Old French Romances, Done into English by William Morris (large screen ebook reader .txt) 📕

one of them amidst the body, and slew him; and thereafter turned about, and went back, and smote him who had first come on him amidst of the body, and slew him.

Now it pleased God that of the eight strong-thieves he slew three, and the other five encompassed him, and slew his palfrey, so that he fell adown on his back without any wound to grieve him: he had neither sword nor any other armour to help him.  So the strong-thieves took his raiment from him, all to his shirt, and his spurs and shoon; and then they took a sword-belt, and bound his hands and his feet, and cast him into a bramble-bush much sharp and much rough.

And when they had thus done, they came to the Lady, and took from her her palfrey and all her raiment, right to her smock; and she was much fair, and she was weeping tenderly, and much and of great manner was she sorrowful.

Then one of the strong-thieves beheld her, and said thus to his fellows: “Masters, I have lost my brother in this stour, therefore will I have this Lady in atonement thereof.”  Another said: “But I also, I have lost my cousin-german; therefore I claim as much as thou herein: yea, and another such right have I.”  And even in such wise said the third and the fourth and the fifth; but at last said one: “In the holding of this Lady ye have no great getting nor gain; so let us lead her into the forest here, and do our will on her, and then set her on the road again and let her go.”  So did they even as they had devised, and set her on the road again.

Messire Thibault saw it well, and much sorrowful he was, but nought might he do against it; nor none ill will had he against the Lady for that which had befallen her; for he wotted well that it had been perforce and against the will of her.  The Lady was much sorrowful, and all ashamed.  So Messire Thibault called to her and said: “Dame, for God’s sake come hither and unbind me, and deliver me from the grief wherein I am; for these brambles grieve me sore and anguish me.”

So the Lady went whereas lay Messire Thibault, and espied a sword lying behind there of one of the strong-thieves who had been slain.  So she took it, and went toward her lord, full of great ire and evil will of that which was befallen.  For she doubted much that he would have her in despite for that he had seen her thus, and that he would reprove her one while and lay before her what had her betid.  She said: “Sir, I will deliver thee anon.”

Therewith she hove up the sword and came to her lord, and thought to smite him amidst of the body; and when he saw the stroke coming he doubted it much, for he was all naked to his shirt and breeches, and no more.  Therefore so hardly he quaked, that the hands and the fingers of him; were sundered; and in such wise she smote him that she but hurt him a little, and sheared the thongs wherewith he was bound; and when he felt the bonds slacken, he drew to him and brake the thongs, and leapt to his feet, and said: “Dame, so please God, no more to-day shalt thou slay me.”  But she said: “Of a surety, sir, I am heavy thereof.”

He took the sword of her, and put it back into the scabbard, and thereafter laid his hand on her shoulder, and brought her back on the road whereby they had come.  And when he came to the entry of the wood, there found he a great part of his company, which was come to meet him and when they saw them thus naked, they asked of him: “Sir, who hath thus arrayed you?”  But he told them that they had fallen in with strong-thieves, who had thus ensnared them.  Much great dole they made thereof; but speedily were they clad and arrayed, for they had well enough thereto so they gat to horse and went their ways.

That day they rode, and for nought that had befallen Messire Thibault made no worser semblance unto the Lady.  That night they came unto a good town, and there they harboured.  Messire Thibault asked of his host if there were any house of religion anigh thereto, where one might leave a lady, and the host said: “Sir, it befalleth well to thee; hard by without is a house much religious and of much good dames.”

Wore the night, and Messire Thibault went on the morrow into that house and heard mass, and thereafter spake to the abbess, and the convent, and prayed them that they would guard that Lady there till his coming back; and they granted it to him much willingly.  Messire Thibault left of his meney there to serve the Lady, and went his ways, and did his pilgrimage the best he might.  And when he had done his pilgrimage fair and well, he returned, and came to the Lady.  He did good to the house, and gave thereto of his havings, and took the Lady unto him again, and led her into his country with as much great honour as he had led her away, save the lying a-bed with her.

When he was gotten aback into his land, much great joy did they make of him, and of the Lady.  At his homecoming was the Count of Ponthieu, the father of the Lady, and there also was the Count of St. Pol, who was uncle unto my lord Thibault.  A many was there of good folk and valiant at their coming.  The Lady was much honoured of dames and of damsels.

That day the Count of Ponthieu sat, he and Messire Thibault, they two together, at one dish, and so it fell out that the Count said to him: “Thibault, fair son, he who long way wendeth heareth much, and seeth of adventures, whereof nought they know who stir not; tell me tale, then, if it please thee, of some matter which thou hast seen, or heard tell of, since ye departed hence.”

Messire Thibault answered him that he knew of no adventure to tell of; but the Count prayed him again, and tormented him thereto, and held him sore to tell of some adventure, insomuch that Messire Thibault answered him: “Sir, since tell I needs must, I will tell thee; but so please thee, let it not be within earshot of so much folk.”  The Count answered and said that it so pleased him well.  So after dinner, whenas they had eaten, the Count arose and took Messire Thibault by the hand, and said to him: “Now would I that thou say thy pleasure, for here is not a many of folk.”

And Messire Thibault fell to telling how that it had betid to a knight and a lady, even as ye have heard in the tale told; but he told not the persons unto whom it had befallen: and the Count, who was much sage and right thoughtful, asked what the knight had done with the Lady; and he answered that the knight had brought and led the Lady back to her own country, with as much great joy and as much great honour as he had led her thence, save lying in the bed whereas lay the Lady.

“Thibault,” said the Count, “otherwise deemed the knight than I had deemed; for by the faith which I owe unto God, and unto thee, whom much I love, I would have hung the Lady by the tresses to a tree or to a bush, or by the very girdle, if none other cord I might find.”  “Sir,” said Messire Thibault, “nought so certain is the thing as it will be if the Lady shall bear witness thereto with her very body.”  “Thibault,” said the Count, “knowest thou who was the knight?”  “Sir,” said Messire Thibault, “yet again I pray thee that thou acquit me of naming the knight to whom this adventure betid: know of a verity that in naming him lieth no great gain.”  “Thibault,” said the Count, “know that it is not my pleasure that thou hide it.”  “Sir,” said Thibault, “then will I tell the same, since I may not be acquitted thereof, as willingly I would be if it were your pleasure; for in telling thereof lieth not great avail, nor great honour.”  “Thibault,” said the Count, “since the word has gone so far, know that I would wot straightway who was the knight unto whom this adventure betid; and I conjure thee, by the faith which thou owest to God and to me, that thou tell me who was the knight, since thou knowest thereof.”

“Sir,” said Messire Thibault, “by that wherewith thou hast conjured me withal, I will tell thee.  And I would well that thou shalt know of a verity that I am the knight unto whom this adventure betid.  And wot thou that I was sore grieving and abashed in my heart; and wot thou well that never erst have I spoken thereof to any man alive; and, moreover, with a good will had I put aside the telling of it, if it had but pleased thee.”

But when the Count had heard tell this adventure, much grieving was he, and abashed, and held his peace a great while, and spake no word; and when he spoke, he said: “Thibault, then to my daughter it was that this adventure betid?”  “Sir,” said he, “of a verity.”  “Thibault,” said the Count, “well shalt thou be avenged, since thou hast brought her back to me.”

And because of the great ire which the Count had, he called for his daughter, and asked of her if that were true which Messire Thibault had said; and she asked, “What?” and he answered: “This, that thou wouldest have slain him, even as he hath told it?”  “Sir,” she said, “yea.”  “And wherefore,” said the Count, “wouldst thou have done it?”  “Sir,” said she, “hereto, for that yet it grieveth me that I did it not, and that I slew him not.”

So the Count let all that be, and abode till the Court was departed.  Thereafter was he at Rue-on-Sea, and Messire Thibault with him, and the son of the Count; and the Count let lead with him the Lady.  Then the Count let array a strong craft and a trim, and did do the Lady enter therein; and withal let lay therein a tun, all new, strong, and great, and thick.  Then they entered into the said ship, all three, without fellowship of other folk, save the mariners who rowed the ship.  Then did the Count cause them to row a full two leagues out to sea; and much marvelled each one of what he thought to do, but none durst ask him.

But when they were so far forth in the sea as ye have heard, the Count let smite out one head of the tun, and took the Lady, who was his daughter, and who was much fair and well attired, and made her to enter in the tun, would she, would she not; and then let head up the tun again straightway, and dight it well, and let redo the staves, and stop it well, that the water might not enter in no manner.  Then the Count let put it overboard the ship, and he laid hand thereto with his very own body, and thrust the tun into the sea, and said: “I commend thee unto the winds and the waves.”

Much grieving was Messire Thibault thereat, and the brother of the Lady withal; yea, and all they that saw the same; and they fell all at the feet of the Count, and prayed him mercy, that from out of that tun they might take her and deliver her.  But the Count, who was much wroth and full of ire, would not grant it them for any thing that they might do or pray.  So they let it be, and prayed to Jesus Christ, the Sovereign Father, that he, of his exceeding great goodness, would have pity of her soul, and do her pardon of her sins.

Thus have they left the Lady in great mischief and great peril, even as ye have heard the tale tell afore, and thus they returned thence.  But our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the Sovereign Father of us all, and who willeth not the death of sinners, be they he or she, but that they may turn them from their sins and live (every day he showeth it unto us openly by works, by examples, and by miracles), sent succour unto the Lady, even as ye may hear further on.

For the history testifieth us, and telleth of a verity, that a merchant ship which came from the parts of Flanders, before the Count and his fellows were well come aland, saw