At once the king responded: “I swear, so help me God,
That we today shall harvest a rich and handsome crop
Of booty even Clovis might well be jealous of!
Seize armour bright and weapons, fine knights of noble stock,
To hit the hated Pagans our watch has lit upon!
One half of all our forces, whose valour is their bond,
1960 Should spur their gallant horses to where this crevice drops,
And there await the moment we need them up the top.
The Pagans will know nothing until they feel the shock
Of cutting spears before them and all escape cut off!
Surprise can win a battle against the strongest odds –
Since ancient times it’s happened, I’ve heard, and doubt it not.
So greet them with your lances, good vassals, hard and oft,
And we shall surely beat them, and help to right a wrong.”
“Your will be done, your Highness!” they shouted in response,
Like gallant men, directly, and then one half thereof
1970 Went spurring down the incline without a moment’s loss,
The other half remaining among the trees on top.
Eventually young Floovant came riding past the rocks,
Outrunning still the vanguard of Balan’s blighted mob,
Who truly had no inkling of any ambush-plot.
As Richier rode past him and Floovant spurred along,
Flor recognised directly the pair that he had lost.
With matching speed our hero espied the king and stopped.
While reining in his war-horse, he raised his voice aloft:
“My noble lord, forgive us! Forgive us all, dear God,
1980 For I must tell you truly: your sons are dead and gone,
And it was I who slew one, my weapon and my wrath,
And Richier the other, whose heart with valour throbs.
For love of God forgive us, fine monarch, for, if not,
We cannot kiss in friendship and I must wander on!”
“So help me, God Almighty,” said Flor, “you did no wrong:
I curse them both for traitors and worse than rabid dogs!
I pardon you completely, most noble knight and strong.”
At this, they stripped the ventails upon their hauberks off
And kissed each other, weeping, in fair embrace and fond.
1990 The Moors would feel the strength of their doubly bounden bond!
Together Flor and Floovant, and all those up the top
Turned round to face the Pagans and spurred their horses on –
For it was now or never: they had to win, if not,
The Pagans who had pained them so wrongly and so long
Would capture them and slay them directly or anon –
For there were just too many to flee or shelter from.
The earth and woodland trembled, resounding to the shock
Of hooves in hundred thousands, converging on the spot.
The Christians spurred their horses, and when their forces crossed,
2000 What mighty blows and buffets their cutting weapons swapped!
The Frenchmen drove their lances so fiercely and so oft
In Pagan bone and bellies they splayed their guts upon
The stony ground in thousands and laid them out in lots.
The chase and heat of battle, together with the fog
Of dust they raised around them, oppressed the Pagan mob
And helped the Christian forces to pounce and pick them off.
When Galeen saw the Frenchmen so fearsome in their wrath,
And then the force behind them, so gallant and so strong,
He cursed his lack of judgement and arrogant aplomb!
2010 His forces fell before him: they wilted as he watched.
He almost fell with sorrow – but anger bore him on:
His vanguard had been beaten – he swore the rear would not!
He summoned fourteen thousand, their lances strong and long –
The great Emir was certain that these would do the job!
My lords, I’m sure they would have – if they had worked for God!
THE FIGHTING FLARED anew – more grim it grew and fierce.
Young Floovant and the rest, relentless in their zeal,
Lopped Pagan heads and arms and severed hands and feet.
The Pagans died in scores, and falling from their steeds,
2020 Turned ruby-red with gore the summer grass of green.
So fierce a rout of Moors before was never seen.
Among them rode a stray, the lovely Maugalie,
And, as she wandered past, her rein was rudely seized,
As some of them exclaimed: “Here’s one of their young Peers!”
But Maugalie replied: “ Oh no, I’m not indeed!
My ancestors were Moors and I am from the East!
A minstrel’s what I am, and what I’ve always been,
In service of a knight, a noble one indeed,
Who dresses me in silks of fine Biterno weave.
2030 In magic arts as well I am without a peer:
From any land my hand can raise a running stream,
And griffins fifty score from airy lairs unseen,
With serpents in their claws whose venomed jaws they squeeze
While trailing on the ground their flailing, stinging rears!
These beasts can rip away your helms and mail of steel
And eat the living flesh of your Castilian steeds.”
At once her captors cried: “What magic minstrelsy!
Ride off and show your skills to our Emir Galeen:
He’ll give you wealth galore for talents such as these!”
2040 “But now is not the time!” responded Maugalie:
“Ride onward, noble Moors! You have a foe to beat!
There’s Frenchmen here to fight: seek them instead of me!”
On hearing this, at once, the Pagans set her free
And left her all alone to wander where she pleased!
On every side the French attacked the heathen breed.
In common and in duel they fuelled the battle’s heat.
See Richier for one, whose face with valour gleamed:
He raised the flapping flag upon his cutting spear
And spurred his rapid steed to strike a fierce emir.
2050 He split his shield in twain, he slit the coat beneath
And drove both flag and spear right through from front to rear.
He flung the Moor to die upon the floor beneath.
Palermo’s Pagan lord was next to feel his zeal,
And then another four before he paused to breathe!
The Frenchmen drove the Moors down-valley in retreat.
Imagine, lords, the gall and grief of King Galeen,
On seeing Pagans fall and fail him in his need!
With ringing voice he cried: “Betrayers of the creed!
The paltry French are strong, and all of you are weak!”
2060 On hearing this reproach, the Pagans struck their steeds
In common rage and rode to vent their honour’s spleen
Against our men again, whose hunger but increased
To strike their heathen helms of stout Biterno steel:
This battle wouldn’t end till many lives had ceased!
The Pagans forced our men one furlong in retreat,
And Richier held fast the rein of Maugalie:
“Come on, Princess, come on!” he hailed her laughingly:
“Though life and limb were lost, we’d never leave you here!”
The Maiden sighed and s
aid: “I thank you all, indeed!”
2070 When this was said they fled, together, till they reached
The Christian rank that stood to face the heathen siege,
Where Maugalie was kept and Richier released
To strike the haughty Moors and deal their cause defeat.
HOW BITTER WAS that battle! How hard it was and heavy!
The great Emir of Persia came spurring through the melee,
His whirring lance-head lunging, his burnished buckler ready:
Count Guinemant obliged him and struck it in the centre!
He split it through and, slitting his Eastern mail, he threaded
The iron of his spear-point beside his ribs and sent him
2080 A lance-length from his saddle to sprawl upon the meadow.
His hand went out to capture the nasal of his helmet,
And surely would have caught it and captured him – however,
Four thousand of his Pagans came storming to the rescue,
And, more than that, surrounded Prince Floovant in their vengeance
And struck him from his warhorse, whose nimble days they ended.
With cutting spears they slew it and threw its master headlong
Upon the ground, surrounding young Foovant with their weapons,
Determined, as they neared him, that he alike should perish.
What heavy blows they dealt him, both singly and together,
2090 But each of them he parried with all his strength and temper.
In self-defence he harried and slaughtered more than seven:
He thrust his weapon forward – a blade of fiercest temper,
Which ended every challenge directly and forever!
By force of arms, however, I’m sure he would have perished,
Had Richier not joined him, his courage fierce and ready,
With Jocerant, his father, Count Guinemant his fellow,
Duke Aumeri of Chartres, Duke Morant and the brethren
Of Peers: Richart the Norman, the duke of Laon, Angelier,
Sir Fulk of Troies, whose partner was Baldwin of the Flemings,
2100 The mighty duke who governed great Burgundy’s possessions –
From Brittany Escorfan, from lovely France Antelmes ,
From Burgundy another whose bravery was legend –
The Peers Twelve of Clovis, with Flores for good measure!
When all these hardy heroes came rushing up together
They cleft the throng of Pagans with Floovant at its centre,
As each of them selected then slew his first of many!
They lifted up our hero upon a horse they’d readied
And straightaway he lifted his sword again to render
Enormous blows on any whom roving chance presented:
2110 The first one felt his fury, then nothing more forever,
As Floovant sent his helmet and head across the meadow!
And then he saw before him the king of Benevento,
The monarch who had slaughtered the horse that he had cherished:
He saw him and he knew him, and as his temper trebled,
He struck the felon’s buckler, raised up above his helmet,
So fiercely that he shattered its boss of gilded metal.
Then, slitting helm and hauberk, he split the feckless felon
Completely through the middle, from muddled brain to belly:
He splayed him from his warhorse and laid him on the meadow:
2120 “Be gone, you stinking mongrel! You misbegotten felon!
You slew a noble warhorse in your conceited error!”
This said, he sped at others, relentless in his efforts.
Where challenge loomed the largest he charged across and met it
With mighty blows, his weapon as sharp as razor’s edges.
And when the Pagans saw him, their hearts were filled with terror,
And, giving way before him, the greater and the lesser
Fell victim to his comrades, who struck them all the better.
Soon every Moor was certain he’d die unless he fled them.
Galeen, their mighty leader, saw countless Pagans perish,
2130 And when he did, he lifted his ringing voice, addressing
Those still alive and shouted: “Escape! Escape, I tell you!”
On hearing this, his heathens obeyed without exception.
They turned their back on Floovant and fled before his menace,
And that of all the Frenchmen and Germans there assembled,
Who, sounding out their trumpets and bugles till they echoed,
Pursued the fleeing Pagans. They charged them with their weapons
Four mighty leagues and further across a slope to get them!
You couldn’t move a furlong in any one direction
And not behold the bodies of Pagans in their death-throes,
2140 Or roaming Spanish horses whose saddlebows were empty,
Their owners on the meadow, face-up or down, together.
They drove the rest, who clamoured for any god to help them,
Towards a local river, whose rapid swirls and eddies
Hid sudden depths and pitfalls of unimagined peril.
The heathens struck the water, but when they did so many
Were drowned before they managed to cross as they intended,
That others used their corpses like floating logs or ferries!
The great Emir just made it – but what a ruin met him:
He’d wagered all his army, and half was lost already!
2150 Young Richier and Floovant, King Flores and the Frenchmen,
Together with the Germans, returned across the meadows
And took their choice of captives among the many wealthy
Survivors they’d surrounded and others who’d surrendered:
The battlefield was covered with dying or with dead men,
And any living Christian who wanted steed or weapon
Could take his pick of either, for such a sum was present
That none could tell its total, however quick or clever.
When everyone had done so, they rode at once for Belfort.
8. How Floovant wed Princess Maugalie
2160 WHEN ALL ARRIVED at Belfort, how happy was the city!
A citizen called Godfrey, a Frenchman who was richer
Than any other burgher from there to Laon, insisted
That Floovant share his villa, rejoicing when he did so.
So it was there Floretta came running up with kisses
Of welcome for our hero of regal mien and spirit,
And Richier the loyal, and all the Frenchmen with him.
She looked upon the Pagan with signs of great suspicion,
But, lucky for the latter, with none of recognition,
Because of all the blacking upon her face and figure.
2170 Young Richier dismounted the nimble steed he’d ridden
And, like a gallant liegeman, brought Maugalie the princess
Inside a vaulted chamber as fast as he could bring her.
Fair Maugalie disposed of the clothes in which she’d ridden,
Then, striding to a coffer, she straightaway undid it.
She took from it some ointment, rubbed all her body with it,
Then leapt inside a bathtub and scrubbed her body briskly.
The black upon her faded, the white returning quickly
Until her normal beauty was back, with added glister!
When once again Floretta, the flower of her kingdom,
2180 Saw Maugalie, the pleasure would vanish from her visage!
At dawn upon the morrow, before the sun had risen,
The Frenchmen took the Pagan, as brave as she was pretty,
To be baptised for Jesus inside St Vincent’s minster.
With joy the town resounded to see so fair a Christian –
But when Floretta heard it, it almost drove her witless,
And off she ran to Floovant, returning to his villa.
As soon as she beheld him, she ran to him, and flinging
Her arms around him, pleaded: “Most high of heroes, kiss me!
I vow, I love you better than any person living!”
2190 But Floovant said: “My lady, your vow is injudicious:
Your father has beside him a hundred knights as skilful
And brave as I, and many much worthier and fitter,
Who’d hate me ever after for what you’ve just admitted!
A foreigner with nothing, who needs a wage to live on,
Cannot afford to purchase the spite of those who’d give it!”
On hearing this, Floretta was almost driven witless.
“My lord,” she answered swiftly, “I’ll heed your admonition,
Although I know it’s prompted by Maugalie the Princess!
How could you not desire her? So fair she is and pretty,
2200 Far lovelier, I grant you than any Western women.
How gladly I’d have wed you if only you’d been willing.
My loving heart is sorry and sad it cannot win you.”
Young Floovant said: “My lady, I beg you, don’t continue!
My heart has been won over by Maugalie the winsome,
And it will never alter though limb from limb be riven:
For she it was who saved me from torture and from prison,
And all my men advise me to wed so brave a spirit.”
Floretta, sad and sorry, could not abide to listen,
But hastened to her father, her tearful eyes a-brimming.
2210 She cried; “My peerless parent, in Jesu’s name, have pity!
If I can’t marry Floovant, with whom my heart is smitten,
I’ll never wed another, and you’ll have bred a spinster!”
At this, the monarch hastened an envoy to the villa
To summon Floovant to him upon an urgent business.
When Floovant heard the envoy he did as he was bidden
And went to see King Flores, his barons going with him.
As soon as Flores saw him, he said to him, quite simply:
“Fine hero! Wed my daughter, and when my life has finished,
Alsace shall be your kingdom with everything it brings you.
2220 Together we shall conquer more Pagan land and riches!”
Heroines of the French Epic Page 17
