Complete Works of William Morris, page 729
The Lady thanked him much, and took her brother, and sent him straightway into her chamber. But the folk betook them anew to the gaol, and brought forth another; and the Lady departed thence, whereas she knew him not. So was he led to his martyrdom, and our Lord Jesus Christ received his soul. But the Lady went her ways forthwith; for it pleased her not, the martyrdoms which the Saracens did on the Christians.
She came to her chamber wherein were the prisoners, and when they saw her coming, they made as they would rise up, but she made sign to them to hold them still. Then she went close up to them, and made them sign of friendship. And the Count, who was right sage, asked thereon: “Dame, when shall they slay us?” And she answered that it would not be yet. “Dame,” said they, “thereof are we heavy; for we have so great hunger, that it lacketh but a little of our hearts departing from us.”
Thereat she went forth and let array meat; and then she brought it, and gave to each one a little, and a little of drink. And when they had taken it, then had they yet greater hunger than afore. Thuswise she gave them to eat, ten times the day, by little and little; for she doubted that if they ate all freely, that they would take so much as would grieve them. Wherefore she did them to eat thus attemperly.
Thuswise did the good dame give them might again; and they were before her all the first seven days, and the night-tide she did them to lie at their ease; and she did them do off their evil raiment and let give them good and new. After the eighth day, she had strengthened them little by little and more and more; and then she let bring them victuals and drink to their contentment, and in such wise that they were so strong that she abandoned to them the victual and the drink withal. They had chequers and tables, and played thereon, and were in all content. The Soudan was ofttimes with them, and good will he had to see them play, and much it pleased him. But the dame refrained her sagely toward them, so that never was one of them that knew her, neither by word nor deed of hers.
But a little while wore after this matter, as telleth the tale, ere the Soudan had to do, for a rich soudan, who marched on him, laid waste his land, and fell to harrying him. And he, to avenge his trouble, summoned folk from every part, and assembled a great host. When the Lady knew thereof she came into the chamber whereas were the prisoners, and she sat down before them, and spoke to them, and said: “Lords, ye have told me of your matters a deal; now would I wot whether that which ye have told me be true or not: for ye told me that thou wert Count of Ponthieu on the day that thou departedst therefrom, and that that man had had thy daughter to wife, and that the other one was thy son. Now, I am Saracen, and know the art of astronomy: wherefore I tell you well, that never were ye so nigh to a shameful death as now ye be, if ye tell me not the truth. Thy daughter, whom this knight had, what became of her?”
“Lady,” said the Count, “I trow that she be dead.” “What wise died she?” quoth she. “Certes, Lady,” said the Count, “by an occasion which she had deserved.” “And what was the occasion?” said the Lady.
Then the Count fell to tell, sore weeping, how she was wedded, and of the tarrying, whereby she might not have a child; and how the good knight promised his ways to St. Jakeme in Galicia, and how the Lady besought him that she might go along with him, and he granted it willingly. And how they bestirred them with great joy, and went their ways, and so far that they came unto a place where they were without company. Then met they in a forest robbers well armed, who fell upon them. The good knight might do nothing against all them, for he was lacking of arms; but amidst all that he slew three, and five were left, who fell upon him and slew his palfrey, and took the knight and stripped him to the shirt, and bound him hand and foot, and cast him into a briar-bush: and the Lady they stripped, and took from her her palfrey. They beheld the Lady, and saw that she was full fair, and each one would have her. At the last, they accorded betwixt them hereto, that they should lie with her, and they had their will of her in her despite; and when they had so done they went their ways, and she abode, much grieving and much sad. The good knight beheld it, and said much sweetly: “Dame, now unbind me my hands, and let us be going.” Now she saw a sword, which was of one of the slain strong-thieves; she took it, and went towards her lord, who lay as aforesaid; she came in great ire by seeming, and said: “Yea, unbind thee I will.” Then she held the sword all bare, and hove it up, and thought to smite him amidst the body, but by the good mercy of Jesus Christ, and by the valiancy of the knight, he turned upso down, and she smote the bonds he was bound withal, and sundered them, and he leapt up, for as bound and hurt as he was, and said: “Dame, if God will, thou shalt slay me not to-day.”
At this word spake the Lady, the wife of the Soudan: “Ha, sir! thou sayest the sooth; and well I know wherefore she would to do it.” “Dame,” said the Count, “and wherefore?” “Certes,” quoth she, “for the great shame which had befallen her.”
When Messire Thibault heard that, he fell a-weeping much tenderly, and said: “Ha, alas! what fault had she therein then, Lady? So may God give me deliverance from this prison wherein I am, never should I have made worse semblance to her therefor, whereas it was maugre her will.”
“Sir,” said the Lady, “that she deemed nought. Now tell me,” she said, “which deem ye the rather, that she be quick or dead?” “Dame,” said he, “we wot not.” “Well wot I,” said the Count, “of the great pain we have suffered, which God hath sent us for the sin which I did against her.” “But if it pleased God,” said the Lady, “that she were alive, and that ye might have of her true tidings, what would ye say thereto?” “Lady,” said the Count, “then were I gladder than I should be to be delivered out of this prison, or to have so much riches as never had I in my life.” “Dame,” said Messire Thibault, “may God give me no joy of that which I most desire, but I were not the gladder than to be king of France.” “Dame,” said the varlet who was her brother, “certes none could give me or promise me thing whereof I should be so glad as of the life of my sister, who was so fair a dame, and so good.”
But when the Lady heard these words, then was the heart of her softened and she praised God, and gave him thanks therefor, and said to them: “Take heed, now, that there be no feigning in your words.” And they answered and said that none there was. Then fell the Lady a-weeping tenderly, and said to them: “Sir, now mayest thou well say that thou art my father, and I thy daughter, even her on whom thou didest such cruel justice. And thou, Messire Thibault, thou art my lord and my baron. And thou, sir varlet, art my brother.”
Therewith she told them how the merchants had found her, and how they gave her as a gift to the Soudan. And when they heard that, they were much glad, and made much great joy, and humbled them before her; but she forbade them that they should make any semblance, and said: “I am Saracen, and renied, for otherwise I might never endure, but were presently dead. Wherefore I pray you and bid you, for as dear as ye hold your lives and honours, and your havings the greater, that ye never once, whatso ye may hear or see, make any more fair semblance unto me, but hold you simply. So leave me to deal therewith. Now shall I tell you wherefore I have uncovered me to you. The Soudan, who is now my lord, goeth presently a-riding; and I know thee well” (said she to Messire Thibault), “that thou art a valiant man and a good knight: therefore I will pray the Soudan to take thee with him; and then if ever thou wert valiant, now do thou show it, and serve the Soudan so well that he may have no evil to tell of thee.”
Therewith departed the Lady, and came unto the Soudan, and said: “Sir, one of my prisoners will go with thee, if it please thee.” “Dame,” said he, “I would not dare trust me to him, lest he do me some treason.” “Sir,” she said, “in surety mayest thou lead him along; for I will hold the others.” “Dame,” said he, “I will lead him with me, since thou counsellest me so, and I will give him a horse much good, and arms, and all that is meet for him.”
So then the Lady went back, and said to Messire Thibault: “I have done so much with the Soudan, that thou shalt go with him. Now bethink thee to do well.” But her brother kneeled before her, and prayed her that she would do so much with the Soudan that he also should go. But said she: “I will not do it, the matter be over open thereby.”
The Soudan arrayed his matters and went his ways, and Messire Thibault with him, and they went against the enemy. The Soudan delivered to Messire Thibault arms and horse. By the will of Jesus Christ, who never forgetteth them who have in him trust and good faith, Messire Thibault did so much in arms, that in a little while the enemy of the Soudan was brought under, whereof much was the Soudan rejoiced; he had the victory, and led away much folk with him. And so soon as he was come back, he went to the Lady, and said: “Dame, by my law, I much praise thy prisoner, for much well hath he served me; and if he will cast aside his law and take ours, I will give him wide lands, and richly will I marry him.” “Sir,” she said, “I wot not, but I trow not that he will do it.” Therewith they were silent, so that they spake not more. But the Lady dighted in her business straightway after these things the best she might, and she came to her prisoners, and said:
“Lords, now do ye hold ye wisely, that the Soudan perceive not our counsel; for, if God please, we shall yet be in France and the land of Ponthieu.”
Now came a day when the Lady moaned much, and complained her, and came before the Soudan, and said: “Sir, I go with child, well I wot it, and am fallen into great infirmity, nor ever since thy departure have I eaten aught wherein was any savour to me.” “Dame,” said he, “I am heavy of thy sickness, but much joyous that thou art with child. But now command and devise all things that thou deemest might be good for thee, and I will let seek and array them, whatsoever they may cost me.”
When the Lady heard that, she had much great joy in her heart; but never did she show any semblance thereof, save that so much she said: “Sir, my old prisoner hath said to me, that but I be presently upon earth of a right nature, I am but dead and that I may not live long.” “Dame,” said the Soudan, “nought will I thy death: look to it, then, on what land thou wouldest be, and I will let lead thee thereto.” “Sir,” she said, “it is of no matter to me, so that I be out of this city.”
Then the Soudan let array a ship fair and stout, and let garnish her well with wine and victual. “Sir,” said the Lady to the Soudan, “I will have with me my old prisoner and my young one, and they shall play at the chess and the tables; and my son will I take to pleasure me.” “Dame,” said he, “it pleaseth me well that thou do thy will herein. But what hap with the third prisoner?” “Sir,” said she, “thou shalt do thy will herein.” “Dame,” said he, “I will that thou take him with thee; for he is a valiant man, and will heed thee well on land and sea, if need thou have thereto.”
Therewith she prayed leave of the Soudan, and he granted it, and much he prayed her to come back speedily. The ship was apparelled, and they were alboun; and they went aboard, and departed from the haven.
Good wind they had, and ran much hard: and the mariners called to the Lady, and said to her: “Dame, this wind is bringing straight to Brandis; now command us thy pleasure to go thither or elsewhere.” And she said to them: “Let run hardily, for I know well how to speak French and other tongues, and I will lead you through all.”
Now so much they ran by day and by night, through the will of Jesus Christ, that they are come to Brandis there they took harbour in all safety, and lighted down on the shore, and were received with much great joy. The Lady, who was much wise, drew towards the prisoners, and said to them: “Lords, I would that ye call to mind the words and agreements which ye said to me, and I would be now all sure of you, and have good surety of your oaths, and that ye say to me on all that ye hold to be of God if ye will to hold to your behests, which ye have behight me, or not; for yet have I good might to return.”
They answered: “Lady, know without doubt that we have covenanted nought with you which shall not be held toward you by us loyally; and know by our Christendom and our Baptism, and by whatsoever we hold of God, that we will hold to it; be thou in no doubt thereof.”
“And I will trow in you henceforth,” said the Lady. “Now, lords,” said she, “lo here my son, whom I had of the Soudan; what shall we do with him?” “Dame, let him come to great honour and great gladness.” “Lords,” said the Lady, “much have I misdone against the Soudan, for I have taken from him my body, and his son whom he loved much.”
Then she went back to the mariners, and called and said to them: “Masters, get ye back and tell to the Soudan that I have taken from him my body, and his son whom he loved much, and that I have cast forth from prison my father, my husband, and my brother.” And when the mariners heard that, they were much grieving; but more they might not do; and they returned, sad and sorrowful for the Lady, and for the youngling, whom they loved much, and for the prisoners, who were thus lost without recoverance.
But the Count apparelled himself, whereto he had well enough, by means of merchants and by Templars, who lent him of their good full willingly. And when the Count and his company had sojourned in the town so long as their pleasure was, they arrayed them and went their ways thence, and came to Rome. The Count went before the Apostle, and his fellowship with him. Each one confessed him the best that he could; and when the Apostle heard it, he was much glad, and much great cheer he made of them. He baptized the child, and he was called William. He reconciled the Lady, and set her again in right Christendom, and confirmed the Lady and Messire Thibault, her baron, in right marriage, and joined them together again, and gave penitence to each of them, and absolved them of their sins.
After that, they abode no long while ere they departed from Rome and took their leave of the Apostle, who much had honoured them; and he gave them his blessing, and commended them to God. So went they in great joy and in great pleasance, and praised God and his mother and the hallows, both carl and quean, and gave thanks for the goods which they had done them.
And so far they journeyed, that they came into the land where they were born, and were received in great procession by the bishops and the abbots, and the people of religion and the other clerks, who much had desired them.
But above all other joys made they joy the Lady who was thus recovered, and who had thus delivered her father, her husband, and her brother from the hands of the Saracens, even as ye have heard. But now leave we of them in this place, and tell we of the mariners who had brought them, and of the Saracens who had come with them.
The mariners and the Saracens who had brought them to Brandis returned at their speediest; they had good wind, and ran till they came off Aumarie.
They lighted down on shore sad and sorrowful, and went to tell the tidings to the Soudan, who was much sorrowful thereof, and in great dole abode; and for this adventure the less he loved his daughter, who had abided there, and honoured her the less. Notwithstanding, the damsel became much sage, and waxed in great wit, so that all honoured her and loved her, and prized her for the good deeds which they told of her.
But now the history holds its peace of the Soudan, who made great dole for his wife and his prisoners who thus had escaped, and it returneth to the Count of Ponthieu, who was received into his land with great procession, and much honoured as the lord that he was.
No long while wore ere his son was made knight, and great cheer folk made of him. He was a knight much worthy and valiant, and much he loved the worthies, and fair gifts he gave to poor knights and poor gentle dames of the country, and much was prized and loved of poor and of rich. For a worthy he was, and a good knight, and courteous, and openhanded, and kind, and nowise proud. Yet but a little while he lived, which was great damage, and much was he bemoaned of all.
After this adventure it befell that the Count held a great court and a great feast, and had a many of knights and other folk with him; and therewithal came a very noble man and knight, who was a much high man in Normandy, who was called my lord Raoul de Preaux. This Raoul had a daughter much fair and much wise. The Count spake so much to my lord Raoul and to his friends, that he made the wedding betwixt William his nephew, son to the Soudan of Aumarie, and the daughter of my lord Raoul, for no heir had he save that daughter. William wedded the damsel, and the wedding was done much richly, and thereafter was the said William lord of Preaux.
Long time thence was the land in peace and without war: and Messire Thibault was with the Lady, and had of her sithence two man-children, who thereafter were worthies and of great lordship. The son of the Count of Ponthieu, of whom we have told so much good, died but a little thereafter, whereof was made great dole throughout all the land. The Count of St. Pol lived yet, and now were the two sons of my lord Thibault heirs of those two countries, and thereto they attained at the last. The good dame their mother lived in great penitence, and much she did of good deeds and alms; and Messire Thibault lived as the worthy which he was, and much did he of good whiles he was in life.
Now it befell that the daughter of the Lady, who had abided with the Soudan her father, waxed in great beauty and became much wise, and was called the Fair Caitif, because her mother had left her thus as ye have heard: but a Turk, much valiant, who served the Soudan (Malakin of Baudas was he called), this Malakin saw the damsel to be courteous and sage, and much good had heard tell of her; wherefore he coveted her in his heart, and came to the Soudan and said to him: “Sir, for the service which I have done thee, give me a gift.” “Malakin,” said the Soudan, “what gift?” “Sir,” said he, “might I dare to say it, because of her highness, whereof I have nought so much as she, say it I would.”
The Soudan, who wise was and clear-seeing, said to him: “Speak in all surety that which thou willest to speak; for much I love thee and prize thee; and if the thing be a thing which I may give thee, saving my honour, know verily that thou shalt have it.” “Sir,” said he, “well I will that thine honour shall be safe, and against it nought would I ask of thee: but if it please thee, give me thy daughter, for I pray her of thee, and right willingly would I take her.”
