Clamadeu set off alone in another direction. In those days it was custom – as we find it written in the annals – that a knight had to render himself prisoner with all his equipment just as he was when he left the battle where he had been defeated, without removing or putting on anything. Clamadeu in just this way set off after Anguingueron, who was headed for Disnadaron,13 where King Arthur was to hold court.
Back in the castle of Biaurepaire there was great rejoicing upon the return of those who had spent years in cruel confinement. The great hall and the knights’ quarters were frenzied with excitement; the bells of all the chapels and churches pealed joyfully, and every monk and nun gave prayerful thanks to God. Men and women danced rounds through every street and square. Throughout the whole town people rejoiced that they were no longer under siege or attack.
Meanwhile Anguingueron pursued his route, followed by Clamadeu, who slept in the same lodgings as his seneschal exactly three nights later. He was able to follow his tracks all the way to Disnadaron in Wales, where King Arthur was holding high court in his halls. They saw Clamadeu approaching, still in his battle armour as custom required, and he was recognized by Anguingueron, who had already recounted and delivered his message upon his arrival at court the other night, and who was being retained there as a member of the household and council. He saw his lord covered with red blood, yet recognized him and shouted out at once: ‘My lords, my lords, behold this wonder! Believe me when I tell you that the knight with the red armour has sent this knight you see before you: he has defeated him, I’m certain of this, because I can see that he is covered in blood. The blood is visible from here and I recognize the knight, too, for he is my lord and I am his man. He is called Clamadeu of the Isles, and I thought him to be a knight without peer in all the empire of Rome. Yet many a good man has his misfortunes.’ Thus spoke Anguingueron as Clamadeu was approaching there, and the two ran to greet one another and met in the middle of the courtyard.
It was at Pentecost, and the queen was seated beside King Arthur at the head of the dais. There were counts and dukes and kings, and many queens and countesses; and it was the time after all the Masses had been celebrated and the ladies and knights had returned from church. Kay strode to the centre of the hall without his mantle, holding in his right hand a staff; he had a cap of fine cloth over his blond hair, which had been plaited into a braid – there was no more handsome knight in the world, but his beauty and prowess were spoiled by his evil tongue. His cloak was of a colourful and expensive silken material; he wore an embroidered belt whose buckle and links were all of gold – I recall it well, for the story bears witness to it. Everyone stepped aside as he strode into the hall; they all feared his evil words and malicious tongue and made way for him: a man is a fool not to fear public slander, whether it is spoken in jest or earnest. Everyone within the hall was so afraid of Kay’s malicious words that no one spoke to him.
While they all watched, he strode right up to where the king was seated and said: ‘My lord, if you please, it is now time for you to eat.’
‘Kay,’ said the king, ‘leave me be, for I swear by the eyes in my head that I’ll not partake of food on such a great feast, whether I am holding high court or not, until some worthy news comes to my court.’
While they were conversing in this fashion, Clamadeu entered the hall to deliver himself as a prisoner, still armed as custom required, and said: ‘May God protect and bless the best king living, the noblest and kindest, as everyone who has heard tell of his many good works constantly bears witness! Now listen to me, fair sir, for I must deliver my message: though it is painful to acknowledge, I admit that I have been sent here by a knight who defeated me. I have no choice but to surrender myself prisoner to you on his behalf. And if anyone were to ask me if I knew his name, I would answer no; but I can tell you that his armour is red and he says you gave it to him.’
‘Friend, so help you God,’ replied the king, ‘tell me truly whether he is in good shape, happy, healthy, and well.’
‘Yes,’ said Clamadeu, ‘you may be certain of that, my good lord, for he is the best knight I have ever met. And he told me to speak to the maiden who laughed for him, and who was grievously insulted by Kay’s slap; he said he would avenge her if God grants him the strength.’
When the jester heard these words, he leapt for joy and shouted: ‘My lord king, so help me God, the slap will soon be avenged; and don’t think I’m fooling when I say there’s no way Kay can keep from having his arm broken and collar-bone dislocated!’
Kay, hearing these words, thought them utter foolishness, and you can be sure it was not cowardice that prevented his challenging the jester but the presence of the king and concern for his own reputation.
The king shook his head and said: ‘Ah! Kay, I’m very distressed that he’s not here with me! It is your evil tongue that drove him away, and I grieve for it.’
With these words Girflet arose by order of the king – and also my lord Yvain, who brings honour to all who accompany him – and the king told them to escort the knight into the chambers where the queen’s damsels were entertaining themselves. Clamadeu bowed low in front of Arthur, and those whom the king had commanded brought him into the chambers and pointed out the damsel to him; he gave her the message that she most wished to hear, for she still suffered from the slap upon her cheek. She had recovered fully from the pain of the slap but she had not overcome or forgotten the insult, for only a coward overlooks it when he is shamed or insulted: pain passes and shame endures in a sturdy and healthy man, but cools and dies in the coward. After Clamadeu had delivered his message, the king attached him for life to his court and household.
Meanwhile, he who had fought Clamadeu for the lands and the maiden, his beautiful love Blancheflor, was taking his ease and delight beside her. Both she and the land could have been his had he so desired, and had his thoughts not been elsewhere. But he was intent on other things: he remembered his mother whom he had seen fall in a faint and he wanted to go to see her more than anything else. But he dared not take leave of his lady, for she refused and denied him and commanded all her people to beg him to stay. But all their pleadings were in vain, except that he did promise them that if he found his mother alive he would bring her back with him, and from that day forward would rule the land – of this they could be sure. And if she were dead, he would likewise return.
And so he set off on his way, promising to return, leaving his noble sweetheart very sorrowful and distressed, just like all the others. As he left the town there was such a procession with him that it seemed like Ascension Day or like a Sunday, for all the monks came along, attired in silken copes; and so did the nuns in their veils. And all of them were saying to him: ‘Sir, because you brought us out of exile and returned us to our homes, it is no wonder that we should grieve when you wish to leave us so soon: our sadness should be overwhelming, and indeed it could not be greater.’
And he said to them: ‘You must not weep any longer. I shall return, with God’s help, so there is no point in weeping. Don’t you think it is proper for me to go to see my mother who was living all alone in a wood called the Waste Forest? I shall come back, whether she wishes it or not: nothing will prevent my return. If she’s alive, I’ll make her a veiled nun in your church; and if she’s dead, you shall sing a Mass each year for her soul, so that God might place it with the faithful in the bosom of the holy Abraham. Reverend monks and you, dear ladies, have no cause for grief, for I shall offer generous gifts for the repose of her soul, if God brings me back.’
With that the monks and nuns and all the others turned back, and he rode on, lance at the ready, as fully armed as on the day he came. He continued on his way all day without meeting a living soul, neither man nor woman, who could direct him on his travels. And he prayed unceasingly to Almighty God, the heavenly Father, to permit him to find his mother alive and healthy, if it were His will. And this prayer lasted until he reached a river carving its way down a hillside. He looked at the d
eep and rushing waters and dared not attempt to cross.
‘Ah! Almighty God,’ he said, ‘if I could cross this river I feel sure I’d find my mother if she’s still alive.’
So he rode along the bank until he neared a large boulder sitting in the water and blocking his path. Then he caught sight of a boat drifting down-river with two men in it. He stopped and waited, thinking they would eventually come as far as where he was. But they both stopped in midstream and stayed perfectly still, for they were anchored fast. The man in front was fishing with a line, baiting his hook with a little fish, somewhat larger than a minnow.
The knight, not knowing what to do or how to cross, greeted them and inquired: ‘Tell me, my lords, if there is a ford or bridge across this river.’
And the one who was fishing replied: ‘Not at all, brother, upon my word; nor is there a boat, I assure you, larger than the one we’re in, which would not hold five men. There’s no way to get a horse across, for there’s no ferry, bridge, or ford for twenty leagues upstream or down.’
‘Then tell me, in God’s name, where I can find lodgings.’
And he replied: ‘You’ll need that and more, I believe. I’ll give you lodging tonight. Go up through that cleft cut into the rock, and when you reach the top you’ll see in a valley before you a house where I live, near the river and woods.’
The young knight climbed until he reached the top of the hill; and when he was at the top he looked all around him and saw only sky and earth, and said: ‘What have I come for? Deceit and trickery! May God bring shame today on him who sent me here. He sent me on a wild goose chase when he told me I’d see a house when I came up here! Fisherman, you did me great dishonour when you told me this, if you said it out of malice!’
Then, in a valley before him, he caught sight of the top of a tower. From there to Beirut you could not find a finer or better situated one. It was square in construction, of dark stone, with two turrets flanking it. The hall was in front of the keep, and the galleries in front of the hall. The youth headed down in that direction, exclaiming now that the man who had sent him there had guided him well. And so he praised the fisherman and no longer called him deceitful, disloyal, or lying, since now he had found lodgings. He rode towards the gate, before which he discovered a lowered drawbridge. He crossed over the bridge and four squires hastened towards him: two of them helped him remove his armour, the third took charge of his horse and gave it hay and oats, while the fourth robed him in a fresh, new mantle of scarlet. Then they took him towards the galleries, which I assure you were more splendid than any that could be sought out or seen from here to Limoges. The youth waited in the galleries until the lord of the castle sent two squires there to summon him, and he accompanied them into the great hall, which was square in shape – as long as it was wide.
In the middle of the hall he saw a handsome nobleman with greying hair seated upon a bed. His head was covered by a cap of sable – black as mulberry, with a purple peak – and his robe was of the same material. He was leaning on his elbow before a very large fire of dry logs, blazing brightly between four columns. Four hundred men could easily sit around that fire, and each would have a comfortable spot. A tall, thick, broad, brass chimney was supported by those strong columns. The two squires who were escorting his guest came before their lord, flanking him on either side.
When the lord saw him approaching he greeted him at once, saying: ‘Friend, don’t be offended if I don’t rise to greet you, for it is not easy for me to do so.’
‘In God’s name, sire,’ he replied, ‘say no more, for I am not at all offended, as God gives me health and happiness.’
To do his guest honour, the gentleman rose as much as he was able, and said: ‘Friend, come over here and don’t be frightened of me; sit down confidently at my side, for so I command you.’ The youth sat down beside him and the nobleman continued: ‘Friend, where did you come from today?’
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘this morning I left Biaurepaire, so the place is called.’
‘So help me God,’ said the nobleman, ‘you’ve ridden a great distance today. You must have set off this morning before the watchman sounded the dawn.’
‘No,’ said the youth, ‘I assure you that the hour of prime had already been sounded.’
As they were conversing in this way, a squire entered by the door. He was carrying a sword hanging by straps from his neck; he handed it to the noble lord, who unsheathed it halfway so that it could clearly be seen where it had been made, for it was engraved upon the blade. He also saw that it was made of such good steel that it could not be broken except in one singularly perilous circumstance known only to him who had forged and tempered it.
The squire who had brought it said: ‘Sire, your niece, the beautiful maiden with the blonde tresses, sent you this gift; you can never have beheld a finer sword, in its length and weight, than this one here. You may bestow it upon whomsoever you choose; but my lady would be most pleased if it were given to someone who would use it well, for the man who forged it made only three and he will die before being able to make another sword after this one.’
Immediately, the lord invested the stranger among them with the sword by placing its straps, a great treasure in themselves, over his shoulders. The sword’s pommel was of gold, the finest in Arabia or Greece; its scabbard was the work of a Venetian goldsmith. The lord gave it to him in all its splendour and said: ‘Good brother, this sword was ordained and destined for you, and I am eager for you to have it. Put it on now and draw it.’
He thanked him and strapped it on loosely, then drew it shining from its scabbard; after he had held it for a moment he replaced it in its scabbard. I assure you it was magnificent at his side and even better in his grip, and it was obvious that in time of need he would wield it bravely. Behind him he saw squires standing around the blazing fire: he caught sight of the one in charge of his armour and handed him the sword to keep. Then he sat down again beside the lord, who paid him every honour. Within that hall the light from the burning candles was as bright as could be found in any castle.
As they were speaking of one thing and another, a squire came forth from a chamber carrying a white lance by the middle of its shaft; he passed between the fire and those seated upon the bed. Everyone in the hall saw the white lance with its white point from whose tip there issued a drop of blood, and this red drop flowed down to the squire’s hand.14 The youth who had come there that night observed this marvel but refrained from asking how it came about, for he recalled the admonishment given by the gentleman who had knighted him, who taught and instructed him not to talk too much; he was afraid that if he asked they would consider him uncouth, and therefore he did not ask.
Then two other squires entered holding in their hands candelabra of pure gold, crafted with enamel inlays. The young men carrying the candelabra were extremely handsome. In each of the candelabra there were at least ten candles burning. A maiden accompanying the two young men was carrying a grail15 with her two hands; she was beautiful, noble, and richly attired. After she had entered the hall carrying the grail the room was so brightly illumined that the candles lost their brilliance like stars and the moon when the sun rises. After her came another maiden, carrying a silver carving platter. The grail, which was introduced first, was of fine pure gold. Set in the grail were precious stones of many kinds, the best and costliest to be found in earth or sea: the grail’s stones were finer than any others in the world, without any doubt. The grail passed by like the lance; they passed in front of the bed and into another chamber. The young knight watched them pass by but did not dare ask who was served from the grail, for in his heart he always held the wise gentleman’s advice. Yet I fear that this may be to his misfortune, for I have heard it said that at times it is just as wrong to keep too silent as to talk too much. Whether for good or for ill he did not ask or inquire anything of them.
The lord of the castle ordered his squire to bring water and to prepare the tablecloths. Those whose duty it was d
id these things as they were accustomed. The lord and his young guest washed their hands in warm water, and two squires carried in a broad ivory table: as the story relates, it was entirely made of a single piece. They held it a moment before their lord and the youth, until two other squires came bearing two trestles. The wood of the supports had two excellent qualities: the trestles would last for ever since they were of ebony, a wood that no one need fear would ever rot or burn, for ebony will do neither. The table was placed upon these supports, with the tablecloth over it. What could I say about the cloth? No pope, cardinal, or papal legate ever ate off one so white.
The first course was a haunch of venison cooked in its fat with hot pepper. They were not short of clear, strong wine, which could be drunk easily from golden goblets. Before them a squire carved the haunch of peppered venison, which he had brought within his reach upon its silver carving platter, and he placed the pieces before them on whole loaves of flat bread. Meanwhile the grail passed again in front of them, and again the youth did not ask who was served from the grail. He held back because the gentleman had so gently admonished him not to talk too much, and he kept this warning constantly to heart. But he kept more silent than he should have, because with each course that was served he saw the grail pass by completely uncovered before him. But he did not learn who was served from it, though he wanted to know; he said to himself that he would be sure to ask one of the court squires before he left there, but would wait until he was taking leave of the lord and all the rest of his household in the morning. So the question was put off, and he set his mind to drinking and eating. The wine and food were delicious and agreeable, and were served at table in generous portions. The meal was excellent and good: the nobleman was served that evening with food fit for a king, count or emperor, and the young knight with him.
Arthurian Romances Page 58
