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EARLY ENGLISH ROMANCES 
 
 IN VERSE 
 
 II. FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Edith Rickert 
 
 Published on demand by 
 
 UNIVERSITY MICROFILMS 
 
 University Microfilms Limited, High Wycomb, England 
 
 A Xerox Company, Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A. 
 
* ^ ^ 
 
 This is an authorized facsimile and was produced by 
 microfilm-xerography in 1969 by University Micro- 
 films, A Xerox Company, Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S. A. 
 
 * * * 
 
EARLY ENGLISH RO- 
 MANCES IN VERSE: 
 DONE INTO MODERN 
 ENGLISH BY EDITH 
 RICKERT: ROMANCES 
 OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 CHATTO AND WINDUS : LONDON 
 NEW YORK : DUFFIELD ^ CO. 
 
 1908 
 
 CUi<V.><>'j ii.'iU 
 
The title on the reverse of this 
 page has been adapted by Mfss 
 Blanche C. Hunter from B.M. 
 HarlcyMS. 2952, f. 116. 
 
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CONTENTS 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 AMIS AND AMILOUN • 
 
 SIR AM ADAS 
 
 ATIIELSTON . . . 
 
 THE TALE OF GAMELYN . 
 
 ROSWALL AND LILLIAN . 
 
 THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 
 
 NOTES .... 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 '* IN THE GARDEN . . . THAT BRIGHT 
 
 summer's DAY " (page lo) . • . . Frontispiece 
 
 Harl, MS, 443 1, /o/. 376. 
 *^ she said . . . SHE WOULD SOON BE 
 
 BURIED IN THE CLAY " . . . To face page <) 
 
 Harl, MS, 4431, /«/. x8o^. 
 
 " A BRIGHT ANGEL . . . STOOD BEFORE 
 
 HIS BED " » 43 
 
 Harl, MS, 443i,/o/. 130^. 
 
 68 
 
 " HE WAS . . . CROWNED WITH CLEAR 
 
 GOLD '' }9 
 
 Rot^al MS, 14 E, iv.^fol, 10. 
 
 "his lady clad all IN white" . . „ 130 
 
 Royal MS, 14 E, iv.ifol, 293^. 
 
 " SIR, I HAVE BROUGHT HIM TO BE OF 
 
 YOUR WILL " o IJO 
 
 Royal MS. 14. E, iv,t/ol. 154. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 THIS volume includes six stories in which love, 
 war, and adventure are subordinated to an ideal 
 of friendship ; and these romances, although the last is 
 pretty well two hundred years later than the first, show 
 a curious continuity of ideas. 
 
 In all of them friendship is a veritable passion, and the 
 betrayal of friendship becomes for the time the supreme 
 sin. This attitude of mind is characteristic of many old 
 Germanic tales, and, notwithstanding examples of friend-^ 
 ship in other literatures, seems to me peculiarly Teutonic 
 in its intensity and the completeness with which it tends 
 to swallow up other phases of life. In u4mis and Amiloun^ 
 Jthdston, and GrayStcdy we have traces of the old 
 Teutonic custom of sworn-brotherhood, in which a life- 
 long relation is deliberately entered into by two men not 
 akin. This was originally sealed by " blood-blending " — 
 that is, each cut his arm and allowed the blood to mix witli 
 his brother's, as is related in several northern poems, and 
 by Saxo Grammaticus and other writers ; later on, as in 
 these romances, the ceremony seems to Iiave become 
 
xu INTRODUCTION 
 
 simply an oath. But the oath so sworn was the most 
 binding thing in the world, and involved the risking of life 
 in the friend's service. Amiloun becomes a leper for 
 Amis, Amis sacrifices his children to heal Amiloun. 
 Athelston yields only to the worst threats before he will 
 betray Wymound. Grime undertakes deadly combat to 
 avenge Eger's dishonour and to win for him his lady. 
 
 It is an extravagant emotion, this friendship. In the 
 case of Amis ^nd Amiloun it is based upon the idea of com- 
 plete physical resemblance between two who are not re- 
 lated, much as is the love of Floris and Blancheflour. 
 Wnh Athelston it results from the extraordinary coinci- 
 dence of the meeting of four strangers at the crossing of 
 four roads ; but it comes to be extravagantly rewarded, as 
 treachery to it is extravagantly punished. In Amadas it 
 follows upon extraordinary charity, wherein a man gives 
 his all out of sheer fellow-feeling, is rewarded with a 
 kingdom and queen, and called upon in return to sacrifice 
 his wife and child to his compact of friendship. In 
 Gamely n^ we have the contrast between the unnatural 
 hatred of a brother and the complete devotion of an old 
 servant to the disinherited, and also of the band of out- 
 laws with whom he takes refuge. The title of Roswall and 
 Lillian suggests a love-story, but the core of the tale is 
 Roswall's release of the prisoners, their oath of perpetual 
 friendship, and the way in which they fulfil it in his 
 time of need. Gray^Steel is the story of an amazing one- 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 sided devotion, but there are hints that Eger lacked only 
 occasion to do as much for Grime, 
 
 Combined with the friendship-theme in these romances, 
 runs a strong idea of the sacredness of an oath. Amis 
 cannot fight his accuser because the charge against! him 
 is true, and he dares not swear his innocence ; hence 
 Amiloun must take his place. Amadas must kill his wife 
 and child rather than withdraw from the compact into 
 which he entered heedlessly. Athelston, having once 
 sworn not to betray the traitor, is reluctant even when 
 promised absolution at the hands of his archbichop. In 
 Gamelyn it is the wicked brother's perjury and treachery 
 that call down the minstrel's wrath ; while in Roszoall and 
 Lillian, the oath given by Roswall to the false steward, 
 even under threat of death, binds him until his identity 
 is revealed by his three friends. 
 
 Again, it is interesting to note, in several of these 
 romances, how the idea of friendship is worked out in 
 subordinate episodes : how it was partly the refusal of Amis 
 to be the steward's sworn brother, thus forsaking Amiloun, 
 that brought on his trouble ; and how the child Amoraunt 
 served his lord Amiloun for many years with touching 
 devotion, and through all hardship and temptation ; how 
 in Athelston the queen flung awn.y her garland of cherries 
 to intercede for her friends, and how. even in her illness, 
 she scut to fetch them help ; how Roswall in his distress 
 was taken in by a poor old dame and her son, and well 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION 
 
 treated by a kindly schoolmaster ; even the ever-faithful 
 Palyas does his share. 
 
 All these details, and others that might be quoted, go to 
 show that through all the fantasies of romance, the funda- 
 mental human relationships were much the same in the 
 Middle Ages as they arc now. 
 
 Amis and Amilouny translated immediately from a 
 French poem, has been referred to an Oriental origin for 
 no good reason that I can discover. From the general 
 character of its ideas (and from the names in the Latin 
 vcnion), it seems to be Germanic; but at the present 
 time its elements seem not to have been traced. 
 
 Perhaps the chief merit of Amis and Amiloun is that it 
 is fundamentally a good story. From the first we arc 
 stirred by the devotion of Amiloun and its terrible punish- 
 ment, and our interest is sustained to the very end by the 
 wonder how and when Amis will make a return. The 
 English poet is insuperably prolix, often managing to spin 
 one small idea through a twelve-line stanza, but not even 
 his fondness for conventional repetitions spoils the story ; 
 and in the translation I have thought it justifiable to limit 
 the number of times in which he says the same thing. The 
 character-drawing in the tale is not interesting except in 
 its presentation of tvvo disagreeable women, the love-sick 
 Belisaunt, whom the minstrel seems rather to admire, and 
 the selfish, shrewish wife of Amiloun. Tliese demand a 
 certain amount of sympathy which it is difiicult to feel for 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 the twin-heroes ; for Amiloun's wife certainly had a 
 grievance in her knowledge that her husband had sacri- 
 ficed her as well as himself to friendship ; and Belisaunt 
 stood the test of friendsliip well when she heard that her 
 children were slain for Amiloun, though it is doubtful 
 whether any woman on earth would have taken the 
 tragedy quite as complacently as she did. The finest parts 
 of the poem are the description of the leper's life with 
 Amoraunt, and the scenes in the nursery witli the children 
 of Amis, which are full of pretty, quaint, and vivid 
 touclics. 
 
 Sir Avindas has no known French iJourcc, and yet there 
 are several reasons for holding that it is probably a transla- 
 tion. For one thing, it bears no strong marks of English 
 local colour to suggest that it is an original composition ; 
 for another, tliere is a faint suggestion — a mere ghostly 
 hint — of its theme in the French romance of Amadas and 
 Tdotne, I'he episode is simply of the hero's encounter 
 with a supernatural knight at a tomb. In the French, 
 Amadas fights the knight and the tomb is Ydoine's ; but 
 the bare fact of the meeting between an Amadas and a 
 ghost-knight suggests that another story may have existed 
 of this sort, upon which tlie English poem was based. The 
 episode of the widow watching by her husband's bier is 
 found in DoIopathoSy but the circumstances and the sequel 
 differ utterly. However, the separate occurrence of these 
 two ideas in Frcncli makes it more likely that they were 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 combined by an unknown French poet than by an 
 English minstrel \p£ no great gifts. 
 
 In this romance again, the story's the thing; we are 
 interested to know how the condition attached to the 
 promised wealth will be fulfilled. In the manner of its 
 performance there is perhaps a faint suggestion of the 
 sacrifice of Abraham, at least in the willingness of the 
 victim and the intervention of the angel. The characters, 
 too, are interesting in themselves, the impulsive, generous 
 Amadas and even his prototype, the unfortunate waster 
 who could not say " No ; " the hard-headed merchant, the 
 forlorn widow, and above all the meek and faithful wife, 
 whose devotion arouses the minstrel himself to enthusiasm. 
 And certainly the little scene in which she sends for her 
 baby, and lying down, covers her eyes with a handkerchief 
 so that she shall not see the sword descend, is touching 
 cfiough to warrant his praise. 
 
 ^ Athehton was thought by Zupitza to be a translation ; 
 
 ' but he gave no detailed reasons for his opinion. The 
 
 weight of evidence seems to me in favour of the belief that 
 
 it is an original English composition. Its local colour is 
 
 , markedly taken from London and the road between 
 
 I / London, Canterbury, and Dover, at the end of the four- 
 teenth century. The turbulence of the barons, with their 
 
 I 1 threats to depose the king, seems to reflect the reign of 
 
 II Richard II. Moreover, the characters are all English and 
 ^ ' bear Old English names. Tliese facts do not prove that no 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 French original ever existed ; but as it has left no certain 
 trace, they militate against the necessity of assuming it. 
 The evidence of William of Malmesbury alone suffices to 
 show that legendary matter had accumulated about the 
 name of Athelstan ; and it is probable that he was once the 
 hero of a cycle of tales. For tKe events in this romance , 
 there is a certain foundation in Malmesbury^s chronicle,_J 
 He relates that Athelstan came of a large family, some of 
 whom had a different mother ; that his half-brother Edwin 
 was accused falsely of attempting his life, by his cup-bearer 
 Alfred, and was accordingly brought to death by the 
 king ; further, that the slanderer, while attempting to 
 clear himself by oath before the Pope, fell senseless and 
 died, being so an example of the judgment of God. The 
 real Athelstan had a sister Edith who was, however, 
 married to Ctiarles the Simple ; and he was succeeded by 
 an Edmund (not St. Edmund). The minstrel's assertion 
 that Edmund was the king's nephew doubtless arose from 
 the fact that he knew that Athelstan's sister was Edith, but 
 not that his mother had the same name. _, 
 
 One small detail in the story suggests that the author i 
 was working over an older tale ; that is, his noting that 
 the messenger was a foundling who was also called Athel- 
 stan. No one would have invented without authority 
 such a pointless detail, which bears not the slightest re- 
 ference to the story ; but any blundering minstrel who 
 came upon the statement might try somehow, however 
 
 ir. /' 
 
^ > 
 
 xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 awkwardly, to fit it in, as appears to have been the 
 case here. 
 
 If, then, he had a source, the character of his romance, 
 with its absence of love-interest, its Teutonic ideas of 
 sworn-brotherhood and ordeal by fire, its Old English 
 names, and its fourteenth-century English colouring, sug- 
 gests strongly that he was working up some earlier English 
 legend about Athclstan. 
 
 The merit of the romance is not perhaps very great, but 
 it is full of curious ideas, and the presentation of four- 
 teenth-century London is interesting. The two women 
 are the most vivid characters : the mother, who was all 
 of a flutter to see her sons knighted, and the noble-spirited 
 queen who sacrificed so much to friendship. 
 
 The tal6 of Gamelyn hovers on tlie borderland between 
 ballad and romance; but is here included alike for its 
 theme, its iiitrinsic interest, and its literary connections. 
 
 These last are two-fold : (i) it is the source of Lodge's 
 story of Rosalynde or Euphues^ Golden Legacy ^ upon which 
 Shakespeare based his As Ton Like It ; (2) it stands in 
 some sort of relation to several Robin Hood ballads in 
 which a Gamelyn or Gandelyn appears. Whether the 
 ballads have borrowed from tlie romance, or both are de- 
 rived from the same legendary sources, I do not know. 
 
 Inasmuch as no trace of a French original has been 
 found, I see no reason for presupposing one in this instance. 
 The occurrence of one French name O/^, and the doubtful 
 
INTRODUCnON xix 
 
 Boundys (or Bordeaux) is the only ground I can find, from 
 internal evidence, for such an hypothesis. The poem 
 seems to me as thoroughly English in spirit, style, and form 
 as does Havelok the Dane ; and, like the latter, seems to 
 belong to the East Midlands, where Scandinavian influ- 
 ence survived (f/. note on the name Gamelyn), Indeed, 
 the two poems show several resemblances in character : 
 Gamelyn, like Havelok, is disinherited by an unnatural 
 relation, and has to flee, is accompanied by a faithful friend 
 much older than himself, distinguishes himself in outdoor 
 sports, has to do with outlaws, and performs wonders with 
 a great piece of wood, instead of the more usual weapons. 
 Notwithstanding these points of contact, the plots are so 
 essentially different that we can conclude only that the 
 two stories belong to the same general class of tales, or, at 
 the very most, that certain features of the Haveloh legend 
 have modified Gamelyn. It is not impossible that the 
 theme of tlie disinherited son, in both cases, may have 
 been founded on some actual incident. 
 
 The romance, wha*^ever its faults, is not dull ; it has 
 plenty of action. The young Gamelyn cracks crowns and 
 breaks bones from the beginning, and concludes his youth- 
 ful career with a wholesale hanging of all his enemies. The 
 poem is the exact obverse of, for example, The Squire of 
 Low Degree y being totally devoid of sentiment and senti- 
 mentality, and full of a brisk open-air brutality, with 
 plenty of oaths and drinking and honest fighting. Its 
 
XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 pictures of English country-life, the manor-house, the 
 wrestling-ring, the woods and the village moot-hall are 
 wonderfully vivid ; and it is here and there touched with 
 a kind of grim humour, which I take to be Norse, that is 
 distinctly attractive. 
 
 The author of Rostuall and Lillian reveals such a wide 
 acquaintance with the heroes and heroines of earlier 
 romances that it is not necessary to suppose that he 
 borrowed from a definite French original his somewhat 
 conventional plot. Although the scenes of the story are 
 laid abroad, the names of the characters are not French, 
 and the pseudonym Dissawar (see note) appears to be 
 Scotch. A certain influence homlfomedon is traceable 
 in the account of the tournament ; but otherwise, the 
 late date and character of the romance alike suggest that 
 it is rather a blending of old familiar elements than a 
 direct rendering of a much earlier tale. 
 
 The story itself is a fair specimen of the conventional 
 romance, its chief interest lying in the bits of description 
 and occasional touches of human nature. 
 
 The Story of Gray-Steely fundamentally Teutonic, but 
 with perhaps some Celtic admixture, has all the appearance 
 of a local legend attached to the South-western Border 
 of England and Scotland. It seems to owe very little 
 of its material, with the possible exception of the episode 
 of Kay and Gornordine, to any French source. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott identified Gar(n)wicke with Carrick in 
 Ayrshire, In the sixteenth century, Lyndsay placed the 
 
INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 scene of the combat " half a mile beyond Kinneill," which, 
 however, is in Linlithgowshire, not very far from Edin- 
 burgh. The fact that the ballad of Sir Lionely which has 
 borrowed from the romance, places the scene by the Esk, 
 suggests that Lyndsay may have alluded to the Kinnell, a 
 stream in Dumfriesshire which empties into the Annan. 
 It would seem more likely, from the story itself, that he 
 should mention a river than a town. 
 
 Again, the description in the poem shows a remarkably 
 exact topography. There was a river with two fords and 
 an island (between them ?), on the island seemingly a 
 castle, and on the farther bank seven towns ; and the 
 river very soon emptied into the salt sea. This tract of 
 country was called the " Forbidden Land," or, in the 
 edition of 171 1, the " Land of Doubt." Every knight 
 who passed that way had to undertake combat ; and the 
 enemy who held it was finally conquered by a knight 
 called Grime, or, in 171 1, Graham (the form Graham 
 occurring also in the ballad of Sir Lionel). Putting aside 
 for the moment the original meaning of the incident, I 
 think there is some evidence of a local legend about the 
 Solway district. Apart from the wide appeal of the story, 
 as is evinced by numerous early quotations, and also from 
 the statement of Mr. David Laing that in his time many 
 proverbial sayings about Gray-Steel were current among 
 the Scottish peasantry, these points may be considered : 
 (i) In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries a tract of land 
 along the Solway, between the Esk and the Sark, was 
 
xni INTRODUCTION 
 
 called the " Debatable Land," and was the scene of many 
 conflicts between the English and Scottish borderers. 
 (2) The Grahams were one of the chief clans inhabiting 
 this district. (3) The Esk here empties into the Solway, 
 as the river in the poem, into the sea. (4) The Esk is the 
 scene of the ballad. Sir Lionel^ which borrows from the 
 romance. (5) Loosepaine's husband, Attelston, can be no 
 other than Athelstan ; and the Athelstan of story is the 
 victor of Brunanburh. The site of Brunanburh is not 
 certainly determined, but the Saxon Chro7itde seems to 
 imply that it was in Scotland, and a good case can be made 
 out for Burnswork in Dumfriesshire, nine miles from the 
 Solway (f/. alternative forms BrnnnaiiwerCy Bnineswerce 
 for the battlefield, with Burneszvarky Brunszvark for the 
 village). As Mr. George Neilson points out in his 
 Annals of the Sokoay until 1 307, the probabiHries are dis- 
 tinctly in favour of this site. On that hypothesis, the 
 occurrence of the* name Attelstan helps out the case for 
 the Solway. 
 
 Further, there is no doubt that the Teutonic elements 
 in the story point to much greater antiquity than its 
 actual date. Professor Child marked a certain likeness 
 between Gray-Steel and Grendcl in Beozvulfy the warden 
 of misty moorlands by the sea which no man dared 
 traverse. And again, the parallel may be observed when 
 Gray-Steel's hand in its glove is borne away as a trophy 
 and shown in the hall. Grendel was a giant with the 
 strength of thirty men ; and Gray-Steel's hand was three 
 
INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 times ordinary size. But the figure of Gray-Steel seems 
 to have taken up also an clement derived from Celtic 
 mythology. It was said of Gav^^ain that his strength 
 trebled from morning to noon and decreased as much 
 from noon to night ; but in the case of Gray-Steel, the 
 sun myth is even more apparent : his might increased by 
 the strength of a man every hour until mid-day and de- 
 creased in the same proportion until evening, when Ke was 
 as an ordinary mortal. 
 
 The above-named peculiarity seems to be the chief 
 Celtic clement in the tale ; but the Teutonic ideas are 
 abundant : (i) the sworn-brotherhood of the heroes ; 
 (2) the defence of a ford or narrow pass ; (3) the use of 
 the cut-off fingers in evidence of death ; (4) the naming 
 of the sword, whether Erkyin or Edgeking^ and so on. 
 
 The points I have named outline a course for further 
 investigation : a search in local history and tradition for 
 more traces of the romance, and also for historic events 
 which might have formed a parallel to the ancient material, 
 and so have led to the extraordinary mixture of human 
 and supernatural elements in the romance as it stands. 
 
 The high merit of the poem does not lie in its plot. 
 Indeed, this was early felt to be unsatisfactory — by one 
 man at least. Tlic reviser whose work appears in the 
 Aberdeen edition of 171 1, saw fit to add a sequel of about 
 60 lines. According to this, Grime dies, and Egcr con- 
 fesses to his wife the deception that has been practised 
 upon her. Thereupon she retires to a convent, and he, by 
 
xxiv. INTRODUCTION : 
 
 way of penance, goes to the Holy Land. After he has 
 distinguished himself there for some time, he returns and, 
 finding that Winglayne had died in her convent, marries 
 Loosepaine, Grime's widow. This sequel shows plainly 
 that Eger's conduct was felt to be unsatisfactory, and also 
 that he was, in a sense, thought to have the first claim 
 upon Loosepaine. 
 
 It is in the character-drawing and the painting of char- 
 acteristic scenes that the main strength of the romance 
 lies. The four chief figures arc sharply defined : the 
 canny, dogged, silent, deep-feeling Grime — a true Scot ; 
 brave, impulsive, flighty, weak-willed Eger ; Winglayne, 
 proud, sharp-spoken, satirical, yet faithful — also Scotch ; 
 and the gentle Loosepaine, with her one little flash of rage. 
 The charming pictures are innumerable : Egcr's account 
 of the battle^ with Winglayne listening at the door ; 
 Palyas holding Eger down in bed to keep him from betray- 
 ing the secret to their shrewish visitor ; Eger reading 
 romances aloud in a window ; Loosepaine weeping over 
 her psaltery ; Grime's early morning ride down to the 
 river, and many more. 
 
 The author's style is rough, liis metre obviously much 
 corrupted ; but he has such a way with him, such imagi- 
 nation, sense, and dry, sly humour that his tale is one 
 of the. very best among the Middle English romances. 
 
EARLY ENGLISH ROMANCES 
 IN VERSE 
 
 AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 For love of God in Trinity ^ 
 J II that be gentle y hark to mey 
 
 Par amour y I you fray : 
 What whilom fell beyond the seay 
 Of two barons of great bounty y^ 
 
 Men of honour were they. 
 Their fathers both were baron: boldy 
 Town and tozver for to hold, ... 
 
 Of high kiny I you say. 
 To hearken of these children twoy ; 
 
 How they werey in weal and woe^ 
 
 It is dolour y V fay. • - ^ ' . 
 
 LISTEN now, and ye shall hear in what land they were 
 born, and what they were called, and how they were 
 nought akin, and how they were good and kind, and came 
 to be friends, and were sworn brethren ; and how they 
 were dubbed knights, and how they fared in weal and woe. 
 
 * Here, goodness. Fr » lonte, 
 II, \ 
 
« ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 In Lombard/, as I understand, there dwelled long ago 
 two noble barons with their ladies, and each had a son. 
 Now these knave children, who were afterwards so doughty 
 and so true that Jesus rewarded them, were born on the 
 same night ; and the one was called Sir Amis in his 
 christening at the church, and the other Sir Amiloun, 
 They throve wondrously, and were so fair and courteous, 
 brave and good, that when they were five years old all their 
 kin were blithe of them, and when they were seven all men 
 had joy to behold them, and when they were twelve 
 virinters old they were the fairest of bone and blood ^ in all 
 that land. 
 
 In that time the Duke of Lombardy let send his 
 messengers for earls and barons, free and bond, and ladies 
 bright in bower, to come to a rich feast that he was making 
 with great mirth, in honour of Jesus Christ our Saviour ; 
 and so on that day he gathered much folk together. 
 
 Then these two bold barons came to court with their 
 sens, and when young and old were assembled the lords 
 beheld how fair these children were of body, and how 
 niuch alike to look upon, and how wise of lore ; and all 
 said in truth that never were such bairns as these born in 
 the world. And they were so like in looks and stature that 
 there was no man at court, earl, baron, swain or knight, 
 poor or rich — not even their own father and mother — that 
 could tell them apart save by the colour of their clothes, 
 I Conventional, It mcctns simply 6oau, 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 3 
 
 The rich duke held his feast, with earls and bold barons, 
 for a fortnight, with meat and drink as merry as might be, 
 to gladden folk and make them blithe ; and they had all 
 manner of melody to show the craft of each minstrel. 
 And on the fifteenth day they thanked the duke and took 
 their leave to go home. 
 
 But he called the two noble barons aside, and prayed 
 them as his friends to remain at court, and let their two 
 sons be in his service ; and he said that he would dub 
 them knights and look to their finding ever more, and 
 keep them as lordings of high lineage. 
 
 The barons and their ladies answered at once that they 
 were fain to have their dear sons in his service, and gave 
 the children their blessing, and besought Jesus, King of 
 Heaven, to shield them from care ; and often they 
 thanked the duke, and so went home to their own 
 countries.^ 
 
 Thus were child Amis and child Amiloun nurtured at 
 court, and rode a-hunting under the wood-boughs ; and 
 they came to be known over all the land as the worthiest 
 that might be. So well they loved each other as never 
 children did before ; and no love bred in blood and bone 
 might be truer than was theirs. 
 
 On a day they plighted troth together that never as long 
 as they might live or stand, by day and night, in weal and 
 woe, for right or wrong, would they fail to hold together 
 ^ They seem to have disregarded his invitation for themselves. 
 
4 ROM^NICES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 in every need, in will and word and work. Wherever 
 they might be in the land, from that day forward, neither 
 would fail the other; and thereto they held up their 
 hands.^ 
 
 Now the duke was glad to have these two children riding 
 seemly by his side, for they were lief and dear to him ; and 
 when they were fifteen winters old, he dubbed them both 
 knights, and found. thfem, as they had need, in horses and 
 weapons and splendid raiment, as princes proud in pride. 
 He loved them so that he gave them whatso they would of 
 white steeds and brown, and in whatsoever place they 
 went all the land spake of them, alike in tower and town ; 
 and whenever they went into joust or tournament, they 
 were known as the doughtiest that rode with shield and 
 spear. Even more, he esteemed them so well for their 
 worth and wisdom and bounty, that he set them both in 
 great office, making Sir Amis his chief butler, and Sir 
 Amiloun chief steward in the hall 2 to govern his men. In 
 this service they spared not to get a good name, and 
 wrought so well with their riches and power that all who 
 knew them loved them for their blithe bearing ; and the 
 duke himself cherished them most of any men alive. 
 
 Now this duke had a chief steward in charge of all his 
 land, a doughty knight himself, who ever tried to bring 
 them to shame through guile and treachery ; for he hated 
 and envied them in that they were so good and gentle, and 
 
 ^ See note. ' More common 1/ called munha/. 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 5 
 
 in that the duke was so well their friend ; and often he 
 spoke to his lord about them with bitter and false words. 
 
 Within two years from this time, a messenger came to 
 Sir Amiloun, and said how by God's will death had taken 
 both his father and mother ; and then was he right sorrow- 
 ful, and went to the duke and did him to understand the 
 case, and how he must go home to be seised of his land. 
 
 The duke answered him in courteous wise, saying : " So 
 God speed me. Sir Amiloun, since thou must go, I am 
 more grieved than ever before when any friend left my 
 court. And if at any time it chance that thou art in war 
 or other distress, and hast need of my help, come or 
 send thy messenger, and with all the power of my land I 
 will avenge thy wrong ! " 
 
 But Sir Amiloun was more deeply sorrowful to part 
 from Sir Amis, and thought only of him. He went to a 
 goldsmith, and bade him make two cups of an equal weight 
 and size, and as like as their two selves ; ^ and they were so 
 richly wrought that he paid for them three hundred 
 pounds. 
 
 When Sir Amiloun was all ready to fare on his journey, 
 Sir Amis was so full of grief that he all but swooned away ; 
 and going to the duke in his trouble, he prayed him fair : 
 " Sir, for charity's sake, give me leave also to depart. 
 Unless I may go with my brother, my heart will break in 
 three ! " 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
6 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 But the duke answered at once, albeit kindly: "Sir 
 Amis, my good friend, would ye both leave me now? 
 Ccrtes, nay ! Were ye both gone, then would my joy 
 depart with you and my sorrow awaken ! Thy brother 
 must home to his own lands ; wend thou a little with 
 him on his journey, but come back again to-day." 
 
 When they had busked them ready for to ride, all that 
 day they made great mourning, these doughty knights ; 
 and when they came out into the plain, and the moment 
 arrived for them to part, they dismounted from their 
 horses, and when they were both afoot, said Sir Amiloun, 
 who was wise in counsel : " Brother, as we are troth-plight 
 from this day forward never more to fail each other in 
 weal or woe, but to help in time of need, be now true to 
 me as 1 shall be true to thee, God help me! And, 
 brother, I warn thee now, for love of Him that bare the 
 crown of thorns to save all mankind, be never forsworn 
 against thy lord ; for • if thou art, thou shalt be lost 
 ever more without end. Ever hold thy troth and 
 never do treason ; and remember me, Amiloun, now that 
 wc must part asunder. And, brother, I forbid thee the 
 fellowship of the false steward, for certes, he will do thee 
 hurt!" 
 
 As they stood so, these brethren bold, Sir Amiloun drew 
 forth the two golden cups, alike in all ways, and bade Sir 
 Amis choose which he would have, saying : " My dear 
 brother, each of us shall keep one : for the love of God, let 
 
AMIS AND 'AMILOUN 7 
 
 It never be taken from thee, but remember me when thou 
 dost look upon it ; it is a token of our parting ! " 
 
 Thereupon, with weeping and great sorrow they kissed 
 and commended each the other to the King of Heaven, 
 sprang on their steeds, and went their several ways. 
 
 Sir Amiloun returned to his castle, and was seised in the 
 land of his forefathers ; and then he espoused a lady 
 bright in bower, and brought her home with great 
 honour and solemnity. 
 
 Let us leave him now with his wife in his own land — 
 God prosper them ! — and tell of Sir Amis, how, when he 
 came again to court, all were blithe to sec him and blessed 
 him, save only the steward who aye through envy and 
 hatred strove to bring him into care. 
 
 On a day it befell that they two met, and the steward 
 greeted him fair, saying : " Sir Amis, thou art full sorrow- 
 ful that thy brother is gone away from thee, and certes, so 
 am I ! But I counsel thee to think no more of his wend- 
 ing, and let be thy mourning ; if thou wilt be kind to me, 
 I will be to thee a better friend than ever he was yet. Sir 
 Amis," he said, ** by my rede, we shall swear brotherhood 
 and plight our troths. Be true to me, in word and deed, 
 and I shall, God help me, be as true to thee ! " 
 
 Sir Amis answered : " I gave my word to the gentle 
 knight. Sir Amiloun, though he be gone from me, that' 
 whiles I may go or speak, I shall not break my troth for 
 weal or woe. For by the faith that God gave me, I have 
 
8 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 fotrnd him so good and kind since first I knew him, that as 
 we are now bound to each other, whercso he wanders in 
 the world I shall be true to him ; for an I were forsworn, 
 then were I lost, and bitterly it should me rue ! Get me 
 friends whereso I may, I shall never change him for 
 another ! *' 
 
 Thereupon the steward was fierce of temper, and went 
 near mad for wrath, and swore by Him that died on the 
 Rood : " Thou traitor, unkind of blood, this n/iy shall cost 
 thee dear ! I w^rn thee now that I shall be thy strong 
 foeman ever after ! " 
 
 Sir Amis answered : " Sir, I care not a straw ^ for that 
 Do all thou canst ! " 
 
 So began the trouble. The two barons parted in 
 wrath, and the steward never ceased trying to undo that 
 doughty man. But thus they were together at court 
 well half a year and longer, before, with guile and treason, 
 he was able to work him woe. 
 
 Now in the summer-time, as we tell in story, the duke 
 made a feast whereto was gathered much seemly, folk, earls 
 and barons of all degrees, and proud ladies ; and there was 
 great banqueting and merriment in his palace. And there 
 was the duke's young daughter, Belisaunt, fifteen winters 
 old, who was accounted the fairest to look upon in all that 
 land. She was there with her ladies and maidens bright 
 in bower, and attended with all honour and solemnity. 
 * Literally, a sloe. 
 
I. 
 
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 Ti 
 
 ' '. '4.''-) -/i-iiV 
 
 \ ' ArAX 
 
 ^ Ixf ' 
 
 ^-^:-^.^^..,..i. u.^;.l>.^^.-^-„...^ .L,, .k;:...^. 
 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 9 
 
 Fourteen nights the feast lasted, of barons and gay brideSj.^ 
 gentle knights and Serjeants to wait in hall ; but th<; 
 butler, Sir Amis, was held throughout to be the flower 
 among them, alike the bravest and the comeliest. And 
 when the guests were all departed, that merry maid asked 
 each one of her women : ** So God help you, who was held 
 for the doughtiest knight, and the seemliest and the fairest 
 in all the land ? *' 
 
 Her maidens answered : " Madam, by St. Saviour, wc 
 shall tell thee the truth : the fairest man and most 
 honoured of earls, barons, knights and swains, is Sir Amis, 
 the duke's butler — his peer is not in the world ! " 
 
 And when they had so spoken, all her love fell on that 
 gentle knight, yet so that no man knew of it. Whenever 
 she saw him ride or go, she thought her heart would break 
 in twain, for that she might not speak with him ; and she 
 wept many a time and dwelled in such care and sorrow, 
 by night and by day, that she fell sick. Her mother came 
 to her and began to ask of her trouble, seeking to give help ; 
 but she said only, her pains were so sharp that she would 
 soon lie buried in the clay. 
 
 One morning, the rich duke and many proud princes 
 and lords busked them to hunt the deer ; but Sir Amis, 
 for a malady that he had, stayed at home ; and when the 
 lordings were gone with their huntsmen and bent bows to 
 hunt in the hoar woods, he bethought him that he would 
 * Text birds. The meaning is simply nvomm. 
 
lo ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 walk in the garden to solace him a little ; and there he was 
 soon cd^ent, as he lay under a bough, to hear the birds 
 singing. 
 
 Now as the duJce's daughter lay sick in her bed, her 
 mother entered with doleful countenance, and all the 
 ladies came also to comfort her. " Arise," she said, 
 " daughter mine, and go out into the garden, this seemly 
 summer's day, and when thou hearest the birds singing 
 joyfully, thine own care shall depart ! '* 
 
 Then that sweet maiden arose, and with her ladies 
 walked in the garden, where, that bright summer's day, 
 the sun was shining with seemly rays of light. She heard 
 the sweet notes of the nightingale singing merrily on the 
 tree ; but her heart was so sore beset with love-longing, 
 that no music might gladden her. As she walked in the 
 orchard to lighten her care, she beheld Sir Amis where he 
 lay under a bough, the better to hear the glee^ of the birds. 
 
 When she saw him there, she was so glad that she could 
 not tell her joy, and she thought to herself that nothing 
 should keep her from revealing all her state. So she went 
 up to him, that sweet maiden, and thought that not for 
 all this world's goods would she forbear to speak with 
 him. And as soon as the gentle knight saw her coming 
 towards him, he arose and went to meet her and saluted 
 her courteously with' goodly words. 
 
 Anon the merry maiden bade her women to withdraw 
 
 * Music. 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN n 
 
 them hence, and when they two were alone together, she 
 bemoaned her to Sir Amis, saying : " Sir Knight, all my 
 heart is set on thee, and I can think of nothing else, night 
 and day 1 Unless thou wilt love mc again, my heart will 
 break in three, and I may not live longer ! Thou art a 
 gentle knight, and I am a gay bride in bower, of high 
 lineage, and so do I love thee all the while that my joy is 
 forlorn ! Plight me thy troth to be true, and to change 
 mc for no other that is born in this world ; and I will 
 plight thee mine, never to be forsworn till God and 
 death do part us ! " 
 
 The gentle knight stood still, and all his mood changed 
 as he considered, but he said in courteous wise : " Madam, 
 as thou art come of noble blood aiid shalt be heir of this 
 land, bethink thee, for His sake that died on the Rood, of 
 thine own Iionour ! King's son or emperor is not too good 
 for thee ; and certes, it were wrong to set thy heart on a 
 knight that hath neither land nor other possessions. If 
 we should once begin that game, and any of thy kindred 
 knew of it, we should soon lose all our joy in this world, 
 for the sin would move God presently to wrath. If I 
 should put such shame upon my lord, then were I an evil 
 traitor, and certes, it may not be ! Dear madam, take 
 counsel of me, and think what would come of this — verily, 
 nothing but woe ! '* 
 
 Then that merry maiden answered : " Sir Knight, thy 
 crown is not shaven 1 By God that bought thee dear, art 
 
11 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 thou priest or parson, monk or canon, that thou shouldst 
 preach to me ? Thou art not fit to be a knight going 
 among fair maidens ! Rather shouldst thou have been a 
 friar ! He that learned thee so to preach — the devil take 
 him, though he were my brother ! But," she said, " by 
 our Maker, all thy preaching helps nought, stand thou 
 never so long ! Unless thou grant me thy will, my love 
 shall be dearly avenged with hard and fierce pains. I will 
 tear my clothes and my kerchief and say thou didst use thy 
 strength to wrong me ; and by the law of the land thou 
 shalt be taken and doomed to hang on high ! " 
 
 The gentle knight stood still, troubled at heart, and spake 
 no word, but only thought : " Except I grant her will, she 
 will ruin me with her speech ere I can get away ; and if I 
 do my lord this wrong, I shall be drawn by wild horses." He 
 was loth to deceive the duke, but well more sorry to lose 
 his life. In the end, he thought it better to grant what 
 she asked than to die, and he said to her : " For the love 
 of God, King of Heaven, listen to me. As thou art a 
 maiden good and leal, bethink thee how often we should 
 bitterly repent this deed, and let us wait a sevennight, and 
 then, as I am a true man, I will grant thee thy will ! " 
 
 But that gay maiden answered and swore by Jesu : 
 " Thou 'scapest not so away ! Thou shalt plight troth 
 with me now, as thou art a true and gentle knight, to keep 
 that day." . 
 
 Thereto he assented, and they plighted troth and kissed; 
 
 I. 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 13 
 
 and she passed again into her chamber, so glad and fain 
 that to none could she tell her joy. 
 
 Sir Amis then went into the hall to await his lord's 
 coming ; and when the duke had returned from the deer- 
 hunt, with his great nobles, he asked anon after his 
 daughter, and he was told that she was merry again, and 
 her sorrow was away. They brought her to dine in the hall 
 that day, and rejoiced, and thanked God for her sake. 
 
 When the lords were set on the dais with their sweet 
 ladies, they were served at meat full richly, as proud 
 princes with mirth and state ; and the maiden, where she 
 sat among her women, cast her eyes an hundred times on 
 Sir Amis, and would not look away. And all the while, 
 the treacherous steward spied upon them fast till he 
 wist all that she did ; and by the look of her, he perceived 
 that great love was betwixt those two, and he was sore 
 aggrieved, and thought in a little time to beguile them 
 and bring them into care. Thus this merry maid ate in 
 the hall, four days or five, and as soon as ever she saw Sir 
 Amis, all her trouble was gone and she was glad of her 
 life. Whether he sat or stood, she watched him ever • and 
 the steward, with bitter wrath, presently brought them 
 both into mischief and sorrow — accursed may lie be ! 
 
 Another day, when the duke with his meiny was gone 
 deer-hunting, the merry maid, Belisaunt, went to the 
 chamber where Sir Amis was, knowing well the way 
 thither ; and the steward lurked in another room there 
 
14 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 beside^ and when he saw her gliding along, ran quickly 
 after, to spy upon them both. 
 
 When the maiden found Sir Amis alone, she said : 
 " Hail, Sir Amis, to-day a sevennight is passed since we 
 plighted our troth ; therefore I am come to know whether 
 thou wilt forsake me, or, as thou art courteous and holden 
 to be a gentle knight, thou wilt take me truly as thou 
 didst promise ? '* 
 
 " Madam," said he, " I would fain espouse thee and hold 
 thee for my wife ; but if thy father heard it said that I had 
 wronged his daughter, he would drive me out of his land ! 
 If I were the king of this country and had more goods to 
 my hand than any other five, gladly would I spouse thee ; 
 but, certes, I am a poor man — woe is me ! " 
 
 " Sir Knight," answered the maiden gently, " for love • 
 of St. Thomas of India, why wilt thou ever say me nay ? 
 Though thou be never so poor, I may find thee riches 
 enow ! " 
 
 Then he bethought him, and took that merry maid in his 
 arms and kissed her and made her his own. And all the 
 while the steward was close to the wall to hearken, and 
 through a little hole he watched them as they sat there 
 together, until presently he was fiercely wroth, and strode 
 away as he were mad, to reveal her secret. 
 
 As soon as the duke came home, the stev/ard went to 
 meet him, and began to unravel what he knew : " My lord 
 duke, by St. John, I must warn thee of the harm that hath 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 15 
 
 come to thee. There is a thief in thy court, though it 
 grieves my heart and I am ashamed to say it ; for certes, he 
 is a treacherous villain that hath stolen upon thy daughter!" 
 
 The duke v^^as deeply enangercd and cried : " Who hath 
 done me that shame ? Tell me, I prithee ! '* 
 
 " Sir," said the stew^ard, " by St. James, I can tell thee 
 right well, and mayest thou hang him to-day ! It is Sir 
 Amis, thy butler, who hath ever been false, and now hath 
 undone thy daughter, as I myself saw, and will prove 
 before them both so that they cannot gainsay me ! " 
 
 Then was the duke wild with rage, and ran into the hall 
 like one mad, and with a sharp falchion struck at his butler 
 standing there, but missed him. 
 
 Sir Amis was afraid, and ran into a chamber and shut the 
 door between them, to hide his head ; and the duke struck 
 after him such a dint ^ that the falchion went through the 
 . door. All that stood about the duke besought him to 
 slake his anger ; but he swore by Christ that he would not, 
 for all the wealth of this world, unless that traitor were 
 slain ! " I have done him great honour, and now the vile 
 wretch hath wronged my child ! Not for all the joy of 
 this world, would I give over to slay him with my two 
 hands 1 " 
 
 " Sir," quoth Sir Amis, " first let thine anger pass, I 
 pray thee for charity ! And then by St. John, if thou 
 may prove that I have done such a deed, let me be hanged 
 
 1 JBlow, 
 
i6 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 on a tree'! If any man hath wickedly lied about us, what- 
 soever he be, I will meet him in battle to make us quit 
 and clear ! " 
 
 " Yea," said the duke, " wilt thou so ? Barest thou go 
 into battle to make you both quit and free ? *' 
 
 " Yea, sir, verily,'* he said, " and thereto is my glove ! 
 He lied about us through enmity," 
 
 The steward started towards him, crying : " False 
 traitor, thou shalt be attainted ! I saw it myself this very 
 day, how she was in thy chamber ; and neither of you may 
 deny it!" 
 
 Thus the steward went on, and ever Sir Amis said: 
 " Nay, certainly, it was not so ! " 
 
 Then the duke sent for his daughter, in that the 
 steward was stubborn to avow the deed ; and the maiden 
 wept and wrung her hands and swore before her mother : 
 " For certain it was not so ! " 
 
 At last the duke said : " Without fail, it shall be proved 
 in battle between those two knights." 
 
 Accordingly a combat was arranged betwixt them, and 
 set for that day fortnight, where many men might see. 
 And the steward was so powerful that in all the court was 
 none willing to be surety for Sir Amis ; but for the strong 
 steward himself were soon found enough to borrow ^ him, 
 twenty together. Thereupon they all said that Sir Amis 
 must go to prison, being afraid that he might flee. 
 
 y Be surety for. 
 
 \ . 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 17 
 
 But the young maiden swore by Jesu Almighty that this 
 were great wrong : " Take my body for that knight, and 
 put me in a strong prison till his day of battle be come ; 
 and if he be fled and dare not uphold his right at that 
 time, in undertaking the combat, do with me according 
 to the law of the land, and let me for his sake be drawn, 
 and hanged high on the gallows ! " 
 
 And her mother said boldly that by the will of God she 
 too would be his surety, tliat as a good knight he would 
 maintain his day of battle and fight his foe. So those two 
 fair ladles pledged their bodies for him ; and the lords 
 said every one that they would have none other borrows, 
 but granted these. 
 
 When this was all done, and these sureties had been 
 found and accepted, Sir Amis sorrowed day and night. 
 All his joy was departed, and he was beset with care, in 
 that the steward was so strong and had right on his side, 
 while h'^. himself was guilty of the charge against him. 
 He recked naught of his own life, but he thought so 
 much of the maiden that no man. might grieve more ; 
 for he remembered him that he must needs before the 
 battle swear an oath that, as God should speed him, he 
 was guiltless of the deed that was brought against him, and 
 he thought that he had liefer be hanged than forsworn, 
 and often he besought Jesus to save them both that they 
 might not be doomed for ever. 
 
 So it befell on a day that he met the lady and her 
 
i8 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 daughter by an orchard-side. " Sir Amis,'* the lady 
 began, " why mourncst thou so heavily ? Tell me the 
 truth. Dread thee naught in fighting with thy foe. 
 Whether thou ridest or goest afoot, I shall arm thee so 
 well that thou need never fear to abide battle with him ! '* 
 
 " Madam," said the gentle knight, " for Jesus' sake, be 
 not wroth ! He hath the right and I the wrong, and 
 therefore I am afeared to fight, God save me ! For 
 without fail, I must swear that, as God may speed me in 
 the battle, his speech is false ; and if I swear, I am for- 
 sworn, and I am lost, body and soul ! Certes, I know no 
 counsel ! " 
 
 Then said that lady after a while : " Is there no other 
 device to bring the traitor down ? " 
 
 " Yes, dame," said he, " by St. Giles ! There dwells 
 hence, many a mile, my brother. Sir Amiloun ; and if I 
 durst go to him, I swear by St. John, he is so true that he 
 would help me in this need, even at the cost of his own 
 life, in battle with that felon ! " 
 
 " Sir Amis," quoth the lady, " take leave to-morrow at 
 daybreak, and wend on thy journey. I will say thou art 
 gone home to thine own country to see thy father and 
 mother ; and when thou comest to thy brother, pray him 
 as a noble knight of great goodness to undertake for us the 
 battle against the steward that would wickedly destroy us 
 all three." 
 
 On the morrow, Sir Amis busked him, took leave and 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 19 
 
 fared forth on his journey, and spared not spur, pricking 
 his horse, night and day without rest until, in a far 
 country, the beast was overcome and fell down dead. 
 Then was he helpless Indeed, and his song became 
 " VVell-a-way ! " 
 
 When this had befallen, he must needs go afoot, and, 
 heavy-hearted, girt up his gown, and journeyed forth to 
 keep his promise. All that day he ran until ^at twilight 
 he came to a wild forest, when so strong a sleep overcame 
 him that he could not have gone farther to win all the 
 wealth of this world. He laid him under a tree and fell 
 asleep, and lay still all that night till on the morrow men 
 might see the day on both sides. ^ 
 
 Now his brother, Sir Amiloun, was holden for a lord of 
 great renown through all that country-side, and dwelled 
 distant from the wood where Amis lay only half a day's 
 journey, either to walk or ride. And as the gentle knight. 
 Sir Amiloun, lay asleep on that same night, he dreamed 
 that he saw Sir Amis, his sworn brother, belapped ^ by his 
 foes, by a raging wild bear and other beasts, all beset to 
 death ; and he stood alone am.ong them, as a man that 
 knew no remedy, in a woeful plight. 
 
 When Sir Amiloun awakened, he began to sorrow for 
 him, and told his wife how he thought he saw black beasts 
 thronging about his brother with hateful intent to slay 
 him cruelly. " Certes," he said, " he is, through some 
 
 ^ East and west ? 2 Surrounded. 
 
20 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 wrong, in great peril, and stripped of all his joy ; forsooth, 
 I shall never rest content until I know how he fares ! " 
 
 All at once he started up and would not linger, but 
 busked him to ride forth, and when all his meiny geared 
 them also, he bade them, for God's love, hold their 
 peace, and swore by the Maker of mankind that none 
 should go with him but himself alone. 
 
 Full richly he armed him and leaped upon his steed in 
 haste, and bade all his men that none be so hardy as to 
 follow him. 
 
 So through the night he rode, until at daybreak he 
 found Sir Amis up in that wide forest, whom at first he 
 saw only as a wearied knight sleeping under a tree ; so 
 went to him and called : ** Arise, fellow ; it is light, and 
 time for to go." 
 
 Sir Amis opened his eyes, and knew at once the gentle 
 knight, his brother ; and Sir Amiloun likewise perceived 
 who it was, and dismounted, and they kissed each the 
 other. 
 
 " Brother," said Amiloun, " why liest thou here thus 
 mournful ? Who hath wrought thee this woe ? " 
 
 " Brother," answered Amis, "verily, I had never such 
 sorrow sith I was born ! For a while after thou didst 
 leave me, I served my lord with much joy and bliss ; but 
 the steward, full of envy, treachery and guile, hath brought 
 me into such care that unless thou help me in this need, 
 certes, there is no other way but that my life be lost ! " 
 
AMIS AND AMILC:tN 21 
 
 " Brother,'' said Sir Amiloun, " why hath the steward, 
 that felon, done thee all this shame ? " 
 
 " Certes," he answered, " with his treason he would 
 bring me low ; therefore hath he charged me ! " Then 
 he told all the case of himself and the maiden, and how the 
 steward had betrayed them, and how the duke would have 
 slain him, being fiercely cnangered. And also he told 
 how he had undertaken battle with the accuser, and how 
 at court there was none who, to save those two bright 
 ladies, durst stand as surety for himself, and how he must, 
 without fail, swear ere he went into battle what would 
 be a full strong lie : ** And a man that is forsworn shall 
 never speed ! Certes, therefore, I know not what to do ! 
 Alas may well be my song ! " 
 
 When Sir Amis had told all, how the false steward would 
 bring him low. Sir Amiloun swore with bold words : " By 
 Him that Judas sold, who died upon the Tree, he shall now 
 fail of his hope ; and I shall undertake battle for thee 
 though he wax mad with rage ! If ever I meet him, I 
 shall see his heart's blood on my bright sword ! But, 
 brother," he said, " take all my weeds, and I shall put on 
 thy robe, right as I were thyself. And I will swear, so may 
 God speed me, as I am guiltless of that deed that he 
 charged upon thee ! " 
 
 Thereupon these noble knights changed their raiment, 
 and when they v/cre all yare,i said Sir Amiloun : " l^y St. 
 
 ^ Ready. 
 
22 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Giles, this man VshaU trip up the shrew ^ that would ruin 
 thee!" ■ • ■^'::-;< 
 
 " Brother," he said, " wend now to my home and my 
 fair lady, and do as I bid thee. As thou art a gentle 
 knight, thou shalt lie by her in bed till that I come again, 
 and say thou hast sent thy steed to thy brother, Sir Amis. 
 Then will they all be fain, as weening it is I. There is none 
 that will know thee, so are we both alike." 
 
 When he had thus spoken. Sir Amiloun set out on 
 liis journey; and Sir Amis went anon to his brother's 
 bright lady without more delay, and said how he had 
 sent his steed as a rich gift to Sir Amis, by a knight of 
 that country. And the folk supposed that Sir Amis was 
 their own lord, so were they two alike ; and when he had 
 told his tale, all those at the court, little or great, less or 
 more, thought it was true. When night came, Sir Amis 
 and that fair lady went to bed ; and when they were 
 there together, Sir Amis drew his sword ^ and laid it 
 betwixt the two of them. 
 
 The lady looked upon him in anger, as thinking her lord 
 were mad. " Sir," she said, " why dost thou so ? Thou 
 wert not wont to do such a thing ! Who hath changed 
 thy mind ? " 
 
 " Dame," he answered, " I have a malady that runs 
 through my blood, and my bones are so sore that I would 
 not come near thee for all this world's goods ! " 
 
 1 Himself. » Villain. 3 See note. 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 23 
 
 Thus for a fortnight was that noble knight holden for a 
 lord of high estate ; but never once did he forget to lay his 
 sword betwixt him and that bright lady. And she sup- 
 posed, with all reason, that he was her husband, Sir 
 Amiloun, that was sick ; so she held her in peace and 
 spoke no more words, but thought to await his will. 
 
 Now, gentles, hearken, and I will tell you how Sir 
 Amiloun went on his way and spared not, but pricked his 
 steed without cease, and came to court, stout and gay, the 
 selfsame time that was appointed for the battle, and Sir 
 Amis not there. The two ladies had been taken in hand 
 to undergo their judgment with sorrow and heavy sighing. 
 The steward waited upon a sceed, with shield and spear, 
 ready to offer fight, and began to blow out great boasts, 
 and went before the duke anon, and said : " Sir, so God 
 save me, hearken to my words. This traitor is gone forth 
 from the land. If he were here, he should be hanged and 
 drawn ; therefore I ask for judgment that his sureties be 
 burned, according to the law of the land ! " 
 
 The duke, with wrathful intent, bade men should take 
 the ladies and lead them forth ; and a huge fire was made 
 and a tun in which they might be burned. But thereupon 
 folk looked across the field and saw a knight riding proudly 
 with shield and spear, and they all said, " Yonder comes 
 Sir Amis a-pricking," and prayed for delay. 
 
 Sir Amiloun stayed for no stone, but spurred among 
 them all, and rode up to the duke. " My lord," he said 
 
24 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 anon, " for shame let these gracious, gentle ladies go free ! 
 I am come hither to-day to bring them out of their bonds 
 and save them if I can ; for certes, it were a great wrong so 
 to roaft bright ladies, and indeed a cruel thing ! " 
 
 Then were the ladies so glad that they could tell no man 
 their joy. Their care was all vanished, and they went 
 anon into the chamber and richly armed that knight with 
 helmet and mail arid bright byrnie.^ His attire was gay 
 enough ; and when he sat upon his horse, many a man 
 prayed that day that God might save him and grant him 
 victory. 
 
 As he went pricking out of the town, came a voice from 
 heaven that none heard but he, and said : " Thou knight. 
 Sir Amiloun, God that suffered the Passion hath sent thee 
 a warning : if thou undertake this battle, thou shalt have 
 a dread adveiiture within these three years ; for ere they 
 be passed, thou shalt be as foul a leper as ever was born in 
 this world ! But in that thou art so gentle and good, Jesus 
 hath sent this message by me to give thee warning, that 
 thou shalt be so foul a wretch with sorrow and care and 
 poverty, as was never any man in worse estate ! Over all 
 this world, far and near, those that were thy best friends 
 shall be thy greatest foes ; and thy wife and thy kinsfolk 
 shall flee the place where thou art, and forsake thee, one 
 and all ! » 
 
 The knight was still as a stone, as he hearkened to these 
 * The Old English word for coat-of-maiL 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 25 
 
 cruel words ; and he wist not what were best to do, to 
 flee or to go into battle, and was sore troubled at heart. 
 He thought : " If I make known who I am, then shall my 
 brother be so put to shame that sorrow will bring him to 
 his ending. Certes, for dread of punishment I must not 
 fail to keep my word — God's will be done ! " 
 
 All the folk that were there thought it was Sir Amis 
 who offered battle. He and the steward were brought 
 before the Justice to take oath on that deed : the steward 
 swore among the people that as truly as he had said no 
 wrong, so might God help him in the fight ; and Sir 
 Amiloun swore that as truly as he had never kissed the 
 maid, so might Our Lad) speed him. 
 
 When they had taken their oaths, these barons were 
 eager for the attack, and busked them to ride. All men, 
 young and old alike, besought God to help Sir Amis at 
 that time. They rode together on their stalwart steeds 
 until their long spears met and splintered on each side ; 
 and then they drew their good swords and hewed together 
 without cease. Fiercely they fought with keen falchions ; 
 like madmen they dang ^ each other's helmets with such 
 strong, hard strokes that fire flew forth, and the blood 
 spirted from grimly-wide wounds. From morning till 
 noon lasted the battle between them in their furious mood. 
 
 Then Sir Amiloun sprang wrathfully at the other, as 
 quick as fire from flint ; but his mighty stroke fell short 
 
 1 Struck. 
 

 26 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 and caught the steward's horse on the head and scattered 
 his brains. .When his steed fell dead on the ground, the 
 steward feared lest he too should be slain ; but Sir 
 Amiloun dismounted, and went afoot to help him up. 
 " Arise, steward," he said, " ye must fight on foot now ye 
 have lost your horse ; for it were great villainy, by St. 
 John, lo slay a man that lay fallen on the ground ! " 
 
 He was a courteous knight, and took the steward by the 
 hand, saying : " May God speed me, ye shall fight afoot, 
 else were it a great shame ! " 
 
 Anon the steward and that doughty man fought together 
 with glittering bare swords ; and they strove so hard with, 
 each other that all their armour ran with blood, and they 
 spared not at all. The steward smote Amiloun a great 
 wound on his shoulder, grimly enough ; and through that 
 wound after, as ye shall hear, was he found out, all 
 sorrowful, when his trouble was come upon him. But 
 then he was wild with rage when his swan-white armour 
 ran with blood ; and with a sharp falchion he smote at 
 that other fiercely, as a doughty man, until the brand 
 pierced from the shoulder-blade into the breast and came 
 out through the heart ; and as the steward fell dying, Sir 
 Amiloun struck oflt his head, and gave thanks to God for 
 His grace. 
 
 All the lordings of every degree were full glad then, and 
 raised the head on a spear and bore it away to the town. 
 And thence folk issued forth to meet him in a seemly pro- 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 27 
 
 cession, and led him to the tower with joy and as much 
 state as were he a prince of pride. And as they came 
 into the palace, all weened that he was his brother. 
 
 ** Sir Amis,'' said the duke, " here before all my lords I 
 grant thee the merry maid Belisaimt. Thou hast bought 
 her dear to-day with grim wounds ; and therefore I render 
 unto thee here and now my land and my daughter to hold 
 for evermore ! " 
 
 Full blithe and fain was the gentle knight, and thanked 
 the duke with all his heart ; and no man at court knew his 
 name save the two ladies only. Soon they found leeches 
 to search his wound and make him whole ; and they were 
 all glad and thanked God a thousand times that the 
 steward was slain. 
 
 But on a day he busked him, and said that he would go 
 home to his own country to tell all his friends how he had 
 sped in the battle ; and the duke granted him leave and 
 offered him a proud array of knights, but he answered, 
 " Nay," and said that no man should go with him. 
 
 So he went forth alone, without knight or swain, and 
 never rested till he came home where Sir Amis had 
 awaited his return, day by day, up in the forest. When 
 they met together, joyfully he told how he had slain the 
 steward, and how Sir Amis should espouse the fair maiden. 
 He dismounted, and they began to change their weeds as 
 they had done before. " Brother," said he, " now mayst 
 thou wend home again ; " and he taught him what to say. 
 
28 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Then was Sir Amis glad and blithr^ and thanked him a 
 thousand times that ever he was born ; and even until the 
 moment that they should part a-two, he thanked him for 
 his help and his good deed. " Brother," said he, " if it so 
 betide that thou have ever care or woe, and are in need of 
 my help, come or send thy messenger, and I shall never 
 refuse thee — so God grant me grace ! Be it of peril the 
 sorest, I will help thee, wrong or right, even to the loss of 
 my life!" 
 
 Thus they parted asunder, and Sir Amiloun returned 
 home to his lady, and was fuir welcome to his friends. 
 And at night when he went to bed and kissed his fair dame, 
 she asked him why he had been so strange all this fort- 
 nighty and laid his sword between them ; and he bethought 
 him then that his brother had been true. " Dame," he 
 said, " I shall tell thee how it was, but look thou betray 
 me to no man ! '^ 
 
 She asked him then, for His love that won the world, to 
 tell her what had befallen ; and presently he told her all 
 the case : how he had gone to court and how he had slain 
 the steward, who with treason would have ruined his 
 brother, and how it was Sir Amis, not himself, who had 
 been there all that while. 
 
 The lady was very wroth, and often missaid her lord that 
 night while they talked together : " With grievous wrong 
 didst thou slay that gentle knight ! Verily it was an ill 
 deed ! '' 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 29 
 
 " Dame,'* he answered, " by Heaven's King, I did it 
 only to save my brother from woe ; and I hope, if I had 
 need, he would help me as much, even to the risk of his 
 life!" 
 
 Sir Amis rejoiced, as we tell in story, on his way to 
 court ; and when he came home he was honoured by all, 
 earl and baron, knight and swain. The duke took him by 
 the hand, and seised him in all his possessions, to hold 
 for ever ; and afterwards, upon a day, he espoused Beli- 
 saunt, the true and kind. 
 
 Seemly v/erc the folk gathered at that bridal ; and there 
 was held a royal feast of earls and barons and other lords 
 with their bright ladies. And over all that land, east and 
 west, Sir Amis was accounted the flower of knighthood. . 
 
 Within two years. Almighty God decreed that a fair 
 grace should befall them. The duke died and his lady also, 
 and they were buried in the cold earth ; and Sir Amis was 
 made duke over all that great land. And even more, as 
 the story tells us, he had two children that were the fairest 
 in the world. 
 
 While, then, he was lord of many a tower and town, and 
 a duke all-powerful, his brother, Sir Amiloun, that was 
 before so good and brave, was now all beaten down with 
 heavy care ; for, as the angel had foretold, he had become 
 the foulest leper in t^^ world. It is a pitiful thing to read 
 in the story what sorrow he had, within two years, in 
 return for his good deed ! 
 
30 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Ere the three years were ended, he wist not whither to 
 turn, so heavy was his woe ; for all that had been his best 
 friends, and all his rich kinsmen, had now become his worst 
 enemies, and his wife, to speak truth, treated him more 
 cruelly, night and day, than did any of them. When he 
 was fallen into that hard case, a friendlesser man than he 
 was might nowhere be found. 
 
 So wicked and shrewish was his lady that her hard and 
 bitter words pierced his heart as with :^ knife, when she 
 said to him : *' Thou wretched caitiff, the steward was 
 unjustly slain, as appears in thee ; and therefore, by 
 St. Denis of France, art thou fallen into this evil case ! 
 Curses on him that gives thee help ! " 
 
 Oftentimes he wrung his hands as a man in such sorrow 
 and distress that he finds his life all too long. Alas, alas, 
 the gentle knight that was once both brave and of good 
 counsel, was now brought so low that he was forbidden his 
 own chamber at night, and in his own hall was driven away 
 from the high board ^ and charged to sit at the table's end, 
 where no man would be his neighbour. And when he had 
 eaten thus in the hall for half a year, his lady waxed wroth 
 and thought he liVcd too long : " Word has spread 
 throughout this land that I feed a leper at my board, and 
 he so foul a thing that it shames my kinsfolk ; wherefore, 
 by Jesus, Heaven's King, he shall sit by me no more ! " 
 
 On a day, she called him and said : " Sir, it so happens 
 * See note. 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN . 31 
 
 that thou eatest too long in the hall. Forsooth, it is a 
 great shame to all of us, and my kinsfolk are wroth with 
 me!" 
 
 The knight wept, and said full low : " Put me where 
 thou wilt, so no man see me. I pray of thee no more than 
 a meal's meat each day, for St. Charity ! " 
 
 Anon that lady bade men to take timber, and half a mile 
 from the gate to make a little lodging for her lord by the 
 wayside. When it was finished, he would have nought o! 
 his gold save only the cup ; and there alone in his lodge 
 he made his moan to God in Heaven, and thanked Him for 
 what He was pleased to send. 
 
 In all the court was no man to serve him when he went 
 away to his lodge, save a gentle child called Owain,^ his 
 sister's son, who wept for him bitterly, and said that he 
 would never leave off to serve that knight, foot and hand, 
 as long as he lived. 
 
 Now this fair, brave child came of gentle blood, and as 
 soon as he was twelve years old he was called Amoraunt.^ 
 Every night he slept by his lord, and every day he fetched 
 the day's food whereon they lived ; and while other men 
 sang and made merry, he was ever sorrowful for his lord's 
 sake. Each day, as I have told you, he came to court, and 
 stinted for no strife. When they all told him to forsake 
 that beggar that he might the better speed, he answered 
 them courteously, but swore by Him that died on the 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
32 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Rood and suflFered wounds five, that he would never for- 
 sake his lord while he lived — not for all this world's goods ! 
 
 When a twelvemonth had passed, and Amoraunt still 
 went to fetch his lord's livery,^ the lady became wroth and 
 bade her men drive the child away, and swore by Him that 
 Judas sold, though his lord died of hunger and cold where 
 he lay, he should have nor meat nor drink, nor any other 
 help from her after that. 
 
 The child wrung his hands, and went home weeping 
 and sighing bitterly. When the good man bade him tell 
 why it was, he answered and said : '* Verily, no wonder 
 though I be woe ! My heart breaks for care ! Thy wife 
 hath sworn in great anger that she will help us no more ! 
 Alas, what shall we do ? " 
 
 " God help us ! " quoth that gentle knight. " Whilom 
 I was a great man, able to deal out food and clothing ; 
 and now I am so foul that all who look upon me loathe 
 that sight. Son," he said, " let be thy weeping, although 
 this is bitter news, forsooth ! Certes, I know none other 
 counsel but we must beg our bread. Now I wot well how 
 it goes ! " 
 
 On the morrow at daybreak, the child and the gentle 
 knight made them ready to go forth and beg their bread, 
 as they had need to do, for they had no food. They 
 wandered up and down the road^ until they came to a 
 market-town five miles away ; and, bitterly weeping, 
 
 ^ Allowance. 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 33 
 
 from door to door they begged their food, for the love of 
 God.i 
 
 At tliat time there was great plenty in the land alike of 
 meat and drink ; and folk were free of giving, and put into 
 their hands enough of all kinds of things. And because the 
 good man was so unfortunate and the child so fair, old and 
 young loved them and brought them so much of goods 
 that Amoraunt was blithe and left off his weeping. 
 
 At last the good man grew footsore, so that he might not 
 go farther for all the wealth of this world ; and thereupon 
 the child bore him to the town's end, and built him a 
 lodging where folk passed on their way to market. And 
 the country-people who went every day to their cheaping ^ 
 gave them food ; but often, as well, Amoraunt went into 
 the town and begged meat and drink, when their need 
 was greatest. 
 
 Thus, as we read in the story, they dwelled there for 
 three years, the child and he ; and lived in poverty and 
 care among the country-folk, as they went to and fro. But, 
 in the fourth year, corn waxed so dear that neither old nor 
 young would give them meat or drink ; and they were in 
 great distress. 
 
 Amoraunt went often into the town, but could not get 
 food from man or woman ; and when they were alone 
 together, they moaned with rueful lamentation that they 
 were still alive. And all the while his lady lived thence 
 
 ^ See note. ^ Marketing, /.<-., buying and selJiiig. 
 
 II. C 
 
34 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 not five miles, and made merry night and day while he lay 
 in such sorrow — curses upon her ! 
 
 On a day as they sat there alone, that good knight said 
 mournfully to the child : " Son, thou must go to my lady, 
 who dwells hard by ; and pray her by Him that died on the 
 Rood, to send me of my own goods an ass to ride upon, 
 and then will wc go forth from this land to beg our bread, 
 nor abide here longer." 
 
 Amoraunt went to the court before that noble lady,'and 
 said to her in courteous wise : " Madam, verily my lord 
 hath sent me as a messenger, because he himself cannot 
 walk, and prays you humbly to grant him of his goods an 
 ass to ride upon ; and we shall go forth from the land and 
 never come here again though hunger slay us ! " 
 
 The lady said she would fain send him two asses if only 
 he would go away so far that he might never come again. 
 
 " Nay, certes, dame," said the child, " ye shall never 
 see us more ! " 
 
 Thereupon she was glad, and commanded an ass to be 
 given him, and said sternly : "Now ye shall fare forth 
 from the land, and God grant that ye come here never 
 again ! " 
 
 The child waited no longer, but bestrode his ass, and 
 went home and told his lord how shamefully his lady had 
 spoken at that time. He set the knight upon the good 
 beast, and they were full fain to go forth from the city. 
 Up and down through many a country they wandered, 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 35 
 
 begging their meat from town to town, alike in wind 
 and rain. 
 
 But over all that land, by God's will, there passed so 
 fierce a famine, as far as they went, that they near died of 
 hunger, and had not half their fill of bread. They were so 
 woeful that on a day the knight spake : " Behoves us sell 
 our ass, for we have no other goods save my rich golden 
 cup ; but, certes, that shall never be sold, though I perish 
 of hunger ! '* 
 
 Then early one morning. Sir Amiloun and Amoraunt 
 with heavy sorrow went to a market-town ; and when the 
 knight had dismounted, Amoraunt went anon into the 
 city, leading the ass, and sold it for five shillings. And 
 while the famine was so great that they might get nothing, 
 they bought therewith their food. 
 
 After the ass was sold for five shillings, as I have said, 
 they dwelled there three days until Amoraunt waxed 
 strong again, being now of fifteen winters and right 
 courteous and noble. He grieved for his lord, and took 
 him on his back and bore him out of that city ; and for 
 half a year and somewhat more, he carried him about to 
 beg his food — blessings on the child ! 
 
 Thus he did until the long, hard winter came on, when 
 " Alas ! " was often his song, so was that country deep [in 
 mud]. The roads were so bemired and sliddery ^ that often 
 they both fell down together in the clay. And still was 
 
 * Slippery. 
 
36 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Amoraunt true and kind by nature and serveil his lord as 
 best he might, and would not leave him. And so as he 
 carried him about on his back, serving him day and night, 
 his song was often " VVell-a-way ; " and for the deep mud 
 of that country his bones were full sore. By that time all 
 their money was spent save twelve pence, wherewith they 
 went and bought a good push-cart ; and the child placed 
 his lord therein, for he might carry him no longer. 
 
 And after, Amoraunt pushed Sir Amiloun back and 
 forth through many a country, until he came to a city- 
 town where the bold Sir Amis was duke and lord of all the 
 land. Then said the knight : "Try to bring me as far as 
 the duke's court hard by. He is a mild man, and by God's 
 grace, we shall there get something. But, dear son, for His 
 love that won the world, as thou art true and good, jell no 
 man whither I go or whence I come, or what my name is." 
 
 He answered, " Nay," and went to court ; and before 
 all the other poor men there he pushed his cart in the 
 fen,^ as was a pity to see. 
 
 It befell that same day, as I tell you with tongue, that it 
 was midwinter-tide. The great duke came proudly home 
 from church, and when he entered the castle gate, the poor 
 men drew a little aside, as with knights and many Serjeants 
 he went into his seemly hall, there to rest with great mirth 
 and revelry. 
 
 As it is the law of kings' courts, the trumpets blew for 
 
 * Here equivalent to mire. 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 37 
 
 men to go to meat, and when they were all set a-row, they 
 were served full merrily. And while the duke drank from 
 gold cups, he that had brought him to be in such worship 
 stood shut out at the gate, sorely an-hungered and cold. 
 
 It happened that a knight and a Serjeant went outside 
 the castle to disport them together ; and by the grace of 
 God they caught sight of Sir Amiloun, who was so loathly 
 to look upon, and after, of Amoraunt, who was so gentle of 
 bearing that they both said, in all the court was. none half 
 his peer in goodliness. 
 
 Now this worthy knight went up to him and courteously 
 asked him from what land he came, and why he stood 
 there, and whom he served. 
 
 " Sir,'* he answered, " God save me, I am my lord's 
 knave that lieth here in bonds. If thou art a knight of 
 gentle blood, bear our errand to some good ending, for 
 God's sake ! " 
 
 Anon the good man asked him if he would leave that 
 beggar and serve himself ; and he said further that, by 
 St. John, he should be. at the court of that great duke, who 
 would make him a rich man. 
 
 But he answered and swore by Him who died on the 
 Rood, that as long as he might walk, he would not forsake 
 his lord — not to win all this world's wealth. 
 
 Then the good man believed him either mad, or else a 
 silly fool that had lost his wits; or else, he thought, the 
 foul-visaged man must be of high rank. So he spoke no 
 
38 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 more with them, but went back into the hall before the 
 great duke, and said : — 
 
 "My lord, listen to me ; it is the finest jest, by my faith, 
 that ever thou hast heard since thou wert born ! '* 
 
 Thereupon the diike bade him tell it before them all 
 without delay. 
 
 " Now, sir," he said, " by St. John, I was outside the 
 gate right now for my disport, and I saw many poor men 
 there, old and young, and among them a beggar who is the 
 foulest thing ever heard of in any land. He lies in a wain, 
 so feeble of strength that he may not go afoot, and by him 
 stood a youth, almost naked, who is the gentlest child on 
 earth, and the fairest to whom Christ ever gave life or 
 christening ; but he is the greatest fool, verily, in all this 
 world!'^ ^ ^ 
 
 Then the duke asked : " What folly saith he ? Is he 
 mad?" 
 
 " Sir,*' he answered, " I prayed him to forsake the 
 beggar in the wain that he stood by, and come into your 
 service, and I promised him land and fee, worldly goods 
 enough ; but he answered and said that he would never go 
 from him ; therefore, I hold him mad." 
 
 Then said the duke : " Though his lord be in such evil 
 state, peradventure the good man hath before holpen him 
 iix time of need, or the child is of his kin, or hath sworn 
 oaths never to forsake him. Whether he be a stranger or of 
 his blood," he said, " it is a good child and true, God speed 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 39 
 
 me ! If I speak with him ere he depart, I shall reward 
 him for being so faithful and so kind ! " 
 
 Anon the duke called to him a bold squire, and said : 
 " Take my golden cup as full of wine as thou mayst hold 
 it with thy two hands, and carry it to the castle gate, 
 where thou shalt find a beggar lying in a wain, and bid him 
 and his page to drink this wine, and then bring me back 
 the cup." 
 
 The squire received it, and to the castle gate bore it full 
 of wine, and said to the leper : " My lord hath sent thee 
 this cup of wine ; drink it if thou dare ! " 
 
 Then the beggar drew forth his own golden cup as like 
 that other as had it been the same, for they were cast in 
 one mould ; and when he had poured in the wine there 
 was no difference between them. 
 
 The squire as he stood there gazed at the two cups, first 
 the beggar's and then his lord's ; but he could not choose 
 which was the better of them so were they alike. He ran 
 again into the hall, and said : ** Certes, sir, thou hast wasted 
 many a good deed, and even this now ! He is a richer man 
 than thou art, by the day when God was born ! " 
 
 ** Nay," answered the duke, " that could not be ; it 
 were against the law ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir," he said, " he is a traitor, by my fay, and 
 v/orthy to be drawn ; ^ for when I took him the wine, he 
 drew forth a fine gold cup, right as it were thine own. In 
 ^ At the horse'fi tail. 
 
40 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 all this world, by St. John, there is no man so wise as to 
 know them apart ! " 
 
 " Now, certes," quoth Sir Amis, " there were never cups 
 so alike in all ways, save mine and my brother's, that we 
 had in token of our parting. And if it be the same, then 
 my dear brother, Sir Amiloun, is dead through treason ; 
 and if this beggar hath stolen his cup, I will slay him 
 myself to-day^ by Jesu, Heaven's King ! " 
 
 He started up from the table, and seized his sword like 
 a madman, and drew it from its sheath, and ran to the 
 castle gate ; and no man in all the court dared to stop 
 him. He rushed upon the beggar in liis wain and seized 
 him with his two hands and slung him into the lake,^ and 
 laid strokes upon him so madly that all who stood about 
 had great pity. 
 
 "Traitor ! " cried the bold duke. " Whence hadst 
 thou this golden cup ? How camest thou thereto ? For 
 by Him that Judas sold, it belonged to my brother 
 Amiloun when he went away from me ! " 
 
 " Yea, certes, sir," began that other, " it was his in his 
 country ; but now things have so fallen out that it is 
 mine, arid bought dear. I came by it by right ! " 
 
 Then was the duke so wild of mood that none who stood 
 about him durst lay hands on him. He spurned the 
 beggar with his foot and laid on him furiously with his 
 naked sword ; and drew him by the feet and trod him in 
 
 1 Mout ? 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 41 
 
 the mud without cease, crying : " Thief, thou shalt be 
 slain ! But first thou shalt make known the truth, whence 
 thou hadst the cup ! " 
 
 Child Amoraunt stood in the throng, and saw how 
 unjustly and woefully his lord was abused ; and being 
 himself hardy and strong, he caught the duke in his arm.s 
 and held him still. " Sir," he cried, " ye are cruel and 
 unjust to slay that gentle knight ! Bitterly may he rue the 
 time that ever he undertook battle to save your life ! He 
 is your brother Amiloun, once a noble baron, but now 
 thus beaten down by aflllction ! May God who suffered 
 the Passion bring him out of his woe ! For your sake is 
 he robbed of all bliss, and ye repay him by breaking his 
 bones a-two ! Well ye reward him for helping you in your 
 need ! Alas, why fare ye so ? " 
 
 When Sir Amis heard this, he ran straight to the knight 
 and took him in his two arms, and often cried, " Alas 1 " 
 and made his song, " Wellaway ! " 
 
 He looked at the leper's bare shoulder, and perceived 
 by the grim wound thereon that it was all as Amoraunt 
 said ; and then he fell a-swooning, and cried " Alack the 
 while " — that ever he had lived to see that day. " Alas," 
 he said, " my joy is departed ! Never was man more 
 cruel ! I know not what to do ! For saving my life of yore, 
 I have repaid him with sorrow and scorn, and have wrought 
 him much woe ! O brother, far chariti^ forgive me this 
 rueful deed, that I have so smitten thee ! " 
 
42 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 And Amiloun forgave him at once, and often kissed him, 
 weeping. . • . . 
 
 Then Sir Amis also wept for joy,'and lifted his brother 
 in his two arms, and would not let any other man bear 
 him until he came into the hall. 
 
 There stood his lady aild deemed her lord mad, and 
 ran to meet him, crying : ," Sir, what is thy thought ? 
 Why hast th<!)u brought this man into the hall, by Him 
 that won the world ? " 
 
 " O dame," he said, " by St. John, never have I been so 
 sorrowful, if thou wouldst know the truth ; for there is no 
 better knight in the world than this, and I have nearhand 
 slain him, and shamefully maltreated ! It is my noble 
 brother Amiloun, who is so beaten down with sorrow 
 and care ! '* 
 
 The lady wrung her hands and cried, " Alack the 
 while ! " and swooned away. 
 
 As foul a leper as he was, she kissed him there and 
 spared not; and often she cried, "Alas!" — that on him 
 was fallen such a hard chance, to live always in sorrow and 
 pain. She led him into her chamber, and cast aside all his 
 poor garments and bathed his body, and brought him soon 
 to a bed that was furnished with rich coverings. 
 
 They were full fain to have him there, and were true 
 and kind to hini as he lay, a twelvemonth in their chamber ; 
 nor. would they deny him aught that he asked for, night 
 or day. He lacked nothing of the meat and drink' that 
 

 
 "* •■''♦, *^'-'--»::-i.*ffv»-^^,^ 
 
 i:i 
 
 1/ 
 
 5 ..) .. 
 
 
 ^ry 
 
 ^:^ 
 
 1 
 
 St 
 
 / 
 
 1 r1 
 
 -I 
 
 
 y 
 
 i ? 
 
 1^ 
 
 
 .'/ r f//y/// r/ ////r/ ^//('rY/' rfff^tf' ///<'» r^:f/. 
 
!■. 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 43 
 
 they themselves had, so dealt they both with him gently ; 
 and as the twelvemonth drew to its end, a fair grace 
 alighted on them all, as ye shall hear. 
 
 It befell one night, as Sir Amis lay asleep, that he thought 
 a bright angel from heaven stood before his bed, and said 
 to him that if he would arise on Christmas morning, such 
 time as Jesus was born, and slay his two children, and with 
 the blood anoint his brother,^ by God's grace Amiloun's 
 sickness would be taken away. Thus for three nights he 
 thought an angel warned him that if he would do this thing, 
 his brother would be as fair a man as ever he was before. 
 
 At this Sir Amis was glad, but yet he was lorrowful for 
 his two children, the fairest in the world. He was well 
 loth to slay them, but well more loth to lose his kind 
 brother, Amiloun. 
 
 That same night. Sir Amiloun dreamed that an angel 
 warned him and said that if Amis would sLy his children, 
 their heart's-blood might take away his sickness. 
 
 On the morrow. Sir Amis went to his brother and asked 
 him how he fared ; and he answered in a low voice : 
 " Brother, I abide here God's will, for I may do no more 1 " 
 
 As they sat there, talking of one thing and another. Sir 
 Amiloun said presently : " Brother, I must needs tell thee 
 in secret that to-night I dreamed of an angel come from 
 heaven, who told me that by the blood of thy two children, 
 I might escape from my sickness and be hale and whole ! " 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
44 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Then the duke remembered that to slay his young 
 children were a deadly sin ; and yet he thought that, by 
 Heaven's King, he would not stop for that, to bring his 
 brother out of pain. 
 
 So it befell on Christmas Eve when Jesu was born to save 
 mankind, that the castle-folk dight them joyfully to go to 
 church. When they were ready, the duke bade them, as 
 they would be his friends, that all should go, and none re- 
 main in the chamber; and he said that he himself, for 
 that night, would take care of his brother. And there 
 was none durst gainsay him ; so they all went to church 
 and left only the two together. 
 
 But before they went to church, the duke had watched 
 to sec where the keys of the nursery were put, and slily he 
 noted where they were ; and when all were gone and he 
 was left alone, he took a burningcandle and found the keys, 
 and went to the chamber where his children were. And 
 when he beheld how fair they lay and slept together, he 
 said to himself : " By St. John, it were great pity to slay 
 you whom God hath bought so dear ! " He had already 
 drawn his knife, but now for sorrow he slunk away aside, 
 and wept bitterly. 
 
 But afterwards he turned his thought again, and said : 
 " My brother was so good and kind that on a day he shed 
 his blood for love of me through a grimly wound. Why 
 now should I spare my children to bring him out of 
 suffering ? O certes,^' he 8ai(J, " nay ! To help my 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 45 
 
 brother in his distress, God speed me, and Mary, that 
 sweet Maid ! '* 
 
 He waited no longer, but heavy of heart, caught up his 
 knife and seized his children, and — not to waste their blood 
 — cut their throats over a basin. And when he had so 
 done, he laid them in bed again — no wonder if he were 
 woe ! — and covered them so that it did not appear that 
 any man had been with them ; and so he left the chamber. 
 
 As he went out he steked ^ the door as fast as it was erst, 
 and hid the keys under a stone, and thought that folk 
 would suppose them to be lost. 
 
 Then he went to his brother and said to that sorrowful 
 man, at the very time when God was born : " I have 
 brought thee my children's blood ; and I hope it may heal 
 thee as the angel hath said ! " 
 
 " Brother," cried Amiloun, " hast thou slain thy two 
 children ? Alas, why didst thou so ? " He wept and 
 said, " Well-a-way ! I had liefer have lived in care and 
 sorrow till Doomsday ! " 
 
 Then said Sir Amis : " Be still ! Jesu may, when it is His 
 will, send me more children. For my sake thou art now 
 bare of bliss, and verily I will not spare my life to help thee 
 out of thy pain ! " 
 
 He took the blood, and therewith anointed the gentle 
 knight, who once had been so fair; and after, he put him to 
 bed and wrapped him warmly with many rich coverings. 
 
 ^ Barred. Scotch to-day. 
 
46 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 " Now brother," he said, " lie still, and fall asleep, i* 
 God*8 name ; and as the angel said, I hope well that Jesu, 
 Heaven's King, will heal thee of thy sickness ! " 
 
 There Sir Amis left him and went into the chapel, as the 
 story tells, and there made moan to God in Heaven for his 
 children that he had slain ; and he prayed with rueful 
 cheer that He and His Mother Mary would save him from 
 shame that day. And Jesus Christ in that place heard the 
 knight's prayer and granted it. 
 
 On the morrow at daybreak, the lady came home full 
 happily, with her knights fifteen ; but when they had 
 sought the keys and found tliem not, their joy was turned 
 to care. » ■ 
 
 The duke bade them all to cease and to stint their 
 strife ; and he said that he had taken the keys, and no man 
 should go into the chamber but himself and his duchess. 
 He took his lady anon, and said to her : " Sweetheart, 
 keep thee glad of heart ! By Him that won this world, 
 I have slain my dear children, for methought an angel 
 came from heaven to me in my sleep, and told me that 
 through their blood my brother should pass out of his 
 affliction ! Therefore I slew them both to heal that good 
 man!" 
 
 Then^as the lady ferly woe,^ but she sav> that her lord 
 was also in heavy grief, and began to comfort him : " O 
 dear life, God may send us more children — cease to mourn 
 
 ^ Overcome by sorrow. 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 47 
 
 for these ! If it lay at my heart's root to bring thy brother 
 help, I would not spare to die ! No man shall see our 
 children, and to-morrow they shall be buried right as they 
 were dead in the course of nature ! " 
 
 So this fair lady comforted her lord as best she might ; 
 and after, they went both to Sir Amiloun and found that 
 he was awake ; and by God's grace all his foulness was 
 gone, and he was once more as fair a man as ever he had 
 been sith he was born. 
 
 Then were they all so blithe that they might not tell 
 their joy, and gave thanks to God ; and presently they 
 went to the chamber where the children lay, and found 
 them whole and sound, without hurt, and playing together 
 in bed. They wept for joy as they stood there, and 
 thanked God that he had taken all their care away. 
 
 By the time that Sir Amiloun was well and strong 
 enough to walk and ride, Amoraunt was a bold squire and 
 blithe of cheer to serve his lord. And on a day, the 
 knight said that he would go home to his own country 
 and speak with his wife, and requite her for all the help 
 that she had given him in time of need. 
 
 Then Sir Amis sent hastily for many good knights, five 
 hundred keen and true ; and, with other barons on palfrey 
 and steed. Sir Amiloun pricked night and day until he 
 came to his owii country, and there found that one of his 
 own knights had espoused his wife. 
 
 But it happened that he came home the very day the 
 
48 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 bridal was held; and pricked at once to the gates, where he 
 began a sorry game among the bold barons. He sent a 
 messenger into the hall to say that their lord was come 
 home, the merriest man on earth ; and thereupon the lady 
 turned pale, and many a man, young and old, was heavy 
 of cheer. 
 
 Sir Amis and Sir Amiloun, and all their stout barons, 
 knights, and squires, in their helmets and habergeons, 
 went into the hall with bright swords and brown ; and 
 they gave great strokes to all that they might reach, alike 
 great and small. Glad were those that escaped that day, 
 and fled from the bridal. When in their vengeance they 
 had driven all men, brown and black, out of that noble 
 hall. Sir Amiloun had built for his lady a great tower of 
 lime and stone. Therein she was brought, and kept on 
 bread and water till her life-days were done. And when 
 she died, he that was sorry could have been naught but a 
 villain, as ye may judge who have heard, one and all. 
 
 Then Sir Amiloun sent a messenger to earls and barons, 
 free and bond ; and when they had assembled, he seised 
 Child Owain, who had been so true and kind, in all his 
 lands. And when he had so done, he returned again with 
 his brother. Sir Amis ; and they led their lives together 
 with much joy and without strife until God summoned 
 them. 
 
 But first these two noble barons let build a fair abbey, 
 and endowed it well in the land of Lombardy, that masses 
 
SIR AMADAS 49 
 
 might be sung for themselves and their forefathers until 
 Doomsday. 
 
 They both died on the same day, and were laid in one 
 grave ; and for ^chclr truth and goodness they have as 
 meed the bliss of Heaven that lasteth evermore. 
 
 Amen. 
 
 SIR AMADAS 
 
 [Sir Amadas ^ was a knight of great bounty who so 
 squandered his possessions in gifts to those round about 
 him that at last he fell heavily into debt,] Thereupon he 
 sat down with his steward to cast his accounts. 
 
 " My lord," said tlie steward, " ye owe more than you 
 can riise from your lands these seven years. First, ye 
 must pray those who can to wait longer ; and then must 
 you dismiss your court, keeping but one man where now 
 ye have ten, however dear they be to you.'' 
 
 But said Amadas : " I might save long and spend 
 notJiing ere my debts were quit ! And if I dwell here in 
 my native place where I am so well known, I shall be held in 
 great scorn, and all men will curse me for being so free of 
 their goods that I have had in hand. If I were to boast 
 and threaten, and get nothing by it, by the Rood, that were 
 a bad end ! Nay, I will not do so ; I will follow mine own 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
so ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 counsel, and work another way. A hidden sorrow is easier 
 to bear than one perceived ; therefore, good steward, by 
 thy love for me, let no man know of my distress ; but let 
 us hide it between ourselves. For seven years I will pledge 
 my lands, or till the debts be all quit ; and I will go forth 
 out of the country until I have gold and silver to spend. 
 But ere I wend, I will entertain more royally than ever ; 
 therefore make preparations. I will give rich gifts to 
 squires and knights, and will deal out alms to the poor, for 
 if men knew that. I were in trouble, some would be fain of 
 that, and it would not help my case. Never was born a 
 man so courteous that he might escape without scorning 
 when each has told his tale." 
 
 So he gave rich gifts, steeds, hawks and hounds, to squire 
 and knight ; and presently made him ready to ride forth 
 in the world. And when he took his leave, he had in his 
 coffers no more than barely forty pounds. 
 
 As he rode on his journey, he came to a chapel of stone 
 and wood between a forest and a city, and saw therein a 
 great light. He dismounted, and bade one of his men go 
 find out the meaning of this, and bring him word. 
 
 The knave did as his master commanded, but so foul a 
 stench was in the chapel that he might not endure it. He 
 drew his hood over his face, and going to the door, looked 
 in through a glass window, to learn what marvel was tliere ; 
 and he saw a bier with candles burning about it and a 
 woman sitting by, right sorrowful. But he could not stay 
 
SIR AMADAS 51 
 
 there longer, so returned to his master and told what he 
 had seen. 
 
 " Sir, I have been at yonder chapel, and have seen a 
 marvel that makes my heart as heavy as lead ! There 
 stands a bier with candles, and a lone woman sits by it in 
 heavy sorrow. But so evil is the stench, that not for the 
 palfrey on which I ride would I stay there longer ! I 
 trow I have caught my death ! '' 
 
 Then Sir Amadas commanded his squire to go and bring 
 him tidings of that woman. And as he looked in through 
 the window, he found it all as the knave had said, and had 
 great pity ; but the evil stench drove him too away, and he 
 returned, saying : ** Good my lord, now by your leave, 
 take it not ill ; but ye may not have tidings by me. 
 There stands the bier with the candles and nothing more ; 
 and the woman sighs piteously and wrings her hands, cry- 
 ing on Heaven's King how long must she be there, and 
 saying : * Dear God, how may this be, that I should have 
 such sorrow as to watch him rotting on his bier ! ' Yet 
 she swears that she will not leave him alone, so dear was he 
 to her, until she drops dead on the stones.'* 
 
 Then Sir Amadas put spurs to his palfrey and rode up to 
 the chapel door and there alighted ; and although the 
 smell was even as tliey had said, he would not leave 
 for that, but went in, saying : " Dame, God be with 
 you ! " 
 
 And she saluted him fair : " Sir, ye are most welcome ! " 
 
52 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 " Dame, why sit you here alone with this corse to- 
 night ? '• 
 
 " Needs must I sit by him, sir — God wot none other 
 would but I ! — ^for he was my wedded husband." 
 
 " Peter ! " quoth Sir Amadas. " That likes me full ill ! 
 Ye ire in a plight to perish also, sitting by him on his bier. 
 What manner of man was he in his life ? " 
 
 " Sir, a merchant of this city, who owned rich rents. 
 He had every year three hundred pounds of ready money, 
 and yet he lies here for debt." 
 
 " By the Rood, dame, tell me how he spent his goods 
 that thusgate ^ it is all away." 
 
 " Sir, by giving rich gifts to knights, squires, and 
 officers, great lords that were his peers.^ He made royal 
 feasts, and every day fed poor folk for God's sake. And 
 yet he wrought as a fool, for whoever came to his gate and 
 asked i' God's name, was not denied as long as he had any 
 goods left. At Yule-tide he clad more men than did ever 
 noble knight, and spared not meats. The boards in his 
 hall stood never bare • but aye richly covered. And when 
 I told him he did not well, he held my words lightly and 
 said that God had sent it every deal, atil we had bor- 
 rowed so much that for very shame we might not tell all 
 that we owed. And then came Death — woe's me ! — and 
 
 * In this manner. 
 
 * Here the wora seems to mean betters rather than equals, 
 
 * See note. 
 
SIR AMADAS 53 
 
 parted me from my dear lord, and left me all the care. 
 When our neighbours knew that he lay sick, they came 
 thronging in great affright to seek their debts, and they 
 drove away horses, cattle, swine and sheep, all that was 
 my husband's and mine, and left the place bare. My 
 dowry I sold too, and paid them every penny, and still they 
 asked much more. And when I had turned over all that I 
 could get, he still owed thirty pounds to a merchant of 
 this city who had been away in a far country. This man 
 came, when my husband was dead, and, knowing my 
 helpless state, fierce as a boar forbade that the corse be 
 buried,^ and swore that the hounds of the field should tear 
 his flesh and gnaw his bones. And this is the cause of my 
 woe ! For sixteen weeks have I sat by him on his bier, 
 with candles burning night and day; and, so God Al- 
 mighty help me, shall I do until Death come and take me ! " 
 
 Then Sir Amadas asked her the name of that merchant 
 who had brought her to this, and she told him. He said 
 further : " God that is a help to all in trouble, comfort you, 
 dame — and so He will ! Have good night." 
 
 As he mounted his palfrey, he could scarce forbear to 
 weep for repentance of his own deeds, and said to himself : 
 " Yonder man that lies in the chapel might well be akin to 
 me, for right so have I done ! " 
 
 Then he told his sumpter-man ^ the merchant's name, 
 and said : " By God that bought me dear, Iwill sup with 
 * See note. * Driver of a pack-horse. 
 
54 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 him to-night ! Go look that our meal be ready soon with 
 rich meats, not sparing spices.'* 
 
 So the man rode into the town, and speered ^ the way 
 to the merchant's house, and there took lodging for his 
 master, and prepared a supper of fine meats. 
 
 When Sir Amadas, riding sorrowfully along, arrived 
 there, it was already supper-time. He dismounted and 
 went into a chamber where torches burned brightly, and 
 changed his garments. Then he bade his squire go ask 
 the merchant and liis wife to sup with him that night ; 
 and the Squire went upon his errand, and finding the 
 merchant in his hall, prayed him as best he could. 
 
 Said the merchant : " By Jesus, Son of Mary, I will come 
 at thy lord's bidding ! " 
 
 So the boards were set up, the cloth was laid, and the 
 supper spread forth ; and the merchant sat on the dais 
 with Sir Amadas, who made him welcome, although his 
 thoughts were muckle on the dead man that lay on his 
 bier. Presently he said : " To-night as I came along the 
 road, I saw a sight that I remember still, which makes my 
 heart full sore ! In a chapel by the wayside lay a corse on 
 a bier, and a woman sat thereby in great trouble." 
 
 *' Yea," quoth the merchant, " God grant him sorry 
 grace, and all such wasters as he that strip men wonder 
 bare ! There he lies, and of my thirty pounds shall I sec 
 never a penny the more ! " 
 
 1 Asked. Scotch, . » 
 
SIR AMADAS 5S 
 
 " Forgive the dead," cried Sir Amadas, " as God for- 
 gives ; and turn your mind to better thoughts, and you 
 shall be rewarded 1 Think how God hath ordained you a 
 better estate than ever he had, and let his bones be buried.'* 
 
 " Nay, sir, by Jesu, Mary's son, his body shall never be 
 laid in the earth until I have my silver ; and when she is 
 dead as well, then shall dogs gnaw the bones of both these 
 wasters ! " 
 
 When Sir Amadas heard what he had sworn, he said 
 to his squire : " Lay forth thirty pounds on the board, 
 belive!"! 
 
 The squire thought this wrong, bul he must needs obey, 
 and so the merchant was prjd. Then the knight called 
 for wine and bade him be merry, and asked presently : 
 " Owed he any more ? " 
 
 ** Blessings on you, sir, it was so much only ! " 
 
 " Then, as far as ten pounds will go, I will see that he 
 hath his right. I shall make read and sing for him, and 
 bring him to Christian burial in the sight of all his neigh- 
 bours. Pray all the religious men of this city to dine 
 with me to-morrow, and make ready their meat." 
 
 At dawn, on the following day, all the bells of the city 
 were set a-ringing for the debtor's soul, and a great pro- 
 cession of religious men and rich burgesses went forth to 
 the burial. And Sir Amadas garred ^ thirty priests to 
 chant, and at every Mass he offered a ring. 
 
 1 Quickly. . * Caused. 
 
S6 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Then the merchant went to a pillar, and many a man 
 drew near to wit what he would say, and he said : ** Sirs, 
 here hath lain a corse on its bier, ye wot well wherefore. 
 But a full royal knight has come and given me ready pay 
 for all the goods the dead man owed me, and has taken 
 from his coffers ten pounds for this interment, besides the 
 rich rings he has given to-day ; and in the name of the 
 dead, he invites you all to dine with him." 
 
 They followed then at the merchant's bidding, and were 
 served with delicious meat and drink. Sir Amadas would 
 not sit down with them, but served the poor folk, who lay 
 near his heart. 
 
 And when they had eaten in the hall, his squire brought 
 forth his palfrey saddled, and he took leave of them all 
 with good cheer. But he wist never where he should rest 
 that night, for he had no money wherewith to pay. What 
 wonder that his thoughts were sad, now that all his goods 
 were spent ! But he showed ^.hat he was gentle of birth 
 when he said farewell to the chief man there and presently 
 went his way. 
 
 And when he had so departed, or ever he had passed the 
 gate, each man was saying what he thought. Some held 
 him for a fool who lightly spent what he had lightly won, 
 and some said he was born in good time who could thus 
 have a penny for the asking ; but none of them knew 
 aught of his estate. And so may men often judge one 
 another, and wot full little of what they arc talking. 
 
SIR AMADAS 57 
 
 Six miles from the city they came where a cross parted 
 the way a-two ; and Sir Amadas, turning to his squire, his 
 sumpter-man, and his groom, said : " Good sirs, lay it not 
 to heart, but ye must now take your leave, for no man 
 shall follow me except I can feed and clothe him." And 
 at this the hardest-hearted there made mourning, upon 
 hearing him speak so. Again he said : " Be merry, for 
 ye are worthy men, and ye shall everywhere find good 
 masters. God may yet help me and send me grace to 
 prosper, and ye may yet see all care overgone, and be 
 dearly welcome back, both ye and many more." He 
 said further : " And of the horses yc ride, the worst is 
 worth ten pounds ; but by St. John, each of you, squire, 
 yeoman, and knave, shall own the horse he sits upon, with 
 saddle, bridle, and other gear, be it never so good. God 
 keep you honest men, and Christ defend you ! " Thus 
 with weeping they parted and went their several ways. 
 
 When his men were gone, the knight turned his steed 
 and rode forth on his journey. His way lay under a forest, 
 and presently he dismounted and sat down in bitter grief, 
 remembering his high castles, his broad lands and towns, 
 now all passed out of his possession, and himself banished 
 from his home for poortith ; ^ and he repented him of his 
 former deeds. " For," said he, " folk set no store by a 
 man that hath little goods. Once I had three hundred 
 pounds' worth of rents, and wasted it all light-heartedly, 
 
 * Poverty. 
 
58 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 being but a fool ! As long as I had a household, I was held 
 for a great lord and much set by ; but now wise men may 
 dwell at home, while fools walk abroad. God wot that is 
 my case ! Jesus, as Thou didst die on the Rood, and shed 
 Thy precious blood for me, and didst win all this world, 
 let me come never where I shall be Icnown as a knight, un- 
 less I may avow it ; and grant me grace to send for all 
 those that now wander wildsomely for me, and all that 
 have ever done me good ; or else, O Lord, let me die at 
 once, for then were it well with me ! Alas, I am now 
 scorned as a fool, and for want of wit have made foes of 
 my friends, and have ruined myself through mine ovm 
 benevolence. Yet if thou didst succour me, I should 
 again spend gladly on those that are in want ! " 
 
 Now as he rode on through the forest, he deemed no 
 man had heard him, for he saw none in sight ; but there 
 came one riding by on a milk-white steed, arrayed as a 
 knight in white armour, and so suddenly that Sir Amadas 
 was aflPrayed. Yet sad as he was, he did not forget his 
 courtesy, but greeted the stranger fair. 
 
 Quoth the White Knight : ** What man are ye that go 
 mourning in this guise, with such simple ^ cheer ? " 
 
 And when Sir Amadas would have denied this, " Nay," 
 said the other, " hush ! I have been here this long while. 
 Ye should not lament so, for God, may make a man to fall 
 and rise again ; His help is aye near ! Goods are but a 
 
 * Humble. 
 
SIR AMADAS 59 
 
 loan, and whiles a man has something and whiles not ; ye 
 have many a fellow ^ in like estate. Think on the precious 
 blood of Christ shed for you and for aU mankind. A man 
 that gives of a kind heart alike to good and evil, will Come 
 out somehow. A man that has always been free of his 
 gifts will ever meet with one ready to help him ; so repent 
 not what ye have done. He that created sun and moon is 
 able to pay you all. I trow ye would love dearly him that 
 could bring you out of your woes ? Here beside dwells a 
 great king, who has a fair young daughter that he loves 
 most of all things ; and no man is to wed her but such as 
 can win her at the joust. Now ye are one of the seemliest 
 knights I saw ever under arms, and ye shall go there as gay 
 as any man on earth. Ye shall have none in your fellow- 
 ship, but ye shall win many lords to your side for your 
 great gift-giving — look that ye spare none ! Say your 
 men that came with you have been drowned in the wild 
 waters of the sea ; and be free of your largess until ye have 
 a noble company, and I shall requite every one. Ik liberal 
 of wage, for if ye give ten thousand gifts, I shall pay your 
 costs. There shall ye win great fame in frith and forest, 
 town and tower ; and ye shall wed that lady. Then shall 
 I come again to you, when ye are at home among your 
 friends ; and I make with you now this foreward, that ye 
 shall share with me at that time all ye have won.'' 
 
 Then bcspake Sir Amadas : " An ye have, by God*s 
 ^ Companion. 
 
6o ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 grace, power for to comfort me now, ye shall find me true 
 and leal, and ever, lord, will I deal justly between you 
 and me." 
 
 " Farewell, Sir Amadas," quoth the knight. " Ye shall 
 work by God's grace, and He will be with you ! " 
 I ** Have good day," answered Sir Amadas. " Ye shall 
 find me as true as a man may be." 
 
 Presently then he went down to the sea-shore, and found 
 there so many brokeii ships as it was marvel to see, and folk 
 driven ashore, knights in miniver,^ grey horses and white, 
 and all manner of wealth cast up by the waters, chests and 
 coffers full of precious gold, and no man alive to bear 
 anything away. He clad him straightway in a robe of 
 gold web as rich as any might be ; and the steed on which 
 he mounted was surely the best that ever man had for 
 jousting. 
 
 All this befell under a high tower, wherein the king and 
 his daughter were watching. Said the king : " Lo, yonder 
 is a royal knight ! " Then he sent a message by his own 
 squire and three knights, bidding them : " Go look what 
 yon may be, and tell me who it is, and say that all his goods 
 shall be kept wholly in his own hands. Go ye together to 
 meet him, and say he is welcome if he be come in peace." 
 
 The messengers walked along the sea-side, and took Sir 
 Amadas by his white hand, and asked his tidings, and said : 
 " Our king has sent us here to wit if you will tell us of your 
 * Grey fur. Squirrel? 
 
SIR AMADAS 6i 
 
 coming; and he vows that your goods shall be yours 
 utterly, and whatsoever ye will do with his men, ye have 
 but to command them and they shall be your servants 
 full ready.*' 
 
 And Sir Amadas replied : " I am a prince of high 
 degree, and had intended to arrive in state, with wine and 
 flowers, horses, armour, and a goodly array of knights ; but 
 stiff storms have driven me hither, and dashed my noble 
 ship to pieces — ye may see the truth for yourselves. To 
 spend I have still enough and plenty ; but all the men 
 that came with me are lost." 
 
 They led him to the castle gate, and told the whole 
 adventure to the king, who said to him : " Welcome, 
 my friend ! Be of good cheer, and thank God's grace for 
 deliverance from such a storm ! It was a happy issue that 
 ye got safe ashore ! Never have I met a man who won 
 my love as quickly as ye have done already ! " 
 
 Then the king made a proclamation, calling upon folk, 
 knight, squire, yeoman, and knave, each in his degree, to 
 take service with Sir Amadas, whose men were drowned. 
 He would give them as much as they had ever had with any 
 other lord — yea, and more. As soon as gentlemen heard 
 that cry, they flocked to him, so that when the jousting 
 was proclaimed in honour of the king's daughter, no other 
 knight had half such a company. There he won great 
 fame, together with frith and field, tower and town, castle 
 and strong city, and more than an hundred steeds, half of 
 
St ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 ivhich he gave to the king, and the other half he kept for 
 the White Knight, his companion. 
 
 When the jousting was ended, they went home to 
 disarm themselves ; and often and again the king said : 
 '* Gramercy, gentle knight ! " And his sweet daughter 
 unlaced the knight's armour, and they went presently to 
 meat. But as soon as each had sight of the other, such 
 I love seized them as never departed all their lives after. 
 
 Now when they had feasted, the king took Sir Amadas 
 5y his white hand, saying : " Sir, my daughter is mine only 
 heir, and she shall be your prize. An ye be a man to wed a 
 wife, I vouch her safe to you. Take her, and while I live 
 ye shall have the half of my kingdom, and after, all." 
 
 " Gramercy ! " quoth Sir Amadas, and thanked the king 
 for his favour and his good gifts. 
 
 Soon after they rode to the church for the wedding. Of 
 gold and silver many a pound, arid other gifts were scat- 
 tered as they passed by the way ; and afterwards, all the 
 lords and their slender, noble dames gathered in the hall 
 for the feast. Thus came his weal after his woe — God 
 grant that ours do likewise ! The royal banquet lasted a 
 fortnight, and during that time many shafts were shaken.^ 
 
 A year and a half they lived together in great joy, and a 
 
 fair child was born to them. But now listen to the marvel 
 
 that chanced when, one day before meat, his fellow came to 
 
 the castle gate, clad all in gay gear, as it were an angel, in 
 
 * There were many joustings, 
 
' ? ' SIR AMADAS 63 
 
 white and on a milk-white steed, and said anon to the 
 porter : " Go my errand to thy lord at once. And if he 
 ask whence I come, or from what country, say that my 
 armour is white, and that we have been together before ; 
 and he will not deny it." 
 
 Then the porter went into the hall and accosted his 
 lord, whom he met there: "Lord, here is come the fairest 
 knight that ever I saw since I was born. Milk-white is his 
 steed and all his other gear. He says that ye have been 
 together, and I hope ye will have seen him. He is come 
 here alone." 
 
 " Is he here, mine own true friend ? He is most 
 heartily welcome, as indeed he ought to be ! I bid you 
 all, my men, to serve him hand and foot, right as ye 
 would do me." 
 
 Then Sir Amadas went to meet him, and so also his fair 
 lady, who knew well her duty, and ever honoured those 
 whom her lord loved. May all such women be blessed ! 
 
 Who should stable his steed ? For knight, squire, 
 yeoman, or knave he had none. Sir Amadas himself would 
 have taken the horse, and led the guest into the hall ; but 
 nay, he would not. 
 
 " To tell the truth," said he, " I will not eat or drink 
 or rest, by the God that bought me dear ! But if indeed 
 I have saved thee, deal what thou hast a-two, and give me 
 my part, and I will away." 
 
 '* For the love of God," quoth Sir Amadas, " let such 
 
64 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 words be ! They grieve my heart sorely ! Not even in 
 a fortnight can we divide and dispose our rich lands, for 
 they lie wide apart. But let us dwell together here like 
 brethren, as though all were thine own ; and we will not 
 share otherwise, but all shall be at thy disposal — God 
 forbid else ! " 
 
 He said : " Brook well thy broad lands, thy towered 
 cactles, and thy towns ; of them keep I none. Hold also 
 thy woods and clear waters, thy wild deer, thy friths and 
 forests, thy rings with precious stones, thy silver and red 
 gold — theystand me in no stead, I swear by St. John ! But 
 by my faith, without more ado, half thy wife and half thy 
 child shall be mine ! " 
 
 " Alas ! " cried Sir Amadas, " that ever I won this 
 woman or any worldly goods ! For His sake that died on 
 the Tree, do with me whatsoever thou wilt, take all that I 
 have, but spare her life ! " 
 
 The knight well understood, but swore : " By God that 
 bought me dear, of all thy other worldly goods I will take 
 nothing; but think on the covenant thou didst make 
 with me in the woods, when thou wert in need, how fairly 
 thou didst promise me then." 
 
 " I know it was so," said Sir Amadas, " but methinks it 
 were great sin to slay my lady ! " 
 
 Now she understood the word that passed between 
 them, and grieved never the more, but came at once and 
 said : " For His love that died oi> the Tree, see that you 
 
SIR AMADAS 65 
 
 hold what ye promised him, by God and St. Drightine ! '* * 
 And she spake further : " T)he covenant was good and 
 true ; and if God will that it be so, take and part us both 
 in twain. Ye won me, and I am yours. God forbid that 
 ye took wife only that I should make you to be false and 
 lose your good name in the land ! " 
 
 Still she stood, that dear lady, nor changed colour nor 
 wept ; but bade only : " Fetch me hither my young son 
 and lay him on my heart." 
 
 " Now," quoth the White Knight to his fellow, " which 
 lovest thou the more ? " 
 
 " My dear wife ! " he answered. 
 
 " If thou lovest her the more, thyself shall cut in twain 
 her white sides." 
 
 When Sir Amadas perceived that this must be, he went 
 well nigh mad with grief ; and all those who stood in the 
 hall before their lord swooned with horror. 
 
 Then was brought in the board ^ on which she must be 
 slain. She kissed her lord many a time, that sweet lady, 
 and meekly laid her down, and drew her kerchief over her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Jesu in Trinity ! " cried Sir Amadas, in bitter woe. 
 " All shall be done according to Thy will ; and so I hope 
 it may be." 
 
 Therev^ith he was lifting his sword on high, in the 
 intent to strike his lady, when the other knight cried : 
 
 * See note. 
 II. £ 
 
66 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 " Hold ! Take her up, and also the child, and peace be 
 with thee ! I could not blame thee for grieving to slay 
 so fair a lady to save thy honour ! I was full glad when 
 thou didst give all thy possessions to bury my bones, when 
 I lay in the chapel as hounds* meat ; and I prayed to God 
 to heal thee of thy woe, who didst make thyself poor to 
 save my credit in the land. And now, farewell, mine own 
 true friend, my dwelling is here no longer. Love thy 
 child and thy vrffe, who without murmur would have had 
 thee fulfil thy foreward ! " 
 
 I Like dew in the sun he melted away, no man knew 
 whither ; and they all stood there agaze. 
 |.;r Then Sir Amadas and his wife returned hearty thanks 
 to God, as they had good reason to do ; and after, they 
 passed their lives in joy and bliss until their ending- 
 day. ■ ^■Uv.lW; ■-■.'•■■■ 
 
 There are full few ladies in the land would serve their 
 lords so far — some would say nay ! But whoso honours 
 God and Mary, however great his ill, shall yet be helped 
 and shown the ready way to heaven. 
 
 After a while. Sir Amadas sent messengers to all the 
 lands, far and near, in his own country, and redeemed all 
 that had ever been his, frith and forest, town and field. 
 And he sent, moreover, for his steward, and all those that 
 had been with him, and gave them gold and fee ; and they 
 dwelled with him until their lives' end. 
 
 Soon after this the king died, and Sir Amadas became 
 
ATHELSTON 67 
 
 lord of tower and town, with all the barons of the realm 
 for his vassals ; and he was crowned with a diadem of 
 shining gold. 
 
 'Jesu Christ in Trinity ^ 
 
 Bless and glad this company^ 
 And 6*er us hold His hand ! 
 
 FINIS DE SIR AMADAS 
 
 ATHELSTON 
 
 Lord that is of power most. 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost y 
 
 Bring us out of sin ; 
 And lend us grace so for to tvorky 
 To love both God and Holy Kirky 
 That we may Heaven win. 
 Listen, lor dings, gentle friends. 
 Of falseness h&w it ever ends 
 
 A man that walks therein. 
 Of four sworn brethren ^ I you tell^ 
 That whilom did in England dwell y 
 
 Who were nothing kin. 
 
 Now these four were messengers bearing letters, who 
 chanced to meet in a forest by a cross that stood on the 
 
 ^ See Introduction, p. xi. 
 
68 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 highway under a linden-tree. And, as the story tells, each 
 man came from a different part ; so, for love of their 
 meeting, they bound them truly to be sworn brethren 
 for evermore. » *" v •>'*' . 
 
 The eldest of them was called Athelston, and he came of 
 royal Mood, being own cousin to the king, an uncle's son. 
 And when his kinsman died he was the next to be crowned 
 with clear gold. 
 
 Now as soon as he was made king, he sent for his three 
 brethren and gave them high honours. The eldest he 
 made Earl of Dover, and lord of towns and towers, that so 
 he might recover him from his poor estate. The next, 
 whose name was Egeland,^ he made Earl of Stane, and with 
 great affection gave him his own sister, Dame Edith,^ to be 
 his wedded wife. The last brother was a cleric, wise in the 
 workings of God, whose name was Alryke ; ^ and as the See 
 of Canterbury was vacant, and had fallen into the king's 
 hands, he made bishop there that noble cleric who could so 
 read in books that there was none like him in the world. 
 Thus by the grace of God he advanced his brethren, and 
 he himself was a good and powerful king. 
 
 Now Sir Egeland, Earl of Stane, who was a true man, as 
 ye shall hear, got upon his countess two knave children. 
 Time passed until the one was fifteen years old and the 
 other thirteen, and their peers could not be found in all the 
 world, lily-white and rose-red, and gay as briar-blossoms. 
 
 * See note. 
 

 ,V' 
 
 /* , 
 
 ,, -.. 4 
 
 8 . I ' 
 
 «^«««>««w^|jr i9^'<>.^.v 
 
 l'd/f^'> 
 
 n 
 
 ^Y 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 
 I3:.&-V- 
 
 >iiiiriiritilllMtMllMiM«MMiliMiiltt 
 
 rfiiiiiM^iia.>;^i ttiiitiiiiiifii 
 
 ->vv; ^/tf/Mi r't^>f-^^^dr// *4^//y/ r/r-f^'t- ^/^/^/^ * 
 
ATHELSTON ' 69 
 
 This carl and his lady the king loved as his own life, and 
 also their two sons ; and often he called them to bower 
 and hall to give counsel. 
 
 Of that, Sir Wymound,^ the Earl of Dover, had great 
 envy, and was sore at heart. He devised a means to 
 slander them so as to bring them to death at the stake ; 
 and bethought himself : " So may their love not long 
 endure, and the fame of our doing may be spread abroad 
 through the world." 
 
 He bade his men make them yare - to go to London, for 
 he would speak with the king. When he came thither and 
 met with him, said Athclston : " Welcome, my dear friend ! *' 
 And anon he asked by what way the earl had come : 
 " Camest thou at all by Canterbury, where clerks sing 
 merrily, early and late ? How fares that noble cleric who 
 is so wise in the workings of God ? Knowest thou aught 
 of his estate ? And camest thou at all by the dwelling of 
 that worthy lord, the Earl of Stane ? Didst thou per- 
 chance go that way ? How fares that noble knight, and 
 his goodly sons, and my sister — knowest thou ? " 
 
 " Sire," he answered, " indeed I passed through Canter- 
 bury and there spoke with that friend. The noble cleric, 
 who is so wise in the ways of God that his peer is not in the 
 world, sends fair greeting to thee. Also, I took my way by 
 Stane, and spake with Egcland and his lovely countess. 
 They fare well, to speak truth, and likewise both their 
 * See note. * Ready. 
 
70 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 ♦ :..'v .. • 
 sons." Thcr^f the king was fain, and in his heart made 
 glad cheer. 
 
 " Sire," said the earl further, " if it be thy will, let us go 
 to thy chamber to take counsel. I shall tell thee such 
 tidings as came not in the land these hundred years ! " 
 
 Although the king's heart was heavy because of the 
 words of that traitor, they went forth together ; and when 
 they were in the chamber, he began smooth lies against his 
 dear sworn brother. 
 
 " Sire,'* he began, " as I hope to thrive, woe were me to 
 see tliee dead ! For by Him that won all this world, thou 
 hast made me a man ! Sire, in thy land is a false traitor 
 who would do thee much shame and would rob thee of thy 
 life ! He would slily poison thee so that, by Christ's five 
 wounds, thou shouldst come to a sudden end ! " 
 
 Then said the king : " Prosper thee, do I know that man 
 when I see him ? Tell me his name." 
 
 " Nay," said the traitor, " that will I not for all the gold 
 ever wrought ! Nay, by Mass-book and bell, save thou 
 plight troth never to betray him that tells thee the tale ! " 
 
 Then the king stretched up his hand, and made oath to 
 that false man, who was no less than a devil of hell ! 
 
 " Sire," he said, " thou didst make me a knight, and 
 now thou hast pledged me to keep our counsel. Verily, it 
 is none otlier than Egeland, thy sworn brother. He would 
 thou wcrt slain ; and gives thy sister to know that he 
 would be king of this land, and thus he begins to mislead 
 
ATHELSTON 71 
 
 her. By Him that suffered pain, he means slily to poison 
 thee so that thou shouldst die a sudden death ! " 
 
 Then the king swore by Cross and Rood : " I will not 
 touch meat or drink till he be slain, he and his wife and 
 their two sons ! They shall no longer live in England ! '* 
 
 ** Nay," said the traitor, " so prosper me, I would not 
 see my brother dead ; but do as thou thinkest best." So 
 he took his leave and went to Dover — God send him a 
 shameful death ! 
 
 Now as soon as the traitor was gone, the king sent for a 
 messenger (as it chanced, he was a foundling and bare his 
 own name, Athelston ^), and made out for him letters that 
 he should bear to Stane, to fetch the earl and his two sons, 
 and also the fair countess. Dame Edith. And in his letter 
 the king said that he would make both the earl's sons 
 knights ; and thereto he set his seal. 
 
 The goodly messenger without delay took horse and 
 rode away, and hied him a good speed. He found the earl 
 in his hall, and put the letter into his hands and bade him 
 read it. " Sir," he said, " this letter ought to. make thee 
 blithe — take heed ! For love of thy countess, the king will 
 dub both thy sons knights. I counsel thee, be merry, and 
 ride to London, and bring thy fair wife to see that sight." 
 
 Then said the earl : " My wife is great with child, and I 
 doubt whether she may leave her chamber to speak with 
 any of her kin till ihe be delivered." 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
72 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 However, they went into the chamber to read the 
 letters to that gracious lady and to tell her the tidings. 
 Thereupon she said : " So may I thrive, I will not stay till 
 I be there, to-morrow ere noon ! I will not tarry longer 
 to see my dear sons knights. Christ reward my lord the 
 king who hath promised to dub them. My heart is well 
 glad!" 
 
 The earl bade his men make them yare, and he and hh 
 wife rode fast to London. At Westminster, where the 
 king dwelled, they found him who had sent for them. 
 
 Straightway the good earl was seized and fettered fast, 
 and likewise his two sons. The countess cried aloud : 
 " Good brother, mercy ! Why will ye slay us ? What 
 have we done against you that you should put us to death ? 
 Methinks you are our foe ! " 
 
 The king was like a madman in that place, and garred ^ 
 his sister be led to prison, for all his heaviness of 
 heart. 
 
 Then a squire who was the countess's friend, went to the 
 queen and told her the tidings. She cast aside garlands 
 of cherries and hastened into the hall, long ere noon : 
 " Sire, I am come before thee, great with child, whether 
 daughter or son ; therefore grant me my boon that I may 
 stand surety for my brother and sister till to-morrow and 
 free them out of their bitter pains, that we may know by 
 common accord in full pa;:liament ..." 
 
 ^ Caused. 
 
 I. 
 
ATHELSTON 73 
 
 " Dame," he cried, " away ! Know that thy prayer 
 shall not be granted. For by Him that wore the crown of 
 thorns, th'^v shall be drawn and hanged to-morrow, if I be 
 king of this land ! '* 
 
 When the queen heard this, she wept as if she had been 
 beaten with a rod. Verily, I tell you, she fell down on her 
 bare knees, and prayed still for them all. 
 
 " Hah, dame,'* he cried, " now hast thou broken my 
 command. Thou shalt abide it dear ! " And he did not 
 spare to strike at her with his foot, as she knelt, so that she 
 swooned away among them all. 
 
 Ladies and maidens then carried her to her chamber, 
 and there was woe enough ; for presently, within a little 
 space, a knave child was born as bright as briar-blossom, 
 but dead of the blow struck by his own father. 
 
 Thus may a traitor raise trouble, and make many a 
 man full ill at ease, and yet himself not laugh in the 
 end. 
 
 But the queen, as ye shall hear, called a messenger, and 
 bade him take a letter and ride to Canterbury, where 
 clerks sing merrily Mass and evensong : " Take this letter 
 to the bishop, and pray him for God*s sake to come and 
 release them from their bonds. The king will do more for 
 him, I know, than for me, though I be queen. Now I 
 have an earldom in the land of Spain,^ and I promise truly 
 to seise it all in thy hand, besides giving thee an hundred 
 
 * See note. 
 
74 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 bezants ^ of red gold. Thou mayest save them from 
 death if thy horse be good." 
 
 ** Madam, keep thy morning-gift ^ as long as thou livest 
 ^ — I have no right thereto ; but for thy gold and goods, 
 f' Christ in heaven reward thee ! I will be there to-night. 
 Madam, I have ridden thirty miles of rough road since 
 daybreak, and travailed sore ; and now to ride another 
 fifty, methinks, is a hard thing. And, madam, it is near- 
 hand prime,^ and it behoveth me to eat and drink ; but as 
 soon as I have dined, I will go, and may God recover them 
 from their care ere I sleep a wink ! '* 
 
 When he had dined he rode his way upon a noble horse, 
 as fast as he might, by Charing Cross, and thence into 
 Fleet Street, and so through London. And soon he came 
 to London Bridge and so from Stone,* without turning, 
 straight to Steppingbourne,* sparing not for mire or moss. 
 And then he went his way from Ospring * to the Blean, 
 whence ht might see the noble town of Canterbury, wherein 
 dwelled that powerful bishop of great renown. When 
 they rang the undern-bell, he was in London and not yet 
 ready ; and yet he won to Canterbury long ere evensong, 
 riding fifty miles. 
 
 He would not abide, but rode straight to the bishop's 
 
 * Gold coin of Byzantium, value los. 6d, to ^^i. In Edward 
 III.'s reign superseded by the nohU, 
 
 * Dowry. Ger. Morgengabe, 
 
 * Six A.M. * See note. 
 
ATHELSTON 75 
 
 palace, where he was right welcome, being come from the 
 fair queen, and himself of noble kin. Forthwith he gave 
 the bishop his letter, saying, " Sir bishop, have this and 
 read," and bade him come with him. And ere the bishop 
 had read half the letter, his heart bled for grief, and tears 
 fell upon his chin. He commanded to saddle his palfrey, 
 saying : " Bid my men make them yare as fast as may be, 
 and go ye before to my manors on the way — spare nothing 
 — and look at the end of each five miles I find a fresh horse, 
 not bare but shod, for I shall never be blithe until I see my 
 sworn brother and recover him out of his care." 
 
 On nine palfreys the bishop sprang 'twixt evensong and 
 daybreak, as we read in romance ; and verily, on London 
 Bridge, the messenger's horse dropped dead. " Alas," he 
 cried, " that I was born ! Now is my brave beast done 
 for, good at every need ; and but yesterday he was worth 
 an hundred pounds as he stood, and worthy to bear any 
 knight!" 
 
 Then spake the bishop, our ghostly father under God, 
 to the messenger : " Let be lamenting for thy horse, and 
 think upon our great stress, while we tarry here. For if I 
 may free my brother and bring him out of his muckle care, 
 thou shalt be glad thereof ; and I shall give thee warison ^ 
 and goods to live on for an hundred years." 
 
 The bishop would no longer abide, but pricked his 
 horse and rode on swiftly to Westminster, unattended 
 
 ^ Reward. 
 
76 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 bjr squire or knight ; and the messenger came after 
 
 on foot. J-,:;h..:- 
 
 ^ On that morrow, the king arose and went to the kirk in 
 great state, and with him followed priests and clerics that 
 were wise in the workings of God, to pray for the right. 
 When he came thither, he fell on his knees before the 
 Rood : " God that sits in Trinity grant my prayer. Lord, 
 as Thou didst harrow hell, if they be guiltless that lie in my 
 prison, doomed to lamentation— if they be clean of this 
 sin, grant it be revealed in those that garred them dwell in 
 
 I that place.'* 
 
 When he had ended his prayer, he looked up into the 
 
 I choir and saw the archbishop standing there. He was 
 
 I a-wondered of that chance, and went to him apace, and 
 
 [ took him by the hand. 
 
 " Welcome,'* he said, " archbishop, our ghostly father 
 under God!" 
 
 Then Alryke swore by the living God : " Brother, speed 
 thou well, for I had never so muckle need since I took 
 cross in hand ! Good sworn brother, now turn thy 
 counsel, and do not thine own blood to death, for His sake 
 that weareth the crown of thorns ! Let me borrow ^ 
 them till the morning, when we may inquire and wit all by 
 common accord in full parliament who is worthy to be 
 doomed. And, but ye will grant my prayer, it shall rue 
 some of us, by God that all things sendeth ! **. 
 * Stand surety for. 
 
ATHELSTON 77 
 
 Then the king wax as wroth as the wind— an angrier 
 man might not be found than he began to be. He swore 
 oaths by the sun and the moon : ^ " They shall be drawn 
 and hanged ere nones,^ and thou shalt see it with thine 
 own eyes ! Lay down thy cross and thy staff, thy mitre 
 and the ring that I gave thee, and flee out of my land. 
 Hie thee fast out of my sight, for wherever I meet 
 thee thy death is foreordained ; nor shall it be other- 
 wise." 
 
 Then spake that archbishop, our ghostly father under 
 God, smartly to the king : " Well I wot thou gavest me 
 the cross and the staff, the mitre and eke the ring. Now 
 thou bereavest me my bishopric, and I forbid thee 
 Christendom ! No priest shall sing, no child, or maid, or 
 knave shall be christened ! I will bring thee into care ! 
 I will gar cry through every town, so that the churches 
 shall be destroyed and choked with thorns ; and thou thy- 
 self shalt lie in an old ditch like an heretic, and curse the 
 day thou wert born ! When thou diest — and may I live 
 to see the day ! — thou shalt never be assoiled, and so shalt 
 thy soul dwell in tribulation ! And I shall go into a 
 foreign country and get me strong men-at-arms to rescue 
 my brother! And I shall bring upon thy land fierce 
 hunger and thirst, cold, drought, and other suffering ! 
 And I shall not leave thee the right to beg or borrow as 
 much as is worth the gloves on thy hand ! " 
 
 1 See note. ' Three p.m. 
 
78 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 By that, the bishop's men were come, so he took his 
 leaye ; and they all said : " Sire, have good day ! " 
 
 He entered into Fleet Street, and there came upon a 
 goodly array of the lords of England, who kneeled down on 
 their knees, and prayed him of his benison ; but he nicked 
 them with nay.^ Nor could they perceive anything of his 
 cross or ring. A knight then began with mild speech : 
 ** Sir, where is thy ring ? Where is thy cross ? Is it 
 ta*en from thee ? " 
 
 Then he said : " Your cursed king hath reft me of all my 
 things — all my worldly goods ; and I have interdicted 
 England. Here shall no priest sing Mass, and no child be 
 christened, but if he grant me that earl with his wife and 
 ^ fair children ; for he would slay them unjustly ! " 
 I The knight answered : " Bishop, turn again. We are 
 I full fain of thee, and shall yet save thy brother. For but 
 he grant us our boon, his prison shall be broken and him- 
 self brought into miujkle care. We shall pull down his 
 halls and bowers, and his towered castles shall lie low and 
 hollow. Though he be king and wear crown, we shall set 
 him in a deep dungeon, and we shall keep our Christian 
 I faith." 
 
 I . Even as they were speaking of these things, came two 
 
 knights from the king, and said : " Stay, bishop, and take 
 
 I again thy cross and thy ring, and be welcome as long as 
 
 thou wilt. Lo, the king grants thee the knight and his 
 
 • ^ Made a negative sign. 
 
> ATHELSTON 79 
 
 wife and fair children. Ride back again, I rede thee ; he 
 prays thee, par chari'te^ that he may be assoiled, and all 
 England, far and wide." 
 
 Thereof the bishop was full fain, and turned his bridle 
 and rode back, together with the barons, unto the broken 
 cross of stone.^ Thither came the king right soon, and 
 tliere stayed him and kneeled down on his knees, and 
 prayed the bishop of his benison ; and the bishop gave it 
 him at that time, and with holy water and prayer assoiled 
 him and all England, far and wide. 
 
 Then said the king anon : " Here I grant thee that 
 knight and his noble sons and my sister, gracious in hall. 
 Thou hast saved all their lives — blessed mayst thou be ! '* 
 
 But the bishop said as quickly : " I shall give such 
 judgment — with thine own eyes shalt thou behold — that if 
 they be guilty of the deed, they may dread a sorrier doom 
 than to show their shame to me." 
 
 When he had so spoken, a great fire was made, as the 
 romance tells us, the length of nine ploughshares ^ end to 
 end, blazing with gleeds, and set there that the truth 
 might be revealed to men. 
 
 The king asked : " What may this mean ? " 
 
 " Sire, if they be clear of guilt, they need not dread this 
 doom." 
 
 But good King Athelston said : " This is a hard doom ! 
 God grant us all well to speed ! " 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
8o ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 They fetched forth that true man, Sir Egeland, before 
 the blazing fire ; and from him they took the scarlet-red, 
 both hosen and shoon, and his knight's garments. Nine 
 times the bishop hallowed the way that his sworn brother 
 should go at that time, and prayed God for the right ; and 
 when the lords saw that the earl was unblemished, foot and 
 hand, they thanked God for His mercy. Then they 
 offered him reverently at St. Paul's high altar ; and he fell 
 upon his knees, and thanked God who harrowed hell, and 
 eke His sweet Mother. 
 
 And then the bishop said : " Now shall the children go 
 the way the father went. From them was taken the 
 scarlet-red, seemly hosen and shoon, and all their worldly 
 weeds. The fire glowed hideously, and the children 
 swooned as they were dead ; but the bishop went to them 
 and gazed upon them with an anxious heart, and took 
 them up by the hand, saying: ** Children, have ye no 
 fear." 
 
 Thereupon they stood and laughed : " Sir, the fire is 
 cold enough ! ^' And they passed through it apace, un- 
 blemished foot and hand ; and when the barons saw this, 
 they thanked God for His mercy. They offered them 
 reverently at St. Paul's high altar, where this miracle was 
 shown. 
 
 And again the bishop said : " Now shall the countess go 
 the way the children went." 
 
 They brought forth that gentle lady, great with child ; 
 
ATHELSTON v, ,i 8i 
 
 and wlien she came before the fire she had no dread, but 
 she prayed to Jesus Christ of the bleeding wounds, that 
 never should any foe of the king come out alive. 
 
 When she had made her orison, she was brought to the 
 bright-burning fire. She went from one end a third of 
 the way, and stood still in the fire, and called it merry and 
 gay. But there hard pains seized her strongly, and when 
 they had slackened and she had gone through that hideous 
 pass, blood burst from her nose, but she was unblemished, 
 foot and hand. And when the barons saw this, they 
 thanked God on the Rood. 
 
 Then command was given that she be led away, as was 
 the law of the land, and ladies went to her ; but she 
 kneeled down upon the ground, and there was born that 
 blessed child St. Edmund.^ As soon as he was born, he 
 was brought into the Place,- whole and hale ; and in the 
 sight of all men he was christened Edmund by the king 
 and the noble bishop. 
 
 " Half my land," said the king, " I give thee while I 
 live, together with marks and pounds ; and after my 
 death all England to guide and counsel — blessed be this 
 day!'' 
 
 Then the bishop asked the king : " Sir, who made this 
 great slander, and wrought all this sorrow ? " 
 
 TJie king answered : " Prosper me, thou shalt never 
 learn from me in bower or in hall ! For I have sworn by 
 
 * See note, '^ Open square or market-place. 
 
 U, F 
 
82 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 St. Anne never to betray him that told me the tale. They 
 arc saved by thy counsel ; therefore let all this be dead 
 and keep this secret utterly.** ' ' 
 
 But the bishop swore : " So may I thrive, as I have mine 
 office now and power to assoil thee as clean as wert thou 
 scarce lifted from the font-stone, trow thou trustily and 
 have no doubt — I swear both by book and bell — save thou 
 tell me his name, I shall deem a just doom, and though it 
 ill beseems thee, thyself shall go the right way that thy 
 brother went to-day ! " 
 
 Then said the king : " Prosper me, I will tell it thee in 
 shrift, though I am loth thereto ! Certainly, none else 
 than Wymound, our sworn brother — and it shall go ill 
 with him ! " 
 
 " Alas," then said the bishop, " I weened he was the 
 truest man that ever lived yet in life ! If he may be 
 attainted of this, he shall be hanged on three trees and 
 drawn by five horses ! '* 
 
 When the bishop had heard of the lie that false man had 
 made he called a messenger, and bade him wend to Dover 
 to fetch Earl Wymound : " That traitor hath no peer ! 
 TeU him that Sir Egeland and his sons be dead, hanged 
 and drawn ; and that the countess is put in prison, and 
 shall never come out save on her bier. Do as I teach 
 thee." 
 
 The messenger tarried not, but took horse as the bishop 
 bade him, and rode till he came to Dover and found the 
 
ATHELSTON 83 
 
 earl in his hall, and spared not in all haste to put the letter 
 into his hand : " Sir Egeland and his sons be dead, both 
 hanged and drawn — thou gettest that earldom. The 
 comely countess is put into prison, and shall never come 
 out or look again upon the sun or moon." 
 
 The earl was blithe, and thanked God for the slander he 
 had made : " It hath got me this earldom ! " 
 
 To the messenger he said : " Fellow, well mayst thou 
 thrive 1 Have here right plenty of bezants for thy hither- 
 coming." 
 
 But the messenger made moan : " Sir, lend me one of 
 your good horses — grant me so much grace ! For yester- 
 day, as I came by the way, my noble steed died on this 
 your errand." 
 
 *' My horses be fat and corn-fed, and I am afraid for thy 
 life," said the earl. " For if any horse of mine should kill 
 thee, my lord the king would be full woe to lose such a 
 man. 
 
 Yet he brought the messenger a horse, one of the best at 
 need that ever trod ground. Nimbly, with all haste, the 
 messenger sprang upon this : " Sir," he said, " have good 
 day. Thou shalt come when thou canst, and I shall see 
 to it that the king be at hand." 
 
 He struck the horse with his spurs, and came a good 
 speed to Gravesend, forty miles away. There he awaited 
 the traitor, and both together they rode to Westminster. 
 When they had dismounted before the Palace, they 
 
84 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 entered the hall and there met with Athelston. The earl 
 would have kissed his lord lovingly ; but the king said : 
 " Traitor — not yet ! Let be ! By God and St. John, for 
 thy false slanders I slew mine heir that should have been 
 king after my days were ended ! " 
 
 There among his peers, he denied fast to the king that he 
 had devised any such lie. The bishop took him by the 
 hand, and they went forth together into the wide hall. 
 Never by any craft or skill might he be shriven from 
 that siri. 
 
 Then said good King Athelston : " Let him go to the 
 fire to prove the truth of this." 
 
 And straightway thereupon, a great fire was made, as we 
 read in romance. It was built the length of nine plough- 
 shares and blazing red, that men might know the case. 
 Nine times the bishop hallowed the way the traitor should 
 go, that he might speed the worse. He went forth from 
 the end a third of the way, and down he fell amid the 
 flames, for his eyes would no longer lead him. 
 
 The earl's children were quickly aware, and rushed boldly 
 upon that traitor and haled him out of the fire. And they 
 swore by book and bell : " Ere thou die thou shalt say why 
 thou hast made this slander ! '* 
 
 " Verily, I have no help ; I know I am but dead. 
 Right sorrowfully I tell you that there was no fault indeed, 
 but that the king loved him too much and me too little, 
 and therefore I had envy !'' 
 
 I. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 85 
 
 When the traitor had so spoken, five good horses were 
 tied to him, in the sight of all men ; and he was drawn 
 through every street, and after, to the Elms,^ and there 
 hanged full high. Was no man so bold that he durst cut 
 down that false body — and this he had for his lie. 
 
 Now Jesu that is HeaveiCs Ktngy 
 Let never traitor have better endings 
 But such doom to die. 
 
 EXPLICIT 
 
 THE TALE OF GAMELYN 
 
 Hark ye and listen and hearken aright^ 
 And ye shall hear talk of a doughty knight. 
 
 He was called Sir John of Boundys,^ and he knew enough 
 of nurture and much of sport. He had three sons : the 
 eldest soon began to show that he was evil, and earned hi:s 
 father's curse and had it at the last ; but his brethren loved 
 the old man well and held him in awe. 
 
 He lived to a good age, but in the end Death came to 
 him and handled him so sorely that he was troubled, as he 
 lay there sick, to know how his children should fare after 
 his day. He had travelled far and vidde, and was no hus- 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
86 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 band to look after his estates, all of which he held in fee 
 simple.^ He would fain have seen them divided among 
 the three, so that each should have his part; so he sent 
 about the country for wise knights to help deal them out 
 justly ; and he bade these men come at once if they were 
 to find him alive. 
 
 When they heard that he was sick, they rested not night 
 or day till they came to him where he lay quiet on his 
 death-bed to abide God's will ; and he said to them : 
 " Lords, I warn you that beyond a doubt, I may no longer 
 live, for in this very hour Death drnws me to the ground ! " 
 
 Then all they that heard him aright had pity of him, and 
 said : " Sir, for God's love, be not dismayed, for He may 
 bring good out of the evil that now is." 
 
 The good knight said further, as he lay there sick : 
 " God may indeed bring good out of evil, there is no deny- 
 ing ; but r beseech you, knights, for love of me, go and 
 divide my land equally among my three sons ; and, for 
 God's sake, deal it not amiss, nor forget Gamelyn,^ my 
 young son. Take heed to him as well as the others, for 
 seldom is the heir seen to help his brothers." 
 
 They l^ft the sick knight lying, and took counsel how to 
 divide his lands ; and their mind was to deal them all to 
 one, and to give naught to the youngest. But presently 
 they shared it between the two and let Gamelyn go land- 
 less, each of them saying loud to another that his brethren 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 87 
 
 might give him something when he was old enough to 
 know good from bad. 
 
 After they had so dealed out the land to their liking, they 
 returned to the knight, who lay there very still, and told 
 him how they had done, and he was but ill pleased, say- 
 ing : " By St. Martin, for all that ye have done the land 
 is mine ! For God*s sake, neighbours, stand ye quiet 
 and I will divide it myself, according to my will. Johan 
 my eldest son shall have five ploughlands ^ that were my 
 father's heritage while he lived ; and my second son, five 
 ploughlands that I got partly with my own right hand ; ^ 
 and all my other estate that I have acquired of land and 
 bondmen^ and my good houses, I bequeath to Gamelyn. 
 And I beseech you, good men that know the law of the 
 land^ that my bequest hold fast, for Gamelyn's sake ! " 
 
 Thus the knight dealt out his lands in his life-time, as he 
 lay there sick, even on his death-bed ; and soon after he 
 was stone-still, and so died, as Christ would, when his 
 time came. 
 
 As soon as he was dead and buried under the grass, the 
 eldest brother beguiled the young knave by taking into his 
 own hands Gamelyn's lands and bondmen, and keeping 
 the child himself to clothe and feed. 
 
 This he did but poorly ; and let his lands and his houses, 
 his parks and his woods go to ruin, and wrought nothing 
 well ; but afterwards he paid for it all with his fair skin.^ 
 
 ^ Hides or carucates. See note. ' In war. * See note. 
 
88 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 All the lime Gamclyn dwelled in his brother's hall, the 
 men there feared him as being the strongest among them ; 
 and there was none, young or old, however brave, who 
 dared make him wroth. 
 
 On a day, he was standing in his brother's yard, and 
 began all at once to handle his beard,^ and remembered his 
 fields that lay unsown, his fair oaks that were cut to the 
 ground, his parks broken into and his deer stolen, his 
 houses unroofed and falling into decay ; and it seemed to 
 him that things were not going well. 
 
 Presently his brother came walking there, and asked 
 him :," Is our meat ready ? " 
 
 Then Gamelyn was wroth, and swore by the Holy Book: 
 " Go thyself and bake ! I am not thy cook ! " 
 
 ** How, brother Gamelyn ? How answerest thou now ? 
 Never before hast thou spoken such a word as this ! " 
 
 " By my faith," said Gamelyn, " methinks there is need ! 
 Never before have I considered all the damage I have. My 
 parks are broken into, and my deer stolen, and naught is 
 left to me of my armour and steeds. All that my father 
 bequeathed me is gone to rack — may God's curse rest upon 
 thee, brother in name only ! " 
 
 Then bespake that other in hasty wrath : " Stand still, 
 gadelyng? and hold thy peace ! Thou shalt be glad 
 
 * Sec note, 
 
 • Vagabond, The brother is punning upon the likeness be- 
 tween ^o^/r/y/fir and GaiHeljn^ as appears from Gamelyn's answer. 
 
 1/ 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 89 
 
 enough to get food and clothes ! Why speakest thou of 
 lands and bondmen ? " 
 
 But the young child Gamelyn answered : " Christ's 
 curse on him that calls me gadelyng ! I am no such thing, 
 nor a worse man than one that was got of a knight and born 
 of a lady!" 
 
 Not a foot nearer durst the brother go, but called his 
 men, and said to them : " Go and beat this boy until he 
 loses sense, and let him so learn to answer me better 
 another time ! " 
 
 But Gamelyn answered : " Christ's curse on thee, 
 brother of mine ! If I must needs be beaten, curses on 
 thee but thou feel it also ! " 
 
 Then in a great heat his brother bade the men fetch 
 staves to deal with Gamelyn. V/hen every one of them 
 had taken his staff, and the child was aware of their 
 coming, he looked about him and perceived a pestle ^ 
 standing against a wall. He was light of foot and ran 
 thither, and full soon drove all his brother's men in a heap. 
 He looked like a wild lion, and laid on in plenty ; and his 
 brother, seeing this, flew up into a loft and shut the door 
 fast. Thus Gamelyn with his pestle struck terror into 
 them all, and they sidled away here and there, some for 
 dread of him and some for love. Then he began to make 
 sport of them : " What ? How, how ? Evil take you, 
 will ye begin a fight and flee so soon ? " 
 * Or club ? Sec note. 
 
90 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Presently he sought whither his brother was fled, and 
 beheld him looking out of a window. " Brother," he 
 called, " come a little nearer, and I will teach thee a 
 buckler-play ! " ^ 
 
 His brother answered, swearing by St. Richard : 
 " While the pestle is in thy hand I will come no nearer ; 
 but, brother, I will make peace with thee — I swear by 
 Christ's mercy ! Cast away thy pestle and be no more 
 wroth!" 
 
 " I must needs be angry," said Gamelyn, " for thou 
 wouldst have made thy men break my bones. Had I not 
 had might and main in my arms to put them from me, 
 they would have done me some hurt ! " 
 
 "Gamelyn," said his brother, "be not angry, for I 
 should have been loth to see thee hurt. I did it, brother, 
 only for a trial to see if thou wert strong, young as thou 
 art." 
 
 ^' Come down then to me, and grant me a boon. One 
 thing only will I ask thee, and we shall soon be in accord." 
 
 Then this false and cruel brother came down, still sorely 
 aghast at the pestle, and said : " Brother Gamelyn, ask me 
 thy boon, arid blame me unless I grant it." 
 
 And Gamelyn said : " Brother, if we are to be at one 
 and not quarrel, thou must grant me to have all my 
 father bequeathed me while he was alive." 
 
 "Thou shalt have it, Gamelyn, I swear by Christ's 
 * See note. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 91 
 
 mercy, all that thy father bequeathed thee, even were 
 it more ; and thy lands that lie fallow shall presently 
 be sown, and thy houses that lie ruined shall be built 
 up.'* 
 
 Thus the knight spoke with his mouth, but in his heart 
 was falsehood, as he knew well. He was plotting treason, 
 but not so Gamelyn, who went and kissed him, and made 
 accord. Alas that young Gamelyn knew not how his 
 brother had kissed him with a traitor's kiss ! 
 
 Hearken and listen and hold your tongue^ 
 
 And you shall hear talking of Gamelyn the young. 
 
 There was a wrestling-match cried hard by, and for 
 prizes were set up a ram ^ and a ring. Now Gamelyn was 
 of a mind to wend thither and prove what he could do.^ 
 ** Brother," he said, " by St. Richard, thou shalt lend me 
 to-night a little courser to ride on, fresh to the spurs, for I 
 must go on an errand here a little beside." 
 
 ** By God," said his brother, " go and choose the best 
 of the steeds in my stalls, saving none of them all, or of 
 the coursers that stand beside tnem ; and tell me, good 
 brother, whither thou ridest." 
 
 " Close by here, brother, a wrestling-match is cried, 
 and a ram and ring are set up for prizes. It were great 
 honour to us if I might bring them home to this hall." 
 
 Smartly and swiftly a steed was saddled, and Gamelyn 
 ^ See note. 
 
92 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 made fast on his feet a pair of spurs, set foot in the stirrup, 
 bestrode his horse and rode away, young child as he was, 
 to the wrestling. 
 
 When he was ridden out of the gate, his false brother, 
 looking after him, besought Jesu Christ that is Heaven's 
 King, that he might break his neck at the wrestling. 
 
 As soon as Gamelyn came to the place, he dismounted 
 and stood on the grass, and there anon heard a franklin ^ 
 sighing, " Wellaway," and bitterly wringing his hands. 
 
 " Good man," said Gamelyn, " why makest thou all this 
 fare ? Is there none that may help thee out of thy trouble ? " 
 
 " Alas that ever I was born ! " cried the franklin. " I 
 ween I have lost two stalwart sons ! There is a champion 
 in this place that hath brought me sorrow, for he hath 
 slain my two sons, unless God grant that they recover ! 
 By Jesus Christ, I would give ten pounds and more, if only 
 I might find a man to handle him roughly ! " 
 
 " Good friend," said Gamelyn, " if thou wilt do me a 
 kindness, hold my horse while my servant draws off my 
 shoon, and help my man to keep watch over my clothes 
 and my steed, and I will go into the place and see how I 
 prosper." 
 
 Barefoot and ungirt, Gamelyn entered ; and all the folk 
 in the place marked him and wondered how he durst ad- 
 venture him to prove his strength against one that was so 
 doughty a champion in fighting and wrestling. 
 ^ A freeholder. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 93 
 
 Up started the champion anon, and moved towards the 
 child, saying : " Who is thy father and thy lord ? Thou 
 art a great fool, forsooth, to come here ! " 
 
 And Gamelyn answered : ** By St. Martin, thou didst 
 know my father well while lie was alive. His name was 
 Sir John of Boundys and I am Gamelyn." 
 
 *^ Fellow," said the champion, " as I hope to thrive, I 
 knew well thy father in his lifetime ; and as for thyself, 
 Gamelyn, it is good for thee to hear that while thou wert a 
 young boy, thou wert a great worker of mischief ! " 
 
 Then Gamelyn swore by Christ's mercy : " Now I am 
 grown older, thou shalt find me a greater ! "^ 
 
 " By God," cried the champion, " thou art welcome ! 
 If thou come once into my hands, thou shalt never thrive 
 again ! " 
 
 It was well within the night and the moon shining, 
 when Gamelyn and the champion met together. The 
 champion tried tricks, but Gamelyn was ready, stood firm, 
 and bade him do his best, saying at last : " Thou art 
 fast about thy business to bring me down. Now that I 
 have proved many of thy tricks, thou shalt prove one or 
 two of mine ! " 
 
 He turned smartly upon the champion, and showed him 
 but one of all the tricks he knew, throwing him on the left 
 side and breaking three ribs and one arm with a great 
 crack. 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
94 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 " Shall that be counted as a throw or as none ? " asked 
 Gamelyn. 
 
 " By God," said the champion, " whichever it be ac- 
 counted, he shall never thrive that comes once into thy 
 hand ! " 
 
 Then said the franklin whose sons were there : " Blessed 
 be thou, Gamelyn, that ever thou wert born ! " And to 
 the champion he said, standing now in no awe of him : 
 " This is young Gamelyn that taught thee this play." 
 
 The champiop, who liked it ill, answered : " He is 
 master of us all, and his play is right cruel. It is very long 
 ago since I first wrestled, but never in my life have I been 
 handled so sore ! " 
 
 Gamelyn stood alone in the place, without his sark,^ and 
 said : " If there be any more, let them come on ! The 
 champion that so longed for the business, it seemeth now 
 by his countenance that he hath had enough." 
 
 He stood in his place as still as a stone to abide 
 more wrestling ; but none came out to him, so wonder 
 sore had he handled the champion. 
 
 Then the* two gentlemen who had charge of the place, 
 drew near to Gamelyn — God save him ! — ^and said : 
 " Do on your hosen and shoon. For this time, forsooth, 
 the fair is ended." 
 
 " As I hope to thrive," said Gamelyn, " I have not yet 
 $old up half my wares ! " 
 
 ^ Shirt, 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 95 
 
 " As I brook my neck," ^ said the champion, " he is a 
 fool that buys of thee, thou sellest so dear ! " 
 
 " Why dost thou find fault with his wares, fellow ? " 
 quoth the franklin, who was still sorrowful. " By St. 
 James of Galicia,*^ whom many a man seeketh, what thou 
 liast bought is 1:00 cheap ! " 
 
 Then the guardians of the wrestling came and brought 
 Gamelyn the ram and the ring, saying : " Take them, 
 Gamelyn, as the best wrestler that ever came here." 
 
 Thus did he win the prizes, and went home with much 
 joy in the morning. 
 
 His brother saw him coming with a great rout, and bade 
 shut the gate and keep him outside. At this command 
 the porter was aghast, but he went forth anon to the 
 gate and locked it. 
 
 Now hearken and listen^ both young and oldy 
 And ye shall hear games of Gamelyn the hold. 
 
 He came there for to enter, and found himself barred out. 
 
 " Porter, undo the gate ! " he cried ; " many a good 
 man's son standeth here." 
 
 The porter answered and swore by God's beard : " Thou 
 shalt not, Gamelyn, come into this yard ! " 
 
 " Thou liest," said Gamelyn, " as I hope to use my 
 chin ! " He smote the wicket with his foot, and broke 
 away the bar. 
 
 1 Have the use of. See note. * See note. 
 
96 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 At this, the porter seeing that it might not be other- 
 wise, set foot on the earth and turned to flee. " By my 
 faith," said Gamelyn, " that labour is lost, for I am as 
 nimble as thou, though thou hast sworn." 
 
 He overlook the porter and wreaked vengeance upon 
 him, first struck him in the neck so that the bone broke, 
 then took him by one arm and threw him into a well 
 seven fathoms deep, as I have heard. While the young 
 Gamelyn thus played his game, all that were in the yard 
 drew away ; they dreaded him sorely for his deeds, and 
 for the fair company that he had brought thither. 
 
 So he rode to the gate, and flung it wide and let in all 
 manner of men, both riding and afoot, and said : " Be ye 
 welcome without hindrance, for we will be masters here 
 and ask no man's leave. Yesterday there were five tuns of 
 wine in my brother's cellar — let this company not part 
 asunder while a single drop is left ! If my brother grudge 
 or make foul cheer for the cost of the meat and drink that 
 we are spending, I am caterer and bear the purse for all, 
 and he shall have St. Mary's curse for his grumbling ! I 
 swear by Christ's mercy that he is a niggard, and what he 
 hath spared of yore, we will spend largely ; and whoso 
 grudge that we dwell here, he shall join the porter in the 
 draw-well !"i 
 
 For seven days and nights, Gamelyn held his feast with 
 
 ^ A deep well from which the wutcr is obtained by a rope 
 and bucket. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 97 
 
 much mirth and merriment and no quarrelling. His 
 brother was shut up in a little turret, and saw them wasting 
 his goods but durst not speak. 
 
 Early on the morning of the eighth day, the guests 
 came to Gamelyn to take their departure. " Lords," he 
 said, " will ye so haste ? All the wine is not yet drunk, 
 as I have eyes ! " 
 
 In his heart he was full sorrowful when they took their 
 leave to go from him ; he would fain have had them abide 
 longer, but they would not; they commended him to God, 
 and so — good day ! Thus he made his feast, and his guests 
 took their leave to wend forth home. 
 
 Hearken and listen and hold your tongue^ 
 
 And ye shall hear a game of Gamelyn the young. 
 
 Hearken^ ye lords^ and listen aright^ 
 
 When the guests zvere gone, how Gamelyn was dight} 
 
 All the while that he was holding his least, his brother 
 plotted how he might treacherously be avenged on him. 
 
 When the guests were all ridden away, and he stood 
 alone and friendless, within a little while he was seized and 
 bound full hard. 
 
 The false knight came out of the cellar, drew near to 
 Gamelyn, and said : " Who made thee so bold as to destroy 
 my store of household goods ? *' 
 
 " Brother," answered Gamelyn, *' be not wroth, for 
 
 * Treated. 
 II. G 
 
98 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 many a day is gone by since it was bought ! By St. 
 Richard, brother, thou hast had this sixteen years fifteen 
 hides of land, and all the young bred from the beasts that 
 my father bequeathed me on his death-bed. In return 
 for the meat and drink that we have spent now, I give thee 
 the profit of all this sixteen years.'* 
 
 l*hen said that false knight (ill may he thrive !) : 
 " Hearken, brother Gamelyn, what I will give thee. I 
 swear by St. John, having no child of mine own, to make 
 thee my heir." 
 
 " Par ma foy^^ said Gamelyn, " if it be so, and thou 
 think the same as thou sayest, may God requite thee ! " 
 
 He wist nothing of his brother's guile, and so in a little 
 time he was betrayed. 
 
 " One thing I tell thee, Gamelyn," said the false knight, 
 " when thou didst throw my porter into the draw-vvell, I 
 swore in my anger before that great gathering, that chou 
 shouldst be bound, hand and foot ; therefore I beseech 
 thee, brother mine, let me not be forsworn ! Let me now 
 bind thee, hand and foot, that I may keep mine avow as I 
 promised." 
 
 " Brother," said Gamelyn, " as I hope to thrive, thou 
 ihalt not be forsworn for my sake ! " 
 
 Then they made him sit until they had bound him, 
 hand and foot ; and the false knight, being afeared of him, 
 sent for fetters to chain him fast. 
 
 His brother lied on him as he stood there, and told those 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 99 
 
 who came in that he was mad. So there he stayed, bound 
 to a post in the hall, and every man that came in looked on 
 him ; he stood stiff and straight the whole time, and had 
 no meat or drink, day or night. 
 
 " By my neck, brother," said Gamelyn then, " I have 
 found thee out for a false party ! ^ Had I known thou 
 hadst devised treason, I had given thee blows ere I had 
 been bound ! " 
 
 He stood fettered, as still as a stone, for two days and 
 nights, without meat, then he said : 
 
 " Adam Spenser,^ methinks I fast too long ! I beseech 
 thee now, Adam Spenser, for the great love my father bore 
 thee, if thou may come by the keys, loose me out of my 
 bonds, and I will share with thee my free land.'* 
 
 Then said Adam that was the spenser : 2 " I have served 
 thy brother sixteen years, and if I let thee go out of his 
 bower, he would say after that I had played him false." 
 
 " Adam," said Gamelyn, " as I care for my neck, thou 
 shalt find him a traitor at tlie last ! Therefore, brother 
 Adam, loose me out of bonds, and I will share my free land 
 with thee." 
 
 " Upon such a foreward," quoth Adam, " I will do all 
 that lies in my power," 
 
 " As I hope to thrive, Adam," said Gamelyn, " I will 
 hold to my covenant, an thou wilt loose me ! " 
 
 * Antagonist (?). Or simply, person ? In either ca«e, a very 
 early use of the word. 2 gee note. 
 
100 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Anon when Adam's lord was gone to bed, he took the 
 keys and unlocked Gamelyn's hands and feet, in hope of 
 the advancement that was promised him. 
 
 " God's grace be thanked," quoth Gamelyn, " now I 
 am free, hand and foot, had I once eaten and drunk, none 
 in this house should bind me to-night ! " 
 
 As still as any stone, Adam led him quickly into the 
 spence,^ and set him at supper in a secret place, and bade 
 him make merry ; and Gamelyn did so. 
 
 When he had eaten plentifully and had drunk well of 
 the good red wine, he said: "Adam, what is now thy 
 counsel ? Whether I shall go to my brother and strike off 
 his head?'' 
 
 " It shall not be so, Gamelyn," quoth Adam. " I can 
 give thee a fede worth two of that. I know well of a 
 truth that we shall have Iiere a feast on Sunday. Many 
 abbots and priors will come, and other men of Holy Church, 
 as I tell thee. Thou shalt stand up by the post as though 
 thou wert handfast still ; but I shall leave thy fetters un- 
 locked so that thou may cast them off. When the 
 guests have eaten and washed their hands, thou shalt be- 
 seech them all to bring thee out of bondage ; and if they 
 would be surety for thee, that were a good game, for then 
 wouldst thou be out of prison and I unblamed. But if 
 they all say us nay, I shall try another course, I swear by 
 this day 1 Thou shalt have one good stave and I another ; 
 ^ Buttery or pantry. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN loi 
 
 and Christ's curse rest on the one of us that fails his 
 fellow ! '' 
 
 " Yea, by God ! " quoth Gamelyn. " I speak for my- 
 self : if I fail on my side, may evil befall me ! And if we 
 must absolve them of their sins,^ warn me, brother Adam, 
 when to begin." 
 
 " By St. Charity, Gamelyn," said Adam, '^^ I will warn 
 thee before when it must be. When I wink at thee, look 
 for to cast away thy fetters, and come anon to me." 
 
 " Blessed be thy bones, Adam, that is good counsel for 
 the nonce ! If they refuse then to set me free, I will lay 
 good strokes on their loins ! " 
 
 On Sunday, men gathered to the feast, and folk of high 
 and low degree were welcomed fair ; and as they came in 
 at the hall door, they cast their eyes on young Gamelyn. 
 And at dinner, the treacherous knight told the guests all 
 that he could to hurt and shame his brother. 
 
 When they had been served with two or three messes,^ 
 cried Gamelyn : " How serve ye me ? It is not well done, 
 by God who created all, that I sit fasting while other men 
 make merry ! " 
 
 Then the false knight, from where he stood, told all the 
 guests that his brother was mad ; and Gamelyn held him 
 quiet and answered nought, remembering Adam's words. 
 But soon he began to speak dolefully to the great lords that 
 
 * By beating them, as a sort of penance, perhaps, 
 2 Here, courbes. 
 
I02 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 sat in the hall. " Lords," he said, ** for the sake of 
 Christ's passion, help to free Gamelyn from his bonds ! " 
 
 First spoke an abbot — sorrow on his cheek ! " Christ's 
 curse and St. Mary's on him that will borrow thee out of 
 prison ; and may they thrive that heap woe upon thee ! " 
 
 After this abbot, spake another : " I would thy head 
 were off, though thou wcrt my brother ! Evil befall any 
 that stand surety for thee ! " 
 
 Thus they spoke throughout the hall, until a prior said : 
 "Evil betide him ! It is a great pity, boy, that thou art 
 aUve!" 
 
 " Ow ! " cried Gamelyn. " As I keep my bones, now 
 have I discovered that I have no friends! Curses on 
 him, flesh and blood, that ever does good to prior or 
 abbot!" 
 
 Adam the spenser took up the cloth, but his thoughts 
 were little en his pantry. He looked at Gamelyn and per- 
 ceived his wrath, and brought two good staves to the hall 
 door. Then Gamelyn looked at Adam, and saw that it 
 was time, and cast away his fetters and stepped forward. 
 He came to Adam and seized one of the staves, then set to 
 work and gave good strokes. 
 
 Gamelyn and the spenser came both into the hall and 
 looked about them wrathfuUy. Gamelyn used his stave 
 like one who sprinkles Holy Water with an oaken sprig, so 
 that some who stood upright fell into the fire. 
 
 There was no layman in the hall that wished Gamelyn 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 103 
 
 anything but good. They stood aside and let the two 
 work, having no pity on the men of Holy Church. 
 
 Abbot, prior, canon, monk — all that Gamelyn reached 
 went down. There was none among them that met with 
 his stave whom he did not overthrow ; and thus he paid 
 back his debt to them. 
 
 " Gamelyn," said Adam, " for St. Charity, give them 
 good measure, for love of me ! I will keep the door, as 
 sure as ever I go to hear Mass 1 And none shall leave ere 
 they do penance ! " 
 
 " Doubt not," cried Gamelyn, " as long as we arc 
 together. Keep the door well, and I will work here. 
 Bestir thee, good Adam, and let none escape. We shall 
 count exactly how many there are." 
 
 " Gamelyn," said Adam, " do them naught but good. 
 They are men of Holy Church, therefore spare their 
 shaven crowns and draw no blood, but only break their 
 arms and legs." 
 
 Thus Gamelyn and Adam worked hard, and played with 
 the monks until they were all aghast. They had come 
 riding thither in jolly fashion with their servants ; but they 
 had to be carried home in carts and wains. 
 
 When the two had done with them, spoke a Grey Friar : 
 " Alas, sir abbot, what had we to do here ? It was but 
 cold counsel to come to this place ; we had been better at 
 home on bread and water ! " 
 
 While Gamelyn was thus making new orders of monks 
 
104 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 and friars,^ his brother stood by with lowering cheer, until 
 he up with the stave that the false knight knew well, and 
 struck him on the neck and threw him down, and burst his 
 back-bone in twain a little above the girdle ; then he 
 placed him in the fetters where he himself had sat. 
 
 " Sit there, brother," he said, " for to cool thy blood as 
 I did mine ! " 
 
 As soon as they two had wreaked vengeance on their 
 foes, they asked for water and washed themselves ; and all 
 the servants served them in the best manner, some for love 
 and some for fear. 
 
 Now the sheriff was but five miles away, and in a little 
 while all was told him : how Gamelyn and Adam had made 
 a grievous attack against the king's peace, and had bound 
 and wounded men ; and how these began soon for to awaken 
 strife, so that the sheriff came about to take Gamelyn. 
 
 Now hearken and listen^ so Heaven may you zvin, 
 And you shall hear good game of young Gamelyn, 
 
 There were four and twenty young men that accounted 
 themselves full bold, v/ho came to the sheriff, and said by 
 their faith that they would fetch both Gamelyn and Adam. 
 Thesheriff gave themlcave,and they hiedthemfast, nor tar- 
 ried, till they came to the gate where Gamelyn was within. 
 . There they knocked, and the porter, who was close by, 
 looked out at a hole, being a wary man. He had been 
 * By laying his hands on them, but not in an ecclesiastical sense. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 105 
 
 watching them a little while, and he loved Gamelyii and 
 feared treachery, so he let the wicket remain barred, and 
 asked those without what was their will. 
 
 One spoke up for all the great company : " Undo the 
 gate, porter, and let us in." 
 
 But the porter said : " As I keep my chin, ye shall say 
 your errand ere ye enter 1 " 
 
 " Say to Gamely n and Adam, we would speak two or 
 three words with them, so please them." 
 
 *' Fellow," said the porter, " wait there, and I will go 
 to Gamelyn and learn his will." 
 
 Anon the porter went in to Gamelyn and said : " Sir, I 
 warn you, here be come the sheriff's men. They are at the 
 gate for to take you both ; ye shall not escape." 
 
 " Porter," said Gamelyn, " as I hope to thrive, I will 
 repay thy words when I find time. Go again to the gate 
 and keep them there a while, and right soon, porter, thou 
 shalt sec a trick." 
 
 *' Adam," said Gamelyn, " make thee ready to go. We 
 have foemen at the gate, and never a friend. The 
 sheriff's men are come hither, and they have sworn that 
 we shall be taken." 
 
 " Gamelyn," quoth Adam, " make haste ! And if I 
 fail thee to-day, may evil betide me ! We shall so wel- 
 come the sheriff's men that some of them shall make their 
 beds in the mire 1 " 
 
 Gamelyn went out at the postern-gate, and took with 
 
io6 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 him a good cart-shaft in his hand ; and Adam carried 
 another good staff to help him, with which he gave mighty 
 strokes. When Adam had felled two and Gamelyn three, 
 the others set their feet to the earth and fled. 
 
 " What ? '* cried Adam. " As ever I hear Mass, I have 
 a draught of good wine ; drink ye ere ye leave ! " 
 
 " Nay, by God ! " said they. " Thy drink is but ill ! 
 It would make a man's brains lie scattered in his hood 1 " ^ 
 
 Then Ganrelyn stood still and looked about him, and 
 beheld the sheriff coming with a great rout. 
 
 " Adam," he said, " what be now thy counsels ? Here 
 comes the sheriff, and he will have our heads." 
 
 " My advice is this," said Adam, " that we abide no 
 longer lest we fare ill. Let us go to the wood ere we be 
 taken ; better for us to be there at large than to be bound 
 in the town." 
 
 He seized young Gamelyn by the hand, and they drank 
 together draughts of wine, and took their coursers and 
 rode away. Then came the sheriff, and found the nest 
 but no egg. He dismounted and went into the hall, and 
 there came upon the lord thereof fettered fast, whom he 
 presently unbound ; and after, he seat for a leech to heal 
 his backbone. 
 
 Leave we now this false knight lying in care^ 
 And talk we of Gamelyn^ and look how he fare. 
 
 * The reference is ib the blows that he gives them. 
 
 (■. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 107 
 
 Now Gamelyn stalked silently into the forest, with him 
 Adam the spenser who liked it but ill there, and swore by 
 St. Richard, saying : " Now I see that it is a merry thing 
 to be a spenser. I would rather carry my keys than walk 
 about this wild wood, tearing my clothes.'* 
 
 " Adam,'* said Gamelyn, " dismay thee not, for many 
 a good man!s child is brought into care." 
 
 As they stood talking together, Adam heard voices full 
 nigh ; and Gamelyn looked under the boughs and b<;held 
 seven score of young men sitting at meat in a circle. 
 
 *' Adam," said he, " now is there no doubt but that 
 after misery comes help, through the grace of Almighty 
 God ! Methinks I see meat and drink." 
 
 Adam looked under the wood-boughs, and was glad 
 enough when he saw food, for he hoped to God to have his 
 share, and he longed sorely for a good meal. 
 
 Even as Gamelyn spoke, the master outlaw saw the two 
 of them behind the thicket. " Lads," he said, " by the 
 Holy Rood, I perceive guests. God send us none but 
 good ! Yonder be two young men wonder well accoutred, 
 and peradventure there be more, if one looked aright. 
 Rise up, lads, and fetch them to me ; it is well we should 
 know what men they are." 
 
 Up started seven from their dinner, and went towards 
 Gamelyn and Adam Spenser ; and when they were nigh, 
 said one of them : " Yield up, young men, your bows and 
 arrows." 
 
io8 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 But Gamelyn answered : " Sorrow on him that yleWn 
 them to you ! I curse none but myself if I do so ; and 
 though ye fetched to you five more, ye would be but 
 twelve ! " 
 
 When they knew by his words that strength lay in his 
 arm, there was none that would have hurt him ; and they 
 said to him mildly : " Come afore our master and tell Iiim 
 your will." 
 
 " Lads," said Gamelyn, " by your faith, what man is 
 this, your master, that ye be with ? " 
 
 They answered all at once : " Our master is crowned 
 king of the outlaws." 
 
 " Adam," quoth Gamelyn, " in Christ's name, let us go. 
 He cannot for shame refuse us meat and drink. If he be 
 come of gentle blood and courteous, he wrlll give us food 
 and treat us well." 
 
 " By St. James," cried Adam, " whatever hurt I should 
 get, I will venture as far as the door, if I may have food ! " 
 
 So Gamelyn and Adam went together and greeted the 
 master ; and the king of the outlaws said to them : 
 " What seek ye, lads, among the thickets ? " 
 
 " He must needs walk in the wood that may not walk in 
 the town.^ Sir, it is for no harm that we are come 
 hither, but to shoot at a deer if we meet one, as men that 
 arc hungry and find no food, and are hard beset under the 
 linden-tree." 
 
 1 See note. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 109 
 
 Then the master had pity of Gamelyn's words, and 
 said : " Ye shall have enough, I swear to God ! " And he 
 bade them sit down awhile to rest them, and to eat and 
 drink of the best that he had. 
 
 As they sat eating and drinking, the outlaws said one to 
 another : " This is Gamelyn.*' 
 
 Then the master outlaw was taken into counsel, and 
 told how it was Gamelyn that was come thither ; and 
 when he heard how it was befallen, he made him master 
 of all, under himself. 
 
 Within the third week, came tidings to the master out- 
 law that he might return home, for his peace was made ; 
 and of this he was full fain, and said to his young men : 
 "Tidings be come to me that I need no longer dwell 
 here." 
 
 Then Gamelyn was crowned king of the outlaws, and 
 tarried for a time in the wood-thickets. 
 
 Meanwhile, the false knight, his brother, was made 
 sheriff, and through hatred caused him to be indicted. 
 His bondmen were sorry and nothing glad when he was 
 cried and made wolf's head ; ^ and some of them came to 
 seek him under the wood-linden, to tell him how the wind 
 was turned, and how all his goods were seized and his men 
 ill-treated. And when they had found him, they fell on 
 their knees, and threw down their hoods and greeted him : 
 " Sir, be not wroth, though, by the Holy Rood, we have 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
no ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 brought you ill tidings ! Now thy brother is sheriff and 
 hath the bailiwick, and he hath indicted thee and doth cry 
 thee wolfs head ! " 
 
 " Alas," said Gamelyn, " that ever I was so slack as not 
 to break his neck when I broke his back ! Go home and 
 greet well my husbandmen and their wives, and I will 
 come into the next shire — God save me ! " 
 
 He made ready, and passed over into the shire where his 
 brother was sheriff, and stepped boldly into the moot- 
 hall,^ and put down his hood among the lords. 
 
 " God save you all that be here now, save the broken- 
 backed sheriff, whom evil betide ! Why hast thou done 
 me such villainy and shame as to indict me and cry me 
 wolfs head ? " 
 
 Then the false knight thought to be avenged, and had 
 Gamelyn seized so that he might speak no word more ; 
 and there was no other grace but that he should be 
 thrown into prison and fettered fast. 
 
 Now Gamelyn's second brother. Sir Ote,^ was as good 
 and gentle a knight as might go afoot ; and when a 
 messenger came anon and told him how Gamelyn was 
 treated, he was wonder sorry and no whit light-hearted ; 
 and he let saddle a steed and rode straight to his brethren 
 twain. 
 
 "Sir," said Sir Ote to the sheriff, " we are but three 
 brethren, and we shall never be more ; and thou hast im- 
 
 * Judgment or atsembiy hall. See note. * See note. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN in 
 
 prisoned the best of us! May evil betide all brothers 
 like thee ! " 
 
 " Sir Ote," answered the false knight, " let be thy 
 cursing. By God, he shall fare the worse for thy words ! 
 He is taken now to the king's prison, and there shall he 
 abide till the Justice come ! '* 
 
 " Parde ! " said Sir Ote. " I will better that ! I offer 
 bail that thou grant him to me till the next trial of 
 those brought from prison,^ and then let him stand to 
 his chance." 
 
 " Brother, I grant him to thee in such a foreward ; but 
 by the soul of thy father that begat thee and me, except 
 he be ready when the Justice sit, for all thy great wisdom 
 thou shalt bear the judgment ! " 
 
 " I grant well," said Sir Ote, " that it be so. Have him 
 delivered at once and brought to me." 
 
 Thus Gamelyn was handed over to his brother. Sir Ote, 
 and dwelled that night with him. On the morrow, he 
 said to that gentle knight : " Brother, forsooth I must 
 wend from thee to see how my l^ads are getting on, 
 whether they are living in joy or in strife." 
 
 " By God," said Sir Ote, " that is cold counsel ! Now 
 I see that all the charge is to fall on my head, for when the 
 Justice sits, if thou be not at hand, I shall be seized and 
 bound in thy stead." 
 
 " Brother," answered Gamelyn, " be not dismayed, for 
 ^ See note. 
 
112 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 by St. James of Galicia, whom many men have sought, if 
 Almighty God grant me life and wit, I will be ready there 
 when the Justice comes." 
 
 Then said Sir Ote : " God shield thee from shame ! 
 Come when thou scest time, lest reproach fall on me^" 
 
 Hearken and listen and hold you stilly 
 
 Aiid ye shall hear how Gamelyn had all his will. 
 
 He returned again among the wood-boughs, and came 
 upon his ^tout lads playing there, and was glad and blithe 
 enough to find his merry men in the forest. They talked 
 together, and had good game to hear their master ; they 
 told him of adventures they had found, and he in turn 
 showed how he had been fast imprisoned. 
 
 As long as Gamelyn was an outlaw none cursed him, for 
 no man fared ill at his hands save abbots, priors, canons, 
 and monks. Of theirs he left nothing that he could seize. 
 
 While he and' his men made merry, the false knight — ill 
 may he thrive ! — was going about, day and night, to hire 
 a jury that would hang his brother. 
 
 One day Gamelyn stood looking at the woods and the 
 shaws^ in the wild field, and remembered how he had 
 promised Sir Ote to be ready when the Justice should sit, 
 so he thought that he would keep his day, and said to his 
 young men : 
 
 "Make you yare ^ at once, for when the Justice sits we 
 ^Coppices. 2 Ready. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 113 
 
 must be in that place. I am under bond to go, else shall 
 my brother be put into prison for me." 
 
 " By St. James," said his young men, " whatsoever thou 
 dost advise, command and it shall be done." 
 
 While Gamelyn was on his way to the place where the 
 Justice should sit, the false knight did not forget to hire 
 men for the trial to hang a brother, for, if he had not 
 the one, he would at least have the other's life. 
 
 Then Gamelyn came forth from under the wood- 
 boughs, and brought with him his stout lads. " I see 
 well," quoth he, " that the Justice is sitting. Go before, 
 Adam, and watcli how it speedeth." 
 
 So Adam went into the hall and looked about him^ and 
 found many lords standing there, big, stalwart men, and 
 Sir Ote also, closely fettered. He went out aghast, and 
 said to Gamelyn and his fellows : " Sir Ote stands fettered 
 in the moot-hall ! " 
 
 " Lads," quoth Gamelyn, " ye all hear this ? Sir Ote 
 stands fettered in the moot-hall. If God grant us grace 
 to speed, he shall abuy it dear that brought things to this 
 pass ! " 
 
 Then said Adam, whose locks were grey : ^ " Christ's 
 curse on the man that bound him so sorely ! An thou wilt 
 do after my counsel, Gamelyn, not one in the hall shall 
 get off with his head ! " 
 
 " Not so, Adam," said Gamelyn. " We shall slay the 
 * See note. 
 
114 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 guilty and let the others go free, I will into the hall and 
 speak with the Justice, and I will be avenged on the 
 guilty alone. Take heed, lads, that none escape at the 
 door, for to-day I will be Justice and deem dooms.^ 
 God speed me in my new office ! Adam, come with me, 
 for thou shalt be my clerk." 
 
 His men answered him and bade him do his best : 
 " And if thou have need of us, thou shalt find us ready. 
 We will stand by thee as long as we may endure ; and 
 save we work manfully, pay us no hire." 
 
 " Lads," said Gamelyn, " as I hope to thrive, ye shall 
 find me as trusty a master." 
 
 Right there as the Justice sat in the hall, Gamelyn went 
 in among them, and had his brother loosed from bonds. 
 
 Said Sir Ote : " Thou hadst almost dwelled too long, 
 Gamelyn, for the verdict is out against me that I should 
 be hanged." 
 
 " Brother," said Gamelyn, " God rest me, they shall be 
 hanged this day that have been on thy jury ; and the 
 Justice as well that is the judge, and the sheriff through 
 whom it all began." 
 
 Then Gamelyn said to the judge : ** Thy power is done 
 now ; thou must needs arise. Thou hast given evil 
 dooms, and I will sit in thy seat and redress them." 
 
 The Justice sat still and arose not ; and Gamelyn 
 swiftly cleft his cheek-bone, and speaking no word, caught 
 1 Give judgments. 
 
THE TALE OF GAMELYN 115 
 
 him up and threw him over the bar so that his arm broke 
 a-two. 
 
 None durst say aught but good to Gamelyn for fear of 
 the company that stood without ; and he sat down in the 
 Justice's seat, with his brother Sir Ote by his side and 
 Adam at his feet. 
 
 When Gamelyn was set in the 'Justice* s chair^ 
 Hearken of a jest that he flayed on them there. 
 
 He had the Justice and his false brother fetched, and 
 made them come to the bar together. And when this 
 was done, he had no rest until he had inquired who were 
 on the jury that had doomed his brother, Sir Ote, for to 
 hang ; and it seemed long to him ere he found out who 
 they were. But as soon as he wist, he had them all 
 fettered together and brought to the bar and set in a row. 
 
 " By my faith," said the Justice, " this sheriff is a 
 shrew ! " 1 
 
 " Thou hast given dooms for the worse," ^ answered 
 Gamelyn. " And the twelve jurymen who were in this 
 trial shall be hanged to-day, as I hope for rest ! " 
 
 Then the sheriff called out to young Gamelyn : " Lord, 
 I cry thee mercy ! Thou art my brother ! " 
 
 *' Christ's curse upon thee ! " said Gamelyn. " If thou 
 wert master, I should fare the worse ! " 
 
 1 Villain. 
 
 2 The meaning is probably : to thine own undoing. 
 
ii6 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 To make the tale short and not tarry overlong, he 
 ordered him a jury of his own strong men ; and the sheriff 
 and the Justice were both hanged high, to swing about 
 with the ropes and be dried in the wind. So also the 
 twelve jurymen — sorrow on him that recks of it ! — were 
 all hanged by the neck. Thus through his own treachery 
 ended the false knight who had ever led his life in un- 
 truth and folly. He was hanged by the neck and not by 
 the wallet,^ and that was the outcome of his father's curse. 
 
 Sir Ote, the elder brother, and young Gamelyn went 
 with their friends to the king, and made peace with him 
 for the better. Sir Ote he loved so well that he made 
 him a Justice ; and after he made Gamelyn Chief Justice 
 of all his forest, east and west ; and he forgave the stout 
 lads all their guilt, and presently put them into good 
 office. 
 
 , Thus Gamelyn won back his land and his bondmen, and 
 took vengeance on his enemies, and quitted them their 
 meed. After, he became heir to Sir Ote^and married a 
 fair wife and good, and they lived together as long as 
 Christ willed, and afterwards he was buried under the 
 earth. 
 
 Jnd so shall we ally may there no man flee ; 
 God bring us to the joy that ever shall be I 
 1 See note. , 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 
 
 If ye will listen now a little while, I will make you blithe 
 and merry with a tale that is true. 
 
 In Naples all the land was governed by a noble king 
 who had a fair and pleasant lady ; and by her he had a 
 son and heir whom he called Roswall. So comely was he 
 that no other prince might compare with him, neither 
 Ulysses ^ nor Gandifer, nor Achilles nor Troilus, nor 
 his father Priam, nor gentle Clariadus, nor fair Philmox, 
 nor Florentine of Almayne ; nor yet was the knight Sir 
 Lancelot du Lac a match for him in beauty, nor he that 
 cared so well for his father. 
 
 Now in that country were three powerful lords that had 
 wrought treason against the king ; wherefore he put them 
 into prison, and there kept them until they were aged 
 quite away, all overgrown with hair, and so hopeless of 
 their lives that they looked for death daily. 
 
 On a time it befell that the young prince went out to 
 disport himself, and chanced to walk near the prison, 
 where he heard those lords making their moan ; and he 
 stayed a little, and sat down to hear what they were saying, 
 which was : ** Dear God, be mindful of us, even for Jesus' 
 sake that bought us with His precious blood and died on 
 
 * See notes on these names, 
 X17 
 
ii8 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 the Rood for us ! We know no way to win out of this 
 peril, so, if it be Thy will, free us from our prison ! " 
 
 When the young prince had heard their mournful 
 groaning, he returned to his chamber as heavy-hearted as 
 a stone. There he sat down and pondered how best he 
 might help these lords, and presently bethought him of 
 a wile by which he might trick the king. It was the 
 custom of the gaolers who guarded these men, after the 
 ' doors were all locked, to bear the keys unto the king, and 
 he laid them secretly under the head of his bed. But the 
 prince had perceived where he kept them, and, on a night, 
 he watched until the king fell asleep, spf tly took the keys, 
 and stole away to the prison, whence he delivered the 
 three lords and bade them pass home again to their own 
 domains. Then they swore : " By sweet Jesus, if ever ye 
 seek help of us, we shall grant you it, as long as we three 
 are living ! " And so, thanking him with all humility, 
 they hastened away to their own lands. 
 
 He was glad he had done this deed, placed the keys 
 quietly under his father's pillow, and went to his bed and 
 slept until daybreak. 
 
 Then the king and queen arose, the prince and the 
 lords, and went to Mass and afterwards to dinner. Mean- 
 while, all the gaolers had come and asked the king for the 
 keys, which he was pleased to deliver unto them. 
 
 They went to the prison to give out the morning- 
 dram ; but when they arrived their captives were gone. 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 119 
 
 They knew not what to say or do, but returned hastily to 
 the king and told him that the prisoners were fled, how or 
 what way no man knew. 
 
 Thereupon the king was vexed and cried : " O Lord, 
 how may it be that these men have escaped ? The keys 
 lay under my pillow, but none had knowledge of that, so 
 God help me ! Here in the presence of all my lords, I 
 make a solemn vow that whosoever he be that hath done 
 this deed, he shall be hanged without hope of pardon ; or 
 else, as soon as I look upon him, I will slay him with my 
 own two hands ! " 
 
 Presently it was reported through the town that the 
 young prince had done this thing, and word of it ran 
 through the palace. The king was a grieved man when he 
 remembered his vow and knew that his son was to blame. 
 King Priam himself was not so dolorous when his son, 
 stalwart Hector, was slain and he had lost all his men, as 
 was this noble king for Roswall, his non. And the queen 
 wept and mourned so that she nigh ran out of her wits ; 
 and on her bare knee she implored the king tliat their child 
 should not die : ** For the sake of God in Heaven, forgive 
 youi* son's fault ! " 
 
 " Madam, that may not be,^' he answered. " For I 
 have made a faithful vow that as soon as ever I see him, I 
 will slay liim with mine own two hands ! Therefore, I 
 pray you keep him away from me, day and night, till I send 
 him to some country where he may dwell safely." 
 
120 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 In all haste, the king sat down and wrote letters to ask 
 that he might send his son to the King of Bealm,^ where he 
 should continue until his home-coming might be. And 
 he desired the king to take special care of his dear son, for 
 that he trusted him utterly. 
 
 His furnishings were prepared and gold was procured in 
 great plenty ; and the king's steward, who was a stalwart 
 knight, was appointed to be his guide and servant in that 
 country. And this man the queen entreated with softest 
 words and tears, saying : " Sir Steward, I prithee keep my 
 son safe by day and by night, for he is my love, my joy, my 
 very heart ! Serve him, hand and foot, and thou shalt 
 have lands and gold, and anything else thou couldst wish 
 for from the king or myself ! " 
 
 He answered her : " Madam, it may not be but that I 
 shall serve him tenderly ! " 
 
 Then to the prince she said : " Roswall, my only son, 
 listen to my words. VVlien thou comes t into that country, 
 bear thyself honestly, always be courteous and gentle, and 
 use ever good company. And if thou needest more to 
 spend, let me know and thou shalt have it." 
 
 With that, he took his leave of the queen and her ladies, 
 who made great lamentation when Le rode but of the 
 town. May our gracious God be his guide ! 
 
 After a time, as they journeyed on, side by side and 
 hand in hand, none other with them, but only they two 
 > Bohemia? Beaune? Beam? Probably the firgt. 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 121 
 
 together, they came to a river, and the prince said : " I 
 rede we dismount here, for I am so sore athirst that lean 
 ride no farther till I get my fill of this water. Know ye 
 how I may come by it ? " 
 
 The knight leaped adown deliverly,^ and drank busily 
 from the stream, and bade the prince likewise take his fill 
 ere they should go farther. 
 
 And as he lay on his belly to drink, the false knight 
 seized him by the feet, and vowed that he should be thrown 
 into the deep waters unless he swore an oath willingly to 
 render unto him both the gold and the letters and to 
 become his servant and wait upon him, day and night. 
 This the child swore, to save his life ; and so the master 
 turned knave and the knave master. The prince gave up 
 what was desired ; and the two mounted and went on 
 their way until they came to the land of Bealm. 
 
 When they approached the king's palace, Roswall made 
 sorry cheer, for the knight forbade him to ride farther. 
 He intended to hire servants in the town, in abundance and 
 of all fashions. So he rode away with his gold, leaving 
 poor Roswall on the ground, moneyless and shivering, with 
 never 1 ];enn./ to bny him a dinner though he should die. 
 
 The steward lodc joyfully into the palace and pre- 
 sented his letters, and when the king had read them, he 
 said : " Welcome, sir. Ye shall be lief and de^ ^ to me as 
 long as ye will tarry.'* 
 
 * Nimbly. 
 
122 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 But meanwhile, Roswall lay on the ground, bemoaning 
 his letters and his gold. " Alas, woe is me ! '^ he cried. 
 ** I am like to die for lack of food ! Oh that my mother 
 knew mf plight, my father and my mother both, for I 
 know not what to do or whither to turn or how to call 
 me. . . . But whatever betide, I am Dtssazvar} 
 
 As he was thus lamenting to himself, he looked about 
 and spied a little house hard by, and said to himself anon : 
 " I will hie me to yonder house, and beg some victuals for 
 to-night, and shelter while it is still day." 
 
 He stepped forth right sturdily, and went to the little 
 house, and knocking at the door, entered. He found no 
 creature there within to make a sound, except a silly, aged 
 wife of honest manners. To her he said : " Dame, for St, 
 Julian's sake,^ give me shelter to-night ; and also some 
 victuals till the morning, for the sake of Him that was born 
 in Bethlehem ! " 
 
 " To such meat as I have ye are welcome ! '* she said, and 
 set him down and gave him of the best that she could get, 
 and prayed him to make good cheer. " For ye are right 
 welcome ! I know ye are come from a far land, and ye arc 
 seemly to behold. In charity, do not deny to tell me your 
 name." 
 
 " They call me Dissawar in my country," he answered. 
 
 ** Dissawar ? " she says. " Woe is me, for verily that is 
 but a poor name ! Yet ye shall not be Dissazvar^ for I will 
 
 * See note. 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 123 
 
 give you good help. I have a son — no children more — and 
 every day he goes to school ; and if ye v/ill bide here with 
 me, ye shall be welcome to him, and you and he shall go to 
 school together every day, and learn ^ each other." 
 
 " God reward you, good dame," says he. " I get 
 friendly harbourage with you here." 
 
 While they are thus talking, in comes her son, close at 
 hand. " Good dame," says he, " my dear mother, who is 
 this ye have got here ? " 
 
 " This is a clerk from a far land that would fain go to 
 the school with thee." 
 
 He answers : " He is full welcome, for so I have got good 
 company." 
 
 Then they passed to their supper, and for his sake had the 
 better cheer. Comely Dissawar said grace after the meal, 
 and they went to their beds and slept till it was near day. 
 Right early in the morning, as soon as they could see the 
 dawn, they arose and dressed and went quickly to school. 
 
 Presently the master arrived, and asked Dissawar his 
 name ; and he says : " Dissawar they called me in my 
 country." 
 
 And the master said : " Now, Dissawar, thou shalt lack 
 neither meat nor learning. Whenever thou art in need, 
 come to me and I will give thee good supply." 
 
 He had not been a month at the school when the king's 
 steward of that land marked him, and noted well the 
 1 So In the text. 
 
124 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 courtesy, gentle nature, and great fairness of the child ; 
 and in his heart he thought to have the boy in his service, 
 if he might. So he goes to the wife and says : " God sav6 
 you, good madam, where got ye the fair child that repairs 
 to your lodging ? " 
 
 "Sir, they do call him Dissawar, and aye he's^ done 
 since he came here. He is all my joy, my very heart, and I 
 will never part with him ! " 
 
 " That may not be, madam," he says, " for he must go 
 to court with me." 
 
 " That is against my will, sir," says she. " If ye would 
 but let him stay on here ! " 
 
 But the steward took Dissawar and brought him to the 
 king's notice. He had not been a month in service there 
 when he was loved by old and young as if they had known 
 him for a prince. 
 
 Now the king had a fair daughter and no other bairns ; 
 and she was his heir. Her name was Lillian ; and never 
 read I of any woman more fair than she, not the noble 
 French queen,- nor the beauteous Lady Pelicane, nor fair 
 Helen, nor true Philippic, nor the Lady Christian. 
 
 Now this gay damsel chose Roswall for her chamberlain. 
 The steward was sorry to part with him, but he could not 
 saynay to Lillian; whereupon she was right fain, andentered 
 the child in her service as being leal and wise and true. 
 
 1 Or, A« = ^/7/ = Scotch for have* See note. 
 * See note on these names. 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 125 
 
 He brake her bread with good cheer, and filled her cup 
 with ale and wine ; and she took such comfort in him that 
 she began to love him better than all her kindred. One 
 day she called him aside, saying : " Dissawar, tell me for 
 charity ! In what country were ye born ? " 
 
 " I am of a far land, and my father is a man of low 
 degree." 
 
 " By the Cross," she said, " I cannot but think that ye 
 are come of noble blood. By your courtesy I know it, and 
 by your great fairness." 
 
 " Madam, ye may well ken by that, that I am come of 
 sober folk." 
 
 " Dissawar, my little flower, I would thou wert my lover! 
 God send thou wert a king, for then might I thee Wed ! " 
 
 She took him in her arms and kissed him thrice ; and he 
 kneeled down on his knee, and thanked her heartily, say- 
 ing : " Lady, may God reward you for loving so poor a 
 child.^ I swear that I will return your love with all my 
 might until I die ! " He rejoiced in his heart, thinking 
 more than he said. 
 
 Soon after, she said to him anon : " Dissawar, I pray you, 
 cast away that name. Call you Hector ^ or Oliver, or, as 
 ye are fair enough. Sir Porteous, or else name you for the 
 worthy Emedus ; or call you for the brave and comely 
 Predicase. Or, because I love you so well, let your name 
 be Sir Liondale, or great Florent of Albanie, if ye bear 
 ^ Page, * See note on these names. 
 
126 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 love for me, my heart ! Or call you Lancelot du Lake 
 for the sake of your true love, or the Knight of the Arms 
 Green,^ for the love of your bright lady ! " 
 
 " They must call me Dissawar," he ansv/ered, " until I 
 have seen more days." 
 
 " If ye will have no other name, call you the king's 
 squire, or his daughter's chamberlain, for Lillian's love ! " 
 She laughed, and once or twice embraced him, and so 
 passed on to her ladies. And Dissawar was very glad for 
 the joy he had of her. 
 
 It. befell upon a day that his father said to his mother ; 
 " I think it.right long ere I have tidings of my dear son 
 Roswall— so long that I cannot sleep." 
 
 And thereupon the queen wept, saying : " Good sir, for 
 charity, let some be sent for to see him. It is so long since 
 he went away from us ! Perchance his gold is all spent 
 now." 
 
 As the king his father was sending, messengers were at 
 hand, with letters from the noble King of Bealm, which 
 gladdened him. But they were both beguiled, and knew 
 nothing of the case. 
 
 The king had written in this wise to ask their son for his 
 daughter ; and rejoicing that such a marriage should be 
 made, the King of Naples gave his assent to that writ, and 
 answered, asking for what time the wedding was appointed, 
 that he might send some of his lords to bear witness, 
 
 ^ See note. 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 127 
 
 The messengers returned and told their king; and 
 he named the marriage-da/, and sent back word. And 
 the King of Naples caused an earl and two lords and 
 two knights, with many a gallant squire, to go to the 
 wedding. 
 
 Now the King of Bealm caused a cry to be made that for 
 three days there should be a course of war before him and 
 his queen, to show who could do best at jousting for the 
 sake of his ladies. 
 
 Wlien this was told to Lillian, wit well her heart grew 
 cold, for she loved none but Dissawar ; and she went and 
 told him all, and said weeping : " Ye must be at yon 
 jousting to ride for your lady ; and if ye will not do so for 
 me, then joust for your sweetheart whoever she is ! " 
 
 " P faith, lady," he answered, " I was never bred for 
 such play ; and I had rather be a-hunting than singing, 
 dancing, or jousting. But I shall stand by your side, lady, 
 to see who bears away the prize." 
 
 So they parted on that night ; and in the morning, 
 Dissawar arose at daybreak and went into the forest, lead- 
 ing his hounds that tripped full well at his command. 
 When he came there, he looked east and west over the 
 brown bents where he saw neither town nor house. The 
 merle and the mavis shouted their shrill notes, and the sun 
 blinked on the hills ; and he was glad at heart of the birds' 
 sweet singing. When it was the ninth hour, he looked 
 along the underbrush and saw, a little space from him, a 
 
128 ROMAl^CES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 knight come riding alone on a milk-white steed,^ and him- 
 self clad. all in white. He dismounted close by Dissawar, 
 and said: " My sweet thing, I must have your clothes. 
 Take you my armour and steed, and dress you in mine 
 array, and fare to the jousting and win you praise. And 
 when ye have done, come back to me here, and ye shall 
 have plenty of venison.*' 
 
 With the kniglit's help, Dissawar armed him ; and he 
 leaped stoutly onthe steed and rode alone through the 
 meadows till he arrived at the jousting-place. There he 
 came face to face with his mistress, and beheld many gay 
 ladies and lords in rich array, and many a lusty knight at 
 the tourney before him. 
 
 He rode into the jousting-place where knights were at 
 the encounter ; and he emptied so many saddles that all 
 men wondered who he was that deserved such praise. 
 
 But the lady's heart was wonder sore, as she thought : 
 " Alas for Dissawar ! Why would he not tarry with me 
 to see this noble jousting ? " 
 
 When the toufney was near done, he beheld the 
 steward and turned up his heels, so that all who looked 
 on were adread ; and then he rode back into the forest 
 as lightly as ever did man. 
 
 The king cried aloud : " Go take yon knight ! Whoso 
 brings him to me shall have an earldom of land ! " 
 
 But it was all for naught. He rode into the woods 
 * ijee note, 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 129 
 
 again, delivered up his steed and his armour, and dressed 
 himself in his own clothes. The strange knight had 
 caught venison for him, and lie made him ready boun to 
 go home and present it to his lady ; as for help he wished 
 none. 
 
 Says she : ** Now wherefore, Dissawar, have ye beguiled 
 me in this wise ? " 
 
 He answered : " My lady dear, why say ye such things 
 to me ? Why should I come to the jousting ? I have no 
 skill in these matters." 
 
 And she says : " A knight on a white horse, and himself 
 clad all in white, hath borne away the prize. Of him is 
 spoken great plenty ; and if ye abide with me, the morn, 
 peradventure ye shall see him.'* 
 
 . *' I shall do so," he answers. " Madam, to-morrow I 
 shall not go from home." 
 
 Thereupon Lillian went to her ladies, and they all passed 
 anon to supper. 
 
 In the morning, he arose betimes, as soon as he might 
 see that the night was spent, and went forth to that same 
 green forest ; and when he came to the place where he 
 had been before, he laid him down unseen, in the shadow 
 of a tree. 
 
 The birds sang so pleasantly that he thought himself in 
 Paradise ; and to bear a part in that music, he sang for joy 
 and love of his lady, and how she cherished him and was 
 herself tlie flower of all the world; and he sangfor delight in 
 
 II. I 
 
I30 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 the fair weather, the clear and soft air. His heart was as 
 light as the leaf on the tree when he remembered his lady. 
 
 Then he looked along a hill, and saw a kniglit coming 
 toward3 him on a gray horse, with a red shield and spear, 
 and all his trappings of bright red. This stranger rode 
 up to Dissawar, and dismounted close by, saying : " Sir, 
 take this horse of mine, and all my good stout armour, 
 and ride ye in haste to the jousting, and may gracious 
 God be your guide ! " 
 
 He reached a spear to Dissawar, who took it and rode 
 forth merrily ; and soon he saw his lady clad all in white, 
 so that it was a joy to look upon her. He saluted her gaily 
 and entered the tournament ; and if he had jousted well 
 that other time, he was better by fifteen score this day. 
 He hunted the knights hither and thither, as the hound 
 chases the hare ; and many he bore down to the earth, 
 and some got their death-wound. He caught sight of the 
 steward and unhorsed him ; and then rode away to the 
 forest as lightly as did a man ever. 
 
 The king cried aloud : " Go take yon knight ; and whoso 
 brings him to me shall have an earldom of land ! " 
 
 But it was all for naught ; again he escaped into the 
 woods. When he came there, the strange knight laughed : 
 " Have I not venison enough ? Ye have been all day in 
 the field, and I a-hunting ! " 
 
 Then Dissawar gave him his shield, his armour, and his 
 dapple-gray steed — than v(rhich there was none better, I 
 
•■... ' <; 
 
 J 
 
 
 m fe^ Ai 
 
 
 
 II 
 
 
 *^« >i- t.4'..-^. .^< .^>.. ^{»'a.->**in t.ii«*«.*iWi.<»» t «<'..u<<« 
 
 t/uJ /h//// C^at/if//*'*t w/u'^ 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 131 
 
 dare say; and then the child went home with a white 
 hind as a present to his lady. 
 
 When he arrived, as I heard tell, she marvelled greatly 
 that he had not come to the jousting. 
 
 " Lady, grieve not at such a thing ! " 
 
 But she says : " To-day a knight on a gray horse, in 
 armour all shining red, hath borne away the prize. Of 
 him is spoken great plenty ; and I have ever in my mind 
 that it was you that wrought the deed." 
 
 ** I pray you, madam, think no such thing, for I have no 
 skill in these matters." 
 
 She says again : " Go not away, the morn, because it is 
 the hindmost day ! " 
 
 But Dissawar arose full soon on the morrow, and blew 
 his hunting-horn, and went into the forest with hounds of 
 high breeding ; and there he had great comfort in the 
 sweet singing of the birds. 
 
 He looked up suddenly and beheld a sight that made 
 him glad : a knight on a stalwart steed, clad in glittering 
 gold, with green armour and red shield — over all the land 
 might his gear be seen ! He rode up to Dissawar, and 
 lighted down at his hand, and said : " Sir, take this horse of 
 mine and all my fine good armour, and ride ye in haste to 
 the jousting — gracious God be your guide ! " 
 
 As soon as he arrived at the place, he saw his fair lady, in 
 apparel all of glittering red gold ; and he cast a ring at her 
 and went on to the tourney. 
 
132 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 He rode among them with such might that he dang ' 
 down men and horses both ; and as he ran through the 
 field, with every stroke he dang one down. Not Sir 
 Roland or Sir Oliver ^ made such a stir at his jousting ! 
 
 When he beheld the steward, he dang him down, man 
 and horse, so that both lay on the ground, and two of the 
 steward'* ribs were broken. And after that, Dissawar rode 
 away to the forest, as swiftly as a falcon doth pounce uponi 
 
 I a bird. 
 
 ^ The king cried loud and shrill : " Go take yon knight ; 
 and whoso brings him here to me shall have my land and 
 my daughter ! " 
 
 But it was all in vain, for he escaped to the woods, 
 delivered up his armour and his steed, and dressed himself 
 in his own garments. And while he was thanking the 
 knight humbly, in came the two others that we mentioned 
 ere, iand said : " O blessed and dear master, you delivered 
 
 I us from prison, wherefore sweet Jesus must thank you ; 
 
 l but this also is most certain, we promised you that if ever 
 you needed help, we should render it to you speedily. 
 To-morrow should be the marriage-day of the steward 
 who beguiled you ; but fear nothing, he shall not come 
 near the bride's bed." Without more ado they took 
 
 ■ their leave, and he returned to his fair lady. 
 » Struck. 
 
 • The two chief figures in the Chanson de Roland^ and 
 prominent among the twelve peers of Charlemagne in various 
 chansons de gtste. 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 133 
 
 As all the people were going home from the tourney, he 
 went to his gentle mistress and saluted her. ' 
 
 " Welcome, Dissawar. Ye have often beguiled me, 
 but still I must forgive you for all that ever you have 
 done ! '' 
 
 And she says further : " A knight on a stalwart steed, 
 himself clad all in glittering gold, hath to-day borne away 
 the prize for all three days of the jousting. If ye tell the 
 truth to my father, that it was you who jousted so well, 
 then I dare say surely, he will give you me and all his land. 
 The marriage between yonder young prince and myself 
 should be to-morrow ; but here I make a solemn vow, I 
 will never have any man but you ! Therefore I pray you 
 with all my heart, go not away, the morn ! " 
 
 ** Nor will I, my sweet lady. I will not go from your 
 sight." 
 
 She arose betimes in the morning, and dressed her, and 
 went and kneeled before the king. 
 
 He asked her : " Lillian, what would ye ? Open your 
 heart to me now ; and if your wish be lawful, it shall be 
 granted.'' 
 
 ** For Christ's sake, give me my asking — to have a prince 
 for my mate ! " 
 
 " How so ? " he says. " I have devised one for you." 
 
 " They call him Dissawar. I ask naught else of you, 
 father!" 
 
 " I tell you plainly, such asking befits not your station ! 
 
134 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 He is but a bachelor, for aught that I know or hear — we 
 know not whence he is come — but the other is son to a 
 great king. Wherefore let be such matters, for it befits 
 not either of us that we should put aside the king's son to 
 match you with a bachelor.^ To me it were great dis- 
 credit, and also shame to you ; wherefore 1 counsel you to 
 , forbear and wed yon peerless prince." 
 f So presently she passed into the kirk, and married him, 
 sorely against her will ; and when the marriage was done, 
 she went into her chamber and mourned there until 
 dinner-time, when she was brought into the hall. 
 
 The king and queen were set at table, and likewise the 
 supposed prince and sheen Lillian, and every lord and 
 gentle knight was matched with a fair lady. Abundant 
 courses were served, and wine in great plenty. 
 
 As they sat in the midst of dinner, in came the three 
 lords at the gate, and saluted the king and queen and also 
 the beauteous Lillian ; but they made no reverence to the 
 bridegroom who sat near at hand, whereupon the king 
 marvelled and said : " Why do ye not render homage to 
 your prince and king ? " 
 
 " By Him that bought us dear," they answered, " we 
 see him not in the hall ! " 
 
 They looked round and at last found him in a chamber, 
 and there kneeled down, saluting him right reverently. 
 And soon they have ta'en him by the hand, so that all the 
 * A young nobleman who was without land. 
 
ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 135 
 
 people in the hall marvelled. The king was amazed and 
 so also, the queen ; but fair Lady Lillian was blithe. 
 
 Then, questioned, he told them the manner of it all : 
 how the steward had thought for to cast him down in the 
 river and drown him, and his gold and his letters were | 
 taken away from him, and how that other made him swear 
 an oath to get his freedom — ** which will turn to his ^ 
 shame, in that I should be servant to him my father sent ' 
 with me." All this the steward might not well deny, and 
 so granted that it was true. 
 
 Then Roswall told the king all the manner of his joust- | 
 ing, and showed how he had been victor in the three days* j 
 tourney. 
 
 Anon they took the steward and hanged him high, and 
 then passed on to the kirk and wedded Roswall to fair 
 Lillian. 
 
 No tongue on earth can tell the joy of Roswall at that 
 time ; and, wit ye well, if he was fain, yet was the Lady 
 Lillian fainer. Meledas ^ was no more blithe when she 
 married Claudias, nor that most pleasant flower Belsant 
 when she had Ronald for her lover. 
 
 They ate spices and drank wine, and then passed on to 
 the dancing. The king led out the queen, and Roswall, 
 beauteous Lillian, and every gentle knight had a fair lady ; 
 and so they danced till supper-time. Truth to tell, there 
 was no knight that was not served to his liking at that 
 ^ See note on these names. 
 
136 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 supper ; and when it was ended, a bishop arose and said 
 grace, and syne they returned to the dancing. The 
 minstrels played with a pleasant twang, and now Roswall 
 danced with the queen, and the king himself with Lillian. 
 Every gentle knight had a fair lady, and the minstrels 
 played with right good will till all had had enough of 
 dancing. Again they ate spices and drank wine, and then 
 all passed to their beds. 
 
 Twenty days lasted the bridal, with carols and plays 
 and dancing and tournaments. Roswall sent for the old 
 wife, and told the king how she had taken him into her 
 house and put him at school with her son, and how the 
 master had treated him, and how the steward had noticed 
 him and had taken him away from the old woman to be 
 in his service and had loved him as his own son. And 
 while the king marvelled again at these tidings, Roswall 
 rewarded all that ever had done him good. First, he gave 
 to the old woman enough gold to last her lifetime, and 
 then, without delay, he made a bishop of her son ; and the 
 master that had instructed him, he appointed his own 
 chaplain. And he made rich all those that had been kind 
 to him, and rewarded the servants well, and eke the 
 minstrels for their playing. 
 
 In time, Roswall and the noble LilVan had five bairns, 
 three sons and two dear daughters of peerless beauty. 
 The eldest son became King of Bealm, the second of Naples 
 after his father had died, and the third son was made Pope 
 
 I. 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 137 
 
 of Rome. The eldest girl married the great Dauphin of 
 France, and the second, the Prince of Apulia. 
 
 Now fray we ^ Him that harrowed Helly and died on the 
 Tree for us, to grant us Heaven, Amen, 
 
 When all these things were passed and done, Roswall 
 went home to his mother, for his father was dead long 
 time before ; and she was well glad of him. And so 
 Roswall and Lillian lived many years in good liking. 
 
 / fray to our Eternal King 
 To grant us Heaven to our ending ; 
 Of him^ I have no more to say ; 
 God send him rest until Doomsday ! 
 
 FINIS 
 
 THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 
 
 It fell sometime in the land of Beame^ that there 
 dwelled a certain Earl Bragas who had the greatest re- 
 nown of any save the king. He had to wife a fair lady, 
 and his young daughter Winglayne ^ was the sweetest 
 thing in all the world. 
 
 But neither for gold nor for goods, nor for noble birth, 
 would she take for husband any man unless with his sword 
 he had won every battle wheresoever he went. However 
 
 > See note. ^ Roswall. * Bohemia? 
 
138 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 many were in that realm, of this sort were but few, and 
 she was maiden wonder long. 
 
 Now at that time there was a courteous knight called 
 Sir Grime, Lord of Garwicke,^ and he was wise and full of 
 wit. There was- also a young knight men called Egace ^ 
 — but his name was Eger, for he was but a poor bachelor, 
 having an elder brother alive who governed all his father's 
 estate. Though he had no broad lands, he was large ^ 
 of blood and bone, and always won him honour in his 
 bright mail ; and for love of his own skill, ever he jousted 
 and fought ; and because he was so well proved, the earl's 
 daughter loved him at last and granted him her favour. 
 And her father assented to this, being glad that she would 
 take to her heart as husband a baron or even a bachelor.^ 
 
 These knights, Sir Eger and Sir Grime, were fellows, 
 and though nothing akin in blood, sworn brethren, and 
 loved each other with the best love that might be ever ; 
 and they kept a chamber together at home. 
 
 Upon a time Eger fared forth as he had done often 
 before to win him honour, whereby he might be praised 
 above all knights of high degree. But presently, upon a 
 night, he came home again, sore wounded and in evil case. 
 His knife was gone and its sheath, his scabbard was spoiled ; 
 he bore still the truncheon of a spear, but of other weapons 
 none. On his bed-side he sat down, sighing heavily, and 
 swooned away. 
 
 * See note. • Generous. ' Landless knight. 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 139 
 
 Sir Grime of Garwicke arose and ran to him, saying : 
 " Alas, my heart aches for you, Eger, that ever I was so 
 far away ! For when we parted at yonder gate you were 
 a strong man, and well seeming — God speed me ! — like to 
 prove your manhood ; and now you are all pale and wan, 
 and have been in strong combat. It was no small thing 
 made you blench ! '' 
 
 " Now as it hath behappened me — God ! — may you 
 never fare, nor any other courteous knight that goes forth 
 to battle, to win worship in the field as I have done ! 
 Dear have I bought it, and now is it all vanished ! Other 
 lords have dwelled at home and yet have saved their bodies 
 from shame, and have kept their manhood fair and un- 
 spotted, and they will take away my lady-love before my 
 very eyes, while I am hurt and sore wounded, and my 
 manhood is lost for ever ! " 
 
 Then said Sir Grime to Sir Eger : " You grieve more 
 than is meet, for no man was ever so well armed, or so 
 doughty through dread of his weapons, but that in the 
 field he might be put to naught. Why should his man- 
 hood be reproved, or his lady grieve ? " 
 
 Then said Sir Eger : " Let be. Grime ! Never was 
 Christian knight clad in fairer armour than I ! I had a 
 body hale and sound, and weapons that beseemed it. I 
 trusted in my horse, my good sword> my strong armour, 
 and most of all, I trusted in my own heart and my hand. 
 ... I had heard tell of a venturous knight who keeps 
 
.140 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 ward over a Forbidden Country ^ and a fresh island by 
 the sea, where are high-towered castles. Soon I chose one 
 of the two riding-friths ^ over the stream ; but only a 
 short while had I journeyed in that Forbidden Land, 
 when I heard a moving on the grit ^ as it were of a horse's 
 feet. My steed was glad of that tidings, tossed up his 
 head, and was astir, and gripped himself together as if to 
 run. As more din came, L hearkened and looked along 
 the way, nigh before ; and I saw a knight come riding on a 
 sorrel. Red was his shield and red his lance, and his gear 
 glittered all of fresh gold ! And by the death that I must 
 endure, my horse to his was but a foal ! His long heavy 
 spear he could hold easily against his breast ; * but I 
 feutred ^ mine, and gave my horse his head. Our steeds 
 soon brought us together — alas, that meeting must I be- 
 moan ! Through coat-.irmour ® and acton,"^ through 
 breast-plate and habergeon,® through all my armour less 
 and more, he pierced me, clean through the body ; and I 
 sat still in my saddle and broke my good spear against liis 
 breast. 
 
 **The second time he came, he failed of me, but slew my 
 horse. Then I got up deliverly ^ but not half so soon as 
 I had need to do ; and I thought to have wroken ^^ the 
 
 \ See note. ' Fords. ^ Grave!, 
 
 • See note. * Set it in its rest, 
 
 • A coat worn over armour. ' Quilted or leather jerkin. 
 
 • Sleevelets coat of mail. ^ Nimbly, ^^ Avenged. 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 141 
 
 death of my steed, or otherwise, to be brought to the last 
 pass. I drew a sword of keen metal and rushed keenly 
 at that knight, and struck at him with all my main. I 
 failed of him, but slew his beast. And when he saw that it 
 was so, he was ready enough to encounter me on foot. He 
 drew a terrible sword, and at the first dint shore through 
 all my mail seven inches into the shoulder. I in turn hit 
 him with all my might above the girdle, so that he groaned, 
 and with that stroke I might have left him ; but presently 
 I thrust again, and I wot well it would have been his 
 ending, save only that my sword broke with the blow. 
 Then I drew a knife — I had nought else — the which my 
 own brother gave me ; and he also drew such a thing 
 out of its sheath, and we came hand to hand. 
 
 " First, he wounded me in the face ; but missed my 
 eyes — that alone saved me. Then I struck him on the 
 head, so that I left my blade sticking in his helm. God ! 
 let no knight be so woebegone as was I when all my false 
 weapons had failed me. Yet with the heft that was still 
 in my hand, I dang fast upon his face, so that the blood 
 spirted out from under the steel — he lost some teeth, I 
 wot ! 
 
 '* My Milanese habergeon, my father's before me, which 
 had been in many a thrust and never a nail of it had 
 broken, and my acton that was Paris-work, saved me no 
 more than did my sark, for his sword was of noble steel, 
 and bore easily his stroke that passed through all my 
 
142 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 armour, and never stinted till it pierced the flesh. At 
 I last, sorely befought, I waxed weary, and for lack of blood 
 as dry as a tree ; ^ yet I struggled until I swooned away 
 between his hands. 
 I " When I came to myself my foe was gone. I looked at 
 t the place where he had been, and a little apart saw my 
 slain horse, and his with its back stricken a-two. Then I 
 was aware of a running stream, and crept thither on hand 
 and foot, and washed the blood from my eyes, for I had 
 I nothing to my help. I glanced at my right hand and per- 
 I ceived that the little finger was gone. I passed farther 
 along the green, where had been more strong battles. A 
 knight lay there, slain and despoiled, and his little finger 
 was gone ; whereby I saw that one man had dealt with 
 him and with me. At last, I found a saddled horse stand- 
 ing by a slain knight, and this steed I took, for he was well 
 enough, though not half so good as mine. 
 
 " All that day I rode until eventide. The moon shone 
 fair and the stars were shedding their light when I per- 
 ceived a castle and a town, and dismounted by an arbour 
 side. There I beheld fast by me the fairest bower that 
 ever I saw ; and when I had tarried there a little while, a 
 lady came forth from that green garden and made as if to 
 enter the bower. 
 
 " She was clad in scarlet-red, and her hair shone like new 
 gold, and her face was as sweet as a rose in the rain ; she was 
 * A dead tree or log. 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 143 
 
 the fairest creature in the world, and methought her very 
 coming so amended me that I was able to stand upright, 
 
 " * Good sir,' quoth she, ' what makes you linger here ? 
 It were meeter that you seek remedy, and here by is a 
 strong castle where there be leeches of great skill, cunning 
 men to deal with hurts, who have wondrous good hap in 
 healing. And there is the gentlest lady that ever man 
 came to in trouble. Therefore, I counsel you, wend 
 thither, for ye have need of great easement.' 
 
 " * Lady,' said I, * as it hath behappened me, I irk to go 
 into any company ; so I beseech you, fair sweet lady, that 
 ye yourself help me to be made whole with sleep, and 
 to get some ease for myself and for my hackney ! ' 
 
 " * Sir,' said she, ' I will do the best I can. Sith I am the 
 first that met with you, I would your need were bettered.' 
 
 " Then a fair maid took my steed and led him to a stable, 
 and I myself was brought by two other sweet ladies into a 
 gaily lighted chamber. All my bloody armour was done 
 off, and the lady herself quickly searched my wounds, and 
 gave me drink to restore me, for I was nearhand bled to 
 death. Never came ale or wine to me in such good 
 season ! Then she bade them pour warm water into a 
 silver basin, this Lady-lovesome-in-linen ; and wdth her 
 own white hands she washed mine. When she saw my 
 right hand bare, the glove whole and the finger gone, then 
 indeed she knew that I had been overcome ; and per- 
 ceivin^ my bitter shame of this, she would not ask me who 
 
144 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 I was, nor say a single word more of such things, but only 
 saw to it that I had all good easing. 
 
 " Presently I was brought to a bed wherein I slept more 
 softly than ever before in my life. And this fair lady sat 
 down by my side, with a psaltery on her knee, and played 
 most lovesomely. Yet ever between her music, she sat 
 with a look of heavy sorrow. And her two maidens sang 
 full sweetly, ^et often wept and wrung their hands. 
 Never before had I heard such melody, with ever among 
 such bitter sighing. 
 
 " In the night she came often to my bedside, and asked, 
 wanted I aught ; but always I said her nay until daybreak 
 drew near. Then she took away all my blood-stained 
 bands, and tended my wounds again. Know well, the 
 binding of my hurts was not with thread, nor with linen 
 coarse or fine, but all with good silk. Twice wrapping of 
 my wounds cost that lady twenty pounds, besides the 
 spices and salves that eased me, and the potions that 
 restored my strength. 
 
 " Then she gave me drink in a horn, and never before, 
 in all the days of my life, had I such a draught. She 
 supported me vnth her hand while she was giving me 
 that grass-green potion ; but speedily it showed in my 
 wounds, from which all blood and soreness departed ; and 
 methought I was able to stand and run, and to have 
 undertaken battle anew. 
 
 " The birds sang in the green arbour, as I got me on foot 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 145 
 
 and astir ; and then the lady came to me, saying : * I 
 counsel you, tarry a day or two, till ye be in better plight.' 
 But I longed so sorely to be at home that I must needs 
 take my leave. 
 
 " She gave me two shirts of Rennes, and put them next 
 my body — here they are ; and then she did on mine own, 
 and over it the blood-stained armour, all save the heavy 
 habergeon. She was afraid lest that should make my 
 wounds to bleed ; so with her milk-white hand she bound 
 it to the arson of my saddle, and hung there also two 
 bottles of rich wine, whereon I have lived until now. 
 
 " I said : * Ah dear, good madam, how may this be ? You 
 are the cunningest leech in the land, for I feel no manner 
 of soreness from all my wounds, as if I bad never been hurt 
 with sword or spear, nor ever weapon had done me harm.* 
 
 " * Would God,' said she, * that it were so ! But, after 
 a day or two, when love again troubles you, your ointments 
 may no longer avail. Sith you will not abide with me, let 
 your lady in your own land do to your wounds as I would 
 have done, then will they soften and heal quickly.' 
 
 ** One thing grieved my heart mightily, that I had 
 nothing to give the lady. I drew forth my fine golden 
 beads, fresh and new ; but she would not have them at my 
 hand, so I left them lying on her bedside. 
 
 '* Then I took leave of that sweet lady, and rode home- 
 wards, day and night. All that while I fared well until I 
 came within two miles, when all at once my wounds were 
 
 II. K 
 
146 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 fas if knives had been beaten through my bones. I fell from 
 my saddle, and when I came to myself my steed was gone. 
 
 "Thus have 1 been in that far country; and have 
 assayed this venturous knight whom men call Gray-Steel, 
 but he fended him well ! " 
 
 Then Grime spake, with soft words and fair, to Sir 
 Eger : " That man was never so worthy or so wise, nor 
 yet so cunning proved in book-learning, nor so doughty of 
 heart or hand, nor so strong to endure in battle, but he 
 may be set in such company that he is as like to lose as to 
 win. And ever I bade you keep well away from Gray- 
 Steel, for he is commonly said to be the strongest knight in 
 any land. Sith the matter is so fallen out, we will do the 
 -next best thing, and hide this from your lady, So that she 
 shall know nothing of our secret." 
 
 ' But little wist Eger or Grime where at that very moment 
 she was. Her chamber was near by, and so much she 
 thought about Sir Eger that she lay awake and could not 
 sleep ; and so she had ta'en up a scarlet mantle and was 
 come to Grime's chamber. There she heard them in privy 
 speech, and she stayed outside. When she learned that 
 Eger was in distress, she loved him much the worse. Not 
 •a word would she speak, but turned her back and went 
 away, yet not so quietly but that Grime perceived that 
 some one had been there. He pushed open an unfolded 
 window, and saw the way-gate ^ of that lady. 
 * The going aw^y. 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL ,147 
 
 " What is it," asked Eger, " makes that noise ? '* 
 
 And Grime said : " My spaniel-hound would come in." 
 To his fellow he said no more than this, but he was sorry 
 that she had been there. 
 
 That same night, Grime fetched leeches of great skill, 
 cunning men to deal with hurts, that had good hap in 
 healing wounds. Yet long ere day, word is gone about that 
 Sir Eger is come home, and hath more wounds from sword 
 and knifethan had ever livingman. Seventeen wounds hath 
 he ta'en, seven of them through the body. The leeches 
 could render him no help, but all said that he must die. 
 
 In the morning, came the earl and countess into Grime's 
 chamber, and the earl said : " How doth the knight, Sir 
 Eger?" 
 
 Then Grime answered prudently : " He doth, my lord, 
 as you may see." 
 
 " Alas," said the earl, " how comes this ? " 
 
 Then Grime said at once : " My lord, I will tell you 
 frankly. He chanced upon an uncouth ^ land where towns 
 are both few and thin ; and however fast he rode, he was 
 still seven days in the wilderness. He had heard tell of a 
 venturous knight, who keeps constant ward over a For- 
 bidden Country that extends a mile by the salt sea, with 
 fair high-towered castles. On the other side was a strand 
 with a forest, and by this a stream whereby no man might 
 draw near. For whoso rode across that river must abide 
 
 1 Unknown, 
 
148 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 strange adventures : he must either fight, or flee, or leave 
 as a pledge the little finger of his right hand ; and unless 
 he proved himself too slow, he needed not to forego that 
 little finger. Boldly Eger gave battle there to that knight 
 and took from him his helm and his hauberk, his sword 
 and his lance, and much of his golden gear. As he rode 
 apace homewards through the wild forest and the wilder- 
 ness, he thought to have escaped without harm, but 
 fifteen thieves met him and meant to have slain him, 
 and to have ta'en his gold and his goods. Thrice he ran 
 among them with a spear and slew seven and the master, 
 and he had still escaped, for all that dread, save that 
 they shot at him and slew his steed. When they were 
 gone he found another horse, and so is come home. But 
 if he die to-day, farewell to the flower of knighthood ! '* 
 
 Then the earl offered forty pounds for a leech to take 
 Eger in hand ; but nine days were come and gone ere any 
 would have to do with him. 
 
 It was nine days and some deal more ere his lady would 
 come to see him, and when she did, her words were strange 
 and dry. Says she : " How doth that wounded knight ? " 
 
 Then Grime answered prudently : " He doth, madam, 
 as you see.** 
 
 " In faith,'* said the lady, " I have scant pity for him ! 
 I':- He might as well have stayed at home for all the worship 
 he won him in that place. He lost a finger to get away ; 
 and the next time he will offer the whole hand." 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 149 
 
 Now Grime went often to hold counsel with the lady^ 
 and ever he told Eger a fair tale of her until he should be 
 whole again ; for if her wantonness had been revealed to 
 him, it would have stayed him in his mending. 
 
 At last the surgeons so dealt with him that he wa5 
 strong enough to move about ; and then Grime bethought 
 him to try whether the lady still loved his brother as well 
 as before. Quoth he : " Madam, by God*s mercy, Eger 
 will take upon him a fresh combat with yonder knight ; 
 but he is still too weak from his hurt to go yet awhile. I 
 prithee, make him to bide at home ; for he will do more 
 for you than for me." 
 
 " Indeed,*' answered that fair lady, " while Eger won 
 the prize in every fight, for his sake I put by many a better 
 man than he. Now I will not bid him stay or go, nor 
 will I have aught to do with marrying him— I care not, 
 Grime, what you say ! " 
 
 Thereupon Grime turned his back upon. her, and went 
 to sit again at Eger's bedside, and spake these words : 
 " Eger, thou and I are sworn brethren ; nor have I loved 
 my own brother better than thee ! Let us cast about 
 between ourselves how to overcome our foe.'V 
 
 Said Eger : ** Why do you mistrust me ? If I He here 
 this seven months, no man shall take my affair in hand till 
 I am able to avenge myself." 
 
 Grime answered with all gentlehood : " Methinks you 
 are displeased with me ; but that is not your part. Ever 
 
ISO ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 since you have been home, messengers have come and 
 gone between your lady and Earl Olyes, a doughty knight 
 of better blood than ourselves, and with half again as 
 many livings as any three others." 
 
 I Then Eger tossed up his arms and struck his hands 
 
 * together, sighing heavily, " Alas, my love and fair lady, 
 what have I done to make you wroth ? " 
 
 i Gnme had pity of him and said : " Brother, be coun- 
 selled by me. If you will, peradventure we shall win 
 through. And more — I dare lay my life ye shall wed that 
 lady within |he month." 
 
 " How now ? How may that be ? " 
 ** Peace, I will tell you. We shall take my brother 
 Palyas into our counsel. I will give out that I am sick at 
 home, and that my disease is such that no man may hear or 
 see me. My brother, Palyas, shall take care of you at 
 home, and I myself will go and fetch Gray-SteePs right 
 hand, or leave another iSnger in that place ! " 
 
 I To this counsel Palyas agreed, for he loved Sir Eger as 
 well as he did Grime, his own brother. " And if you will 
 go to the combat and fight with Sir Gray-Steel, you have 
 need of arms that endure, for they may be fresh-new and 
 yet false and fickle. When a weapon fails a man in time 
 of stress, he fares ill, as did Sir Eger. But now, Eger, your 
 uncle. Sir Egrame,^ while he lived, had the wielding of a 
 noble brand called Edgeking.^ Well for that man who 
 
 * Sec note. 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 151 
 
 hath it in his keeping ! It was brought to King Ffundus ^ 
 from beyond the Greek Sea, for a treasure of great price ; 
 and when the king departed this world, he left it v/ith the 
 young princess. But some say that Egrame loved that 
 lady in secret, and borrowed it when the king died, and 
 that as long as he lived he had the guiding of that noble 
 brand. And while he had it, there was never man of 
 woman born that durst abide even the wind of it before 
 his face ! Now Egrame's lady dwells here nigh, but she 
 says that no man shall so much as look upon it, until her 
 own son be of age to wield his father's weapon." 
 
 Said Grime: "To-morrow at daybreak, I will go 
 thither and borrow that sword if I may." 
 
 On the morrow, accordingly, when the sun shone 
 bright, he went to that fair dame ; and says she : " How 
 doth my cousin, Sir Eger ? " 
 
 " Madam, he will forth again with all his main to 
 undertake combat anew with yonder knight, and he prays 
 you lend him his uncle's brand. As surety that it shall 
 come safe home again, here are the title-deeds of his 
 estates and of mine." 
 
 She was loth to refuse him, and brought forth that 
 splendid sword, saying that there was no fault in Edgeking 
 itself ; but for want of valour and good governance, often 
 hath been lost alike king and kingdom. " There is never 
 limb or body that Edgeking meets but that the biting 
 
 1 See note. 
 
152 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 sword ^ shall go through to the bone ! And not for both 
 your estates would I that Edgeking should come into the 
 hands of a coward ! " 
 
 When Grime, blithe of heart, had gone home to Eger, 
 Palyas counselled him : " I rede thee, bear gifts to the 
 fair lady who lodged Eger so well that night ; in token 
 whereof, behold these Rennes shirts." 
 
 So he took brooches and beads and other jewels worth 
 forty pounds to thank her for her courtesy. " But how,'* 
 he asked, " among a row of ladies, shall I know her ? " 
 
 " Between her eyes,^' answered Eger, " she hath a spot 
 of red ^ as large as a pin against the white. And there is no 
 other lady lite ler, so gracious and full of gentlehood ! " 
 
 Early on the morrow, these two knights arrayed them, 
 and Eger went to read books of romance in a window 
 where all might hear him. Presently he came down, 
 ready-armed, into the hall and took his leave. The earl 
 seized his hand, but the comely countess kissed him rather 
 coldly, while his own lady stood by and would have 
 naught to do with him. 
 
 Said he : " Farewell, my sweet lady ! " 
 
 She answered : " God keep you better than He did 
 
 before ! " A.nd all that stood near were amazed that her 
 
 answer should be so dry. 
 
 |i- Then he returned to his chamber, and as he went in, 
 
 Grime came out, set his foot in his stirrup, stiff in war, 
 
 * See note. 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 153 
 
 took a spear from his brother Palyas, and so rode forth 
 against Gray-Steel. 
 
 Wingiayne went to the walls to see the way-gate of her 
 lover ; and Grime spared not the spur — nay, he made the 
 horse bolt forward as he had been a deer, until they had 
 passed out of her sight. 
 
 Then that fair lady went to Grime's chamber, for it was 
 long since she had been there ; but not before Palyas had 
 forewarned Sir Egcr, and had drawn double curtains so 
 that no man might see who it was in the bed. 
 
 With all courtesy Palyas set a chair for the lady, while 
 she said : '* I have been on the walls to see Sir Eger ride 
 away. He spurs out of the town as fiercely as a lion ! 
 Alack, he can make great boast when no foe is before him ; 
 but when it is man to man and steed to steed, then is the 
 time to prove his prowess ! " 
 
 Often for her sake had Eger been in battles fierce and 
 fell, and now to hear her flout him like a knave ! He wist 
 not how to defend himself, but flung up his arms and 
 thought to speak, until Palyas, perceiving this, got him by 
 the shoulders and pressed him down heavily, so that he 
 must needs lie still and stir no more. 
 
 Then Palyas answered her full courteously : " Madam, 
 by God's mercy, Eger is known to be the noblest knight 
 ever born in the land of Beame, and hath won the most 
 honour for this kingdom. That was well proved in the 
 heathen land when the king and his barons, among them 
 
154 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP . 
 
 the carl, yaur noble father, once passed that way. There 
 came a sultan called Gornordine,^ that had wronged 
 
 I many Christians and put them to torment ; and he called 
 upon any one of our knights, or any five, to fight with 
 him ; and five hundred that were there said nay. But 
 Eger remembered you at home, and stole away alone, and 
 they fought together, as the tale goes, on a mountain-top, 
 until Gornordine fell. Then rushed sixty heathen out of 
 
 I a bushment ^ near by, and assailed Eger ; and ere any 
 rescue came to him he had killed Gornordine and ten more. 
 Up rode a Northern knight, Kay of Kaynes,^ with ten 
 others, to help Eger ; and they twelve fought and slew the 
 sixty. Then it was that the King of Beame offered Eger 
 his daughter to wife ; but the gentle knight would not, 
 because he loved you best that be now his foe ! " 
 
 At this the lady was so wroth with Palyas, that she took 
 her leave and departed. 
 
 Now let us leave off chiding at home y 
 And spi'ak of Grime to the battle gone. 
 
 For three days he rode through the wilderness, and at 
 last met a squire by the way, of whom he asked, with fair 
 words : " Sir, who is the lord of this country ? " 
 ^ The squire answered courteously : " Earl Gares, a most 
 worthy man." 
 
 Said Grime : " And who is heir to that lord ? '* 
 
 * See note, * Ambush, 3 Caithness ? See note. 
 
' THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 135 
 
 " He hath none but a fair daughter." 
 
 And again Grime asked : " And to whom is that lady 
 wedded ? " 
 
 The squire said : " She was wife to a bold knight called 
 Sir Attelston ; but on their wedding-day, he gave battle, 
 as I know, to Sir Gray-Steel, and for all that there was 
 never a harder fight than betwixt those two, he was slain. 
 Thereupon was the son and heir of Earl Gares so grieved 
 at Attelston's death that he thought to quit Gray-Steel 
 his meed, and in turn boldly offered battle. And for him 
 too many a man cries * Wellaway ! ' So he ended, as 
 hath done many another before him, full an hundred, I 
 know, and more ; and shamefully hath Gray-Steel put 
 them to death without chance of succour or any remedy ! " 
 
 For all these words, Sir Grime had no fear, and asked 
 only : ** How far is it to the city where that lady dwells ? " 
 
 " But two miles, and I will go with you one of them." 
 And so they talked together in friendly wise until the 
 squire had brought Grime thither. 
 
 He took lodging with a burgess, and went anon into a 
 green garden to seek that lady, where, among many women, 
 he knew her presently by Eger's token. 
 
 Now Eger had been hurt on the ear, so there Grime had 
 put ointment, and on his hand he wore the glove that 
 Eger had when he lost his finger ; thus he kneeled down 
 and thanked her humbly : " Since the last time, madam^ 
 that I was here." 
 
156 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP' 
 
 " Sir," says she, " you must hold me excused ; I did 
 never see you until now." 
 
 But he gave her the shirts of Rennes and the jewels 
 that he had, forty pounds' wdrth ; and so he rewarded 
 and thanked that gentle lady for her courtesy. 
 
 ** Now, sir," quoth she, " as I hope for bliss, how fares 
 the knight that sent me these thin;>s ? " 
 
 " I do, madam, as you see now, whereof I thank 
 Almighty God and yourself ! " 
 
 ** Nay, sir," she cried, " but was it you that were here 
 before in such great peril ? I am glad to see you sound 
 again." So speaking, she came quickly forward and 
 kissed him. 
 
 Never in his life before had Grime seen any creature so 
 
 I fair as that lady in her scarlet-red, with hair like new gold, 
 
 I and herself as fresh of hue as a rose in the rain ! 
 
 |> Like many men in a matter so nice — for men will never 
 
 ^ be wise in loving ! — he so set his mind upon her that he 
 
 , forgot all things else ; and as they stood talking together, 
 
 I she stole the glove from his right hand, and when she saw 
 
 I this bare, she said to him softly : " Sir, it was no marvel ye 
 
 I hid your hand, for in this country are no leeches who can 
 
 restore a lost finger so that it be as well as had it never been 
 
 hurt ! But this is no matter for jesting ! If that knight 
 
 sent you to mock at me, I can be first at the scorning ! " 
 
 With that, she who before had been so gentle of cheer, 
 became full wroth, and would have none of his jewels, but 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 157 
 
 cast them upon the ground. And he, more troubled than 
 ever before in his life, wist never what to say ; but as she 
 passed him by to enter her chamber, he caught her by the 
 hand : " I entreat you, madam, hear but a word or two ; 
 and so God help me and Our Blessed L^dy, I v^U tell you 
 how the whole thing came about. The knight that was 
 here before was my brother, and thought me more able 
 than any one else to take this matter in hand. In his own 
 country he loves a lady ; and unless he overcome in every 
 fight, he will be forsaken of her ! " 
 
 When he had so spoken, she said : "Ye seem a courteous 
 knight that answer a lady so justly." 
 
 Thereupon she took up the jewels again, and sent a fair 
 maiden to the burgess to say that whatever was the charge 
 for the knight's steed, she would double it twice over. 
 She herself led Grime to her chamber, where a splendid 
 supper was arrayed and set before them; but he could 
 not eat or drink, being so enamoured of her fairness. 
 
 Presently, being weary, he was led to his own chamber, 
 where his armour was taken off, and he was laid in bed. 
 Then that lovesome lady sat down by his side, with a 
 psaltery on her knee, and played delicious notes ; and her 
 two maidens sang sweetly, yet ever between they wept 
 and wrung their hands. 
 
 And Grime said : " Madam, I have great marvel of one 
 thing. Never before have I heard such sweet music 
 troubled with such bitter grief ! " 
 
IS8 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Then she bade take away the psalteiy, and wringing her 
 two hands, cried : " Sir, I shall never rest content until I 
 be avenged on Gray-Steel ! He slew my brother, and my 
 new-wed husband, Sir Attelston, who on our marriage- 
 day gave him the hardest battle that ever was between two 
 knights, and so was slain ! Thereupon he was bewailed of 
 many, and my brother so grieved at his death that he 
 thought to quit Gray-Steel his meed, and boldly offered 
 him combat ; and after it was for him that many a man 
 said ' Wellaway ! ' There they both ended at that mur- 
 derer's hands, as hath done many another knight, for I 
 have wist him with his two hands to kill an hundred and 
 more, and do them shamefully to death without hope of 
 succour or remedy ! Now if ye be come to contend with 
 him, Jesus defend you in the right ! No woman alive 
 knows so well as I his conditions : ^ every hour from mid- 
 night until noon he increaseth liis might by the strength of 
 a man ; and from noon until midnight it abates by so 
 much every hour. Make your first encounter riding, and 
 pierce his mail ; and when you have broken your spear 
 against him manfully, dismount at once for your own 
 advantage, for the tyrant is better on horseback than on 
 foot. Press stiffly against him in that stour, as one that 
 thinks on his sweetheart ; though I do not bid you think 
 on me, yet remember your lady, whoever she is, and let 
 not the tyrant, if he would, keep you from holding your 
 covenant with her ! '' 
 
 * See note. 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY^STEEL 159 
 
 Thus she took leave of that gentle knight, and with her 
 two fair maidens passed on into her own chamber. 
 
 And Sir Grime lay and longed sorely for daybreak. 
 But at length came the hostler, who arrayed and armed 
 him, and brought him his steed, and was paid in red gold. 
 A rich breakfast was set before the knight, but he would 
 have naught of meat or drink, save a cup of wine and three 
 sops. And thus he took leave of that clear-faced lady, and 
 rode away towards the fresh river. 
 
 Early that May morning the birds were singing clear a 
 heavenly tune for a knight in love — throstle-cock and 
 nightingale, laverock and wild witwall, with rooks arising 
 from every stream. Little birds twittered among the 
 upspringing flowers, and the dun deer came forth from the 
 dales into the clear, fresh sunshine when Phoebus with his 
 golden beams arose. Then it was that Grime looked 
 across to the other side, and first saw parks and palaces of 
 muckle pomp, and seven towns by the salt sea, with fair 
 castlej and high towers ; and over the river were riding- 
 friths two, whereof he chose one and rode straight into 
 Gray-SteePs land. He was afraid that he might have to 
 await him until night,^ but, God wot, he had no cause to 
 doubt, for Gray-Steel had two watchmen, who went anon 
 and told their master ; " A knight hath come into your 
 realm, and thrice he hath ridden about the plain and now 
 is boun to turn homeward." 
 
 * See note. 
 
ifo ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 " Nay," quoth Gray-Steel, " by St. John, he shall not 
 go home this year; he shall or fight or flee or leave a 
 pledge in this land ! '* 
 
 Thereupon they brought Gray-Steel his red shield ^ and 
 all his shining gear of new gold. His breastplate was 
 decked with purple, on his head was a golden helmet, and 
 hif shanb shone seemly enough with gold and precious 
 stones. His arms were covered with overlapping plates 
 set with gold and silver ; and the shield on his breasv nad 
 on the one side a dragon and a unicorn, and on the other 
 a bear and a wild boar, and between them a ramping lion 
 ready to bite. About his neck was a gorget of rich mail, 
 and he wore a high helmet. His spear was red, but all his 
 armour was of new gold and precious stones ; and he bore 
 a golden mace set with a carbuncle shining like the moon. 
 His saddle was covered with cidatony^ richly fret with gold 
 bars, his pectbral was of Indian silk, and his steed of a 
 ferly kind with silken reins and golden bells. He stepped 
 into his stirrup so geared for war, took his spear from a 
 knight, and rode straight at Grime, who said : ** Ye 
 wounded my brother. Sir Egcr, and for that deed, traitor, 
 ye shall pay full dear ! " 
 
 Gray-Steel answered never a word, but rode at Grime 
 
 like a madman. They smote their steeds with spurs, and 
 
 rushed together with all their might, each like a raging 
 
 Hon. Grime aimed at Gray-Steel a blow that bit through 
 
 1 See note. 2 Rich silk. 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL i6i 
 
 all his armour, and bare him clean through the body, so 
 that his saddle-girths burst asunder, and knight, saddle, 
 and all came down in a heap. Thus through the strength 
 of Grime and his steed, he perceived well that he was 
 matched with a doughty man. 
 
 Straightway young Grime dismounted from his 
 stirrups, remembering how the lady had taught him to do. 
 He shook out his sword, Edgcking ; but, to speak truth, 
 the other met him manfully. Grime pierced him in one 
 side, and through all his bright armour made a gaping 
 wound, and shore asunder an hundred mails ^ and the 
 stuff beneath them, and so thrust five inches deep into 
 the shoulder. Never before had Gray-Steel met any man 
 to give him two such dints. 
 
 But then he thought to quit Sir Grime, and struck him 
 on the helmet ere he could handle Edgeking again, so that 
 fire flew as out of flint, three doughty blows whereof the 
 least had been a man's bane — and Grime was nearhand 
 dead. 
 
 Tlius these noble bairns in battle hacked and hewed 
 each other with mettlesome swords, until Sir Grime, who 
 in his childhood had learned full skilfully to handle a 
 weapon with a sly, awkward stroke, hit Gray-Steel on the 
 knee, so that however strong of hand he might be, he had 
 thenceforth but the one foot to go on. 
 
 " Ye hurt my brother. Sir Eger, and bitterly shall ye 
 pay for that deed ! " 
 
 * I, inks of chain-mail, 
 
 II. L 
 
162 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Then answered* the stout warrior, Gray-Stccl : " Why 
 upbraid you me with that knight ? He never went by 
 land or water but he was as good of heart and hand as are 
 ye ! Had he been weaponed as well as I, he had been 
 worth the two of us here ! " 
 
 With that, he struck Sir Grime on the collar-bone, and 
 shore away a quarter of his shield and clave the rest 
 asunder so that it fell far abroad in the plain, and sent his 
 noble sword Edgeking out of his grasp. 
 
 But Grime was nimble of foot, and followed fast and got 
 his brand again, though, if Gray-Stccl had had still his 
 other leg, I cannot think how Grime could ever have re- 
 turned to his bright lady. But now with Edgeking in liis 
 hand he gav^e Gray-Steel fell dints with an awkward stroke 
 through liver and lungs. And Gray-Steel went raging 
 mad when his sides foamed with his own heart's blood, so 
 that, as Grime perceived, he was at point to die. 
 
 " Yield, Sir Gray-Steel, for ye can never match that 
 stroke ! " ' 
 
 Cried the other : " Ye lie ! None was ever of woman 
 born, who could make me yield, man to man ! " 
 
 So wroth was he at the challenge that he set both hands 
 to his sword, and vnth all the strength left in him, struck 
 Grime on the head such a blow as neither he nor any man 
 his equal ever got before. Him seemed his head was riv<m 
 asunder, his neck cracked under his helmet, and blood 
 burst from his ears ; but although he staggered under 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 163 
 
 that stroke, he kept still his footing. Had he fallen but 
 once, never had that lady seen him again. 
 
 Thus they fought together, fell and sore, over the space 
 of a mile and farther, until Gray-StccPs visage began to 
 wax pale and wan, through loss of blood. Then Grime 
 got a grip of his gorget, followed hard upon, and bare him 
 backward to the ground. Not once did he let him 
 recover, but pushed aside his breastplate, and thrice 
 thrust him to the heart. 
 
 So it appears that ungracious deeds can never escape 
 an ill ending. All this I say of Gray-Steel whom Fortune 
 had long befriended, so that I have wist him slay with his 
 two hands an hundred knights and more, and shamefully 
 do them to death without succour or remedy ; and now 
 at last is he himself slain by a knight that came to do 
 battle for his sworn brother. 
 
 Presently Grime looked by him, and beheld that their 
 two steeds were fighting, even as themselves had done* He 
 parted them, and going to Gray-Steel's saddle, righted the 
 girths and set it on the horse ; and next he went to Gray- 
 Steel's body, and with his good sword cut off the hand. 
 
 " My brother left a finger with thee here, and for that 
 he shall have thy whole hand ! " 
 
 He looked up at the stone castle, and saw ladies a many 
 beating their palms together, tearing their hair, wailing and 
 lamenting with shrill voices ; and strong men that would 
 not have rested until they had won back horse and armour, 
 
i64 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 save that it had been ever Gray-Steers wish that for his 
 death no challenging be made. So Grime leaped upon his 
 foe*s steed, leading his own by the bridle ; and as he rode 
 towards the fresh river, durst no man draw him nigh. 
 
 An hour past nightfall, he came again to his lady, and 
 was met by the hostler at the door of the burgcsrs house. 
 " O master," said lie, " here is come again the knight that 
 rode hence at daybreak. He hath brought back Gray- 
 Steel's horse, his saddle, harness, gold chain, and much of 
 his golden gear ! " 
 
 Thereupon they came to the door, all the bold men and 
 yeomanry together ; and the burgess asked Grime whether 
 he would lodge with him that night. But he said : 
 " Close by is a strong castle, and methinks it were folly 
 to lie abroad in a strange land where I know not friend 
 from foe ! " 
 
 He took the hand in its gay golden glove, and went up 
 to the lady's chamber, where she sat at supper but ate 
 never a morsel. 
 
 " Ah," she cried, " I think ever of the knight that went 
 away from me at daybreak ! Yester-even I led him to his 
 chamber ; to-night Gray-Steel ha** made his bed. Alas, 
 he is foully slain, and that is great pity for his kinsfolk, for 
 he was large of blood and bone, nor lacked goodly nurture ! 
 And to fold his sweetheart in his arms — to her he were 
 worth his weight in gold ! Woe's me for his love in his own 
 countree, for she must think long ere she see him again!" 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 165 
 
 Then even as she wept, remembering her own lord 
 Attelston, came Grime knocking at her chamber door. 
 And tlie maiden that went thither cried out : " O 
 madam, here is tlie knight that left us at daybreak!" 
 Thereupon the lady started up from the board, and kissed 
 him twenty times. 
 
 " And how have you fared on your journey ? " 
 
 " Full well, sweetheart," answered Grime, " for of 
 yonder knight have I taken such a pledge that poor men 
 hereafter may have justice, and merchants may buy and 
 sell in the lands wherein they live." 
 
 He gave her the hand in its glove, and said : " Lay this 
 by until morning." She took the glove, not knowing that 
 the hand was therein, until, as they stood there together, 
 it fell to the ground. And when she saw it — the very 
 hand that had slain her husband and her brother — what 
 marvel if her heart quaked and the blood rose in her face 
 until she was flushed ruddy red ? It had fingers greater 
 than any other three, and on each a gay gold ring with a 
 precious stone or goodly gem. And this hath she ta'en up 
 and put back again into its glove, and with locks one or two 
 shut it away fast in her coffer. 
 
 A rich supper was set before the knight, but so was 
 he bruised and weary that he would have nor meat nor 
 drink, but longed sorely to be abed. So the lady took him 
 to his chamber, and did oil his mail and searched his 
 wounds. Never was she so glad in her life as when she 
 
i66 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 found that he had no mortal hurt, for she thought still 
 that she might be his wedded wife. 
 
 After she hud done this, she returned to her own 
 chamber, took out the hand in its golden glove and went 
 into her father's hall, where he was set at supper with many 
 lords, to all whom she gave courteous greeting : " I bring 
 you tidings, father — will like you well : your enemy, Sir 
 Qray-Steel, h slain ! " 
 
 • Thereupon they all broke into loud laughter, and one 
 said : " Madam, that seems to be a lie ! None was ever of 
 woman born that relight slay Gray-Steel, as man to man!" 
 
 But she cast before them the hand in its golden glove ; 
 and all marvelled to see it, ruddy red, with its fingers 
 larger than any other three, and on each finger a splendid 
 gold ring with precious stones. 
 
 " Daughter," cried the earl, ^* where dwells the knight 
 that hath done this ? " 
 
 And she answered : " Father, I know not how he is 
 called, but he was born in the land of Beame ; and he is 
 large of blood and bone, nor lacks goodly nurture. He is 
 gentle to fold in arms and worth his weight in gold ; but 
 he will ride hence in the morning, as soon as it is day." 
 
 " God forbid ! " said the earl. " Not for a thousand 
 round red florins would I let him go unrewarded that hath 
 so manfully avenged me on my foe ! " 
 
 Early on the morrow. Grime arrayed him, but even as 
 he was taking leave came the earl, and when he would 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 167 
 
 have knelt with humble cheer to give thanks for his re* 
 frcshment, seized him by the hand, saying : " Gentle sir, 
 now arise, and as ye are a good fighting-man, tarry with 
 me, this day and night." 
 
 " My lord," he answered, " I am ready to do as you 
 will." 
 
 Thereupon a squire took away the two horses, and the 
 earl led Grime into his palace. A banquet was served 
 with food and drink in great plenty ; and to speak truth, 
 Grime was meat-fellow ^ with the gay lady. 
 
 After dinner, the earl took him aside into a chamber 
 and speercd of him : " Sir, be you married in your own 
 country ? " 
 
 And Grime said quickly : " I have had never wife nor 
 lady. By St. John, I tell you truly, I have had nor wife 
 nor wench." 
 
 The earl answered : " I am glad to hear that, for the 
 better may you speed now. My fair daughter is heir to 
 all my lands ; and if ye would wed that lady, I would give 
 her to you with all my heart ! " 
 
 And Grime rendered him great thanks, saying : " I love 
 her too well to refuse ! " 
 
 Accordingly, they were handfasted, in the presence of 
 
 the earl and three bishops ; and a marriage-day was set 
 
 when Grime should return. He was given by the earl 
 
 two robes decked out with beaten gold, worth four- 
 
 ^ Sat by her side. 
 
i68 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 hundred pounds (whereof he gave the better to Eger when 
 he reached home) ; and so he took leave of the earl and the 
 lady, and rode away to his own land. 
 
 He came along a by-way of the forest, where he left his 
 steed and his palfrey ; and having so done, he knocked at 
 his own door, which was opened by Palyas, more glad 
 than ever before to see his brother hale and sound. 
 
 " How fares Eger ? ** asked Grime. 
 
 " The better that you have sped in your journey ! '' 
 
 " Rise, Eger, and arm thee in iron and steel, and go 
 forth into yonder wood, Palyas with thee. There shalt 
 thou find Gray-SteePs horse, his fair saddle, harness, gold 
 chain, and much more of his golden gear. To-morrow, as 
 soon as the sun shines clearly, come before thy lady, and 
 look thou be as strange to her as she in times past hath 
 been with thee ! For, an thou dost not, thou shalt lose 
 her for evermore ! " 
 
 When Eger and Palyas had gone fortii to find the steeds 
 and other stuflf. Grime put on a scarlet mantle and went 
 into the earPs chamber, with sighs and mournful cheer : 
 " Alas, my brother. Sir Eger, v. slain ! Seven days are 
 come and gone sith he promised me that he would be at 
 home. And he rode hence grievously wounded — alas, my 
 sorrow is the more ! Thy daughter's great pride hath 
 brought him into this peril — a pity that ever she was 
 born ! For now is lost the best knight that ever was in 
 this world ! " 
 
 h 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 169 
 
 Then Grime went Iiis way, and the earl and countess 
 were sad enough as they busked them to go to the parish 
 church to hear Mass. But on their way home to the 
 palace, one looked between him and the sun, and cried : 
 " Me thinks I see two armed knights comin'> ! '' 
 
 But another : " Nay, rather, it is one knight riding and 
 leading a liorse." 
 
 As he drew near, all percei^'ed that it was Eger ; but 
 Grime was the first man to bid him welcome home. Then 
 the earl took him by the hand, the countess kissed him, 
 and his own lady, Winglayne, would have done as much, 
 but he turned his back and made as if he would ride away 
 to Garnwicke, saying : '' Parting is a secret pain, but old 
 friends are not soon recovered ; thy great kindness shall 
 never be forgotten ! " 
 
 As he went, the lady swooned away ; and the earl and 
 countess were deeply troubled. Indeed, the earl profcrred 
 Grime much land to get the good will of Eger for liis 
 daughter. 
 
 So Grime rode after him and spoke fairly : " Stay, and 
 speak a word with me, brother.'* 
 
 Said Eger : " Brother, for charity, here am I at thy will, 
 ready to do thy bidding ! " 
 
 Thereupon a squire took the two steeds away to stable 
 them ; and Grime led Eger by the hand to their own 
 chamber, where he did off all his armour and laid it down 
 where first he had put it on. And then Grime fetched out 
 
I70 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 the two robes, whereof the worse was worth four hundred 
 pounds ; and he clad Eger in the better of the two, so that 
 he became the comeliest man in all Christendom. 
 
 Thus hand in hand they returned to the palace ; and at 
 the great banquet served there, with food and drink in 
 great plenty, Eger was meat-fellow with t!ie gay lady. 
 
 When dinner was done. Grime took the earl into his 
 counsel : "Sir, I have* brought him to be of your will— 
 this knight that overcomes in every battle — ^and he will 
 take your daughter to wife. Irede that the marriage be 
 soon." ' y ' : 
 
 To this the earl and countess accorded ; and the earl 
 sent his messengers, far and near, to .bid all the great lords 
 to come on the fifteenth day to his daughter's wedding. 
 And thus it came about that the noble knight, Sir Eger, 
 married the lady VVinglayne. 
 
 After forty days* feasting of lords and ladies In royal 
 array, each returned home into his own country. 
 
 But; Griine and Palyas rode without stopping into Earl 
 GaresMand ; and he came to meet them with a royal com- 
 pany of an hundred knights in splendid array, and wel- 
 comed them with much mirth and minstrelsy. And thus 
 It was that Grime wedded the sweet lady Looscpaine. 
 (And why was she called Loosepaine ? Because, forsooth, 
 there was no better leech in all the world !) And there was 
 made a royal wedding as good as that other. 
 
 After five days. Grime desired all the earl's meiny to 
 
< hpti ti m % i» K> i t t» f t » f^ ,^^ 
 
 
THE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 171 
 
 ride with him into Gray-Steel's lands, that he might put it 
 into the hands of his brother Palyas, newly dubbed knight. 
 They abode no longer, but with Palyas as their captain 
 rode into Gray-StceFs lands, broke open his parks and 
 killed his deer, razed his harbours, sunk his ships, and 
 seized liis towns and stone castles. 
 
 Now this tyrant left but one child, a fair daughter, 
 Emyas, who fled to his stronghold. Tliere Eger took her, 
 as I understand, and brought her to Earl Gares, before 
 whom she kneeled on her knee, saying : *' Though my 
 father was a tyrant and your foe, do not therefore rob mc 
 of my land ! " 
 
 Says the earl : " By your courtesy may the matter be 
 amended. Choose any knight here before me to rule your 
 land and yourself." 
 
 And among them all she took Palyas ; whereupon 
 barons and knights, and more especially Eger and Grime, 
 were very glad. And so the noble knight Palyas married 
 fair Emyas ; and the third wedding was as royal as the 
 other two. 
 
 I never wist of any man that proved himself so well as 
 did Grime against Gray-Stccl ; and thereby he got his 
 brother Eger an earPs land and a fair lady, himself an earl's- 
 land and the sweetest lady alive, and his brother Palyas a 
 baron's daughter and a baronage. 
 
 Winglayne bore Eger fifteen children, ten strong sons 
 and five fair daughters ; and Loosepaine gave Grime ten, 
 
172 ROMANCES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 seven sons and three daughters, while Emyas and Palyas 
 had three, two sons and a fair daugliter, who afterwards 
 married a brave knight. f 
 
 And in all that land was no man that durst displease 
 these three brethren, the baron and the two earls. 
 
 Jhus they made an end of tht'ir livings 
 
 7o the bliss of Heaven may God their souls bring ; 
 
 I pray Jesus that we so may 
 
 Bring us the bliss that lasteth aye ! 
 
 F finis 
 
NOTES 
 
 AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 There are four MSS. of this romance (1508 lines), of which 
 the famous Auchinleck is the best and oldest. It was first 
 edited by Weber in his Metrical Romances y and again, separately, 
 by K(*)Ibing in 1884, together with the French original and 
 Latin and Norse versions. 
 
 ]). 4. Held up their hands. The usual way of talcing an oath 
 in the Middle Age«, perhaps calling God to witness. A great 
 softening of tlie original barbaric method of mixing their 
 blood. Cf. Introduction y p. xi, 
 
 p. 5. As Hie at their tivo selves. The two cups exactly alike 
 are vaguely reminiscent of the Swan saga, in which the seven 
 children are never to be parted from their golden chains, which 
 are all alike. One of these is afterwards melted and made 
 into a cup. 
 
 p. 22. Dreiv his snvordy &c. So Tristan with Yseult, when 
 King Mark finds them together in the forest. For other 
 references, cf. Child's Ballads (1886), ii. 127, with note. 
 
 p. 30. The high hoard. The lord's table, that stood on the dais. 
 
 p. 31. Oivain — Amoraunt. Both names are in the French. 
 Perhaps Amoraunt was originally an epithet derived from amor^ 
 referring to the child's devotion to his uncle. 
 
 p. 33. For the love of God. The text adds a line, — *<Full evil 
 couth they there one," or ^< their own," which may mean 
 either that they knew scarcely any one there; or, that they 
 had found their own (love, z.^., friends) full evil. 
 
 p. 43. And ivith the blood anoint his brother. It was a common 
 
 173 
 
174 NOTES 
 
 superstition in the Middle Ages that the blood of children and 
 of virgins was a cure for leprosy. On this are founded, among 
 others, the legends of Constantine the Great and of ** Der urme 
 Heinrich." For references, see Child, Ballads (1886), 1. 47, 50/1. ; 
 Iv. 441; V. 285. 
 
 SIR AMADAS 
 
 Two MSS. of this are known, the Auchinleck, edited by 
 Weber; the Ireland, by Robson in his Three Early Engl'uh 
 Metrical Romances (Sir AmaJace)^ Camden Society, 1 842, Both 
 luck a few lines at the beginning, the sense of which is readily 
 gathered. No French original is known, though the thirteenth 
 century French Amadas and Tdoine (ed. Hippeau) contains a 
 bare hint of the situation (cf. Introduction^ p. xv.), which may 
 have been developed more fully elsewhere, along the lines 
 followed by the English poem. 
 
 p. 52, Boards . . . never bare. So Chaucer says of his 
 Franklin : 
 
 " His table dormant in his halle alway. 
 Stood redy covered al the longe day," 
 
 p. 53. Forbade that the corse be buried, Cf, Massinger, The 
 Fatal Dowry, Weber in his edition refers to a law among the 
 ancient Egyptians that permitted bodies to be pledged as 
 security for money borrowed. Robson in his edition (p. xxvi.) 
 quotes authorities to show that the Canon Law once authorised 
 the arrest of a debtor's dead body ; and also that it was acted 
 upon for a long time. See also Miss Edgeworth's Castle Racirent^ 
 first part. 
 
 p. 65, St, Drightine, The O. E, word for lord^ used generally 
 for Christ, The passage reads as if the minstrel did not know 
 the name and took it to be that of some special saint. 
 
 p. 65. Brought in the board. The preparations for the sacrifice 
 
NOTES 175 
 
 read like a faint reflection from the story, beloved in the 
 Middle Ages, of ^Abraham and Isaac, 
 
 ATHELSTON 
 
 This romance (8xx lines) was first printed by Zupitza 
 (^EngUsche Studien^ xiii,), from the unique MS. in Gonville and 
 Caius College, Cambridge. There is no good evidence of a 
 French original, 
 
 p. 68. Egeland (or Egelan^ both forms occur), Earl of Stane, 
 The name seems to be a corruption of some Saxon word. In 
 William of Malmesbury's account of AtheUtan, based upon 
 popular traditions (cf. JniroJuction^ p. xvii,), the victim is Edwin, 
 the king's half-brother. There are two small villages in Kent 
 called Stone (Stane), one near Margate, one near Appledore; 
 and there is also Staines in Middlesex, not very f?r from 
 London ; but the minstrel could not have been renjembering 
 his geography if he made any one of these, as he does, on the 
 road from Dover to London. 
 
 p. 68. Barnt Edith, King Athelstan had a sister of that 
 name, but she married Charles the Simple of France, 
 
 p. 68, Alryke , » » of Canterbury, The name seems to be a 
 corruption of Aelfric ; but Archbishop Aelfric lived some fifty 
 years later than Athelstan, dying in 1005. 
 
 p. 69, IVymound, A Saxon name, surviving in the name of 
 the town Wymondham, Norfolk, It was also the pseudonym 
 taken by Charlemagne in Rauf CoHzear, 
 
 p. 71. Hit oxvn fiiimcf Athehton, This detail, more than 
 any other in the romance, suggests confusion arising from 
 imperfect knowledge of an old source. It is unreasonable to 
 suppose that a minstrel would naturally introduce the same 
 name a second time, with the further useless information that 
 the bearer of it was a foundling. 
 
176 NOTES 
 
 p. 73. Alt earljom in the land of S/>ain, This allusion is 
 equally singular whether it be taken to apply to Athelstan's 
 queen or to the English queen of the minstrel's own clay. The 
 last from Spain was Eleanor of Castile, who married Edward I. 
 and died in 1290, But John of Gaunt's second wife was 
 Constance of Castile, and this fact may have suggested the 
 detail. Moreover, the poem is assigned to this very period — 
 the latter part of the fourteenth century. 
 
 p. 74. Stone . , . Stepplngbourney &c. No Stone seems to be 
 on the way ; Steppingbourne may be a confusion of Stepney 
 and Sittingbourne, and is clearly intended for the last, which 
 is 41 miles from London ; Ospring is 47 miles, and Blean is a 
 forest about 51 miles from London. There is perhaps a faint 
 suggestion of the Canterbury Pilgrimage in the attempt to 
 describe the route. It is not necessary to suppose that the 
 minstrel knew Chaucer; but his work was written more 
 probably after than before the Canterbury Tales. 
 
 p. 77. By the sun and the moon. There is a reminiscence of 
 paganism in this oath. Alexander {King Alisaunder^ 1, 1750), 
 more appropriately, is represented as swearing by the sun. 
 
 p. 79. The broken cross of stone. As this, according to the 
 poem, must have stood between Fleet Street and Westminster, 
 it was perhaps Chester Cross, which was near the Strand, 
 wliere Somerset House now is. It would have been an appro, 
 priate meeting. place, being fairly equidistant between the two 
 places. Further, Stow says that in 1294, and on other 
 occasions, the itinerant justices sat by the cross, or in the 
 Bishop of Chester's house adjoining. Possibly there was a 
 suggestion of legal arbitration in this choice of a meeting- 
 place ? 
 
 p. .79. The length of nine ploughshares, A confusion' of two 
 ancient Germanic ordeals by which Innocence or guilt was 
 
NOTES 177 
 
 judged: one was to pass unscathed through a fire, the other to 
 v/alk along nine red-hot ploughshares in a line. This com- 
 bination of the two seems to be peculiar to AtheUton, 
 
 p. 8x. 67. Edmunds Historically, Edmund was Athelstan's 
 brother ; but the mother of both was an Edith, hence, confused, 
 doubtless, with Athclstan's sister of that name. St. Edmund of 
 East Angiia lived long before this time. 
 
 p. 85. The Elms, According to Stow, this was in West 
 Smithfield between a pond called the Horse-pool and the Wells 
 River or Turnmill Brook. It was so called because there had 
 been many elm-trees there, of which in his time none remained. 
 This hud been the place of execution for offenders, but building 
 was begun there in the sixth year of Henry V. (1419). 
 
 GAMELYN 
 
 This poem (902 lines) is found only in ten Chaucer MSS., 
 not including, however, the three best. It is sometime* 
 supposed that Chaucer intended to make use of it as a story to 
 be told by one of his characters. It was formerly erroneously 
 assigned to the Cook, whose tale, however, was to have been of 
 Perkin the apprentice. In character, certainly, it is best fitted 
 to the Yeoman. No French original is known ; and th 
 thoroughly English quality of the poem makes against tl»c 
 hypothesis that one ever existed. 
 
 p; 85. Bound^s, Skeat suggests that it means ^01//. «/r, bounds',' us, 
 and Sir John of Bmndijs^ Sir John of the Marches; or possibly/ 
 lions in France. Lodge in his novel based upon Gamelyn has 
 Bordeaux f which is also the reading in one MS. This may 
 have been confused with the name of a physicia.i, John of 
 Bordeaux. 
 
 p. 86. Fee simple, i.e. f it was not entailed, and he could 
 dispose of it as he liked. The text says that he had it by 
 
 II. M 
 
178 NOTES 
 
 purthtte^ which meant that he acquired it by wayi other than 
 by inheritance. We read afterwards, however, that he had 
 inherited a small portion of it. 
 
 p. 86. GbMif/yii = Norse ^amet-lng^ the son of the old man. 
 Evidently Gamelyn was many years younger than his two 
 brothers. In some of the Robin Hood ballads in which he 
 figures, the name is corrupted to Gandelyn^ in others to Gamivell, 
 
 p. 87. P/oujrh/anJj. As much as could be cultivated in a year 
 with the use of one plough. The amount varies, but is, 
 roughly speaking, about 100 acres. 
 
 p. %'j, Bottifmen, The labourers, who were tied to the land 
 they tilled and changed ownersiiip with it, 
 
 p. 87. With hit fair ikin^ Here,///// is used fo. hoiltj^^\i appears 
 from the nature of his double punisliment. 
 
 p. 88. To handle his heard. This means: to realise that he 
 was a man. 
 
 p. 89. Pestle, SJ^eaf suggests : a large pestle such as might 
 have been used for pounding grain. But later (see N. E. D.) 
 the word means clnb, as a constable's truncheon. 
 
 p. 90. Buckler-play^ /.^., how to protect himself from the 
 *' pestle," which in this case would serve as spear. 
 
 p, 91, A rdm. The usual prize, Chaucer says of his 
 Miller: ** At wrastlynge he wolde have awey the ram," 
 
 p. 91, Prffve %vhat hi could do. This passage suggests an 
 episode in Havelok the Dane^ in which the hero takeH part in 
 the sports and comes out best, 
 
 P» 93» '^ greater f i,e, grown older and able to do more 
 damage, as, for example, upon the champion himself. 
 
 p. 95. At I hrook my neck. This curious expression, the verb 
 meaning to have the use of, occurs frequently in the text. Various 
 parts of the body are named, as neck, chin, jaw, &c. 
 
 p. 95. St, James f &c. Of Compostella in Galicia, Spain, to 
 
NOTES 179 
 
 whom pilgrimages were popular, especially during the thirteenth 
 and fourteenth centuries, 
 
 p. 99. Adam Spenter, Here Spenser is written as if It were a 9ur« 
 name ; four lines below, and on pp. lot, 107, &c. It Is used clearly 
 to denote his odlce, which was to take charge of the provisions. 
 
 p. 108. He must needs nvalk^ &c. Compare the case of Sir 
 Amadas: **N<)w wise men may dwell at home while fools 
 walk abroad." 
 
 p. 109. Wolffs head. The Old Englisli expression for eutfaw, 
 A price was paid for every wolf's head, and an outlaw's life 
 seems to liave been regarded in much the same way. 
 
 p. 1X0. Jlfoot'/htii, Moot^ from the verb to meei^ Is a gathering 
 of any sort. In small communities there would hare been 
 doubtles-) but one hall, In which all political and judicial 
 business would have been transacted, 
 
 p. no. Sir Ote, This name occurs in the English Lyheam 
 Disconujf Sir Otes dc Lille, It is derived ultimately from Otho or 
 Otto. 
 
 p. III. Those brought from prison^ /.^., not admitted to ball and 
 brought from prison to trial. The text uses but one word; 
 deliverance^ i.e.^ gaol-delivery. 
 
 p, 1x3. JVhose locks tvere grey. We are told earlier that he was 
 a young man ; but this Is evidently the true statement. He 
 had served Sir Johan sixteen years and his father before him. 
 By Lodge, too, he is represented as an old man, 
 
 p. 116. Not by the wallet. Instead of hanging a purse at his 
 girdle, or, instead of having to pay a fine? 
 
 ROSWALL AND LILLIAN 
 
 No MS, of this romance is known, but It exists In numerous 
 printed editions, of which the oldest is dated 1663, It was 
 edited by David Lalng in Early Scottish Metrical Tales, 1826, and 
 
i8o NOTES , 
 
 again in Bmg!'ueht StuJirtt^ xvi. It is certainly as early as the 
 sixteenth century, and perhaps belongs to the fifteenth. 
 
 p. 117. Wytifi, 8cc, Uli/tics^ Achilles t Troilus^ and Priam belong 
 
 k to the legend of Troy, which was familiar In Scotland, liaving 
 
 been several times treated in the fifteenth century. Gamlifer is 
 
 possibly an error iov GnnJeli/n ( = Gamcfj/n)] but some editions 
 
 I read Gaudifer — for Godefroi de Bouillon ? Clariadus is the hero of 
 
 an enormous Scottiflli romnnce of the sixteenth century ; but 
 
 ; the name might have beea derived from the earlier French 
 
 ^y romance front which this was translated. Philrnox^ I have not 
 
 identified. Florenti/n of Almayue is probably Florent, son of tlie 
 
 Emperor .Octavian, Almuyne ( = Germany) being introducctl 
 
 i through x\\2 medieval conception of the tloly Roman Empire. 
 
 k On Lancelot^ fee vol. i. p. 183, 
 
 |\ p. 111. Dijsatvar, This word has puzzled the critics. Percy 
 K tuggested disaivare (Glos.) meaning unwumrcy univari/ ; Child 
 . (in his Glossary ; in the text, he declines to guess), dis and aver 
 (Fr. tfvrr, avoir)^ without possessions. This fits the sense on 
 p. Ill, where the old woman says he shall not be Dlssaivar^ 
 f . because she will adopt liim ; but does not explain her sentence 
 r on p. 124: *^Sir, they do call him Dissawar, and aye he's 
 \; done since h6 came here.'* Done what? The answer corre- 
 I ' spending to the fact seems to be: disavoio himself, i.^., refuse to 
 ^ tell who he is. Of course, he was bound by his oath to the 
 steward not to do so. He is therefore the disavoiver^ or in 
 Scotph dhaiuoiver^ possibly corrupted into Dissaivar^ after its 
 significance was forgotten. N. E. D. quotes a similar use of 
 the verb : " Yet can they never .... disavow my blood 
 i PUntagcnet*s " (Ford, FerLin H^arbak, IV., ii. 1634). But 
 whether derived from dis - avoir ^ dis* s avoir y or disawoiv, tlie proto- 
 type of the false name seems to be dis-conus (Jjyieaus Ditconus), 
 |i« p. 111. St, JuHaH*t sake» The saint who especially encouraged 
 I hospitality. 
 
NOTES i8i 
 
 p. 124. The noble French queen ^ &c. Impossible to Identify, 
 Henry V. and VI. married French wives, Mary Stuart's mother 
 was French — there are various possibilities. Lady Pelicane (or 
 Peliiin) must be a corruption, I cannot say of what, PhUippie 
 was possibly Philippa of Hainault, queen of Edv/ard lU., but 
 anotlier edition read* Ph'iU'n^ and perhaps the reference is to 
 Chaucer's Legend of Cood f^f^omen. Lady Christian (or Chrisialine in 
 another edition), I d<» not remember. 
 
 p. 125. Hcclory &c. Hector was the opponent of Achilles 
 at Troy. Oliver wa» the friend of Roland in the Chanson de 
 Roland and other po<tm,s of the ^esie du roi, Porteous, perhaps 
 Proteus^ J'lmeduS) pcrUap'i Amadas r' Predicuse^ perhaps /^^-nZ/Vfra/, 
 Alexander's j^eneral ? Liomhilc is possibly /./W*-/, but I know 
 no sucli hero except in the ballads. Plorent of Albanie — Albanie 
 may be a mistake here for Almayne ; but Albanie itself was 
 familiar in allusions. Knirrht of the Arms Green^ possibly Sir 
 hredbeddle, in the romanc*,' of Sir Gatvaijne and the Green 
 Knight, 
 
 p. 128, On a milk'ivhite steed, &c. This initiates a series of 
 three horses and suits of armour of different colours, on three 
 successive days. The episodes resemble a similar grc'jp r.f 
 scenes in Jpomedon, where the idea seems to have been b.>trn^' ..) 
 from the Lancelot attributed to Walter Map. In Sir Cc-vi^er^ 
 again, we have similar changes of equipment. See >\:.*;^, 
 Catalogue of Romances y !• 734^ 
 
 p. 135. JMeledasy &c. Meliodas is a queen in Malory , and 
 Claudas a king; but they are not a.s.sociat,ed. Here the 
 reference may be to the romance of Clariodus and Meliador — 
 worse corruptions have been made. Belsant married Ottuell, 
 but Ronald ( — Roland) appears in the same poem : Duie Rowland 
 and Sir Ottuell of Spain, 
 
 p, 137. N01U pray ive, 8cc. The repetition of the concluding 
 prayer suggests that the lines between were an afterthought. 
 
182 NOTES 
 
 7'HE STORY OF GRAY-STEEL 
 
 This romance (1474 lines) is first mentioned in 1497, when 
 King James IV. paid nine shillings to two fiddlers who sang 
 it before him at Stirling. Numerous allusions show that it 
 continued to be popular through the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 centuries, and eren In 1826, Mr. David Laing 5aid that Its 
 influence was tracca!)le in the sayings of theScottisli peasantry. 
 It is mentioned In the Ccmp!,it/ni tf Scoiland^ 1549; by Sir David 
 Lyndsay, in his Squire Mcldrum and The Auld Man anJ Jus Wife; 
 in a poem by John Davidson, 1574; by John Taylor, tlie 
 Water Poet,, in 1623; in The Scots HuMras^ 168 1. The tune is 
 given in a book for the lute, dated 1627, formerly belonging to 
 Dr. Burney ; and in 1686, a satire on the Marquis of Argyle 
 was set to the air of ** Old Gray-Steel." 
 
 The name Gray-^Steel was at least three times in the sixteenth 
 century given as a sobriquet : by James V. to Archibald 
 • Douglas of Kilspendie for ** his great ability of body;" to 
 William, first Earl of Gowrie, possibly because of a repute 
 for dealings in magic; and to Alexander, Earl of Eglinton, 
 perhaps for his prowess. 
 
 The early popularity of the poem Is shown by a printer's 
 note, October 18, 1577, mentioning 300 *< Gray Steiilis " at 
 sixpence apiece. Other editions followed in 1599, 1602, 1606, 
 &c. Mr, David Laing printed from an edition of 17x1; and 
 this same volume was earlier used by Ellis for his Specimens, An 
 older version was first edited by Hales and Furnivall, 1867-68 
 (^Percy Folio MS. , and also bound separately). 
 
 p. 137. JVinglayne, Possibly the same as Guinglain^ the name 
 of the hero in Lybeaus Disconut, 
 
 p, 138. Gnme . . . of Garwich (Garnrvicie), The name was 
 perhaps originally the Norse GrUnr ; but in the Aberdeen 
 
NOTES 183 
 
 edition has become identified with Graham, GarxoUit is 
 usually thought to be Carrick In Ayrshire. 
 
 p. 138. £gace . . , £grr. The first form is possibly a corrup- 
 tion of E^are, ^Z^^j from the context, is interpreted to mean 
 tacUnrr^ here almost equivalent to Lackland, The name is also 
 spelled Ef^atf perhaps with a reminiscence of the name Degarre, 
 John Taylor umcs Ve^re^ and Decree is the equivalent of Degarre 
 in the Percy Folio MS, Clearly the two names were confused, 
 although I)cirarrc=zJ'c[;iirCf the outcast. 
 
 p. 140. I'orLitUen Country, Cf. Introduction^ pp. XX.-Xxiv., 
 for the ♦jeography of this country. 
 
 p. i^.o. Against his breast. This is to show how much Stronger 
 he was than the ordinary knight who used a lance-rest. 
 
 p. 150. Egrame. Malory has the names Eg^^lamc^ EgL'mourt^Lnd 
 Segra/nour. The last two arc common, hut the first is rare, and 
 may represent the same original name as the ii«rrtf/w/ in the text. 
 
 p. 150. Ei/gding. In Old English, the word edge (ecg) meant 
 sivordy hence EJgcling would be King of iivords. In this text^ the 
 name first given to it is Erkyin^ which Liebrecht takes to be 
 from O. E. eorcnan^ precious stone. While it is true that the 
 sword is immediately after called a ** treasure of great price," 
 this derivation of the name seems to me more questionable than 
 the other. 
 
 p. 151. Kinr Ffundus, Perliaps King Ponthus, famous through 
 the romance of Pontus and Sidoine ? It might have been derived 
 from a form spelled Phonthus or Phontus, 
 
 p. 152. The biting s-ivord, See. The conception of the sword as 
 biting the bone is familiar in Old English, and is not, as far as I 
 know, a French turn of thought. 
 
 p. 152. A spot of red, &c. An original touch, in that the 
 heroines of the romances are almost invariably without blemish. 
 
 p. 154. A sultan called Gornordine, The form of this name and 
 
184 NOTES 
 
 the character of the episode suggest a French source, but the 
 name as it stands is probably corrupt ; at least, I cannot identify 
 it with any degree of certainty. There was a French epic hero 
 Gormond (Gormund), and a Garmund in Old English {Beoivulfy 
 L 1961). 
 
 p. 154. Ka^ of Kai/nes. A Northern knight suggests the 
 possibility of Caithnest for Katfncs, The episode is noteworthy 
 both for preserving the ancient militant character of Kay, who 
 in the fifteenth century was pretty well the butt of the romancers, 
 and for describing a combat more reasonable t!»an usual, twelve 
 against sixty, instead of oneor two against hundreds^r thousands. 
 
 p. 158. Hit conditions. This detail seems to be borrowed from 
 the legend of Gawain {cf. Miss Weston's Legend of Sir Gaivain, 
 *^97> PP» **-*3» ^^^ diflerent accounts), whose strength was 
 trebled at noon and waned to its original degree at night. If 
 this is based on a sun-myth, the Gray-Steel version is more 
 logical in that it represents an hourly increase and decrease 
 during the twelve hours which form the average day. The 
 same idea appears in the story of Cuchullin. 
 
 p. 159. Await him untii night. Then Gray-Steel would be at 
 his weakest, and Grime win less hoiiour, 
 
 f, 170. No irtter leech. Women doctors distinguished them- 
 selves at times in the Midd' Ages. They were known at least 
 at early as the eleventh . atury, when Trotula (Dame Trot) 
 lectured en Medicine at fJie famous school of Salerno. 
 
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