Heroines of the French Epic

by Newth, Michael A. H. ;

  360 Which Ganelon his uncle was given by Marsile.

  His shield had once belonged to Sir Rembalt of the Isles.

  His lance was long and heavy and bore a vicious spike.

  A steed from Monsenīa was brought for him to ride,

  And Auboin bestrode it with such a limber stride

  He never held the saddle or touched the stirrup irons.

  You should have heard his kinsmen acclaiming him with pride:

  “You show them, noble scion! Be strong and bide your time –

  For if you yield or falter, our clan will be reviled!”

  “My worthy lords, don’t worry,” Count Auboin replied:

  370 “Without the need of clergy, my glowing steel will shrive

  Sir Garnier of error and prove our might and right!”

  This said, he reached the meadow, his clan on every side,

  And soon the trumpets summoned Sir Garnier to fight.

  COUNT AUBOIN was first to reach the field and enter.

  Sir Garnier, prepared as valour bade, was second.

  He donned a coat of mail whose double-chains had never

  Been severed by the thrust of any cutting weapon.

  He laced upon his head a green and glowing helmet

  That once had been Matol’s, the Jew who had defended

  380 Jerusalem itself as King Matant’s successor.

  A Moor had found it there, in Abraham’s own dwelling,

  Inside a crimson tomb with him who had been buried.

  Then Garnier laced on a sword with razor edges

  And took his shield, emblazoned with lions at its centre.

  His menfolk brought his spear that bore a streaming pennant,

  And then secured his steed, a piebald called Rosēnet.

  SIR GARNIER, armed nobly, and splendidly arrayed,

  Received his noble charger, a piebald destrier,

  Which straightaway he mounted with such a noble grace

  390 He never held the saddle or used the stirrups’ aid.

  The gallant charger shuddered, to feel the sudden weight.

  Girart and all his soldiers rode closely in his wake,

  To guard his back from strangers and any breach of faith.

  Sir Garnier was praying while riding through the gates,

  And thanking all his menfolk, as he arrived to face

  Sir Auboin, who waited at his appointed place.

  HOW MIGHTY WAS the shouting, the yelling and the cheer,

  The moment both combatants were facing on the field.

  Sir Garnier rode forward and raised his voice to speak:

  400 “Sir Auboin, your charges have burdened me with grief.

  God damn you and your kindred for having cast on me

  The slightest slanting shadow of wicked treachery!

  What evil thoughts inside you could even make you dream

  That I would seek the death of our Emperor and liege?

  No shining gold or money can blind or blinker me –

  Though you and all your kinsmen are blind from birth, it seems!”

  Count Auboin responded: “I’ll show you what we see!”

  They turned their steeds and spurred them so sharply with their heels

  That when they charged, the power that lay behind their spears

  410 Destroyed the painted lions emblazoned on their shields.

  Count Auboin delivered a thrusting-blow so fierce

  It razed the saddle’s pommel and grazed the man beneath!

  Sir Garnier’s rejoinder was just as fast and clean:

  He rubbed Auboin’s ribcage with flag-cloth and a piece

  Of sharp and shining lance-head, enough to make it bleed!

  The saddlebow behind him went flying as the steel

  Drove through the croup and shattered the backbone of his steed.

  The charger slumped in slaughter and threw its charge a-field,

  But Auboin was nimble and hurried to his feet,

  420 Ashamed that he had fallen in sight of all the Peers,

  And that he’d lost a warhorse of noble Spanish breed.

  He swore in all his anger, by Simeon the sere,

  That Garnier would garner a harsher wage indeed!

  He drew aloft his weapon, that even in its sheath

  Shone brighter than a mirror and shimmered razor-keen,

  Then challenged his opponent, while venting forth his spleen:

  “By God above,” he shouted, “so much for gallantry!

  These witnesses believed in the valour of your deeds,

  But now they’ve seen you fighting, they know of your deceit!

  430 I stand here keen to show you what proper valour means:

  With cowardly dishonour you’ve robbed me of my steed!

  But by the saint that pilgrims exalt at Nero’s field,

  I swear that if you scruple to fight me on your feet,

  Your horse’s fate will follow the fortune of my steed –

  My golden-hilted sword-blade will bring it to its knees!

  May God Who suffered treason and wrong upon the Tree,

  Curse any knight whose courage and honour are too weak

  To face a fellow fighter but not to slay his steed!

  But still I will forgive you if you dismount to me

  440 And we can fight as equals, befitting chivalry!

  I think that you will find me no easy man to beat,

  But one who will withstand you for long enough to see

  The Lady Aye unhappy for many days to be,

  When she beholds the vengeance that I intend to wreak

  On you, for plotting treason through murder of our liege!

  Some price will be exacted before we take our leave –

  For I am like a lion that you have raised from sleep,

  And you, you spotted leopard, have stirred the king of beasts!”

  Said Garnier: “I’m happy to fight upon my feet

  450 And turn your roaring lion into a bleating sheep!”

  On saying this, he swiftly dismounted from his steed

  And tied it up beside him, beneath a leafy tree.

  He drew his silver sword-blade, whose golden pommel gleamed,

  And ran to face his rival upon the grassy green,

  So God the great Redeemer could make His judgement clear.

  The Lady Aye was watching and praying on her knees,

  Beseeching God our Saviour, Who bore the Cross’s grief,

  To guard the son of Doon from death or injury,

  And punish every kinsman of Ganelon the fiend

  460 For wrongfully accusing Sir Garnier of schemes

  To murder Charlemagne, his Emperor and liege.

  UPON HER KNEES in prayer was Aye the fair duchess.

  Towards the Eastern sky she turned her lovely head

  And in her gentle speech besought the Lord of strength

  To guard her wedded lord from injury or death.

  Count Auboin ran in with villainous intent,

  And, lifting up his sword that glittered end to end,

  He rushed at Doon’s son and aimed against his head

  A mighty blow – and though it struck the shield instead

  470 That Garnier had raised the instant that it fell,

  And even lost an inch of blade as on it went –

  It split the floral shield above its boss and sped

  Towards the noble head in its Pavian helm.

  Thank God the helm was strong! It didn’t even dent,

  But sent the blade to slide and glide upon the left.

  It cleft one hundred rings of byrnie triple-meshed,

  And where the thigh is wi
de it sliced a strip of flesh

  And drew the crimson blood that flooded down his leg.

  Two fingers and a half of spur alike were cleft.

  480 The weapon struck the ground with such enormous strength

  It drove beneath the grass six inches of its length.

  Sir Garnier was shocked: he rocked, but never fell.

  His nephew, bold Girart, could see his lord’s distress,

  And you don’t need to ask if he alike was vexed.

  In soft and tender tones he whispered to himself:

  “Fine uncle of Nanteuil, his claws are sharply edged!

  By blessed Mary’s Son, if yours are any less,

  I’ll die of blame if you should die a shameful death:

  Inside the vaulted hall I asked you, nay I begged

  490 Before them all to fight this villain in your stead!

  By Heaven’s King and her who bore Him at her breast,

  I wish that mine could be the shield above your head:

  If that were so, the blows would soon be at an end!”

  The Frenchmen, looking on, agreed beneath their breath

  That Auboin would be the best of knights and men

  If he had not be born to such an evil geste.

  The colour in the cheeks of Lady Aye had fled.

  She knelt there and she prayed for Heaven’s Queen to bless

  And keep her wedded lord from Auboin’s revenge.

  500 THE CHEEKS OF Lady Aye had drained of all their colour

  When she beheld the blow that Auboin had struck him.

  She prayed to God above and to His Virgin Mother

  That they would keep from death her wedded lord and husband,

  And curse Lord Auboin, with all his clan, whose cunning

  And evil-hearted plans had always led to nothing

  But misery and death that blemished France the lovely:

  They ended Roland’s life, whose visage glowed with courage,

  And Oliver’s his friend, as history instructs us,

  And Charlemagne’s Peers’, the flower of our country.

  510 “Dear God above,” said Aye, “I call upon you humbly,

  As one who knows You know the honour of my husband,

  To grant him in this fight the victory of justice.”

  Sir Garnier himself, whose conscience was untroubled,

  Had nonetheless been stung when Auboin had struck him

  Before so many peers, who’d seen him bleed and stumble,

  Who’d murmured in surprise, then cried aloud in wonder:

  The shame he felt, indeed, outweighed the pain he’d suffered.

  Count Auboin, meanwhile, was keen to strike another.

  But Garnier flung up his cutting sword and swung it

  520 Against his Eastern helm with all his mighty courage.

  The crafted ring on top cracked open like a nutshell,

  And had the nut below not moved as it was coming,

  It hardly would have known the blow that would have crushed it!

  But as it was the blow slid off the helm and sundered

  The saffroned byrnie’s links, as many as a hundred.

  It rushed towards the hems, and, reaching there, it cut them.

  Before it reached his hams it breached the villain’s buttocks

  And tendered such a steak of rump as you’d be lucky

  To render from a sow, however richly nourished!

  530 The weapon bit the spur, then hit the ground and burrowed

  Some eighteen inches south before its mouth was muzzled!

  Count Auboin was shocked, and, as his senses shuddered,

  He buckled to one knee and almost took a tumble.

  His kinsmen rocked with fear to see their hero stumble,

  And all of France’s Peers, with ever-mounting worry,

  Cried openly in prayer: “Sweet Mary, Maid and Mother,

  Whose blessed body bore the Lord of Peace among us,

  Bring some immortal truce between these mortal brothers!

  If either one should die in this, a private struggle,

  540 Then where shall land of France and Charles find such another?”

  The Lady Aye herself had witnessed from her cover

  The blow that Garnier had rendered Count Auboin,

  And, falling to her knees, at once, she offered humbly

  Her thanks to God our Lord, the Ward of all who love Him.

  WHEN AUBOIN the rogue could feel the stinging flesh-wound

  That Garnier, the son of Lord Doon, had dealt him

  With all the bitter bite his burnished sword could render –

  Enough to make him reel and keel upon the meadow,

  And feel his nostrils fill with flowing blood already –

  550 His woe was so intense he thought he’d lose his senses.

  He swore to God the Lord that he would have his vengeance

  Or hold his honour cheap and hate himself forever.

  He seized his burnished sword and, raising it to Heaven,

  Rushed Garnier at once, with all his strength and temper.

  The blow he gave was meant to settle every debit,

  By splitting clean in half the helmet of the debtor –

  A heavy bill it was, a heavy charge, directed

  With all the skill of one well used to its collection –

  But Garnier put up his quartered shield as credit!

  560 The blow destroyed the shield as though it were a feather,

  And struck the helm below so ruthlessly it severed

  The precious stones in half and smashed the floral esses:

  Their circle, made of gold, availed him not a penny.

  The leather coif was ripped, and, clipping hair, the weapon

  Made crimson blood galore go pouring from a head-wound.

  If false Auboin’s hand had held his weapon steady,

  It would have split the head wide open like a melon!

  Sir Garnier drew back some fourteen feet in terror.

  Sir Auboin, at this, could not contain his pleasure:

  570 “Lord Doon’s son,” he cried, “it’s plain to this assembly

  That Charlemagne’s choice has matched you with a fellow

  Whose skill to make you pay exceeds the claims of any!

  And pay you will! Enough to render Aye a beggar,

  And all your kin, whose wealth was vested in this venture!

  One way alone remains to purchase your redemption:

  Submit your sword to me in absolute surrender,

  Acknowledging defeat before these barons present!

  My clan and I, whose deeds will always be remembered,

  Will speak for you to Charles and seek some intercession.

  580 I’ll pay, on your behalf, a barrelful of Bezants

  To douse the fiery rage and smouldering displeasure

  He’ll hold for you, if you will make a full confession

  Of your expressed intent to make a move against him!

  I counsel you, my lord, to go at once and tell him –

  For, if you don’t, be sure, without a doubt whatever

  The next blow of my sword will split you through the centre –

  No herb on earth, no saint, nor God on High can help you!”

  ON HEARING THE contempt in Auboin’s remarks,

  And seeing from his head the blood bespread the grass,

  590 And feeling, top to toe, the blow’s enduring smart,

  A dreadful rage engulfed Sir Garnier’s great heart,

  Then flooded through his veins to fill his fighting arm!

  He swept his weapon down. The villain raised his targe,

  But s
uch a flowing blow just broke the shield in half

  As nimbly as a knife splits lettuces apart,

  Before it poured below and pared the helmet’s guard!

  It would have split the rest, but as it sped, it glanced

  Against the rim and reft his left ear as it passed.

  Sir Garnier exclaimed, his face an angry mask:

  600 “Sir Auboin, by God, I’ve made my point at last!

  Although the final proof against you waits its chance,

  So please the Judge of all, Whose Day shall come to pass,

  My sword shall lay it bare before the day is dark.

  You’ll rue the day you chose to ruin me with Charles!

  You’d better run and hide in India, you carl!

  The first mistake you make, if you remain in France,

  Will see you hung at once – for all can see your mark:

  The criminal’s one ear! I’ve shown them what you are!

  By sheering off its peer, your hearing will be marred,

  610 And everyone will see your evil from afar!

  My soul shall be absolved of any guilty charge

  Of treason to the King, both now or in the past!”

  ON HEARING SUCH a speech, and seeing, on the paddock,

  His severed ear, the Peer was desolate and angry:

  He’d never felt before such misery and anguish.

  He swore to God the Lord, our fortune’s oar and anchor,

  That he would have revenge or ever scorn his valour.

  He rushed at Garnier, his face a mask of anger,

  And with his cutting blade laid such a blow it shattered

  620 From top to base the shield with which he vainly parried.

  Not stopping there, it lopped his helmet of a panel.

  If false Auboin’s hand had not been made to slacken,

  It would slain at once Sir Garnier the gallant.

  But in his hand the brand rebounded from its damage

  And flew the villain’s grasp, just missing him in landing!

  Sir Auboin was shocked – as you can well imagine –

  And ran to pick it up, but even so was laggard,

  For Garnier had flown and snatched it by the handle.

  On raising it, he rammed his own back in its scabbard,

  630 Exclaiming to his foe: “God willing, wretched vassal,

  Your head will find the ear it cheerfully abandoned!”

  But Auboin was brave, his courage nothing lacking,

  And, running to his horse that lay upon the paddock,