Heroines of the French Epic
Page 3
He watched the Rhône that flowed below and reached
Beside a road approaching from the East,
110 When, suddenly, a figure cleft the stream:
One Gilbert of Lenu – an escapee!
Three years before this man had tried to keep
A bridge from Pagan hands, but had been seized
And taken back to rot in Orange keep.
But, then, at dawn, one morning bright and clear,
It pleased the Lord to set his servant free:
His warden there had loosed him from his leash,
To lather him with taunting and with weals.
Sir Gilbert, though, had had enough, and seized
120 The Pagan’s hair, then, forcing him to kneel,
Had used his fist to strike a blow so fierce
It broke the neck and backbone of the fiend,
And flung him dead before Sir Gilbert’s feet.
Through window-bars he’d made his way beneath
And raced away beyond their evil reach.
He hadn’t stopped until he’d got to Nîmes.
The barons there were talking fun and feasts,
When Gilbert told a story that would lead
Count William to sighing more with grief
130 Than from delight at night between the sheets!
COUNT WILLIAM was at his window high.
The wretch below had cleft the Rhône and climbed
Across the hills and down the valley-sides,
Not stopping once until he had arrived
Inside the town, whose gates were open wide.
He found the Count beneath a leafy pine,
Together with a band of gallant knights.
Beneath the tree, for everyone’s delight,
A minstrel sang a lay of ancient times,
140 A lovely song the Count had always liked,
As up the steps Sir Gilbert came in sight.
Count William looked up and met his eye:
He saw a man whose tan had lost its shine
On wasted flesh, and one whose hair was wild.
He thought at first some Pagan had contrived
To cross the sea and paid a heavy price
For bringing news and seeking some reply.
But then the Count was greeted in this wise:
“May God the Lord, Who gives us wheat and wine,
150 And from the sky lights up the day and night
So man can walk in God’s Eternal Light,
Save William Short-Nose, the best of knights,
The flower of France; and may He bless alike
The men I see assembled here to fight.”
“God bless you too, my friend!” the Count replied:
“But tell me, sir, without delay or lie,
Who tutored you to know my face on sight?”
“You’ll hear the truth, my lord,” the stranger sighed:
“A prisoner I’ve been, too long confined
160 Inside Orange, whose cage I couldn’t fly
Until there came a recent day when Christ
Provided me with means to end my plight!”
“All praise to Him!” said William the wise:
“But tell me now, without delay or lie,
Your given name and native land, sir knight.”
“You’ll hear the truth, my lord,” the stranger sighed,
“But I am worn from half a week of flight.
I haven’t slept or even shut my eyes,
Nor supped at all, nor sipped a drop of wine!”
170 “You surely shall!” Count William replied,
And called at once his steward to his side:
“Supply this man with all that he desires
To eat and drink of bread and ale and wine,
Of heron, crane and peppered peacock-pie!”
The steward did as William advised,
And when the man had drunk his fill and dined,
He sat before the Count in better mind
To tell the tale of how he had survived.
COUNT WILLIAM observed the stranger’s face,
180 And asked him first, before he told his tale:
“Where were you born, my friend? Which land or place
In France? And what, I pray you, is your name?”
Sir Gilbert said, whose visage shone again:
“My father is Duke Guy of the Ardennes.
He holds Artois and Vermandois the same.
When I was bound for Burgundy one day
From Germany along the Lausanne Lake,
A wind blew up that grew into a gale
And drove me on to Port Geneva’s bay.
190 Then on the Rhône a crew of Pagans came
From Port Orange and hauled me to its jail.
The fortress there is past compare I’d say:
Its walls are high, its towers widely spaced.
Its hall is huge and all its wards ornate.
A thousand score of Pagans it contains
With seven score of Turks well armed and trained
To guard Orange each moment of the day.
They live in fear of Louis and the raids
That you, my lord, and more may undertake.
200 Prince Arragon, the city’s magistrate,
Is Teebo’s son, the great emir of Spain,
Whose wife, the Queen Orable, I vouchsafe,
Is fairer far than any Northern maid!
She’s beautiful! Such slender hips and waist!
Such tender skin, as white as meadow-may!
Alas for youth and beauty gone to waste
In ignorance of God and Christian grace!”
“In truth, Orange is an imposing place,”
Said William, “and, by the Lord I praise,
210 I’ll never lift a shield or lance again
Until I’ve seen this treasure it contains!”
COUNT WILLIAM was sitting by the Northman
Upon a marble step, to hear his story.
Before he did, he asked the fellow, warmly:
“My gallant friend, you speak with the assurance
Of noble birth: they didn’t jail you, surely?”
“They did indeed, for three years and a fortnight.
I couldn’t find or fight my way from thraldom
Until at dawn, one bright and sunny morning,
220 God sent the haughty Moor whose one employment
Was flogging me each day for his enjoyment!
But on that day I seized him by the forelock
And rabbit-punched the villain so adroitly
I broke his neck, his collarbone and jawbone!
I clambered through a window of the fortress
And made away before the others saw me!
I fled towards Beaucaire, where on the water
I saw a band of Turk and Persian forces
With Arragon, the eldest son and Warden
230 Of all Orange for King Teebo the warlord.
He’s big and strong, his limbs are long and brawny,
His brow is wide and wears a frowning forehead.
His hands are huge, his nails are long and pointed.
Beneath the sky no lord’s so high and haughty:
With every breath some Christian death he orders.
If any man could take his town and fortress
And put to death this haughty villain also,
The booty gained would well be worth the toiling!”
SAID WILLIAM the brave: “Good brother, friend!
240 Is fierce Orange as fine as you have said?”
“It’s finer far, in truth,” Sir Gilbert said:
“If you could see the fortress for yourself,
How tall it is, with walls so highly set
That looking up’s enough to break your neck!
If you were there when summer comes again,
You’d hear the sounds of fledglings in the nest,
Of hawks in mew and falcons overhead,
Of neighing steeds and braying mules, as well
As countless Moors enjoying joust and jest!
250 You’d sniff the sweet and aromatic smells
Of cinnamon and spice laid end to end!
And you could see Orable in the flesh,
King Teebo’s wife, so fair of hair and head:
You’ll never find her peer for loveliness
In Christendom or any Pagan realm!
Such tenderness! Such slender hips and legs,
And falcon’s eyes, so bright and so intense!
Alas for youth and beauty so misled
In ignorance of God and His largesse!
260 How fine a place she’d make a Christian bed
For somebody who’d save her soul from hell!”
“I swear by good St Omer,” William said,
“You praise her so, good brother, gallant friend,
That by the Lord, Who saves us all, I pledge
I’ll never lift a shield or lance again
Unless I win Orange and its Princess!”
“IS FORT ORANGE and what it guards so peerless?”
The captive said: “My lord, so help me Jesus,
If you could see the hall and all its reaches,
270 Its jousting-grounds and every vaulted ceiling
That Griffon built, a Moor from Almeria,
A Saracen of building-skills unequalled!
With golden paint its decoration features
Each flower grown from here to old Pavia.
And yet the bloom of this or any season,
Is still the one that’s grafted to King Teebo!
In southern lands Orable has no equal:
Her neck is such a slender and a sweet one,
Her face as fair as meadow-may, believe me,
280 With laughing eyes that dazzle all that meet them.
Alas for youth and beauty lost to evil,
In ignorance of God and our Lord Jesus!”
Said William: “Your praises shall redeem her!
I swear, by every lover’s bounden fealty,
I’ll eat no salted meat or bread that’s sweetened,
Nor drink of wine except the vine in season,
Until I’ve seen Orange as you have seen it,
Its fortress and the treasure that it’s keeping –
The noble Queen, Orable. For, believe me,
290 So fierce a love is urging me to seek her
I can’t begin to tell or quell the feeling!
I’ll wilt away unless I win this creature!”
The captive said: “My lord, you’ve lost your reason!
If you could breach the city’s fort and reach her,
You’d still confront a mighty guard of heathens!
What makes you think that you could ever leave there
Alive with her? You’d both be dead by evening.
The thought is mad! Forget it, I beseech you.”
COUNT WILLIAM, when he could hear the terror
300 That filled the voice of Gilbert till it trembled,
Called all his men and said to the assembly:
“My worthy knights, advise me at you pleasure!
This man has praised Orange and made me jealous!
I’ve never been to see this southern centre,
But know the Rhône between is full of perils –
Or else I would have seized the place already!”
The captive cried: “The thought is mad! Forget it!
“You have the Rhône and everything against you!
And even with a hundred thousand Frenchmen
310 Equipped with gilded shields and shining weapons,
As soon as you appear on the offensive
You’ll lose a thousand swords to their defences,
With saddle-girths and bucklers just as many.
Before you reach the city gates, I tell you,
Your vanguard troops already will have perished!
The thought is mad! I wish I’d never said it!”
SAID WILLIAM: “Your logic drives me mad!
You tell me first no king or baron has
So fine a town, but blame me out of hand
320 For wanting then to see a place so grand!
By St Maurice, who rests at Amiens,
I order you to guide me there and back!
But we’ll forgo the use of horse or hack,
Of hauberks bright or helms from Amiens,
Of Poitou spear, of buckler-shield or brand,
And dress ourselves in beggars’ hairy rags!
You speak the tongues we need, and understand
These southerners, these Bedouins and Basques!”
Imagine how the captive felt at that!
330 He wished he’d fled to Chartres or to Blois,
Or Paris to the North, in Louis’ land,
Or anywhere, except to where he had!
COUNT WILLIAM was full of anger’s heat.
His nephew Bertrand rose and made to speak:
“Good uncle, let this mad obsession be!
For even if you managed first to reach
The Pagan hall and blend with all convened,
They’d recognise your laughter and your speech,
And know you’d come to spy upon their deeds!
340 They’d haul you back to Persia then, and eat
No sweetened bread but you instead, my liege!
They won’t delay, they’ll add you to their feast
Or throw you in some stony cell and leave
Your bones to rot forever, or at least
Till the return of Teebo their emir,
And Desramed and Golias of Beel,
Who’ll deal with you as cruelly as they please!
If woman’s love brings William to grief,
Then all your land will curse the day and year
350 You ever laid your eyes on such a queen!”
Said William: “I care not in the least,
For, by the saint that’s honoured in Galice,
I’d rather die than break my word to eat
No sweetened bread nor any salted meat,
Or drink of wine except the season’s least,
Until I’ve seen Orange the same as he,
And Gloriette, the marble tower that keeps
So marvellous and fine a queen from me!
Desire for her has gripped me like a leech,
360 And lovers’ blood’s as hot as hot can be!”
COUNT WILLIAM grew restless with desire.
His nephew Bertrand rose to check his stride:
“Good uncle, do you want to shame your life
And perish hacked to pieces and reviled?”
“I’m not afraid of that!” the Count replied:
“A lover’s blood is like a raging fire!
No man alive will ever change my mind,
No fear of death or fate that might arise!
I want to see Orange with my own eyes,
370 And her whose face and grace are so admired!
Desire for her has gripped me like a vice:
I cannot rest by day or sleep at night,
I cannot eat or drink, I cannot ride,
I cannot arm for any other fight,
Or go to church, when I am held so tight!”
On saying this, he had some ink combined
With other herbs he knew would do to dye
His body black, and used it left and right
Upon himself, then asked the northern knight
380 To do the same – who warily obliged.
They really looked like sooty Satanites!
“By good St Richier,” Guielin cried,
“I have to say you’ve altered out of sight!
You really could go anywhere you liked
Without a fear of being recognised!
But, by the Pope, I swear I’d rather die
Or have my body racked or hacked awry
Than fail to vie or venture at your side!”
He dyed his skin as well, and so disguised,
390 All three of them had done the best they might.
They took their leave and left their town behind:
Young Bertrand cried: “Dear God of all that’s right,
How easily we mortals are beguiled!
How rapidly and madly we decide
Upon a course that could destroy our lives,
Without Your grace to guard us and to guide!”
2. How William met Arragon the Warden
SIR WILLIAM, his gallant face aglow,
Could hardly wait, and started down the road
With Gilbert of Lenu and Gui the bold.
400 Young Bertrand stayed and sadly watched them go.
Beneath Beaucaire the trio saw the Rhône
And cautiously set forth upon the flow.
They rowed across with deft but doughty strokes,
Then crossed the Sorgue, without a barque or boat.
Through Avignon, with firm intent and bold,
They reached Orange, its mighty walls, its moats,
Its lofty hall and citadel aglow
With shining domes and eagles cast in gold.
Within they heard the city’s din, composed
410 Of nesting-birds and hunting-birds in moult,
Of neighing steeds and braying mules, and folk
Inside the fort cavorting high and low.
And everywhere the heavy fragrance rose
Of cinnamon and spice in many bowls.
Said William: “I swear upon my soul,
This city is as fine as I was told!
Its ruler is a wealthy man, I know!”
On saying this, the three of them approached
The porter’s lodge, where Gilbert called and spoke
420 The local tongue in very courtly tones:
“Please let us in, good porter, nothing loath,
For we are three interpreters who go