Arthurian Romances (45 page)

‘Son,' said he, ‘it was by chance that you and I came here to lean upon this window ledge, and we have been repaid by witnessing with our own
eyes the very boldest deed that has ever been conceived. Now tell me if you don't esteem the knight who performed such a wondrous feat? Go and make peace with him, and surrender the queen. You will gain nothing by fighting with him, and are likely to suffer great hurt for it. Be seen to be wise and noble, and send him the queen before he comes to you. Honour him in your land by giving him what he came to seek, before he asks it of you – for you know full well that he is seeking Queen Guinevere. Don't let others find you obstinate or foolish or proud. Since he has entered alone into your land, you must offer him hospitality, for a gentleman must welcome, honour, and praise another gentleman and never snub him. He who shows honour is honoured by it. You can be sure that honour will be yours if you honour and serve the knight who, without any doubt, is the best in the world.'

‘May I be damned if there isn't another as good or even better than he!' retorted his son. (The king had unwisely overlooked Meleagant, who did not think himself at all inferior to the other.) ‘Perhaps you want me to kneel before him with hands joined, and become his liegeman and hold my lands from him? So help me God, I'd rather be his liege than return Guinevere to him! She'll certainly never be handed over uncontested by me, and I'll defend her against all who are fool enough to come seeking her!'

Then the king said to him once more: ‘Son, you would do well not to be so stubborn. I urge and advise you to hold your peace. You know very well that it would cast shame upon this knight not to win the queen from you in battle; there can be no doubt that he would rather regain her through battle than generosity, for it would enhance his fame. In my opinion he's sought after her not to have her given peaceably to him but because he wants to win her in battle. So you'd do well to deprive him of the battle. It hurts me to see you play the fool; but if you ignore my advice, I won't care if he gets the better of you. You stand to suffer greatly for your obstinacy, since this knight need fear no one here but yourself. I offer him peace and protection on behalf of myself and all my men. I have never acted disloyally or practised treason or felony, and I will no more do so for your sake than for that of a total stranger. I don't want to give you any false hopes: I intend to assure the knight that everything he needs in the way of armour and horses will be provided him, since he has shown such courage in coming this far. He need not fear for his safety from anyone except you alone; and I want you to understand clearly that, if he can defend himself against you, he need fear no other.'

‘For the moment I am content to listen and say nothing,' replied
Meleagant. ‘You may say what you like, but I'm not bothered by anything you've said. I don't have the cowardly heart of a hermit or do-gooder or almsgiver, nor do I care for honour that requires me to give him what I most love. His task won't be so easily and quickly accomplished and will turn out quite differently than you and he think. Even if you aid him against me, we'll not make peace with him. If you and all your men offer him safe conduct, what do I care? None of this causes me to lose heart. In fact, it pleases me greatly, so help me God, that he has no one to fear but myself. Nor do I ask you to do anything for me that might be interpreted as disloyalty or treason. Be a gentleman as long as you please, but let me be cruel!'

‘What, will you not change your mind?'

‘Never!' he replied.

‘Then I've nothing more to say. Do your best, I shall leave you and go to speak with the knight. I want to offer him my assistance and counsel in every matter, for I am entirely on his side.'

Then the king went down and ordered his horse saddled. A huge warhorse was brought to him, which he mounted by the stirrup. He ordered three knights and two men-at-arms, no more, to accompany him. They rode down from the castle heights until they neared the bridge and saw the knight, who was tending his wounds and wiping the blood from them. The king presumed that he would have him as a guest for a long while to heal his wounds, but he might as well have expected to drain the sea.

King Bademagu dismounted at once, and the knight, though he was seriously wounded and did not know him, rose to greet him. He showed no sign of the pain he felt in his feet and hands. The king observed his self-control and hastened to return his greeting, saying: ‘Sir, I am astounded that you have fought your way into this land among us. But be welcome here, for no one will undertake this deed again. Never has it happened and never will it happen that anyone but you will have the courage to face such danger. Know that I esteem you all the more for having done this deed that no one before you dared even contemplate. You will find me most agreeable, loyal, and courteous towards you; I am the king of this land and freely offer you my counsel and aid. I'm quite certain that I know what you are seeking here: you have come to seek the queen, I presume?'

‘Sir,' replied the wounded knight, ‘you presume correctly: no other duty brings me here.'

‘My friend, you will have to suffer before you win her,' said the king,
‘and you are already grievously hurt, to judge by the wounds and blood I see. You won't find the knight who brought her here generous enough to return her without battle, so you must rest and have your wounds treated until they are fully healed. I shall provide you with the ointment of the Three Marys
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– and better, if such be found – for I am most anxious about your comfort and recovery. The queen is securely confined, safe from the lusts of men, even from that of my son (much to his chagrin), who brought her here with him. I've never known anyone as outraged and irate as he! My heart goes out to you and, so help me God, I will gladly provide you with everything you need. Though he'll be angry with me for it, he will never have such fine arms that I will not be able to give you some equally good, and a horse that suits your needs. I shall protect you against everyone, no matter whom it might displease; except for the one man who brought the queen here, you need fear no one. No one has ever threatened another as I threatened him, and I was so angry at his refusal to return her to you that I all but chased him from my land. Though he is my son, you needn't worry, for unless he can defeat you in battle he shall never, against my will, be capable of doing you the least harm.'

‘Sir,' he answered, ‘I thank you! But I'm wasting too much time here – time I don't want to waste or lose. I'm not hurt at all, and none of my wounds is causing me pain. Take me to where I can find him, for I'm ready to do battle with him now in such armour as I'm wearing.'

‘My friend, it would be better for you to wait two or three weeks for your wounds to heal; a delay of at least a fortnight would do you good. And I would never permit and could never countenance your fighting in my presence with such arms and equipment as you have.'

‘May it please you,' he replied, ‘but I want no arms but these, and I would do battle gladly in them. Nor do I seek even the slightest respite, postponement, or delay. However, to please you I will wait until tomorrow; but regardless of what anyone may say, I'll not wait any longer!'

Then the king confirmed that everything would be as the knight wished. He had him shown to his lodging and urged and commanded those escorting the knight to do everything to serve him; and they saw to his every need. The king, who would gladly arrange peace if he could, went meanwhile to his son and spoke to him in accordance with his desire for peace and harmony. ‘Dear son,' he told him, ‘reconcile yourself with this knight without a fight. He has not come into this land to amuse himself or go hunting with bow or hounds, but rather has come to seek his honour and increase his renown. I have seen that he is in great need of rest. Had he
taken my advice, he would have put off for several months at least the battle he is already eager to have. Are you afraid of incurring dishonour by returning the queen to him? Have no fear of this, for no blame can come to you from it; on the contrary, it is a sin to keep something to which one has no right. He would willingly have done battle here without delay, even though his hands and feet are gashed and wounded.'

‘You are a fool to be concerned,' said Meleagant to his father. ‘By the faith I owe Saint Peter, I'll not listen to your advice in this affair. Indeed, I'd deserve to be torn apart by horses if I did as you suggest. If he is seeking his honour, so do I seek mine; if he is seeking his renown, so do I seek mine; if he is eager for battle, I am a hundred times more so!'

‘I plainly see that you have your mind set on madness,' said the king, ‘and you will find it. You shall try your strength against the knight tomorrow, since that is what you want.'

‘May no greater trial than this ever come to me!' said Meleagant. ‘I greatly prefer it to be for today rather than tomorrow. Look at how much more downcast I seem than usual: my eyes are troubled and my face is very pale. Until I do battle I won't feel happy or at ease, nor will anything pleasing happen to me.'

The king recognized that no amount of advice or pleading would avail, so reluctantly he left his son. He selected a fine, powerful horse and good weapons, which he sent to the one who needed them. In that land there lived an aged man and excellent Christian: no more loyal man could be found in all the world – and he was better at healing wounds than all the doctors of Montpellier.
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That night he summoned all his knowledge to care for the knight, since that was the king's command.

Already the news had spread to the knights and maidens, to the ladies and barons from the whole land round about. Both friend and stranger rode swiftly through the night until dawn, coming from every direction from as far away as a long day's ride. By daybreak there were so many crowded before the tower that there was no room to move. The king arose that morning, worried about the battle; he came directly to his son, who had already laced his Poitevin
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helmet upon his head. No further delay could be arranged and no peaceful settlement was possible; though the king did all in his power to make peace, he was unable to achieve anything. So the king ordered that the battle take place in the square before the keep, where all the people were gathered.

The king sent at once for the foreign knight, who was led into the square full of people from the Kingdom of Logres. Just as people habitually go to
hear the organs at churches on the great feasts of Pentecost and Christmas, so they had all assembled here in the same manner. The foreign maidens from the kingdom of King Arthur had all fasted three days and gone barefoot in hairshirts so that God might give strength and courage to their knight, who was to do battle against his enemy on behalf of the captives. In the same way, the natives of this land prayed that God might give honour and victory in the battle to their lord.

Early in the morning, before the bells of prime had rung, the two champions were led, fully armed, to the centre of the square on two ironclad horses. Meleagant was handsome and bold: his arms, legs, and feet rippled with muscles, and his helmet and shield complemented him perfectly. But no one could take their eyes from the other – not even those who wished to see him shamed – and they all agreed that Meleagant was nothing in comparison with him.

As soon as both men had reached the centre of the square, the king approached and did his best to postpone the battle and establish peace, but again he was unable to dissuade his son. So he said to them: ‘Rein in your horses at least until I have taken my place in the tower. It will not be too much to ask to delay that long for my sake.' Dejected, he left them and went straight to where he knew he would find the queen, for she had begged him the night before to be placed somewhere where she might have a clear view of the battle. He had granted her request and went now to find and escort her, for he strove constantly to do her honour and service. He placed her before a window while he reclined at another on the right of her. Together with the two of them were many knights, courtly ladies, and maidens of this land. There were also many captive maidens, who were intent upon their prayers and petitions, and many prisoners, both men and women, who were all praying for their lord, because to him and to God they had entrusted their help and deliverance.

Then, without further delay, the two combatants had the people fall back. They seized their shields from their sides and thrust their arms through the straps; they spurred forward until their lances pierced fully two arm's lengths through their opponent's shield, which broke and splintered like flying sparks. Quickly their horses squared off head to head and met breast to breast. Shields and helmets clashed together and rang round about like mighty claps of thunder. Not a breast-strap, girth, stirrup, rein, or cinch could support the shock; even the sturdy saddle-bows split. Nor did they feel any shame in falling to the ground when all this gave way beneath them.

They leapt at once to their feet and without wasting words rushed together more fiercely than two wild boars. What good were declared challenges? Like hated enemies they struck mighty blows with their steel-edged swords; savagely they slashed helmets and gleaming hauberks; blood rushed out from beneath the gashed metal. The battle was a mighty one as they stunned and wounded one another with powerful and treacherous blows. They withstood many fierce, hard, long assaults with equal valour, so that it was never possible to determine who was winning or losing. Yet it was inevitable that the knight who had crossed the bridge would begin to lose strength in his wounded hands. Those who sided with him grew most concerned, for they saw his blows weakening and feared he would be defeated; they were certain now that he was getting the worst of it, and Meleagant the better. A murmur ran through the crowd.

But looking from the windows of the tower was a clever maiden, who recognized within her heart that the knight had not undertaken the battle for her sake, nor for that of the common people assembled in the square: he would never have agreed to it had it not been for the queen. She felt that if he realized that the queen herself was at the window watching him, it would give him renewed strength and courage. If only she could learn his name, she would willingly shout out for him to look around himself a little. So she came to the queen and said: ‘For God's sake and your own, my lady, as well as for ours, I beg you to tell me the name of this knight, if you know it because it may be of some help to him.'