Heroines of the French Epic
Page 16
1690 As he beheld his men escaping left and right,
With Frenchmen on their tails, their weapons burning bright,
And yearning all for blood before they burst outside.
They hewed a hundred heads, and more, the record writes,
From Pagan kings and dukes, from guest and groom alike,
Who in that ancient room were robbed of Pagan pride.
The only Moor untouched was Maugalie the bride!
Young Richier, with grace, addressed the Maid and cried:
“My lady, fair and brave, “you’ll not be left behind.”
He took her by the hand, then, leading her outside,
1700 He sped her to the steeds beneath the shady pines.
The Saracens themselves were holding them in lines –
They’d thought that their Emir had commandeered their time!
Instead, our gallant peers snatched any one they liked!
They swung the Maid astride the fastest they could find,
And flung upon their own, not wasting any time.
They turned around in force and, never slowing stride,
They left the dreaded town and headed for the Rhine.
When all had crossed a bridge and reached the other side,
They lifted up its planks and, splitting them with spikes,
1710 They tossed them in the flow to float upon the tide.
When this was done they turned for Belfort and its knights:
God speed them on their way, I say, for love of Christ!
7. How Floovant escaped from the Moors
THE FRENCHMEN hurried onward, along a metalled roadway,
With Maugalie the Maiden, so slim of limb and shoulder.
But King Galeen pursued them and, with a thousand soldiers,
He found another crossing and led the Pagans over.
Among them was a royal called Scorpion of Vaugris,
Who rode up to his leader and boldly thus bespoke him:
“O great Emir of Persia, your colours have been lowered!
1720 Your captives are escaping with happy hearts, and crowing
That they have snared your daughter fair Maugalie the noble!
Fine Emperor, I ask you to make her my betrothèd –
Then with my shining weapon I’ll slaughter all these bolters!”
The great Emir responded: “You’ve spoken very boldly,
And you shall have my daughter – when you have caught my foemen!”
The hot-blood said: “Your Highness, my waiting wastes the moment!”
He dug his spurs directly against his mount and drove it
Across the hills and valleys, through wooded land and open,
Until he saw his quarry on open ground and sloping.
1730 With ringing voice he shouted: “That’s far enough, you rovers,
And far too far to go with my future queen a-strolling!
Shall prisoners and robbers escape with what they’ve stolen?
Since manacles and shackles are not enough to hold you,
I’ll hurry you to Heaven before you even know it!”
Young Richier could hear him, but didn’t fear his boasting
The slightest bit, and, spurring his Arab steed, he smote him
Upon the heavy buckler his heathen hand was holding:
He hit the shield and split it between its golden moulding,
Then, thrusting on with vigour, he slit his double hauberk
1740 And rammed the point of iron through flesh and bone below it:
One lance’s length it threw him and slew him in a moment.
He seized his noble gelding, the reins of which were golden,
Then led it to his father, and said as he approached him:
“Accept this mount I offer in admiration’s token,
For I am very certain it’s stronger than the old one
That’s taken you already to Rome with such devotion.
This gelding will be better to get you to our homeland
In France, or on to Paris and to the court of Clovis.”
Said Jocerant: “I thank you, by God and all that’s holy.”
1750 Then mounting up the faster, he left behind the slower.
ACROSS A heathen hillside the Frenchmen rode together.
Fair Maugalie, the courtly, was watching all directions,
And saw the evil Pagans were gaining on the Frenchmen.
She turned at once to Floovant and gallantly addressed him:
“So help me, noble scion, by God Who dwells in Heaven,
Some twenty thousand Pagans are coming, all in helmets,
And we are in their homeland, still many miles from Belfort!
With every stride they’re taking they’re matching us, and better ,
And when their vanguard catch us, the fighting will be heavy.
1760 If I am caught, my father will surely cut my head off.
Alas, I’ll never flee him! Yet I shall not surrender,
But try a ruse, since nothing is gained if nothing’s ventured!
I have, inside a sleeve here, a shirt of white, and leggings
That Richier had asked for and I had sought to get him.
But I instead shall wear them, and be prepared and ready
To sit astride my saddle as like a knight as any!”
“Then do it now,” said Floovant, “fine Maiden, brave and clever,
And we shall all address you as Foucon of Tudela!”
At once the gallant beauty dismounted, well attended
1770 By Richier, who steadied and held her very gently.
Then, putting on the jacket and pulling on the leggings,
She looked like any fighter or knight among his fellows!
FAIR MAUGALIE the Maid dismounted from her stallion,
And never more that day would use a lady’s saddle!
What’s more, she took a herb, and squeezing it, she massaged
Its sap against her skin, which turned it black and blacker
Until she looked as dark as any of her clansmen!
And then she donned the clothes, which fitted her exactly,
Before she mounted steed, to speed it or to amble.
1780 Astride, I must confide, she looked like any vassal!
FAIR MAUGALIE the Maid was full of brave resource.
She put on straightaway the clothing she had brought
For Richier the bold, who’d asked for it before,
And then a coat of mail, the smartest ever worn!
She draped a fitting cloak of purple over all
Then mounted once again her stallion of war –
Her feet replete with spurs both neat and finely wrought –
Before she seized a spear, and heavy shield what’s more,
Then spurred towards the head of Floovant’s little force!
Young Floovant said at once: “Sir Faucon, do come forth!
1790 Why have you but a lance and shield and nothing more –
A hauberk or a helm, a cutting spear or sword?”
The Maiden said at once: “I need no arms, my lord,
But these, and other charms I have, albeit small,
That I shall need indeed when we have reached Belfort
And I must face again the daughter of King Flor:
I know that we shall clash, and fear that I may fall!
One Saturday ago we met upon the morn
In Castle Avenant, as doubtless you recall:
I do not wish to face that beauty any more,
1800 For it would be unfair for dusk to face the dawn:
Her looks, so bright and light, will blight a Blackamoor’s!
If you desire
her, Prince, then bed her and enjoy
Her once or twice, or thrice – but wed me, as you’ve sworn!
Then, though I lose a fight, I know I’ll win the war!”
Said Jocerant the duke: “So help me God, my lord,
This Maiden is as wise and brave as any born!
I’m sure of this: she won’t be recognised at all!
But let us guard her well, and keep her to the fore,
For at the rear I fear our party may be caught!
1810 We’ll die before the Moors take back this bride of yours!”
When this was said, at once young Richier spurred forth,
And by its golden rein led forth her gelding horse.
Again they spurred ahead – God speed them, one and all,
As the Emir Galeen drew nearer with his Moors!
ALONG THEY spurred to Belfort, God speed them all and each –
One thousand Moors pursued them of the emir Galeen!
See one of them this moment whose name was Estorgīs,
A rich emir and ruler of Babylon’s demesne.
He rode up to his master and boldly made to speak:
1820 “Your colours have been lowered, O glorious Emir,
By dogs who have your daughter, the fair-faced Maugalie!
Fine Emperor, I beg you to pledge her hand to me
And I shall slay these barons with my well-burnished spear,
To earn her hand in marriage – that is, if you agree.”
The great Emir responded: “I do agree, indeed.
I’ll give her to you gladly and everyone shall see!
Your church shall be Montmartre, your aisle the Paris streets,
Your wedding-gift the kingdom – as soon as you succeed!”
“My lord,” the rogue responded, “my waiting wastes the deed!”
1830 He dug his spurs directly against his mount to speed
Across the meads before him, through wooded land and clear,
Through valleys, over hillsides and countless little streams
Until he saw his quarry on sloping land and steep.
With ringing voice he shouted: “That’s far enough, you fiends,
And far too far to sally and dally with my Queen!
Shall thieving sons of harlots escape so easily?
I’ll haul you back to Basum where all shall see and hear
The judgement of her father, our emperor Galeen:
He’ll hang you till you’re twitching, then hitch you to his steeds
1840 Till every limb is severed, then burn you in a heap!
He’ll give your bony ashes to all his warrior-chiefs
To make them even bolder upon the battlefield.”
Duke Guinemant could hear him, and didn’t like the speech:
He never let him finish, but turned his Arab steed
To strike the noisy Pagan upon his burnished shield.
Beneath its golden centre he cleft the buckler clean
And reft the heavy hauberk of half its rings beneath.
Between his ribs he planted his sharply burnished spear
With force enough to kill him, though still the villain breathed
1850 As from his steed he tumbled and stumbled on the lea.
His horse’s reins were golden, and Guinemant with glee
Took hold of them to follow his comrades with the beast.
The great Emir kept coming: he flayed his horse to keep
An arrow’s range and further beyond his Pagan peers,
A thousand wicked Pagans whose anger burned their cheeks.
King Estorgīs, though injured, had struggled to his feet,
And, looking right, he noticed his master drawing near.
With ringing voice he called him: “Fine Emperor, my liege,
Fair Maugalie your daughter is nowhere to be seen!
1860 I’d say the French have left her in Basum or its fiefs –
I swear to you, I’m certain that Maugalie’s not here.
The only Moor that’s with them is one upon his steed,
Who doesn’t move a muscle but holds aloft a spear.
If you proceed, they’ll kill you as soon as you appear,
For they have planned an ambush behind that stand of trees:
King Flores the Alsatian has come to their relief
With fifty thousand liegemen and more, believe you me!”
The great Emir responded: “But that’s beyond belief!”
Then added, as an insult to injured Estorgis:
1870 “You’ve bled so much, young hero, you cannot hear or see!
One man becomes a thousand to failing eyes and ears!
You’re right in this: my daughter’s not here, for you at least!
Your ardour was your folly – both you and all the cheats
Who’ve tried to buy my daughter have paid a mortal fee!
I don’t believe your ravings! I’ll hunt the Christian thieves
Until they all are captured and hanging in the breeze!”
He kicked and pricked his courser to drive it with a leap
One furlong and a quarter beyond his Pagan peers.
At last, upon a lookout, he saw the French beneath,
1880 And seeing them so near him, he couldn’t halt his zeal
Until his men were with him, but started for the field,
As all his forces followed, directly on his heels.
When Floovant saw them coming, so full of hatred’s heat,
He said to all his barons: “My gallant knights and free,
The Saracens are coming, a thousand strong at least:
We cannot flee them further, we’ll have to fight them here.
So let us turn our horses, as bravely bred as we,
And each select a victim to feel our burnished spears!”
On hearing this, his barons pledged faithfully to heed
1890 His call and flee no further till all their blows had breached
A hundred Pagan helmets of glowing, gleaming green.
And so they turned their horses and spurred them forth to meet
The Pagan van, selecting, each man, a target each.
Beneath their golden bosses they split the Pagan shields
And threw to ground their owners and slew them in a heap.
Prince Floovant chose to joust with Galeen the great Emir:
He bored right through his buckler, he tore his hauberk’s seams
Of double-mail, just missing his ribcage underneath,
But flinging him a spear-length before him on the field.
1900 The Devil saved his servant, who didn’t even bleed,
But couldn’t save his war-horse as nimble Floovant seized
Its golden reins and mounted with one enormous leap.
Then, motioning his Frenchmen to bring away the steeds
That each of them had conquered, he raced across a reach:
“My lords,” he shouted gaily, “this booty’s twice as sweet!
If we can save these horses and trust our own to reach
Belfort alive, the Pagans can’t even boast that we
Were forced to steal their horses because our own were weak!”
This said, they took the roadway that led among the trees.
1910 Galeen was left to smoulder with anger and with grief,
Until at length the vanguard he’d ridden from appeared
And brought a second war-horse of noble strength and speed,
Which straightaway he hurried and harried with his heels.
“Each one of you, pursue them!” the raging monarch screamed.
So, to their trumpets’ trilling and tabors’ drilling beat,
Th
e misbegotten Pagans pursued our men’s retreat:
“By Mahom and Apollo,” swore Emperor Galeen,
“I’ll not relax my labours until the French are seized
And I’ve retrieved my daughter, the haughty Maugalie!
1920 I’ll torture them in prison, I’ll slaughter them like beasts!
I’ll have their bodies quartered and dragged by rapid steeds!”
“I SWEAR by good Mahomet and gallant Tervagant,
I’ll not relax my labours until these Christian dogs
Are rounded up, impounded or slaughtered on the spot!
No fortresses shall hide them, however big or strong!”
That’s what he said, but I say: ‘God willing he’ll be wrong’,
For help was there already to serve and save Floovant:
King Flor himself had ridden and hidden with a squad
Of fifteen thousand horsemen, whose courage was their bond.
1930 He’d placed them in an ambush along a slope of rock,
Upon a ledge well hidden by bracken, branch and frond,
And where a chasm gave them a view of all beyond.
From there it was they spotted the mighty Pagan throng
With fourteen knights before them, both like a van and not –
For Maugalie the maiden and Richier the strong,
With Floovant and the barons, outran the Pagan mob!
“Mountjoy,” they shouted gaily, “for Clovis and for God!”
Atop a mighty oak-tree that stood some way beyond
The woodland, Flor had stationed a lookout to keep watch
1940 And wait until the moment the Pagans came along –
And when they did, to tell him without a moment’s loss.
So when at last it happened, the fellow knew his job:
He saw the hated heathens in fierce pursuit and hot
Of hapless Christian fellows, and straightaway he shot
Down every branch as swiftly as autumn leafage drops,
Then flew to tell his master inside the rocky copse.
With ringing voice he roused him before his running stopped:
“To arms at once, your Highness! To arms with all we’ve got!
For I have seen the Pagans in hot pursuit and strong
1950 Of fourteen Christian riders who cannot shake them off:
Although they ride like fury, I fear that they will not.
They call ‘Mountjoy!’, your Highness, the war-cry of Floovant,
The gallant roving Frenchman who served you and was lost.”