim," he said, " you are my thrall ; do my will 
 and to-morrow I will give you your freedom. Take 
 the boy Havelok, and at night lead him to the sea 
 and cast him therein." 
 
 Grim took the boy, and bound him with strong 
 cords, and bore him on his back to his cottage, and 
 showed him to his wife Leve. " You see this boy, 
 wife," said he. "I am to drown him in the sea; 
 when I have done it, I shall be made a free man, 
 and much gold will be ours ; so has our Lord Godard 
 promised." 
 
 When Dame Leve heard that, she started up, and 
 threw Havelok down so roughly that he hurt his head 
 on a great stone that lay on the ground. 
 
 " Alas that ever I was a King's son," he moaned in 
 his pain ; and he lay there where he fell till night-time. 
 
 When night fell Grim made ready for his task. " Rise 
 up, wife, blow the fire," said he. " Light a candle. 
 I must keep my word to my lord." 
 
 Leve rose to tend the fire. Her eyes fell on Havelok, 
 who still lay on the ground. Round him, she marvelled 
 to see, shone a bright light, and out of his mouth pro- 
 ceeded light as it were a sunbeam. 
 
 " What is that light ? " quoth Dame Leve. " Rise up, 
 Grim, look what it means ; what is this light ? " 
 
 Grim went to Havelok, and unbound him. He rolled 
 407
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 back the shirt from the boy's shoulder. There he saw, 
 bright and clear, a King's birth-mark. 
 
 "Heaven help us," said Grim, "this is the heir to 
 Denmark, who should be King and lord of us all. He 
 will work Godard great harm." Then he fell on his 
 knees before Havelok. "Lord King," he said, "have 
 mercy on me and on Leve here. We are both yours, 
 lord, both your servants. We will keep you and nur- 
 ture you till you can ride and bear the shield and 
 spear ; Godard shall know nought of it. Some day I 
 will take my freedom at your hands, not at his." 
 
 Then was Havelok blithe and glad. He sat up and 
 asked for bread. "I am well-nigh dead," he said, 
 "with hunger and hardship." 
 
 They fed him and cared for him, and lastly put him 
 to bed ; and he slept soundly. 
 
 On the morrow Grim went to the traitor Godard. 
 " I have done your will on the boy, lord," he said. 
 " He is drowned in the sea. Now I pray you give 
 me gold for a reward, and grant me my freedom, as 
 you vowed." 
 
 Godard looked at him, fierce and cruel of mien. 
 " Will you not rather be made an earl, proud knave ? " 
 he asked. " Go home, fool ; go, and be evermore a 
 thrall and churl, as you have ever been ; no other 
 reward shall be yours. For very little I would lead 
 you to the gallows for your wicked deed." 
 
 Grim went away. "What shall I do?" he thought 
 as he hurried home. " He will assuredly hang me on 
 the gallows-tree. It were better to flee out of the land 
 altogether." 
 
 408
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 He came home, and told Leve aft ; and they took 
 counsel together. Soon Grim sold all his wool, and 
 his corn, and his cattle, his horses and swine, his geese 
 and hens. Only his boat he kept ; and that he made 
 ready for a voyage, with a good mast, strong cables, 
 stout oars, and a new sail, till there was not so much 
 as a nail wanting to make it better. Then he took 
 on board his wife and his three sons, Robert the Red, 
 William Wendat, and Hugh Raven, and his two fair 
 daughters, Gunnild and Levive, and Havelok ; and they 
 set sail. 
 
 The wind blew fair behind them, and drove them 
 out to sea. Long did they sail, and came at last to 
 England, to Lindsey at the mouth of the Humber. 
 
 They landed safely ; and before long Grim began 
 to make a little house of clay and turf for them to 
 dwell in. He named the place after himself, Grimsby; 
 and so men call it now, and shall call it for ever, from 
 now even to doomsday. 
 
 Grim was a skilful fisherman, and caught many good 
 fish. Great baskets did he make, and others his sons 
 made ; and they carried the fish inland in these baskets, 
 and sold them. All over the country did Grim go 
 with his fish, and came home always with store of 
 bread, or corn, or beans, against their need. Much 
 he sold in the fair town of Lincoln, and counted many 
 a coin after his sales there. 
 
 Thus Grim fared for many winters; and Havelok 
 worked with the rest, thinking it no shame to toil 
 like any thrall, though he was a King's son born. 
 
 There came at last a year of great dearth. Corn 
 409 
 
 cc
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 was so scarce that all men were in great poverty, and 
 Grim did not know how to feed all his family. For 
 Havelok he had great dread, for he was strong and 
 lusty, and would eat more than he could earn. And 
 soon the fish in the sea also began to fail them, so 
 that they were in sore straits. But Grim cared more 
 for Havelok than for all his own family ; all his thoughts 
 ran on Havelok. 
 
 "Dear son Havelok," he said at last, "I trow we 
 shall die of hunger anon ; all our food is gone. It 
 is better for you to go hence, and strive for yourself 
 only, and not try to help us here. You are stout and 
 strong ; go to Lincoln ; there is many a man of sub- 
 stance there, who might take you in service. It were 
 better for you to serve there than to see us starve 
 here and to starve along with us. Would that I could 
 clothe you fitly ! Alas, I am too poor. Yet for your 
 sake I will cut up the sail of my boat, and make you 
 a cloak of it to cover your rags." 
 
 He took the sail from his boat, and cut it up rudely 
 into a cloak for Havelok. Then Havelok bade him 
 God-speed, and set out. Hose and shoon had he none ; 
 on his bare feet he walked, and came in time to the 
 city of Lincoln. 
 
 He had no friend in Lincoln, and knew no man. 
 For two days he went to and fro, fasting ; no man 
 had work or food for him. But on the third day he 
 heard a cry, "Porters, porters, hither quickly!" He 
 sprang forward like a spark from coal, and thrust aside 
 all who stood in his path ; sixteen stout lads did he 
 knock down, and came to where fish was being laden 
 410
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 into carts for Earl Godrich of Cornwall. There stood 
 the Earl's cook, calling for men to lead the carts ; 
 and Havelok fell to work with a will at his bidding. 
 Many a great fish did he lift and carry lampreys, 
 eels, broad plaice, and all manner of kinds. 
 
 When all was done, " Will you take service with me ? " 
 said the cook to Havelok. "I will pay you good 
 hire and feed you well." 
 
 "Give me enough to eat, good sir," answered 
 Havelok, "and I care not what you pay me. I will 
 blow your fire, and fetch wood and water ; I can 
 wash dishes, and cleave faggots, and clean eels, and 
 do all that you need." 
 
 "You shall be my man," answered the cook. 
 
 So Havelok took service in Earl Godrich's house- 
 hold, and drew water and cut wood, and did household 
 tasks. Strong and large was he of body, and God 
 had made him very fair to look on. 
 
 Earl Godrich was lord of all England; it lay as 
 it were in his hand. Many men were wont to come 
 to him at Lincoln for advice and to talk of great things ; 
 and they held a parliament there, and came thither 
 with a great train of men-at-arms and followers, so 
 that the town was always full of folk coming and 
 going. 
 
 It chanced one day that eight or ten young men 
 began to play together near where Havelok was at 
 work; they fell to putting a great stone, huge and 
 heavy. He must needs be a stout man who could so 
 much as lift it to his knee. But those who put it 
 now were champions, and could cast it many a foot. 
 411
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 Havelok looked on and longed to put against them , 
 and his master, seeing his looks, bade him go and 
 try what he could do. He took the stone and poised 
 it well ; and at the first effort he put it twelve feet or 
 more farther than any other man. 
 
 "We have been here too long," said the rest. "This 
 lad is mightier than any of us; it is time for us to 
 go hence." 
 
 They went away, and spread the news that there 
 was at Lincoln a lad mightier than any man of that 
 day ; and Havelok's fame grew and was known far 
 and wide. It came at last to Earl Godrich's ears. 
 
 "This is a stout knave," thought the Earl, when he- 
 heard of Havelok's strength. " I would that he were 
 wedded to Goldborough : he is the fairest and strongest 
 man in England, and if I gave Goldborough to him, 
 I should keep my word to Athelwold in some sort, for 
 there is none like Havelok : no better man could she 
 desire. And if she were wedded to him, she would be 
 out of my way, and I should be secure in my rule, 
 and my son should reign in England after me." 
 
 Thus he thought and planned secretly. Anon he- 
 sent for Goldborough, and brought her to Lincoln. At 
 her coming he caused bells to be rung, and there was 
 great rejoicing ; but he was nevertheless full of cralt. 
 
 " You shall have the fairest man alive for hus- 
 band/' he said to Goldborough : " therefore have 1 
 sent for you." 
 
 44 1 will wed no man but a King or a King's son, be 
 he never so fair," she answered boldly. 
 
 " Would you gainsay me as if you were Queen and 
 412
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 lady over me?" cried Godrich in great wrath. "You 
 shall have a churl for husband, and no other. My 
 cook's knave shall wed you ; he shall be your lord. 
 To-morrow shall you be wedded to him." 
 
 Goldborough wept and prayed his mercy, but it was 
 of no avail. On the morrow the church-bell was 
 rung, and Godrich sent for Havelok. " Master, are 
 you minded to marry ? " he asked. 
 
 "Nay, by my life," quoth Havelok. "What should 
 I do with a wife ? I cannot feed her or clothe her ; 
 I have no house and no possessions. The very clothes 
 I \vear are the cook's, and I am his servant." 
 
 " If you do not take to wife her whom I will give 
 you," said Godrich, " I will hang you high aloft, or 
 thrust out your eyes." 
 
 At that Havelok was sore afraid, and granted all that 
 Godrich bade. Then Godrich sent for Goldborough. 
 
 "You will take this man for husband," he said, "or 
 you go to the gallows, unless rather I burn you at 
 the stake." 
 
 She was adread at his threats, and durst not refuse, 
 though she liked it ill. So they two were wedded 
 perforce, and neither took joy in it. 
 
 When they were married, Havelok knew not what 
 to do. He had no home whereto he might take 
 Goldborough. Godrich had such hatred for Athel- 
 wold's daughter that he would do nought to aid 
 them ; and Havelok was in sore straits till he be- 
 thought him of Grimsby. 
 
 Straightway he took Goldborough to Grimsby. But 
 Grim himself was dead. Nevertheless his sons vvel- 
 413
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 corned Havelok gladly, and took great joy in his 
 return. 
 
 "Welcome, dear lord, and welcome to your fair 
 lady," they said. " We have here horses and nets and 
 ships, gold and silver, and much else that Grim our 
 father bequeathed. But he bade us give them to you ; 
 take them, dear lord ; they are all yours. You shall be 
 our lord, and we will be your servants in all things." 
 
 So Havelok came back to Grimsby. But on the 
 night of his coming Goldborough was sad and sorrow- 
 ful as she lay beside him, and she could not sleep. Her 
 wakeful eyes fell on Havelok, and she was aware 
 suddenly of a wondrous sight. A bright light, clear 
 and flaming, issued from his mouth, and lit up all the 
 chamber. 
 
 "What may this mean?" she said to herself in sore 
 dread. " Does it show me that some high fortune shall 
 come upon Havelok ? " 
 
 She looked again, and saw a new wonder. On 
 Havelok's shoulder a King's mark shone, a noble cross 
 of red gold ; and as she looked, an angel's voice spoke 
 to her: "Goldborough, let your sorrow be; Havelok, 
 your husband, is a King's son and a King's heir. The 
 golden cross signifies that he shall possess all Denmark 
 and England, and shall be King, strong and stark, of 
 both realms. This shall you see with your own eyes, 
 and shall be his Queen and lady." 
 
 When she heard the angel's voice Goldborough could 
 not contain her joy, but turned and kissed Havelok as 
 he slept. Havelok had not heard the angel, but he 
 started out of his sleep at Goldborough's kiss. 
 414
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 "Dear lady, are you awake?" he said. "A strange 
 dream have I just dreamed. I thought I was in Den- 
 mark, on the highest hill that ever I came to; it was so 
 high that I could see, it seemed, all the world spread 
 out. As I sat there, I began to possess Denmark, with 
 all its towns and strong castles ; and my arms were so 
 long that I surrounded in one grasp all Denmark, and 
 drew it towards me till every man therein cleaved to me, 
 and the strong castles began to fall on their knees, and 
 the keys of them were at my feet. Another dream I 
 dreamed also, that I flew over the salt sea to England, 
 and with me went all the folk of Denmark. When 1 
 came to England, I took it all into my hand, and, 
 Goldborough, I gave it to you. Dear wife, what may 
 this be ? " 
 
 " May these dreams turn to joy, Havelok, as I deem 
 they will," answered Goldborough. " I say to you that 
 there is no strong king or emperor who shall be your 
 peer, for you shall wear the crown of England in time 
 to come, and Denmark shall kneel at your feet. Within 
 a year this shall come to pass. Let us two go to Den- 
 mark speedily ; and do you pray Grim's sons that they 
 go with you, all three." 
 
 On the morrow Havelok went to church and be- 
 sought aid of God. Then he betook himself to Grim's 
 three sons, Robert, and William, and Hugh. 
 
 "Listen now to me," he said, "and I will tell you a 
 thing concerning myself. My father was King of the 
 Danish land, and I should have been his heir ; but a 
 wicked wight seized the kingdom when my father died, 
 and slew my two sisters, and gave me to Grim to drown ; 
 415
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 but Grim spared me, and brought me hithei as you 
 know. Now I am come to an age when I can wield 
 weapons and deal stout blows ; and never will I take 
 comfort till I see Denmark again. I pray you come 
 thither with me ; I will reward you well, and will give 
 each of you ten castles, with the land and towns and 
 woods that belong thereto." l 
 
 "We will follow you whithersoever you bid us, 
 Havelok," they answered, "and we will, if it please God, 
 win back your kingdom for you." 
 
 Havelok gave them due thanks, and began straightway 
 to prepare all things for his going to Denmark. Soon 
 he had made ready, and they set sail. Their voyage 
 prospered, and they landed safely in Denmark, in the 
 dominions of one Ubbe, a rich earl, who had been a 
 friend of King Birkabeyn, Havelok's father. 
 
 When Havelok heard who was lord of that part of 
 Denmark, he was glad, and set out to go to Ubbe's 
 castle in good hope. He durst not say yet that he was 
 Birkabeyn's son, for if Earl Godard heard of it, he would 
 come against him and slay him before he could win any 
 followers. But he went to Ubbe and spoke him fair and 
 courteously, and gave him a gold ring, and asked leave 
 to settle in that land to be a merchant ; and Ubbe 
 seeing how strong and comely Havelok was, gladly 
 gave him leave, and thereafter bade him to a great feast. 
 Havelok went to the feast, and Goldborough with him, 
 
 1 A small part of the original poem is here missing. I have ven- 
 tured to follow Prof. Skeat in supplying what is clearly, in substance, 
 the sequence of events. The original begins again, roughly, at 
 "Havelok gave Ubbe a gold ring." 
 416
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 and Grim's sons also ; and Ubbe grew to love him so 
 well that when the feast was ended, he sent him with 
 ten knights and sixty men-at-arms to the magistrate of 
 those parts, Bernard Brun, a man of might and sub- 
 stance, to whom Ubbe wrote a letter, saying that 
 Havelok was to be treated courteously in all things. 
 
 Bernard was a trusty man, and entertained Havelok 
 and Goldborough and all their company in seemly wise. 
 But as they sat at meat, there came tidings that a band 
 of sixty thieves, well armed and fierce, was at the gate, 
 demanding entrance. 
 
 At that news Bernard started up and took a good 
 axe in his hand, and went to the gate ; and Havelok 
 followed him. 
 
 "What do you hera. rascals?" ~.ried Bernard. "If 
 I open the door to you, some of you will rue it. Those 
 whom I slay not shall be put in fetters and cast into 
 prison ! " 
 
 "What say you?" answered one of the thieves. 
 " Think you that we are adread of you ? We shall enter 
 by this gate for all that you can do." 
 
 Thereupon he seized a great boulder, and cast it 
 mightily against the gate, and broke it. 
 
 Havelok saw what befell, and went to the gate. He 
 drew therefrom the great cross-bar, and threw the gate 
 wide open. 
 
 "I abide here," he cried. "Flee, you dogs." 
 
 "Nay," quoth one, "you shall pay for waiting;" 
 
 and he came running at Havelok, and the two others 
 
 close behind with him. But Havelok lifted up the 
 
 door-beam, and at one blow slew all three. Then he 
 
 417
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 turned upon others, and in a moment overthrew four 
 more. But a host of them beset him with swords, 
 and all his skill could not prevent them from wound- 
 ing him : full twenty wounds had he, from crown to 
 toe. But the smart of them drove him into a rage, 
 and he began so to mow with the beam that the 
 robbers soon felt how hard he could smite. There 
 was none who could escape him, and whosoever he 
 struck he slew ; and in a little while he had felled 
 twenty of them. 
 
 Then began a great din to arise, for the rest of the 
 thieves set upon Havelok and Bernard with all their 
 might. But Hugh and his brothers heard the noise, 
 and came running with many other men ; and before 
 long there was not one of the thieves left alive. 
 
 On the morrow tidings came to Ubbe that Havelok 
 had slain with a club more than a score of stout 
 rogues. "What is this?" thought the earl. "I had 
 best go myself and see the rights of the matter." 
 
 He went down to Bernard and asked him what had 
 come to pass ; and Bernard, sore wounded from the 
 fight, showed him his wounds, and told him how sixty 
 robbers had attacked his house, and how Havelok 
 had slain great plenty of them ; but Havelok also, he 
 said, was grievously wounded in many places. 
 
 Others also of Bernard's men told the like true 
 tale ; and Ubbe sent for Havelok, and when he had 
 seen his wounds, called for a skilful leech, and took 
 Havelok into his house and cared for him. 
 
 The first night that Havelok lay in Ubbe's house, 
 Ubbe slept nigh him in a great chamber, with places 
 418
 
 "tmvelofe UfteD up tbe beam, ano at one blow slew all 
 tbree."
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 boarded off for each man. About midnight he awoke, 
 and saw a great light in the place where Havelok lay, 
 as bright as if it were day. 
 
 " What may this be ? " he thought. " I will go my- 
 self and see. Perchance Havelok secretly holds revel 
 with his friends, and has lit many lights. I vow he 
 shall do no such sottishness in my castle." 
 
 He stood up, and peeped in between the boards 
 that shut Havelok from him. He saw him sleeping 
 fast, as still as any stone ; and he was aware of a 
 great light coming as it were from Havelok's mouth. 
 
 He was aghast at that sight, and called secretly to 
 his knights and sergeants and men-at-arms, more than 
 five score of them, and bade them come and see the 
 strange light; and the light continued to issue from 
 Havelok's mouth, and to grow in strength, till it was 
 like a sunbeam, and as bright as two hundred wax- 
 candles. 
 
 Havelok's right shoulder was towards Ubbe and his 
 men. Suddenly, as they looked at the light, they were 
 aware also of a King's mark on the shoulder, a bright 
 cross, brighter than gold, sparkling like a good car- 
 buncle stone. 
 
 Then Ubbe knew that Havelok was a King's son, 
 and he guessed that he must be Birkabeyn's son, the 
 rightful King of all Denmark; "Never was any man 
 so like his brother," he said, "as this Havelok is to 
 Birkabeyn ; he is Birkabeyn's own heir." 
 
 And when Havelok awoke, he fell at his feet and 
 did obeisance, he and all his men. "Dear lord," he 
 said, " I know you to be Birkabeyn's son. You shall 
 421
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 be King of Denmark; right soon shall every lord 
 and baron come and do you homage." 
 
 Then was Havelok glad and blithe, and gave thanks 
 to God for His goodness. 
 
 Before long Ubbe dubbed Havelok knight ; and as 
 soon as he was knighted all the barons and lords of 
 those parts came to him and swore fealty ; and anon 
 they crowned him King of Denmark, and set them- 
 selves in array to attack the false Earl Godard. But 
 Godard's knights, being weary of his rule, had all 
 gone over to Havelok ; and Grim's son Robert suf- 
 ficed to meet him in combat. Robert wounded him 
 in the right arm, and they bound him and brought 
 him before Havelok. 
 
 Sorry now was Godard's lot ; all his greatness was 
 gone from him, and he was abased ; even as the pro- 
 verb says, "old sin makes new shame." He came 
 before Havelok and his nobles, and they gave sen- 
 tence upon him, that he should be flayed alive, and 
 then hanged. And so he came to his end in great 
 misery and torment. 
 
 When Godrich in England heard that Havelok was 
 King of all Denmark, and purposed (for Havelok had 
 given out that this was his intent) to come to Eng- 
 land and set Goldborough on her throne, he was full 
 rueful and sorry. 
 
 " If I let them land and overcome me," he thought, 
 " I shall lose my power." 
 
 Thereat he set to work to gather a great host to 
 meet Havelok when he should come ; and he spread 
 lying tales to make the English hate and fear Havelok, 
 422
 
 Havelok the Dane 
 
 saying that he would burn and destroy, and oppress 
 them ; and by these means he got together many 
 men and led them to Grimsby. 
 
 Anon came Havelok and his men, and landed at 
 Grimsby; and they fought a great battle. Ubbe was 
 the first to meet Godrich, and dealt him many a 
 stout blow, but could not prevail over him; long they 
 struggled; and at last Godrich wounded Ubbe sorely 
 in the side, so that he fell, and his men bare him out 
 of the fray. All that day Havelok's men fought with 
 Godrich's men ; and on the morrow they fought 
 again, and Godrich came face to face with Havelok 
 himself. 
 
 "Godrich," Havelok cried, "you have taken Athel- 
 wold's kingdom for yourself; I claim it for his daughter 
 Goldborough. Yield it up, and I will forgive you, 
 for you are a doughty knight." 
 
 " Never will I yield," answered Godrich : " I will 
 slay you here, and put out your eyes that now look 
 on me, if you do not ilee right speedily." 
 
 He gripped his sword, and smote at Havelok, and 
 clove his shield in twain. But Havelok drew his own 
 good sword, and with one blow felled him to the 
 earth. Yet Godrich started up again, and dealt him 
 such a stroke on the shoulder that his armour was 
 broken, and the blade bit into the flesh. Then Have- 
 lok heaved up his sword in turn, and struck fiercely, 
 and shore off Godrich's hand, so that he could smite 
 no more, but yielded as best he might. 
 
 They seized Godrich and fettered him; and all the 
 English took the oath of fealty to Goldborough, and 
 423
 
 Wonder Book of Old Romance 
 
 swore to be her men. Then they passed judgment 
 on Godrich, and sentenced him to be burnt to death. 
 So Havelok and Goldborough came again into their 
 kingdoms ; and Havelok rewarded Grim's sons and 
 made them barons. Of Grim's daughters, Bernard 
 married one, and was made Earl of Cornwall in place 
 of Godrich ; and the other was wedded to the Earl of 
 Chester. Havelok was crowned King of England as 
 well as of Denmark ; and full sixty winters did he 
 reign with Goldborough in great joy and prosperity. 
 
 THE END
 
 UJUTKK8ITY i 
 
 & M/UPT rax
 
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