Arthurian Romances

by Chretien de Troyes

  ‘But I cannot understand how the one to whom my heart yields can have my body, since my father is giving me to another and I dare not oppose him. And when he becomes lord of my body, if he uses it in a way I don’t wish, then it is not right for me to welcome another. Nor can the emperor marry without breaking his oath; on the contrary, unless Alis betrays him, Cligés is to inherit his empire after his death. But if you knew of any artifice whereby the man to whom I’m pledged and given would have no part of me, you’d have rendered me a very welcome service. Nurse, I beg you to see to it that Alis does not break his oath never to take a wife: he swore it to Cligés’s father, who formulated the oath himself. His word will be broken, though, since he is about to marry me. But my love for Cligés is such that I would rather be dead and buried than see him lose a penny of what is rightfully his. May no child of mine ever cause him to be disinherited. Nurse, see to it now that I will always be grateful to you.’

  Then her nurse assured her that she would devise so many conjurings, potions, and enchantments that she need have no cause to fear or worry about this emperor: as soon as he has drunk the potion she will give him to drink, they will share the same bed, but no matter how often she is with him she will be as safe as if there were a wall between them. ‘But don’t let it upset you if he takes his pleasure of you in his dreams, for when he’s fast asleep he’ll have his sport with you, and will firmly believe he took his pleasure while awake. He’ll never suspect it was a dream, deceit, or lie. This is how he’ll have his sport with you: while he’s asleep he’ll believe that he’s awake and making love to you.’

  The girl cherished, praised, and valued this kindness and this service. In promising her help and swearing to be faithful to her, the nurse brought her new hope. And so the girl anticipated attaining her happiness, no matter how long it would have to be postponed; for Cligés would never be so heartless – if he knew she loved him and was suffering so for his sake (she intended to save her maidenhead to preserve his inheritance) – that he would fail to pity her, if he were of a noble nature and such as he should be. The girl believed her nurse, and trusted in her and was reassured by her; they pledged and swore to one another that this decision would be kept so secret that it would never afterwards be known.

  Thus their conversation ended, and when morning came the emperor sent for his daughter, who came as soon as she was summoned. What more shall I tell you? The two emperors had so resolved their affairs that the marriage was already being celebrated and joy was breaking out in the palace. But I do not wish to tarry by giving all the details; I wish rather to speak once more of Thessala, who was ever intent on mixing and preparing her potions.

  Thessala ground her potion, adding spices in abundance to sweeten and temper it. She ground and mixed it well, and filtered it until it was perfectly clear without a trace of bitterness, for the spices she used made it sweet and aromatic. By the time the potion was ready, the day was drawing to its end. Tables had been set up for supper and the tablecloths spread, but I shall not describe the meal. Thessala needed to find some clever means or person to deliver her potion. Everyone was seated for the meal and more than six courses had been set out. Cligés was serving his uncle; Thessala, as she observed him, felt that his services were wasted, since he was serving his own disinheritance, and this thought distressed and saddened her. Then, in her goodness, the thought came to her that she would have the potion served by the man to whom it would mean both joy and profit. Thessala sent for Cligés, who came to her at once and asked why she had sent for him.

  ‘My friend,’ she said, ‘I wish to honour the emperor at this meal with a drink that he will esteem most highly, and I don’t want you to serve him any other drink at supper or at bedtime. I believe he will derive great pleasure from it, for he will never have tasted one so good, and no beverage was ever so costly. But I warn you to be careful that no one else drinks of it, for there is very little. And I also admonish you not to let him know where it came from. Say only that you found it by chance among the gifts, and because you sensed and detected on the breeze the fragrance of its sweet spices and beheld its perfect clarity, you poured it into his cup. If by chance he should inquire, this story will satisfy him fully. But you mustn’t harbour any evil suspicions with regard to what I’ve told you, for the drink is pure and healthy and full of good spices; and the time will come, I believe, when it will bring you joy.’

  After he heard that good would come to him from it, Cligés took the potion and returned, for he did not know there was any harm in it. He placed it before the emperor in a crystal cup. The emperor, who trusted his nephew in all things, took the cup and drank a long draught of the potion. Immediately he felt its power descending from his head to his heart, then rising back from his heart to his head, gaining control of all his body without doing him any harm. And by the time the tables were removed, the emperor had drunk so much of the delightful potion that he would never again be free of its powers: every night he would be under its sway as he slept, and it would work on him in such a way that he would believe he was awake even as he slept.

  Now the emperor has been deceived. Many bishops and abbots were there to bless the nuptial bed when the time came to retire. The emperor, as was fitting, lay with his wife that night. As was fitting? I have lied, for he neither kissed nor touched her, though they lay together in the same bed. At first the girl quaked, fearful and concerned that the potion would fail. But such is the potency of its charm that he would never again desire her or any other woman, except in his sleep. But asleep he would have as much sport as one could have in dreams, and he would be convinced his dream was fact. Yet she was afraid of him and moved away from him at first, though he could not approach her since he fell asleep at once. He slept and dreamed and thought he was awake, and in his dream he strove and endeavoured to caress the maiden. But she resisted him steadfastly and defended her virginity. Meanwhile he entreated her and gently called her his sweet friend; he was convinced he possessed her, but he did not. He received his satisfaction from nothing: he embraced nothing, he kissed nothing, he held nothing, he caressed nothing, he saw nothing, spoke to nothing, struggled with nothing, contended with nothing. What a wellmixed potion to overwhelm and dominate him so fully! All his efforts were for naught, though he was convinced and proud that he had possessed the fortress. So he thought, and so he believed, but he had grown weary and fatigued in vain.

  To tell you of this one night is to tell of all, for he never had more pleasure than this. All his life it will be the same, even if he succeeds in returning with her to Greece; but before he has her safely home, I fear that he will encounter a great obstacle for as he is returning the duke to whom she was first given will not stand by idly. The duke has assembled a mighty army and garrisoned all his frontiers; and his spies are at court to send him word each day of the emperor’s situation: his preparations, how long he plans to stay and when he intends to return home, by which route and through which passes.

  The emperor did not delay long after the wedding. He set off gaily from Cologne, escorted by the emperor of Germany and a large company, for he was quite fearful and wary of the Duke of Saxony’s forces. Without stopping the two emperors rode as far as Regensburg, where they lodged one evening in a meadow on the banks of the Danube. The Greeks were in their tents in the fields near the Black Forest, while the Saxons were spying upon them from their camp across the river. The nephew of the Duke of Saxony stood watch alone upon a rise, hoping to find an occasion to surprise or inflict harm on those on the opposite shore. While he was observing them, he saw Cligés and three youths amusing themselves, bearing lances and shields for a friendly joust. But the duke’s nephew was intent upon doing them some harm or injury if he had the chance. With five companions he set off, covering their approach through a valley beside the woods, so that the Greeks did not see them at all until they emerged from the valley and the duke’s nephew charged Cligés, striking him a blow that wounded him slightly near his spine. Cligés
ducked and bent over so that the lance flew by, though it grazed him lightly.

  As soon as Cligés felt the wound, he turned on his young adversary and struck him with such might that he drove his lance right through his heart and left him dead. Then in panic the Saxons all turned back in fear for their lives, breaking ranks as they fled through the forest. And Cligés, who knew nothing of the ambush, did a foolhardy thing by separating from his companions and pursuing the others through the woods to where the duke’s main force was massed and ready to attack the Greeks. All alone and unaided he pursued them, and the young Saxons in panic at having lost their lord came racing to the duke and tearfully told him of his nephew’s death. The duke did not take this lightly and swore to God and all His saints that he would find no joy or good fortune again in life as long as he knew his nephew’s slayer was alive. Then he added that whoever brought him back this man’s head would bring him great comfort and be counted among his friends. At that, a knight boasted that he would present the duke with Cligés’s head, if the latter dared face him in combat.

  By this time Cligés had been pursuing his young adversaries for so long that he met up with the main Saxon force, and the boastful knight took heart as he saw him, certain now he would carry off his head. He rode towards him unhesitatingly, but Cligés had turned back to distance himself from his enemies and returned full speed to where he had left his companions. But he found not a single one, for they had returned to camp to recount their adventure. The emperor ordered the Greeks and Germans to ride as a single force, and immediately all the knights in the army began arming themselves and mounting up.

  Meanwhile the boastful knight, fully armed and with his helmet laced, spurred after Cligés. When Cligés, who never wished to be counted among the cowardly or weak, saw him coming along alone, he hurled abuse at him. The knight, unable to conceal his rage, haughtily insulted Cligés by calling him a knave. ‘Knave,’ he said, ‘on this very spot you will pay for my lord’s death. If I don’t carry off your head, then I’m not worth a fake bezant. I intend to make a gift of it to the duke, and I’ll accept no other pledge. I’ll offer him so much for his nephew that he will be well repaid.’

  Cligés heard the knight insult him like an impudent fool. ‘Vassal,’ he replied, ‘prepare to fight! I will defend my head, and you won’t win it without my leave.’ With that the two attacked. His enemy missed, but Cligés struck him with such force that he upended both horse and rider in a heap. The horse fell upon him so heavily that it tore one of his legs right off. Cligés dismounted and set foot on the green grass; he disarmed the Saxon, dressed himself in his armour, then cut off his head with the man’s own sword. Having severed the head, he fixed it on the end of his lance and said he would offer it to the same duke to whom the knight had promised to present Cligés’s head if he encountered him in battle.

  Scarcely had Cligés put the helmet on his head and gripped the shield – not his own, but that of the knight whom he had just fought – and remounted on that same knight’s horse, leaving his own to stray at large (which brought panic to the Greeks), than he saw the powerful and strongly armed squadrons of combined Greeks and Germans advancing with over a hundred banners flying. Cruel and bloody battles between the Saxons and the Greeks were about to begin. As soon as Cligés saw his men approaching, he turned straight for the Saxons, with his own men in hot pursuit of him, since they did not recognize him because of the armour he now wore. It is no wonder that his uncle fell into despair and feared for Cligés’s life when he saw the head he was bearing on the end of his lance. The entire army together pursued Cligés and he let them give chase, hoping thereby to ignite the battle. When the Saxons saw him approaching, they too were misled by the armour with which he had armed and outfitted himself. They were deceived and tricked, for the duke and all the others, as soon as they saw him charging towards them, exclaimed: ‘Here comes our knight, with the Greeks in hot pursuit! He has Cligés’s head on the point of his lance. Quickly, let’s mount our horses and help him!’

  Then they all urged their horses to a gallop. Cligés spurred towards the Saxons, bending low beneath his shield, his lance aimed forward with the head at its point; though he was no less courageous than Samson, still he was no stronger than any other mortal. Both sides thought that he was dead: the Saxons were elated for it, and the Greeks and Germans saddened. But the truth was about to be revealed. Cligés no longer held his peace; shouting, he rushed upon a Saxon, striking him so hard in the chest with his ashen lance with the head at its point that he knocked him from his stirrups. He cried out for all to hear: ‘Strike, fellow barons! I am Cligés, whom you were seeking. Bear down, brave noble knights! Let no one prove to be afraid; we’ve won the first charge, for cowards never taste such glory!’

  The emperor was overjoyed when he heard his nephew Cligés calling them and urging them on. He was cheered and comforted. But the Saxon duke was most distressed, for now he realized that he was betrayed and lost unless his troops proved stronger. He gathered his men into tight ranks. But the tight ranks of the Greeks did not falter as they spurred forward at once and rushed their enemy. Both sides levelled their lances, met, and struck blows worthy of such armies. At the first impact shields split, lances splintered, girths failed, and stirrups broke. Many a horse was left riderless by those who fell on that field.

  But regardless of the deeds of the others, Cligés and the duke met with lances lowered and struck such mighty blows to one another’s shields that their lances shattered in splinters, though they were strong and sturdily made. Cligés was a skilled horseman and stayed upright in his saddle without stumbling or losing his balance; but the duke lost his seat and was thrown from the saddle in spite of himself. Cligés intended to capture him and lead him away, but in spite of his best efforts he did not have the strength, for the Saxons were all around and battled to rescue the duke. But even so Cligés left the field uninjured and with a fine prize, for he led off the duke’s warhorse, which was whiter than wool and would be as valuable to a noble as the wealth of Octavian of Rome. The horse was an Arabian. The Greeks and Germans exulted to see Cligés mounted upon it, for they had seen the value and excellence of the Arab steed.

  But they were not defended against an ambush and were to suffer great losses before they became aware of it. A spy came to the duke with news that brought him much joy. ‘Duke,’ said the spy, ‘in all the Greek tents there’s not a man left who can defend himself. If you’ll take my word, now is the time to have the emperor’s daughter seized, while you see the Greeks intent on fighting and battle. Give me a hundred of your knights and I’ll turn your beloved over to them. I know an old secluded path along which I can take them so stealthily that they’ll reach the maiden’s tent without being seen or met by any Germans. They’ll be able to seize her and carry her off without any resistance whatsoever.’

  The duke was pleased by this plan. He sent a hundred and more trusted knights with the spy, who guided them so well that they carried the maiden off captive without needing great force, for they had no trouble taking her. Once they had her beyond the camp, they sent her ahead with an escort of twelve knights whom they only accompanied a short distance. The twelve escorted the maiden while the others brought word to the duke of their success. Now the duke had everything he wanted; he personally offered a truce to the Greeks until the following day. Once the truce was offered and accepted, the duke’s men returned to their camp and the Greeks all promptly withdrew, each man to his own tent.

  But Cligés remained alone and unobserved upon a rise, until he noticed the twelve hastening along with the girl as fast as their horses could gallop. Eager to win renown, Cligés charged towards them without delay, for he thought and his heart told him that they were not fleeing without reason. As soon as he caught sight of them he set off after them, and when they saw him they were foolishly deceived, and said: ‘The duke is following us. Let’s wait for him a moment. He’s left the camp by himself and is hurrying to overtake us.’ Every o
ne of them believed this. They all wanted to ride back to meet him, but each individual wished to go alone.

  Meanwhile Cligés had to traverse a deep valley between two mountains. He would never have recognized their banners had they not ridden out to meet him or chosen to wait for him. Six of them came to meet him, but they were to find a rude welcome. The others ambled on at a gentle walk with the maiden, while the six came spurring rapidly through the valley. The knight with the swiftest horse rode ahead of the others, shouting: ‘May God save you, Duke of Saxony! We have reclaimed your darling. The Greeks will not take her now, for she’ll soon be handed over to you.’

  When Cligés heard the words the knight was shouting, there was no happiness in his heart. Indeed, it was a wonder he did not go mad with anger. No wild beast – no leopard, tiger, or lion – seeing its young taken was ever so inflamed or furious or ready to fight as Cligés, for life would mean nothing to him if he failed to rescue his lady. He would rather die than not have her back. The great anger he felt at his humiliation increased the courage within him: he spurred his Arab charger and landed such a mighty blow to the Saxon’s painted shield that, without exaggeration, he made him feel the lance in his heart.

  This gave Cligés confidence. He urged on his Arabian, spurring a full measured acre before he reached the next Saxon, for they were all well behind the leader. He was not afraid to take them on in spite of their numbers since he fought them singly: he met them one at a time, and no one of them had aid from another. He attacked the second Saxon who, like the first, thought to bring him happy news of his own defeat. But Cligés had no wish to hear his words or speech: he plunged his lance into his body so that blood spattered as he withdrew it, taking soul and speech with it.