THE HUNT IN THE WOOD OF PUELLE
RELATED BY THE MINSTREL OF LORRAINE[1]
Charles the Hammer was dead, and his young son Pepin was king ofFrance. Bego of Belin was his dearest friend, and to him he had givenall Gascony in fief. You would have far to go to find the peer of thevaliant Bego. None of King Pepin's nobles dared gainsay him. Rude inspeech and rough in war, though he was, he was a true knight, gentleand loving to his friends, very tender to his wife and children, kindto his vassals, just and upright in all his doings. The very flower ofknighthood was Bego.
Bitter feuds had there been between the family of Bego and that ofFromont of Bordeaux. Long time had these quarrels continued, and onboth sides much blood had been spilled. But now there had been peacebetween them for ten years and more, and the old hatred was beingforgotten.
One day Bego sat in his lordly castle at Belin; and beside him was hiswife, the fair Beatrice. In all France there was not a happier man.From the windows the duke looked out upon his broad lands and the richfarms of his tenants. As far as a bird could fly in a day, all washis; and his vassals and serving-men were numbered by the tens ofthousands. "What more," thought Bego, "could the heart of man wish orpray for?"
His two young sons came bounding into the hall,--Gerin, the elder born,fair-haired and tall, brave and gentle as his father; and Hernaudin,the younger, a child of six summers, his mother's pet, and the joy ofthe household. With them were six other lads, sons of noblemen; andall together laughed and played, and had their boyish pleasure.
When the duke saw them, he remembered his own boyhood days and thecompanions who had shared his sports, and he sighed. The fair Beatriceheard him, and she said, "My lord, what ails you, that you are sothoughtful to-day? Why should a rich duke like you sigh and seem sad?Great plenty of gold and silver have you in your coffers; you haveenough of the vair and the gray,[2] of hawks on their perches, of mulesand palfreys and war steeds; you have overcome all your foes, and nonedare rise up against you. All within six days' journey are yourvassals. What more would you desire to make you happy?"
"Sweet lady," answered Bego, "you have spoken truly. I am rich, as theworld goes; but my wealth is not happiness. True wealth is not ofmoney, of the vair and the gray, of mules, or of horses. It is ofkinsfolk and friends. The heart of a man is worth more than all thegold of a country. Had it not been for my friends, I would have beenput to shame long ago. The king has given me this fief, far from myboyhood's home, where I see but few of my old comrades and helpers. Ihave not seen my brother Garin, the Lorrainer, these seven years, andmy heart yearns to behold him. Now, methinks, I will go to him, and Iwill see his son, the child Girbert, whom I have never seen."
The Lady Beatrice said not a word, but the tears began to well up sadlyin her eyes.
"In the wood of Puelle," said Bego, after a pause, "there is said to bea wild boar, the largest and fiercest ever seen. He outruns thefleetest horses. No man can slay him. Methinks, that if it pleaseGod, and I live, I will hunt in that wood, and I will carry the head ofthe great beast to my brother the Lorrainer."
Then Beatrice, forcing back her tears, spoke:
"Sir," said she, "what is it thou sayest? The wood of Puelle is in themarch of Fromont the chief, and he owes thee a great grudge. He wouldbe too glad to do thee harm. I pray thee do not undertake this hunt.My heart tells me,--I will not hide the truth from thee,--my hearttells me, that if thou goest thither thou shalt never come back alive."
But the duke laughed at her fears; and the more she tried to dissuadehim, the more he set his mind on seeing his brother the Lorrainer, andon carrying to him the head of the great wild boar of Puelle. Neitherprayers nor tears could turn him from his purpose. All the gold in theworld, he said, would not tempt him to give up the adventure.
So on the morrow morning, before the sun had fairly risen, Bego madeready to go. As this was no warlike enterprise, he dressed himself inthe richest garb of knightly hero,--with mantle of ermine, and spurs ofgold. With him he took three dozen huntsmen, all skilled in the loreof the woods, and ten packs of hunting hounds. He had, also, tenhorses loaded with gold and silver and costly presents, and more than ascore of squires and serving-men. Tenderly he bade fair Beatrice andhis two young sons good-by. Ah, what grief! Never was he to see themmore.
Going by way of Orleans, Bego stopped a day with his sister, the lovelyHelois. Three days he tarried at Paris, the honored guest of the kingand queen. Then pushing on to Valenciennes, which was on the bordersof the great forest, he took up lodging with a rich burgher calledBerenger the Gray.
"Thou hast many foes in these parts," said the burgher, "and thouwouldst do well to ware of them."
Bego only laughed at the warning. "Didst thou ever know a Gascon toshun danger?" he asked. "I have heard of the famed wild boar ofPuelle, and I mean to hunt him in this wood, and slay him. Neitherfriends nor foes shall hinder me."
On the morrow Berenger led the duke and his party into the wood, andshowed them the lair of the beast. Out rushed the monster upon hisfoes; then swiftly he fled, crashing through brush and brake, keepingwell out of the reach of the huntsmen, turning every now and then torend some too venturesome hound. For fifteen leagues across thecountry he led the chase. One by one the huntsmen lost sight of him.Toward evening a cold rain came up; and they turned, and rode backtoward Valenciennes. They had not seen the duke since noon. Theysupposed that he had gone back with Berenger. But Bego was stillriding through the forest in close pursuit of the wild boar. Onlythree hounds kept him company.
The boar was well-nigh wearied out, and the duke knew that he could notgo much farther. He rode up close behind him; and the fierce animal,his mouth foaming with rage, turned furiously upon him. But the duke,with a well-aimed thrust of his sword, pierced the great beast throughhis heart.
By this time, night was falling. The duke knew that he was very farfrom any town or castle, but he hoped that some of his men might bewithin call. He took his horn, and blew it twice full loudly. But hishuntsmen were now riding into Valenciennes; nor did they think thatthey had left their master behind them in the wood. With his flint theduke kindled a fire; beneath an aspen tree, and made ready to spend thenight near the place where the slain wild boar lay.
The forester who kept the wood heard the sound of Bego's horn, and sawthe light of the fire gleaming through the trees. Cautiously he drewnearer. He was surprised to see a knight so richly clad, with hissilken hose and his golden spurs, his ivory horn hanging from his neckby a blue ribbon. He noticed the great sword that hung at Bego's side.It was the fairest and fearfulest weapon he had ever seen. He hastenedas fast as he could ride to Lens, where Duke Fromont dwelt; but hespoke not a word to Fromont. He took the steward of the castle aside,and told him of what he had seen in the wood.
"He is no common huntsman," said the forester; "and you should see howrichly clad he is. No king was ever arrayed more gorgeously whilehunting. And his horse--I never saw a better."
"But what is all this to me?" asked the steward. "If he is trespassingin the forest, it is your duty to bring him before the duke."
"Ah! it is hard for you to understand," answered the forester."Methinks that if our master had the boar, the sword, and the horn, hewould let me keep the clothing, and you the horse, and would trouble uswith but few questions."
"Thou art indeed wise," answered the steward. And he at once calledsix men, whom he knew he could trust to any evil deed, and told them togo with the forester.
"And, if you find any man trespassing in Duke Fromont's wood, spare himnot," he added.
In the morning the ruffians came to the place where Duke Bego had spentthe night. They found him sitting not far from the great beast whichhe had slain, while his horse stood before him and neighed withimpatience and struck his hoofs upon the ground. They asked him whogave him leave to hunt in the wood of Puelle.
"I ask no man's leave to hunt where it pleases me," he answered.
; They told him then that the lordship of the wood was with Fromont andthat he must go with them, as their prisoner, to Lens.
"Very well," said Bego. "I will go with you. If I have done aught ofwrong to Fromont the old, I am willing to make it right with him. Mybrother Garin, the Lorrainer, and King Pepin, will go my surety."
Then, looking around upon the villainous faces of the men who had cometo make prisoner of him, he bethought himself for a moment.
"No, no!" he cried. "Never will I yield me to six such rascals.Before I die, I will sell myself full dear. Yesterday six and thirtyknights were with me, and master huntsmen, skilled in all the lore ofthe wood. Noble men were they all; for not one of them but held infief some town or castle or rich countryside. They will join me erelong."
"He speaks thus, either to excuse himself or to frighten us," said oneof the men; and he went boldly forward, and tried to snatch the hornfrom Bego's neck. The duke raised his fist, and knocked him senselessto the ground.
"Never shall ye take horn from count's neck!" he cried.
Then all set upon him at once, hoping that by their numbers they mightoverpower him. But Bego drew his sword, and struck valiantly to theright and to the left of him. Three of the villains were slainoutright; and the rest took to their heels and fled, glad to escapesuch fury.
And now all might have been well with Duke Bego. But a churl, armedwith a bow, and arrows of steel, was hidden among the trees. When hesaw his fellows put to flight, he drew a great steel bolt and aimed itat the duke. Swiftly sped the arrow toward the noble targe: too trulywas it aimed. The duke's sword fell from his hands: the master-vein ofhis heart had been cut in twain. He lifted his hands toward heaven,and prayed:--
"Almighty Father, who always wert and art, have pity on my soul.--Ah,Beatrice! thou sweet, gentle wife, never more shalt thou see me underheaven.--Fair brother Garin of Lorraine, never shall I be with thee toserve thee.--My two noble boys, if I had lived, you should have beenthe worthiest of knights: now, may Heaven defend you!"
After a while the churl and the three villains came near him, and foundhim dead. It was no common huntsman whom they had killed, but a goodknight,--the loyalest and the best that ever God's sun shone upon.They took the sword and the horn and the good steed; they loaded theboar upon a horse; and all returned to Lens. But they left Bego in theforest, and with him his three dogs, who sat around him, and howledmost mournfully, as if they knew they had lost their best friend.
The men carried the great boar into the castle of Lens, and threw itdown upon the kitchen hearth. A wonderful beast he was: his sharp,curved tusks stuck out full a foot from his mouth. The serving-men andthe squires crowded around to see the huge animal; then, as the newswas told through the castle, many fair ladies and knights, and thepriests from the chapel, came in to view the sight. Old Duke Fromontheard the uproar, and came in slippers and gown to ask what it allmeant.
"Whence came this boar, this ivory horn, this sword?" he inquired."This horn never belonged to a mere huntsman. It looks like thewondrous horn that King Charles the Hammer had in the days of myfather. There is but one knight now living that can blow it; and he isfar away in Gascony. Tell me where you got these things."
Then the forester told him all that had happened in the wood, coloringthe story, of course, so as to excuse himself from wrong-doing.
"And left ye the slain man in the wood?" asked the old duke. "A moreshameful sin I have never known than to leave him there for the wolvesto eat. Go ye back at once, and fetch him hither. To-night he shallbe watched in the chapel, and to-morrow he shall be buried with all duehonor. Men should have pity of one another."
The body of the noble Duke Bego was brought, and laid upon a table inthe great hall. His dogs were still with him, howling pitifully, andlicking his face. Knights and noblemen came in to see him.
"A gentle man this was," said they; "for even his dogs loved him."
"Shame on the rascals who slew him!" said others. "No freeman wouldhave touched so noble a knight."
Old Duke Fromont came in. He started back at sight of him who laythere lifeless. Well he knew Duke Bego, by a scar that he himself hadgiven him at the battle of St. Quentin ten years before. He fellfainting into the arms of his knights. Then afterward he upbraided hismen for their dastardly deed, and bewailed their wicked folly.
"This is no poaching huntsman whom you have slain," said he, "but amost worthy knight,--the kindest, the best taught, that ever worespurs. And ye have dragged me this day into such a war that I shallnot be out of it so long as I live. I shall see my lands overrun andwasted, my great castles thrown down and destroyed, and my peopledistressed and slain; and as for myself I shall have to die--and allthis for a fault which is none of mine, and for a deed which I haveneither wished nor sanctioned."
And the words of Duke Fromont were true. The death of Bego of Belinwas fearfully avenged by his brother the Lorrainer and by his youngsons Gerin and Hernaud. Never was realm so impoverished as wasFromont's dukedom. The Lorrainers and the Gascons overran and laidwaste the whole country. A pilgrim might go six days' journey withoutfinding bread, or meat, or wine. The crucifixes lay prone upon theground; the grass grew upon the altars; and no man stopped to pleadwith his neighbor. Where had been fields and houses, and fair townsand lordly castles, now there was naught but woods and underbrush andthorns. And old Duke Fromont, thus ruined through no fault of his own,bewailed his misfortunes, and said to his friends, "I have not landenough to rest upon alive, or to lie upon dead."
[1]The original of this tale is found in "The Song of the Lorrainers,"a famous poem written by Jehan de Flagy, a minstrel of the twelfthcentury. In the "Story of Roland" it is supposed to have been relatedat the court of Charlemagne by a minstrel of Lorraine.
[2]_The vair and the gray_,--furs used for garments, and in heraldry.Vair is the skin of the squirrel, and was arranged in shields of blueand white alternating.
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