Jaufry the Knight and the Fair Brunissende

'Twas on the day of Pentecost, a feast which to Carlisle had drawn a host of knights, that Arthur, King of Briton's isle, his crown placed on his brows, and to the old monastic church proceeded to hear mass. And with him went a brilliant train, the Knights of the Round Table. There were Sir Gawain, Lancelot du Lac, Tristrem, and Ivan bold, Eric frank of heart, and Quex the seneschal, Percival and Calogrant, Cliges the worthy, Coedis the handsome knight, and Caravis short i' the arm; the whole of his bright court, indeed, was there, and many more whose names I have forgot.

When mass was done, they to the palace home returned 'mid laughter and loud noise, the thoughts of each on pleasure only bent. Each on arrival gave his humour play. Some spoke of love, and some of chivalry; and some of ventures they were going to seek. Quex at this moment came into the hall, holding a branch of apple in his hand. All made room for him; for there were few who did not fear his tongue and the hard words which it was wont to utter. This baron bold held nothing in respect. E'en of the best he ever said the worst. But this apart, he was a brave stout knight, in council sage, a valiant man of war, and lord of lineage high; but this, his humour and his biting words took from him much that was of right his due.

He, going straightway to the king, thus said:

"Sire, an it please you, it is time to dine."

"Quex," replied Arthur, in an angry tone, "sure thou wast born but to awake my wrath, and out of season ever to discourse. Have I not told thee, ay, a thousand times, naught should induce me to partake of food, when thus my court had met, till some adventure had turned up, some knight were vanquished, or some maid set free. Go sit thee down at bottom of the hall."

Quex went without a word among that joyous throng, where men of all conditions, knights and lords, minstrels and mountebanks, ceased not their tricks, their gay discourse, their laughter, till the hour of noon. At noon, King Arthur called Sir Gawain, and thus spoke:

"Fair nephew, cause our chargers to be brought; for since adventure cometh not to us, we must fain seek it in the open field; for should we longer stay, our knights, indeed, would have a right to think that it were time to dine."

"Your will, my lord," Sir Gawain said, "shall be obeyed."

And at the instant he the squires bade to saddle horses and their armour bring. Soon were the steeds prepared, the nobles armed. The king then girded on his famous sword, and at the head of his bold barons placed, set out for Bressiland, a gloomy wood. Having along its deep and shady paths awhile proceeded, the good king drew rein, and 'mid the greatest silence bent his ear. A distant voice was then distinctly heard, calling at intervals for human help, and turn by turn invoking God and saints!

"I will ride yonder," bold King Arthur cried; "but with no company save my good sword."

"An it please you, my lord," Sir Gawain said, "I fain would ride with you."

"Not so, fair nephew," the king made reply; "I need no company."

"Since such your wish," said Gawain, "have your will."

Arthur called quickly for his shield and lance, and spurred right eagerly towards the spot whence came the plaintive voice. As he drew near, the cries the sharper grew. The king pricked on with greater speed, and stopped before a stream by which a mill was placed. Just at the door he saw a woman stand, who wept, and screamed, and wrung her trembling hands, while she her tresses tore in deep despair. The good king, moved to pity, asked her why she grieved.

"My lord," she weepingly replied, "oh! help me, in God's name! a dreadful beast, come down from yonder mount, is there within devouring all my corn!"

Arthur approached, and saw the savage beast, which truly was most frightful to behold.

Larger than largest bull, it had a coat of long and russet fur, a whitish neck and head, which bristled with a pile of horns. Its eyes were large and round, its teeth of monstrous size; its jaws were shapeless, legs of massive build; its feet were broad and square. A giant elk were not of greater bulk. Arthur observed it for a certain time with wonder in his mind; crossing himself, he then got off his horse, drew forth his sword, and, covered with his shield, went straight into the mill. The beast, however, far from being scared, did not so much as even raise its head, but from the hopper still devoured the corn. Seeing it motionless, the king believed the beast was lack of spirit, and, to excite it, struck it on the back: but still the creature moved not. He then advanced, and standing right in front, lunged at the beast as though to run it through. It did not even seem to note the act. Arthur then cautiously laid down his shield, replaced his sword, and, being stout and strong, he seized it by the horns, and shook it with great force; natheless he could not make it leave the grain. In rage, he was about to raise his fist, so as to deal it on the head a blow; but lo! he could not then remove his hands,-they were as riveted unto its horns.

Soon as the beast perceived its foe was caught, it raised its head; and issued from the mill, bearing, pendant from its horns, the king, aghast, distracted, and yet wild with rage. It then regained the wood at easy pace; when Gawain, who, by good fortune, happed to ride before his Mends, beheld it thus his uncle carrying off,-a sight which half-deprived him of his wits.

"Knights!" he exclaimed aloud, "hie hither! help to our good lord! and may the laggard never sit at his Round Table more! We should indeed deserve dishonoured names were the king lost for want of timely aid." As thus he spoke, he flew towards the beast, not waiting for the rest, and couched his lance as though to strike at it.

But the king, fearing harm would come to him, addressed him thus:

"Fair nephew, thanks; but e'en for my sake halt. If thou do touch it, I am surely lost; and if thou spare it, saved. I might have slain it, and yet did not so; something now tells me I held not my hand in vain. Let it, then, go its course; and keep my men from coming on too near."

"My lord," Sir Gawain answered him with tears, "must I, then, let you perish without help?"

"The best of help," the king rejoined, "will be to do my bidding."

Sir Gawain was at this so much incensed, he cast down lance and shield, he tore his cloak and handfuls from his hair.

Just at this time Ivan and Tristrem came, with lances lowered, and at top of speed; Gawain threw up his hands, and loudly cried:

"Strike not, my lords, for his, King Arthur's sake; he's a dead man if you but touch the beast."

"What, then, are we to do?" inquired they.

"We'll follow it," quoth Gawain: "if the king be hurt, the beast shall die."

The monster still kept on its even way, not seeming to remark the knights, until a rock it reached, lofty and round and high. It scaled it, as a swallow, rapidly; and Gawain and his friends, who at a distance followed, sad and full of thought, saw it, when thus the summit was attained, crawl straight towards a peak which overhung. There, stretching out its head, it held the king suspended o'er the abyss. Judge the alarm of Gawain and his friends, who each beside was almost wild with rage! Hearing their cries, they who remained behind came up full spur, and reached the lofty rock, where, at the summit, they beheld the king hanging thus helpless from the monster's horns. They then gave loose to the most doleful cries that ever had been heard. I cannot picture to you their despair. Brave knights and pages then you might have seen tearing their hair and rending their attire, that wood reviling and the strange adventure which they had come to seek. And Quex exclaimed, by way of final stroke:

"Alas! fair chivalry, how hard thy lot! this day to cause the death of our good king, and lose thy valour when 'twas needed most!"

Saying these words he sank upon the ground. The king, however, still remained suspended in mid air, the beast meanwhile not offering to stir. The monarch feared to drop in that abyss; and in low voice he prayed the saints and God to save him from this pass. Then Gawain, Tristrem, and I know not who beside, took counsel how they might heap up their robes, so as to break the brave King Arthur's fall. Gawain had scarce proposed it to the crowd than each one doffed his garments speedily.

In haste they brought their cloaks and mantles gay; stripped off with eagerness their doublets, hose; and in an instant every knight was bare: such was the heap of garments 'neath that rock, the king had fallen without deadly risk. When this the beast beheld, it stirred as though it would draw back, and slightly shook its head. The crowd below, alarmed, at once upraised a cry; and on their bended knees prayed Heaven to guard the king, and bear him safe and sound. The beast with mighty spring then leaped below; and setting Arthur free, itself it changed into a handsome knight, in scarlet richly dad from head to heel. This noble bent his knee before the king, and smiling said:

"My liege, command your men their garments to resume; they now may dine in peace; though somewhat late, the adventure has been found."

Arthur amazed, nay, half-distraught at this adventure strange, now recognised the knight,-a courtly guest, esteemed among the brave, the courteous, and the sage.

Adroit in arms, gay, graceful, and beloved; among the first in strife, yet kind and modest too,-this lord was master of the seven arts, and in all spells was versed. For some time past between him and the king a compact stood, whereby it was agreed, if he himself transformed when all the court was met, he should as guerdon three good gifts receive-a cup of gold, a charger of great price, and from the fairest damsel a sweet kiss.

Gawain at once ran up, fearing his uncle in his fell was crushed; and you may safely judge of his surprise-finding him thus, in high good humour, stand loud laughing with the beast.

"In faith, fair friend," quoth he, "you can indeed enchant poor folks, and force even barons to throw off their clothes."

"You may resume them, good my lord," said the enchanter in the same gay tone; "for lo! the king no longer needs their use."

They did indeed soon put them on again, nor stayed to pick or choose; the court at once returned to fair Carlisle, the monarch and Sir Gawain riding on a-head. The palace-walls soon echoed with their joy. The pages brought them wherewithal to wash, and soon the knights were placed about the board. Grand was that court, and rich and brave and good; many a puissant name, full many a king, and many a duke and count, were seated there. Gawain the valiant knight and Ivan the well-bred, each holding the queen's arm, then led her in, where, at the table, sat she 'neath the king. Gawain then placed himself the other side, and Ivan by the queen: at once with laughter they began to tell of the enchanter's skill; and when Queen Guenever, and they, the knights who were not in the wood, had learned the doings there, they were indeed surprised; and soon loud laughed and chatted with the rest. Meanwhile Sir Quex before the king and fair Queen Ghieneyer the golden dishes placed; he then sat down to eat his own good meal, for he did boast a famous appetite, while ready pages served the other knights. Nothing was wanting at that banquet high: the roebuck, kid, and succulent wild-boar; the crane, the bustard, capons, swans, wild-geese; peacocks, and fine fat hens and partridges; white bread and purest wine,-of all good things the best was there beheld. Served by a host of graceful youths beside, the guests did honour to the feast.

Eating and drinking then engaged each thought; when straight there entered, mounting a fleet horse, with spotted robe, a youthful squire, tall and of noble mien. Never, do I believe, was man more finely-shaped. His shoulders were at least two cubits broad, his features regular, his eyes were sparkling, full of love and mirth; his hair was shining as the brightest gold, his arms were large and square, his teeth as ivory white. His frame, which tapered at the waist, was well developed, and displayed his strength. His legs were long and straight, and feet high-arched.

His violet and well-cut robe rested in graceful folds on hose of the same hue. A garland of fresh flowers crowned his brows, to which the sun had given a deeper tint, heightening the colour of his ruddy cheeks.

Entering the hall, he alighted from his horse, and came with quick and joyous step to kneel at the good monarch's feet. He then his purpose opened with these words:

"May He who made this world and all it holds; He who no suzerain hath,-now save the king, and all that 's his!"

"Friend," replied Arthur, "thank thee for those words; if thou dost seek a boon, it shall be thine."

"My liege, I am a squire, come from far unto your court, because I knew so doing I should meet the best of kings; and I conjure you for St. Mary's sake, if you so please, to arm me now a knight."

"Friend," said the king, "arise, and take thy seat; it shall be done thee even as thou wilt."

"Never, my liege, if you permit, will I uprise from hence till you have granted me the boon I ask."

"It is conceded," then exclaimed the king.

The squire arose as these fair words were said, and went to take his place at that rich board. But scarcely was this done, than lo! the guests beheld a knight, well armed, and on a charger fleet, come riding in. Crossing the hall, he with his lance did strike a lord upon the breast, and stretched him dying just before the queen. He then rode out, exclaiming as he went:

"This have I done to shame thee, wicked king. If it do grieve thee, and thy boasted knights should care to follow, I am Taulat Lord of Rugimon; and each passing year, on this same day, will I return to do thee the like scorn."

Good Arthur drooped his head, enraged, yet sad; but then the squire rose, and knelt before the king:

"Sire," he said, "now give me knightly arms, that I may follow up that haughty lord who casts dishonour on this royal court."

"Friend," exclaimed Quex at this, "your courage will be higher when you're drunk. Sit yourself down again, and drink another bout; the heart will be the merrier, and you can better floor a knight with wine than with a sharp-edged sword, however stout!"

The squire to this responded not a word, out of his duty for the worthy king; but for such cause, Quex had for his speech paid dear. Arthur, however, gave his anger vent, and thus exclaimed:

"Wilt thou, then, Quex, ne'er hold that biting tongue until I've driven thee from out my court? What has emboldened thee to speak thus vilely, and to a stranger who a suit prefers? Canst thou not keep within thee all the spite, the envy, wicked words, and slanderous thoughts with which thou art swelling o'er?"

"My lord," the squire said, "pray let him have his say; little heed I the flings of his forked tongue, for which I will a noble vengeance seek. Vile word ne'er sullieth honour. Let me rather have a suit of arms, to follow him who now has issued hence; for I do feel I shall not eat at ease till he and I have met in deadly fight."

The monarch courteously replied:

"My friend, I willingly will give thee steed, good arms, and knightly spurs; for thou dost ask these gifts as squire of gentle birth. But thou art all too young to fight with him who now has left this hall. Not four among the knights of my Hound Table can dare to meet his blows, or touch him in the field. Leave, then, this care to others; I should grieve to lose at once so stout and brave a squire."

"Since, sire, you think me stout, and call me brave, 'tis wrongfully or but to jeer you wish to stay my fighting; but in that you'll not succeed save you refuse to grant the boon erewhile you promised me;-and should a king forget his promise made, gone are his lustre and his courtesy."

The monarch answered:

"Friend, I yield me to thy ardent wish; thou shalt be armed a knight."

He then commanded two attendant squires at once go seek his armour, lance, a fine and tempered shield, the casque, the sharp-edged sword, the spurs, and horse of price in full caparison; then, when they brought the arms and horse, he caused the squire to put the hauberk on, he buckled his right spur, girded his sword upon the youth's left flank, and having kissed him gently on the mouth, he asked of him his name.

"Sire, in the land where I was born my name is Jaufry, son of Dovon."

The king, on hearing him speak thus, sighed heavily, and said, while tears were in his eye:

"Ah! what a knight and lord of mark was this same Dovon! He was of my table and my court. A brave knight and a learned: never had he superior in arms. None were held stouter or more dread in fight. May God, if He so will it, grant him grace; since for my sake he died! An archer pierced his heart with a steel bolt, while he a keep held out on my domain in Normandy."

Meanwhile a squire brought Jaufry a bay steed. The young knight placed his hand upon the bow, and leaped upon the horse, all armed as he then stood, without the use of stirrup; then called he for his shield and lance, consigned the king to God, and having taken leave of all the rest, he galloped from that hall.

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