Arthurian Romances

by Chretien de Troyes

  When they had washed his wounds, put on the ointment and rebandaged them, the king led him and Enide into his own chamber and said that for love of Erec he wanted to stay two full weeks in the forest, until he was completely healed and well. Erec thanked the king for this and said: ‘Sire, I have no wound from which I am suffering so much that I want to interrupt my journey. No one could detain me; tomorrow – I shall tarry no more – I want to leave in the morning, when I see the day dawning.’

  At this the king shook his head and said: ‘There is something very wrong here, if you do not wish to stay. I know full well that you are in great pain; if you want to act sensibly, then stay – for it will be a great loss if you die in this forest. Dear good friend, do stay until you have recovered.’

  Erec replied: ‘That is enough. I am resolved in this matter and would not delay for anything.’

  The king heard that there was no way to convince him to stay, so he dropped the matter and ordered the evening meal quickly prepared and the tables set; the squires went to work at it. It was a Saturday evening, when they ate fish and fruit: pike and perch, salmon and trout, and then raw and cooked pears. They did not linger long after the meal; they ordered the tablecloths to be removed. The king had great love for Erec; he had him sleep in a bed alone, for he did not want anyone to he with him who might touch his wounds. Erec was well lodged that night. In a nearby chamber Enide and the queen slept in deep repose on a great ermine coverlet until the morning dawned.

  The next day, as soon as it was light, Erec arose and made ready; he ordered his horses to be saddled and had his arms brought to him; squires ran to fetch them. The king and all his knights again exhorted him to stay, but prayers were of no avail, for he would not stay for anything. Then you could have seen them all weep and display such sorrow as though they were looking at him already dead.

  Erec put on his armour; Enide arose. Their departure distressed everyone for no one thought ever to see them again. Everyone poured out of their tents after them; they sent for their own horses in order to accompany and escort the two of them. Erec said to them all: ‘Don’t be insulted, but you shall not go one step with me; I implore you, stay.’ His horse was brought to him and he mounted without delay; he took his shield and lance and commended them all to God, and they in turn commended him. Enide mounted and off they went.

  They entered a forest and did not stop until about the hour of prime. They rode through the forest until they heard the distant cry of a damsel in distress. Erec heard the cry and he clearly knew, from its sound, that it was the voice of someone in distress needing help. Immediately he called to Enide. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘some maiden is going through this wood, crying out loud; she is, I am sure, in need of aid and help. I want to hurry in her direction and find out what her need is. Dismount here while I go there, and wait for me meanwhile.’

  ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘willingly.’

  He left her alone, and alone went off until he found the maiden who was crying in the wood for her lover, whom two giants had taken prisoner and were leading away; they were vilely mistreating him. The maiden was tearing her hair and pulling at her clothes and her tender rosy face. Erec saw her and marvelled and begged her to tell him why she was weeping and crying so bitterly. The maiden wept and sighed, and as she was sighing she replied: ‘My lord, it is no wonder that I show grief, for I wish that I were dead. I neither love nor value my life, for my beloved has been taken prisoner by two evil and cruel giants who are his mortal enemies. God! What shall I do, wretch that I am, for the best knight alive, the noblest and the most generous? Now he is in the grip of mortal danger; today, they will treacherously make him suffer an ignoble death. Noble knight, I pray you for God’s sake to assist my beloved, if ever you can assist him. You will not need to go far: they are still very near here.’

  ‘My lady, I will go after them,’ said Erec, ‘since you beg me to, and you may be quite sure that I will do everything in my power: either I will be taken prisoner with him, or I will return him to you completely free. If the giants let him live until I can find them, I will certainly give them a fight.’

  ‘Noble knight,’ said the maiden, ‘I will always be your servant if you return my beloved to me. May God be with you! Hurry, I implore you!’

  ‘Which way are they headed?’

  ‘My lord, this way; see here the path and their tracks.’

  Then Erec set off at a gallop, telling her to wait for him there. The maiden commended him to God and prayed fervently to God that by His will He might give him the strength to defeat those who were causing her lover’s agony.

  Erec went spurring off along the trail in pursuit of the giants. So well did he pursue and follow them that he caught sight of them before they were completely out of the wood. He saw the unclad knight, barefoot and naked upon a draught-horse, bound hand and foot as if he had been caught committing larceny. The giants had neither spears, shields, sharpened swords, nor lances; instead they had clubs and both held whips. They had struck and beaten him so much that on his back they had already flayed the skin right to the bone; the blood was running down along his sides and flanks, so that the horse was bathed in blood right down to its belly.

  And Erec came along entirely alone, greatly pained and anxious for the knight when he saw him being treated with such scorn. He caught up with them in a field between two woods and asked them: ‘My lords, for what crime are you committing such savagery upon this man, leading him like a thief? You are treating him too despicably in leading him as though he had been caught stealing. It is utterly shameful to strip a knight naked and then to bind and beat him so vilely. I ask you by your goodness and courtesy to turn him over to me; I do not wish to take him from you by force.’

  ‘Vassal,’ they said, ‘what business is it of yours? It’s sheer madness on your part to reproach us for this. If you don’t like it, do something about it!’

  Erec replied: ‘Indeed I don’t like it. You’ll take him no further today without a quarrel; since you have left the matter to me, let whoever can win him, have him. Come forward; I challenge you! You shall not take him from here until we’ve exchanged blows.’

  ‘Vassal,’ they said, ‘you’re mad, wanting to fight with us. Even if there were four of you, you could do no more against us than a lamb between two wolves.’

  ‘I don’t know how it will be,’ Erec replied. ‘If the sky falls and the earth collapses, then many a lark will be taken. He who boasts a lot is worth little. Be on your guard, for I’m about to attack you!’

  The giants were strong and fierce, and in their hands they held big, square clubs. Erec came at them, with fewtered lance. He had no fear of either of them, despite their threats and haughtiness. Rather, he struck the first in the eye, right through the brain, so that at the back of the head the blood and brains spurted out and the giant fell dead – his heart gave out.

  When the other saw this one dead, it grieved him and with good reason. Furiously he went to avenge him; he raised his club with both hands and thought to strike Erec directly upon his unprotected head, but Erec saw the blow coming and took it on his shield. Nevertheless the giant gave him such a blow that he quite stunned him and nearly knocked him from his charger to the ground. Erec covered himself with his shield, and the giant prepared another blow and thought again to strike him on his bare head, but Erec held his sword drawn; he made an attack that brought the giant grief, striking him such a blow on the top of the head that he split him right down to the saddlebows; he spilled the guts upon the ground and the body fell, stretched out full length, split into two halves.

  The knight wept for joy, invoking and thanking God for sending him this help. Then Erec untied him and had him dress and make ready and mount upon one of the horses, and lead the other by hand. Erec asked him about himself, and he replied: ‘Noble knight, you are my rightful lord; I wish to make you my liege, and it is right that I do so, for you have saved my life. Were it not for you, my soul would have been torn from my bo
dy by torment and painful torture. What good fortune, fair gentle lord, sent you to me here, so that by your prowess you freed me from the hands of my enemies? My lord, I wish to pay you homage: I shall go with you evermore and serve you as my liege lord.’

  Erec saw that he was eager to serve him in any way that he might wish, if he was able, and said: ‘Friend, I do not want service from you, but you must know that I came to your aid at the behest of your lady, whom I found most sorrowful in this wood. She laments and grieves because of you and her heart is very sorrowful. I wish to make a present of you to her; once I have reunited you with her, then I can continue on my way alone, for you will not be going with me. I have no desire for your company, but I wish to know your name.’

  ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘as you wish. Since you wish to know my name, I must not keep it from you. Know please that people call me Cadoc of Cabruel. But if I must depart from you, I should like to know – if I may – who you are and from what land, and where I may seek and find you once I have left here.’

  ‘That, friend, I shall never tell you,’ said Erec; ‘say no more about it! But if you wish to learn it, and honour me in any way, then go quickly without delay to my lord King Arthur, who is hunting in full force in this nearby forest which, to my knowledge, is not even five short leagues from here. Go there quickly, and tell him you are sent to him and presented by one whom, last night, within his tent, he joyfully received and lodged, and be careful not to conceal from him what trouble I freed you from – your lady and yourself. I am much loved at court; if you mention me, you will honour and serve me. There you will be able to ask who I am; you cannot find out otherwise.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Cadoc, ‘I wish to do everything you order. You need never fear that I will not go there most gladly. I shall tell the king everything about the combat, just as you fought it for me.’

  Speaking like this they continued their way until they came to the maiden, where Erec had left her. The maiden greatly rejoiced when she saw her lover returning, for she had thought never to see him again. By the hand Erec presented him to her, saying: ‘Do not be sorrowful, my lady; here is your lover, happy and joyful.’

  She, full of good sense, replied: ‘My lord, we must consider that you have won us both, myself and him; we must both be yours, to serve and honour you. But who could requite this service even half-way?’

  Erec replied: ‘My dear friend, I ask no recompense of you; I commend you both to God, for I fear I have tarried too long.’ Then he turned his horse about and rode off as fast as he could. Cadoc of Cabruel set off in the other direction with his maiden, and recounted the news to King Arthur and the queen.

  Erec meanwhile rode on at a great pace back to where Enide was waiting for him; she had felt great sorrow, meanwhile, for she believed without a doubt that he had quite abandoned her. And he in turn was very fearful that someone, who would have made her do his will, might have led her away and so he hastened to return. But the heat of the day and his armour made him suffer so that his wounds reopened and all his dressings came apart; his wounds never stopped bleeding as he came straight to the place where Enide was waiting for him. She saw him and was delighted, but she was unaware of the pain he suffered, for his whole body was bathed in blood and his heart was failing him. As he was coming down a knoll, he suddenly collapsed over the neck of his horse; as he tried to get up again, he toppled from the saddle and fell unconscious, as though dead.

  Then began great sorrowing, when Enide saw him fall; the fact that she was alive gave her great pain, and she ran towards him making no attempt to hide her grief. She cried aloud and wrung her hands; upon her breast no portion of her clothes remained unrent; she began to tear her hair and to rend her tender face. ‘Oh, God!’ she said, ‘fair sweet Lord, why do you let me live so long? Death, come and kill me, get on with it!’ With these words she fainted upon the body; when she revived she blamed herself severely. ‘Ah!’ she said, ‘woeful Enide, I am the murderess of my lord! I have killed him by my folly; my lord would still be alive, if I, like one both rash and mad, had not spoken the words that caused my lord to come here. A good silence never harmed anyone, but speaking often causes harm! I have truly found this out by experience, in many ways.’

  She sat down in front of her lord and put his head upon her knees; she began her sorrowing anew: ‘Oh, my lord, what misfortune for you! No other was your equal: for Beauty was mirrored in you, Prowess manifested itself in you, Wisdom had given its heart to you, Generosity – she without whom no one has great renown – had crowned you. But what have I said? I have erred too gravely, mentioning the very words that have caused my lord’s death, the fatal, poisonous words with which I must be reproached. And I acknowledge and concede that no one is guilty in this but me; I alone must be blamed for it.’

  Then fainting she fell back upon the ground, and when she raised herself up again she cried out more and more: ‘God! What shall I do? Why do I live so long? Why does Death tarry? What is it waiting for, that it does not take me without delay? Death holds me in too great contempt, not deigning to kill me; I myself must take the vengeance for my terrible crime: so I shall the despite Death, who does not wish to help me. I cannot die by wishing, nor would laments be of any use to me; the sword that my lord girded on must by right avenge his death. No more shall I be in Death’s power, nor plead or wish for it.’

  She drew the sword from the scabbard and began to look at it. God, who is full of mercy, caused her to delay a little. While she was recalling her sorrow and misfortune, there came at great speed a count with a great troop of knights, who from afar had heard the lady crying aloud. God did not wish to abandon her; for she would have killed herself at once had they not surprised her, taken the sword from her, and driven it back into the scabbard.

  Then the count dismounted and began to question her about the knight, asking her to tell him whether she was his wife or his lover. ‘The one and the other, my lord,’ she said; ‘my grief is such, I know not what to tell you, but it pains me deeply that I am not dead.’

  And the count did much to comfort her. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘for God’s sake I beg you, have mercy on yourself! It is only right that you should feel grief, but you distress yourself for naught, for you may still prosper. Do not despair; console yourself: be sensible. God will soon make you happy again. Your beauty, which is so fine, destines you for good fortune, for I shall take you as my wife. I shall make you my countess and my lady; this must give you much comfort. And I shall have the body borne away, and it will be interred with great honour. Now end your grieving, for you are behaving senselessly.’

  She replied: ‘Sir, begone! For God’s sake, let me be! You can gain nothing here; nothing one might say or do could bring joy back to me.’

  Then the count drew back and said: ‘Let us make a stretcher on which we will bear away the body, and with it we’ll take the lady straight to the castle of Limors, where the body will be buried. Then I shall want to marry the lady, though she may not wish it: I never saw a lady so beautiful or desired one so much. I’m very glad I found her! Now quickly and without delay let’s make a horse-borne litter; let there be no reluctance or laziness!’

  Some of them drew their swords; soon they had cut two poles and tied sticks across them. They laid Erec upon this on his back, and hitched two horses to it. Enide rode beside it in never-ending sorrow. Often she fainted and fell backwards; the knights who were escorting her supported her in their arms, and lifted her up and consoled her. They bore the body away to Limors and took it into the count’s palace. All the people followed after them – ladies, knights, and burghers. In the middle of the great hall, on a table, they placed Erec’s body and laid it out, his shield and lance beside him. The hall filled up; the crowd thronged: everyone was pushing to inquire what grief this was and what was the source of wonder.

  Meanwhile the count conferred privately with his barons. ‘Lords,’ he said, ‘I wish to wed this lady without delay. We can easily see, from both her bea
uty and her manner, that she is of very noble lineage; her beauty and her nobility show that the honour of a kingdom or of an empire would be well vested in her. I shall never be lessened through her; rather I think to better myself. Have my chaplain summoned, and you, bring the lady. I wish to give her half of all my land as a dowry if she consents to do my will.’

  Then they summoned the chaplain, just as the count had ordered, and then they brought the lady and gave her by force to the count, though she vigorously refused him. None the less the count married her, since such was his desire. And when he had married her, the constable immediately had the tables set in the palace and the food prepared, for it was already time for the evening meal.

  After vespers that day in May Enide was greatly distraught; she grieved constantly, and the count pressed her somewhat, with prayers and threats, to make her peace and cheer up. They made her sit upon a faldstool against her will; whether she wished it or no, they seated her there and set up the table in front of her. Across from her sat the count, who was close to going mad because he could not console her. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘you must desist and forget this sorrow. You can have complete confidence that I will bring you wealth and honour. You may know for certain that grief does not make a dead man live anew, nor did anyone ever see it happen. Remember from what poverty great wealth has opened up to you: you were poor, and now you’re rich. Fortune is not stingy with you, since she has given you such honour that now you will be called “Countess”. It is true that your lord is dead; if you feel grief and sorrow at this, do you think I am astonished? Not at all. But I give you this advice, the best that I can give you: since I have married you, you should greatly rejoice. Be careful not to anger me; eat, since I invite you to!’