 Chapter 6 of Joffrey the Night and the Fair Brunissante by Jean Bernard Marie Lafond. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The Orchard of Brunissante. Harassed, fatigued, and sore with many abrues, Joffrey was sinking too for food and drink. And yet the want of sleep, of all our wants the most imperious, so weighed him down he scarce could keep his seat. Still he went on a quarter of the night, with limbs benumbed, and eyelids partly closed. Taking such course his charger pleased to lead. Serene and lovely was the atmosphere, and by the lights the stars in shining gave. He by adventure a large orchard saw, shut in with marble walls, and skirts with trees of umbrage, such as earth's scarce saw before. Birds and fragrant herbs abounded there, and with each puff of wind there issued out a sweet and barmy breath like paradise. So as thus that as night fell, the birds for leagues around it hither flock, and perching on the leafy boughs, wobble their dulcet notes till matting prime. This orchard appertained to a great dame known as Fair Brunissante. In the castle of Montbrun she lived, and father, mother, husband, had she none. Fine was her court and rich of breeding high, and knights and burgers, minstrels, jugglers from all countries hither trooping came. The palace, built of hewn and massive stone, whereon the sculptor had employed his art, was flanked with towers, blackened ore by time. Twas in the centre Brunissante was lodged, and to it seven gates a passage gave, whereof the keepers could each one lead forth a thousand men. Five hundred damsels waited her commands, but though to a rare to see such beauty met, yet Brunissante held empire over all in loveliness and grace. One might have sought throughout the realms of earth, and yet not found such high and gentle dame, or one so fine in form. Her eyes and her sweet face swept from the mind of those who gazed on her, all thought of former charms. She was more fresh, more fair, more purely white than snow that lies upon the frosty dew, and rose that opens on a lily's breast. But our felicity did not attend her charms. According to some deep grief, four times a day she sadly wept and mourned, and thrice she rose at night to mourn again. Her soul delight was listening to the notes of those sweet birds which filled her orchard near, which, when she had heard, she got some brief repose, soon to awake again to weep and mourn, and all her vassals of each age and sex, little and great, at that same hour of woe, uttered the self-same moans and shed like tears. Arrived as we already said before her orchard fair, Joffrey got down, and seeing an open gate he ventured in, removed the bridle from his chargers mouth, so that he grazed at ease, and his shield placing neath his weary head, his limbs outstretching on the flowery turf, he soon most soundly slept. Next then did Bruny-sonde her footsteps take towards her chamber, followed by her maids. Surprised, the birds no longer tune their notes, she straight away bade the Seneshall appear, to whom she said with wrath, Some creature surely must have passed the gates and scared my gentle birds, Go, quickly find it out, and if Pachansa managed to prove to be, He must be hither brought, alive or dead. Lady, the Seneshall at once replied, I go with speed. To Squires preceding him, each with a lighted torch, his horse he mounted, and rode down in haste, and in the orchard found the weary knight, wracked in profoundest sleep. He called him frequently, then shook him hard, but for a time in vain, his eyes at length with effort he unclosed, when raising up his head. For a night, quoth he most courteously, By thine attainments and thy gentle birth, I do entreat thee, in God's name, To let me hear abide and sleep my fill. Sleep must you now know more, replied the chief, But come before my lady, shall not rest until avenged on him who scares her birds. Quoth Shoffery, God permits thou shalt not take me off without a fight. The Seneshall, on hearing such resolve, Called to his Squire to bring him out his arms. Meanwhile, the son of Davan slept again, So that the Seneshall, when fully equipped, Was forced a second time to wake him up, And roughly as at first. Night, exclaimed Shoffery, as he then arose, It is a great sin to trouble my repose, For I am wearied out. But since thou hast chosen to accept the fight, Will thou allow me to sleep on in peace if I do thee unhors? By heaven's faith I swear it, laughing, the other said. Shoffery then hastened to his horse's side, Replaced the bit and tightly drew the girths. Mounted he galloped at the Seneshall, Who having drawn him back a space. Unrushing drove his lance at Shoffery's shield, But never harmed the night. He on the contrary, with happy stroke, Unhorsed the Seneshall, who full of shame, With head bowed down, and slow and thoughtful step, Regained the castle and his lady's room. —What is it? asked Brynysond, The dead off lurk. —A night all armed, Whose peer the world not holds, Sleeping so soundly he would scarce awake. —Why, it brought us thou him not here. I wish him hither led, For, with God's help, no food shall pass these lips, Till that bold night be hanged. —Lady, replied the Seneshall, He would not come, nor could I wake him up. —Indeed, quoth she, Then bid the toxin sound and rouse me up my nights. The Seneshall obeyed, the sound was heard, And straight away flocking came five hundred nights, The hall they entered, where their lady Stood with spite and anger pale. —Barrons, she said, A bold and wicked night my grounds hath passed, And will not quit the walls. Now, if his head pay not this insolence, I never will hold land or honour more. —Lady, replied a tall and proper night Of great renown, Simon the red by name, I Will go seek him out, if such your wish, And trust, alive or dead, to bring him here. —So be it, said Brynysond. —I did the Seneshall, My truth, good friend, I bid thee shield thyself, He can most sturdily defend his sconce, And brave indeed I'll hold the happy night, Who takes it off by force. —Simon, without a word, Went on his way, and Joffrey found still sleeping. —Rudely he cried, Up, up tonight, arouse! —Joffrey, who moved not more than any rock, Received from Simon then so strong A kick, it woke him up in haste. —Nathlas, thou promised to still let me sleep. —He then exclaimed, That is a villain's act to break thy faith, When thus I'm overcome. —Come speak then to my lady, Simon said, And I by force must take thee to the hall. —We first will see who's strongest, Thou or I, said Joffrey in a low tone, When springing on his horse, He ran at Simon, who like haste displayed. —Bold Simon's lance was split on Joffrey's shield, Since he was born by that of his brave foe, So swift to earth it nearly cost his life. —Joffrey ran up, as though to make it sure, When loud he called for grace. —Wilt thou annoy me further in my sleep, If I do grant it? —No, Lord, I promise thee. —Go then, said Joffrey, Who again laid down, and quick reclosed his eyes. —Simon the red with flush upon his face, And shame at heart, slowly retraced his steps. —Sertes did he make but half the noise he made on setting out, So that the Seneschal, who watched him come, Could not withhold his smiles. —Lady, he said, Behold your champion, but with him comes no knight, I'd wage my spurs like me, he has taken oath. —Morg of this pleasantry, the dame replied, Here I have rest, this naughty night shall hang. —Bring the words, one of the keepers of the seven gates, Descended to the orchard, But soon his troop returned, Bearing him faint and bleeding on his shield. —At such a spectacle, fair Bruny-sonde Could scarce contain her rage. —What! Have I round me nought but cowered folk? —She loudly cried, and knights without a heart. —Go, fifty, if it need, Go thrice that number still, And bring this vessel on no more return. —At this reproach, the knights rushed off in troop, And to the garden hide With clash and din, when there they joffery seized, Some by the arm, And others by the leg, while some his shoulders held, And some his head, and brought him thus Into that lordly hall, Without his being able to stir limb. —On seeing them arrive, the dame impatient came with hasty step, And bade them set him free. —They loosed their hold, and joffery stood upright, Nor could he think, As round his glance was thrown, to a sport That brought him among such iron folk. —Tall and well-shaped, his natural manly grace, Set off with horrible rich And burnished cask, struck Bruny-sonde, Who eyed him curiously. —Tis you, at length, she said, Who all this ill have wrought? —Fair lady, he replied, So far am I from doing what you say, Or causing you annoy, I would defend you with my utmost strength Against all of mother-born. —In that you say not truth, for you ere while Have so misused my night, That he may chance to die. —I own it, Lady Fair, but he was in the wrong. Having by oath engaged to let me sleep, He thrice returned to wake me up, And struck me with his lance. —Tall, had I known him fee-fee to you, Never on him had risen this nightly hand, E'en for a greater cause. —No matter, I can see, replied the dame, We'll find in you, and that ere-morning Sun A proper subject for the cord, or worse. Whilst thus she spoke, joffery regarded her, And ere had tired admiring her brow, Her neck, her fair and sweet fresh face, Her rosy mouth, and blue and loving eyes. —Lady, coffee, love gliding o'er his soul, Do with me what you will, who with no other Arms than that rich robe You would have vanquished me with greater ease Than ten nights clad in mail. —If against my knowledge I have caused you pain, Reek now your own revenge, that never against you Shall up-rise my sword, or lance or shield be used. —Bring him reason thus so courteously, The dame forgets her rough. Love with his golden shaft, hath pierced her heart, And now she pardons all. —Those lips still bear a menace to the ear, But those sweet eyes be light. —Groan bold the night, who still did on her gaze, Begged her to grant a boon. —Let me, he said, but slumber at my ease, Then do what justice bids. —There nots that I shall hence seek means to fly, For, heaven preserve me, you have somehow Gain such power o'er my soul, that you alone are better guard Than ten hundred of your men with arms in hand. —Fair Bruny sawned, retired with a sigh, Leaving for Soladja a look so sweet, that Spite of his dull sense, it filled his heart with joy. —Meantime the Seneschal, whose care it was, Bade the attendants then prepare a couch in the middle of the hall. He there conducted Joffrey, and then asked his name and country. —I'm of King Arthur's court, Quoth Davon's son. Now Prithee asked no more, but in God's name Let me in quiet rest. Full armed as he then was, he laid him down, And sleep his eyelids closed. Not so fair Bruny sawned, Love in her chamber had renewed the assault, and banished sleep away, And thus she mused until the city watch gave forth the accustomed sound, At that trumpet's call, each in the castle and the city rose, And all at once gave loose to tears and groans. —High dames and damsels, Bruny sawned in chief, clasping their hands in sign of the deepest woe, Beat their fair breasts and face. While the knights who guarded Joffrey made such dreadful dine, it woke him up, and made him ask the cause. —All at the word rushed forward to the couch, And struck with lance and sword and iron mace. —Well, it was for him his horberk was of proof, For the blows came just like to a storm of hail. How did they cease, thinking the knights was dead, Until the doleful cries had died away? Then each resumed his post, And silence fell o'er all. —Again at mid of night those cries up rose, But Joffrey, whom no sleep again had blessed, And whose cleared thoughts were fixed on Bruny sawned, Took careful note to guard his curious tongue. —During his breath he said within himself, Sir, tease are these men no folk of flesh and blood, But demons hither sent to pester earth, With heaven's help, tomorrow's blessed sun shan't light upon me here. —Persuaded he was dead after that storm of blows, The knights relaxed their watch And slumbered at their posts. —Joffrey then seized the chance and noiselessly up rose. With shield and lance in hand, He left the castle halls on tip of toe, By good luck found his horse, And mounting quick at fullest speed set out. Had he but dreamt the love fair Bruny sawned conceived, Not all her men at arms would from Mount Brun have chased him but with slaughter. —Little deemed he, as hill and dale he crossed with breathless speed, She at that hour was in her fancy, Musing how she might make him hers. —Who shall depict has rose the sun next morn, Fair Bruny sawn's dismay? When of the first who to the hall came down, She heard of Joffrey's flight. —As one deprived of sense, Those hundred knights she loudly did accuse Of treason to their faith, Their negligence she banned, And to the seneschal in wrath exclaimed, That if he found not Joffrey, He should by fire or cord full surely die, Even if torments yet unheard were hers. —While that this scene was passing at Mount Brun, Joffrey already was well on his road, And shortly after rising of the sun, He met a neat herd, Driving of a car laden with bread and wine and other things. This man invited him by holy charity To eat with him and use such kindly words, That Joffrey yielded to his hearty wish, Frankly avowing that for three whole days He had not tasted food. The neat herd therefore took his shield and lance, Drew from his car good wheat and bread and wine, Two roasted capons, three grilled partridges, And part of a wild boar. Then spreading on the turf beneath a leafy tree, A fair white cloth, a brook just bubbling by, He served the knights and paid him great respect. When they had eaten their fill, And in their thirst emptied two bowls of wine, Joffrey prepared to go, thanking the neat herd for his welcome meal. This man was vassal to fair Brunissonde, The lady of high worth, And as the knights was turning to depart, He drew the chargers rain, and gently said, Good friend, one thing I feign would ask of you, Which I had half forgot, Why do the people of this fair domain So weep and loudly moan? Ah, rascal, wretch, Thou traitor and thou fool, exclaimed the neat herd, Bursting forth with rage, Thy wretched life shall answer for those words. With all his strength he then at Joffrey cast the ponderous axe he bore, Which struck his shield, and brought out fire and flame. The knights spurred on his horse, And got clear off, but mid a storm of stones. The neat herd then, enraged at missing him, Shivered his carter bits, And with his axe struck both his oxen dead. In ignorance of the cause of all this rage, Joffrey at length relaxed his horse's speed, Still as he went exclaiming, That he'd hold us naught, all yet that he had done, Till he had met a creature who could tell the reason of that wailing. Bizzid with such-like thoughts, And the remembrance of fair Bruny-sonde, He rode the live-long day, spite of fatigue and heat. When daylight waned, Two youths well-horsed with falcon on the fist, And hounds and terriers running at their feet came up to him, After slight discourse, invited him to share their evening meal, And that so courteously he could not make denial. The three young men then gaily went along, Talking of love and battle's iron strife, When, as twas sunset, rose again that cry, At which the youths, Like madmen howled and wept. Good youths, quoth Joffrey, with astonishment, What means this grief? What heard you, sirs, I pray, And why such noise? Why, as thou foolish treacherous surf, That word shall cost thy life? And as one cast at him his startled bird, The other plucked his cap from off his head, And threw its madly-gainst bold Joffrey's shield. Their fury and hard words finished, As ceased that cry. And quickly following the wandering night, With hundred-phrase, they charmed away his wrath, And to their habitation led the way. This was a chateaulet of graceful form, Guarded by lofty walls and outer-foss, Through which a living stream for ever ran, Beside the bridge their satin-aged night, Listing a minstrel's song, The lay of the two lovers. It was the father of the two young men, Beholding Joffrey, he in haste arose, And came to give him welcome, Saying with joyful tone, I am beholden, Lord, to those who've brought you, Seven long years have flown since stranger Guest have this my threshold crossed, Whose aspect pleased me so. God save you, sir! Thus speaking, by the arm the night, A scorted Joffrey to the hall, Where the two youths removed his armour bright. Soon there came in a damsel fair, A fresh and smiling look, Who brought him a rich mantle, Which, when he had put on'd, She, on a cushion, placed beside him, sat. Then they discoursed on various pleasant things, Until it was time for water to be brought. A well-bred page did pour it o'er his hands, While the fair damsel held the ready bowl, At which, Sir Joffrey said, Maiden, I'll not this kindly act refuse, For should you ere need service at my hands, What ere the hour or place, You may full surely call me to your aid. They then at table sat, And when the meal was o'er, The cloth removed, the damsel went the couches to prepare, And left her father in the night alone. The old man asked his name, And wept for joy to learn the son of Devon was his guest, His ancient friend in arms. He would have feign a month detain'd him there, But Joffrey cleverly excused his maid, And at the point of day, He in his saddle found himself again. The maid had given him his shield and lance, And he his leave was then about to take, When it occurred to him to ask his host about that wailing cry. Scarcely, however, was the question put, When the old man and his two sons alike Assailed him with hard names. They called him naïve and wretch and villain's son. They tried to strike at him with sturdy clubs, And tore their hair in that unseemly rage. Joffrey by dint of spur escaped their wrath, And wondering, saw them on each other turn Their fits will hire, And tear their clothes to rags. Their fury spent, they called him back again, And Joffrey, wishing to have news of Tola, Consented to return. As it fell out, no man could give him more. The aged knight well knew that champion fierce, And in these terms did tell him what he sought. Follow, he said, all day this very road, It leads across a track of desert space, When near I found, or house or town, Or bread or wine, or man of mother-born. If you should wish him passing to repose, Nought but the turf can be your host or tent. Go onward thus until tomorrow's sun, Before the noon you will have reached a plain, Wherein is set a high and rugged mount. There at its foot, a castle you'll behold, Pleasant and finely built, And round its moats, a crowd of tents and huts, Where harbour nights and lords of high descent, Pass stoutly on, nor speak a word to man. Go to the castle without stop or stay, Whatever may befall, and enter boldly in, Leaving without your lance and eek your shield. There you will find two dames, One old, one young, who watch a wounded knight. Go to the ancient dame, and to her say, That Auger de Cliar sends you there, That she may tell you why the people groan, And give you news of Tola. Chapter 7 of Joffrey the Knight and the Fairbrew Nissonde by Jean Bernard-Marie Lafond. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The Black Knight. Well pleased at Auger's words, which seemed to raise his heart by fuller span, Joffrey spurred bravely on, and by the morrow safely reached the spot his host had named. While he was passing through the scattered tents, the knights who stared at him exclaimed aloud, Behold a man who has ridden the night long, and hastens forward but to seek his loss. Seeming as though he had never heard the words, he to the noble castle straightway hide, which seemed most rich and sculptured with fine art. Seeing a portal set with marble leaves, and tinged of various hues, he there got down, secured his horse, and near him, placing both his lance and shield, he passed within the door. At first his eyes no other forms beheld, than those which horned the walls. But as he wandered on from room to room, he came at length where lay the wounded knight, and at his couch, two dames in robes of woe, and tears upon their cheeks. He was counselled by Good Auger, then he to the elder went, and prayed her courteously, in heaven's name, to tell him where was Tola, and why the people of that land he left did day and night so weep. Charmed with his breeding and his nightly words, the lady then explained that Tola, whose brutality and pride exceeded bounds, would in eight days return. He comes, she said, to glut his cruelty upon the wretched man who yonder lies. Seven years ago he with his lance did wound him cruelly, and when that wound is healed, each year, upon the feast day of St. John, he has him fastened to a stake hard by, and beaten with a scourge, until the wounds are opened once again. For this the vassals of the neighbouring land of Bruny sawned, whereof this night is lord, weep and lament, and e'en do put to death those who would spy into their cause of grief. Lady, sajofri said, pride slays its lord, and by that pride I trust will Tola fall. In eight days time to seek him I will come, and I can truly say that term will seem a year. Commending her to heaven he left those halls, mounted again his horse, and took his way towards a neighbouring wood, where he did trust some man to meet to lodge him at his hut. The wood was gloomy, intricate and dense, and at the first crossroad before him he beheld squatted beneath a pine, a hag whose aspect struck him with surprise. Her head was larger than a portal's arch, her eyes were small as deniers, blared besides and blue, misshapen and deep sunk beneath projecting brows. Her lips were black, teeth red as opiment, which jutted out unseemly from her jaw. Her arms were sinewy, and her hands all knots, her face was colourless and wrinkled oar, her body puffed, her shoulders round and high, her legs were skinny and a brownish hue, her knees were pointed, her toenails so long no shoe could ever have enclosed her feet. Her verdant wreath encircled her white hair, which stiffly stood on end, her undergarment was of linen fine, her robe of ruddy silk, and over all a scarlet mantle fell with ermine lined. Joffre saluted her, meanwhile with awe he gazed upon her figure strange and ugly face. She turned her head, and without moving from her darksome seat exclaimed, Retrace thy steps a night, and that at once. Not so indeed, quoth Joffre, till I learn why thou dost tell me thus to flee away. Thou wilt repent it then, the hag replied, and death or dungeon shall thou surely find. And wherefore so? Go on, and thou wilt learn. Tell me at least with whom I have to strive. Who's thou shalt meet, we'll say, and thou too, what art thou? What thou beholdest, the hag exclaimed, as rising she unfolded her huge length, tall as a nightly lance. Heavens, as Joffre cried, in thee I trust, what figure have we here? Dare to pass on, weds, growl the wretched hag, and thou shalt meet with worse. Thus they stay not me, as to thy threats, he said, I hold them as the wind, or nothingness. Pricking his charger as he spoke the words, he passed along the path. The hag, however, had but told the truth, for as he reached a chapel small, a holy hermit served, a knight of sable hue, mounting a sable horse with sable arms, assailed him with such strength and unawares, that horse and knight were on the turf or throne. Joffre, all red with shame, at once up sprang, and sword in hand, wished to avenge his fall, but lo, no foe was there. He looked about, above, around, below, but horse and knight had vanished quite away. Again he mounted on his charger's back, when, at the instant, his strange foe returned with lowered lance to strike at him again. Joffre, prepared, now flew at him in turn, they midway met with shock so terrible, each rolled upon the earth. Half wild with anger then, quick as the lightning, Joffre was afoot, with shield on guard and ready for the fight, but nearer foe was there. I will yet find him out, so Joffre said, as in his saddle he again did leap. But scarce was foot in stirrup firmly set, when back returned the sable knight, hissing and growling as the thunder doth, when tempest vexed the air, and for the third time bore him to the ground. Joffre, on his side, had so aimed his lance, it pierced his foe right through, and cast him on the turf. But when he wished to give the coup de grace, in vain he sought the knight, he neither saw nor heard. Good heaven, Joffre cried, where have this recreational, this demon fled? I drive my lance of fathom through his breast, I hurl him to the ground, and yet he flies and doth escape my wrath. O gracious Lord, in thee I put my trust! Again he mounted as he spoke these words, when the invisible once more appeared, unhorsing him anew. Why re-describe the scene? While daylight lasted still this game went on, when off his horse no creature did he see, but as he sat him on his chargers back, the sable knight appeared to strike and hew. Weary a fight, so Joffre then resolved to go on foot into the chapel gate, but as he took his way the spectre then his onward footsteps barred, so that the battle did again commence, and in the darkness, without pause, went on. For half that night their swords and lances clashed, so that bright sparks of fire upward flew, fatigued at length to hear such din of arms, the hermit rose, and with his stole and cross and holy water, chanting his psalm, forth issued from his cell. The sable knight did not attend his coming, shrieking aloud, but once he disappeared, albeit behind him, leaving such a storm as suffered no allay, until the chapel bell rang out the mat in hour. Sheltered by this good man, so Joffre asked, and thus obtained from him the secret of the night with whom he had fought so long. Friend, what thou askest, I'll tell thee in few words. This night in sable armour is a fiend. He voked from realms of darkness by a hag, whom thou perchance hast met upon thy way. This hideous wretch once mosted as her spouse, a monstrous giant, whose most wicked acts for twenty leagues around had spoiled the earth. As mortal or ferocious though he be, is nare without his peer, its hap this giant did return one night, so grievously elused, that at the end of three short days he died. The hag then, fearing for her own sad life, and that of her two sons, called by her magic from the lower world, that evil spirit who, for thirty years, these lands have vexed. Meantime her sons have waxed in years and strength, and closely followed in their father's steps. Grown leprous, one, he dwelt within a house built by his mother by the force of spells, whither his brother hath set out in haste, enraged and tossed, for that the rumour saith a night of Arthur's court the wretch hath slain, and it be true, may heaven or powerful defend that night. He will endeavour to defend himself, quoth choffery smiling, and the rage giant, if he held the wish, need not have gone so far to find him out. I am the man who did this brother's sleigh, and by whose hand the wicked spell was burst. Eight days being fled, the hermit chanted mass, and at the altar prayed the holy saints to guide such offrey, and protect his life against the monster's wrath. Having devoutly joined him in the prayer, the son of Govon, like a valiant knight, did joyously set out, and scarce had ridden for an hour's space, when he beheld the giant swiftly come, bearing beneath his arm, with the same ease as he had done a child, a damsel who did utter doleful cries. Her voice was hoarse from screaming out for help, her yellow hair which sparkled in the sun, upon her shoulders all dishevelled, fell like molten gold. Her robe was torn, her eyes were swollen with tears. Scarce by St. Mary had she's strength remaining to implore help of choffery. The night with pity touched, heard not in vain the prayer. His shield advanced, his lance within the rest, he at the giant road, and called aloud that he should loose the maid. Letting her truly for an instant go, the giant ran towards the nearest tree, and pulling at the trunk, unearthed it, roots and all. Before however he had done so quite, choffery had plunged his lance into his side. Checked by the stroke and trembling in the hand, the giant's blow lost half of its effect, yet near the less it bore to Mother Earth both choffery and his steed. The night full quickly leapt upon his feet, and with his ready sword struck at the monster with such vigorous hand, he sliced from off his flank a palm of flesh, and through the gaping wound one might behold his beating heart, while streams of blood poured through. Exhausted, tottering still, the giant overthrew the night by striking with his fist upon his helm. But though his sword escaped from choffery's grasp, it was too late for harm, the giant's fainting fell. On this the night hewed off his monstrous feet, when, in all gentleness, the maid he raised, but she had kneeled at her preserver's side, and thus did say, Accept, my Lord, a thousand grateful thanks for more than life of you preserved for me in saving me from him. Damsel, so choffery answered, God for ever aid you, but explain how it is I find you here. My Lord is easy to relate the tale, but yesterday I, in an orchard's strayed, to which my mother had conducted me. It was our usual walk, when, as we left the gates, behold, young giant suddenly appeared, seized me at once, until his castle now was bearing me away, when you, tonight, so happily stepped in. I thank great heaven, it was just in time. But where, I pray you, was your worthy sire, and where, your brothers, when this giant came? Hunting within the forest, good my Lord, but you surprised me, asking of them. One fain would say that you did know them all, and yet, me thinks, I never have seen yourself. Sweet Damsel, yea, and that's few days are gone, it was at your father's, Oye's good house, where I, at need, so courteously were served by you and all of yours. Just be the hour, gentle Lord, and night, you harb underneath our roof, and we, how happy to have you for guest. By this you see, my fair and courteous maid, how meat it is that we should service do, even to those unknown. One knows not who shall go, or who shall come, they who do hold, or they who hold them not, or what the future keeps for us in store. Well it becomes us, then, to render help where help we can. Come with courtesy and honour guests with shelter and with food, whom chance may send us as they onward go. And where, Sir Joffrey, then inquired the maid, if I may ask, do you direct your steps? I will explain as we do ride along, but I must haste, time presses, and in now I greatly fear me, I shall come too late. Remounting quickly as these words were said, he then, could Orgie's daughter, lifted up and placed upon his horse, but he resolved she should not quit his sight until he put her in her father's arms. This done, he rode a pace towards the spot where lay the wounded knight. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of Joffrey the Knight and the Fair Brunissande by Jean Bernard Marie Lafond. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Tola de Rougiment Never did help come more in time of need. Returned that very morn, Tola had bound his prisoner to a stake, and four stout ploughmen, each armed with a strap, already raised their brawny arms to strike and ope the closer wounds. But as Joffrey came, they stayed their hand to gaze a while at him. Nor less surprised than they, Tola, who on the castle terrace stood, descended in hot haste, and thus accosted Joffrey. So at night I faint would learn what madness or what pride have thus conducted thee into my lands. These mount and doff thine arms, for thou art prisoner henceforth for I. My lord, the knight replied, me thinks you practise an unseemly haste. Give me, I beg, the time to tell my errand. I come to speak in favour of the knight, your naives were going to strike, and I entreat you, for the sake of me, to grant onto them grace. May heaven help me, Tola answered him. But sure, thou art distraught. Such words deserve the rope, a peasant's death. It would be a grievous wrong, my lord, the words being good and wise. Again I do repeat them, praying grace for yonder night, whose seven long years hath grown. Go, churl, too long I've listed. Go and disarm thyself if thou wilt live, and to my squires give up the girl with thee. If she's dishonoured, and I put to shame, this arm by heaven must indeed be weak. What, wouldst thou fight with me? In onto death before I suffer shame. Vain fool beware! When on my neck I've put my shield, thou'dst find but little grace. Mine ear, quoth Geoffrey, hath been oft assailed by higher threats than these. I do reply, that by the faith of him who built this world, you shall set free on night, and to the court of Good King Arthur go, to pay the felony you there have done. Or you shall fight with me, till you are I be vanquished and slain. Noth thou then not, I've fought and conquered full five hundred knights, all better men than thou. It may be so, quoth Geoffrey. Now for proof, go get your arms, and God's high will will be done. No other armour, proudly Tola said, do I require the my good lancen shield. Seven of thy strength might then come on, and I defy you all. Tis madness, did such a Geoffrey make reply, to enter fight unarmed. But since your pride doth blind your senses so, in have it as you will. Furious at the words, Tola addressed the squire, go to the castle quickly as thou canst, bring me my lancen shield, and tell the knights I've conquered one by one to meet me here. That they may witness a base peasant's death, as with a single blow I do intend, through shield and horberg, to find out his heart. And at the instant, should this not be done, may I lose arms and chivalry and ladies' love. The squire ran quickly to the scattered camp, where lodged the captive knights, who all were grieving for the wounded man, bound to the stake and waiting for the scourge. To them he briefly said, Barons, my lord, attend you there beyond, that you may see him battle with a fool, who comes to seek his death. Mounting then speedily the castle stair, amid the tears and murmurs of the dames who ceaseless mourned, he took him down the shield and lancs suspended to the rack, and bore them to his lord. Who, vaulting on his horse, nor stopping to don breastplate or ought else, cried in a haught tone, Come to thy death, thou churl, whose sight offends me! Sojofri, angered at the insult, then dashed at full speed upon the haughty knight, who like a lion came. So fearful was the shock, no saddle, girth or art availed Sojofri. Down to the earth he rolled beneath the stroke, but not alone, for Tau'la, on his side, by blow as vigorous and deftly put, at the same instant fell, his shield pierced through, and Sojofri's lancs within his side, a shout of joy up sprang from those good knights. Good heaven, but this day thou chasteness, Tau'la, and dost break that pride which long hath vexed the land! Sojofri, meanwhile, his sword within his grasp, ran to fierce Rujimon, fast pinned to earth, as though some snakey were. But as he came, Tau'la, in humble tone exclaimed, But God's love, knight, O, do not end thy work, but is my folly that hath brought my death! Thy folly true was great, Sojofri said, But ere we part, I count on curing thee. Too long this pride endured, it must now have an end. Thou deems this morn no knight was in the world, Who in address and strength could vie with thee. Most brave no doubts thou wasst, But thy consuming and most wicked pride Exceeded far thy valour, and is a vice God, neither loves nor bears. Thou now canst learn that, but for his resolve to Chasing thee, this youthful arm, 30s less robust than thine, Would ne'er have cast thee down. Tis but the punishment for thy fierce pride, The outrage thou to the good King Arthur didst, that flower of chivalry, Whose uprightness God loves. And thus it fares with those who seek his shame, Sooner or later will the knights who sit at his round table famed Meet out their punishment, save Neath the earth they hide. What they can do in fights Thou mayst surmise by me a novice, Scarcely two months armed, and who have sought thee day and night until this hour, When thou dost find the gooden of thy deeds? All that thou sayest tonight is but too true, Tau la replied in weak and failing voice, But mercy grants me, as thy conquered foe, As dying man, and who doth yield to thee. The mercy that thou praised for Thou shalt have, says Joffrey said, But upon certain terms, first Thou shalt go to good King Arthur's court, Where yield thyself a prisoner, he will take such vengeance on thee as his honour claims. That I will do, but now, for heaven's sake, Permit the leech to bind me up this wound. No leech shall come, nor air shall thou uprise, Till, by St. Thomas, thou hast let go free The night who's bound to yonder cruel stake, And all the captives thou hast ever made. Do as thou wilt, my lord, with them and me. Joffrey at once did sheath his own good blade, And take the sword of Tau la. Then he allowed the squire to fetch the leech, Who probed his master's hurt, and washed the wound with water and white wine, When on a couch he had him gently laid, and Born within the gates. Joffrey meanwhile set free the wounded knight, And, having extorted from the captive lords their promise, that they'd hasten to Carlisle, And to King Arthur this affair elate, he was about to leave them to God's care, When the wounded knight, lord paramount of all those gentlemen, most humbly to him said, Good sir, to you I yield, and with my person offer men and lands. Most nobly have you won all this and more, In freeing me from all the pangs I've borne for seven weary years. So great those pangs, so cruel was my lot, Better for me had death relieved my woes. Tau la, without a cause of enmity, Have tortured me full long, but now by God's grace, And sonite by yours, at length his reign is o'er. Good lord, responded Joffrey, Pray retain your having, nor do I wish for your deliverance. Give that, with these brave knights, You do proceed to Good King Arthur's throne, and there explain you owe your liberty to Davon's son. The knight such promise gave, when Joffrey calling for his horse, which all prepared they brought, while Oge's daughter mounted by his side, he took of all farewell, and then set out for the fair damsel's home, His thoughts ensued turning to Brunisond, Towards whom he felt his heart most sweetly drawn. When he had gone, Tau la returned the knights their steeds and arms, and by the compact maid departed in their train for fair Carlisle. There they arrived upon the eleventh day. The worthy king gave audience to a dame, who bathed in tears, her castle was to lose within a week, if she no champion found to meet her foe. When he had listed to her dullerous words, the king aggrieved, replied, Lady, we're going here, most willingly would he defend your cause, but he is not, nor have I, Davon's son, nor Ivan bold, nor any of the braves of my round table. If of the knights who hear surround my throne, their standing one who'll venture your defence, great is the honour that shall be his mead. But no one made reply. In vain the dame, turning to the spurred heels, with warmth exclaimed, For heaven brave knights, shall it be said a woman came to seek in this high court for aid, yet found it not. Still, no one made reply. It was at this moment, Tau la's troop appeared, himself upon a gilded litter lad, covered with sumptuous cloth, and gently by two snowy polfries borne. Five hundred knights he had in fight or throne, armed capapie, followed in his train, each mounted on a charger richly decked. Their lord was at their head, who, as they reached the king, knelt humbly down before that monarch's throne, and thus addressed him. Sire, may he who foe our will came down on earth, which eek his blood be due'd, now grant you joy and double your renown! And you friend, may he save, the king replied. But what I pray are these, who seem so stout and good, and what the wounded man that litter holds. My lord that man is Tau la, Tau la de Rugement, my lord the same. You're free the son of Devon, bravely vanquished him, and hither sense him to the queen and you, so that you may, my lord, such vengeance take as in your wisdom you consider fit, for that same outer age, now two months ago, he did to you. Heaven and earth, King Arthur then exclaimed. How well hath Joffrey served me! Friend, tell me truth, when last you left him, was he safe and sound? Great lord he was, as doth comport such honoured and brave knight, who hath no grief nor fear. Not else but good can harbour with his name, and it was sweet to lord, if that his axe did not upraise him more than words can ever reach. When you shall know from what most cruel fate his valour hath snatched me, you will indeed be full of wonderment. But this recital must before the queen and all her dames be made. The king at once commanded unto Quex to go and seek the queen. The seneschal obeyed, when meeting her. Lady, said he, if it so meet your wish, the king, your lord and mine, bids you come and list a message, brought by Valiant's knight, who heads a great escort. The queen at once proceeded to the hall with all her dames and damsels, and when she placed herself beside her spouse, Melian the worthy knight addressed them thus. Lady, from brave Sejofri, Dovonsan, I bring high reparation to yourself and all your train. I bring you taula, heights of rugimont, that you may vengeance take for the affront that he hath done to you, for the cruelty he's heaped on me. Learn without motive, he my father slew, and me he wounded with such grievous hurt that ne'er shall I be healed. I was his captive in his castle kept, and when my wound had closed, he to a stake did have me bound, and scourged by cruel hands, until the wound again was open laid. Each month did I this martyrdom endure, which caused such dire despair throughout my lands, that thrice by day and thrice by night, they gave a loose to tears and doleful cries. By heaven exclaimed the worthy king at this, what fell an act! By all the saints of heaven, said the queen, this was the reign of haughty pride run wild. Ye, from the litter did taula, we spawned. I had goodsooth, most wicked, foolish pride, but I have lost it all. A leech appeared, who in a space most brief did work a cure. I sought him vain a night who could make head against me, and I found my match. Never did better joust a wielder lance. Modest as brave, and generous as good. Despite of my insults, which did merit death, so joffrey gave me grace and granted pardon. You noble sire, who are the best of kings, deign but to imitate his clemency, and pardon give for that most foolish crime I here did madly do. The worthy king, all way to good inclined, his pardon freely granted to the knight. Nay more, he used such reasons with the queen, that Guinevere as generous noble dame, her pardon likewise gave, meleanne alone remained inflexible. Rejecting all entreaty, he resolved, as was his right, since his was corporal shame, that taula should be judged by legal court. At once they called a hundred legists in, who, when they heard the cause, the following sentence did at once proclaim, taula to meleanne shall be given up, who month by month shall bind him to like stake, and by like hands on him inflict like punishment. The court doth grant this power on to meleanne for seven years, with liberty, albeit in him, to set his prisoner free, when ere he feel inclined to grant him grace. CHAPTER IX OF JOFRIE THE NIGHT AND THE FAIR BRUNISANT BY GENVERNARD MARIE LAFONNE At the same hour, the legist sentence passed. Ce joffri, riding quickly with the maid, before the towers of Augier arrived, warned of his coming by the vassals' cries, who gave him joyful welcome and warm thanks for having set their lord and suzerain free. Augier mounted quickly on his horse, and with his sons came out to meet the night. Besides the joffri, he perceived the maid, guiding with sweeter grace than I can tell, her gentle polfri, but he knew her not, for she was veiled. Descending from his horse as he approached the night, who ecolighted as he saw him come, he seized his hand, and with a trembling voice. "'My lord,' he said, "'within my castle come, as you did promise me. We were most gladly there, a welcome give, albeit my heart is melting with its woe. Since last we two did meet, a monster hath my daughter carried off, and with her all my joys. You did not guard her with sufficient care,' ce joffri mildly said, "'since she is gone, but now remains to do, it was to be. None can avert his fate, so be consoled and dry at once your tears. Some days are gone, I won a maid in fight, gentle and lovely as a maid can be. And if you will, to you I'll give her up, that she may take the place of her that's lost.' "'Alas, my lord,' good Augier replied, "'where is the damsel or the dame that can compete with her in grace, in gentle manners, gaiety, and love? Her like is still unborn, and for my rest of days this world to me can not, alas, a Ford of happiness or ease. And I do still the country affirm, and more than that declare that you, this damsel, shall her equal find in beauty and in love.' In speaking thus, ce joffri raised her veil, and Augier looking, his sweet daughter knew. When he had pressed her often in his arms, a thousand grateful thanks bestowed on joffri, and listened to the tale of his exploits, with Tau'la and the giant, he to the castle led the way, to serve some vassals following in troops. Great was the honour they there showed the night. The brothers poured the water for his use. The damsel served him with her own fair hands, her roasted peacock, nobly bedecked, and Augier feign had kept him there a month, but joffri, frankly owning that his heart allured him to Mount Brune, set out the morrow morn. Escorted by his host and his two sons, he took his way, musing on Brunissant, when, at the hour of noon, he met her seneschal, just then returned from fair Carlisle, where he had Tau'la seen, and Melien, and the five hundred knights from Bondage Freed. He was still seeking by his dame's command, brave Davon's son, but half-despaired success. Scarcely however did he learn the truth that Melien's saviour and the weary knight, who in the orchard slumbered with the same, when, urging his horse, near did he stop until Mount Brune was reached, where travel-soiled he came to Brunissant. There is the knight, as she, before the man, could enon-close his lips. Comeeth he on, shall I soon see him here? He follows me, fair lady, he replied, but such his deeds, whereof the saving of our lord from pain and torment is but one, that I do think to a well you met the knight, and with a hundred damsels formed escort. The thought pleased Brunissant. She orders gave to deck the roads with green, to hang rich stuff and silk, damask and cloth of gold upon the castle walls, while she herself, mounting her pulfry white, with all her court and knights and damsels fair, went out to meet Sojofri. Her aid most richly in a silk and robe, with trimmings of pure gold, she had upon her blond intresses placed a gorgeous wreath, where peacock's feathers shone, while in her hand she bore the choicest flowers from her garden cold. No wonder then, if Sojofri were surprised to see her come, thus lovely, full of grace, and smiling as the queen of the sweet south. With courteous words they met, and side by side to Montbrun's lordly halls together they returned. I leave you to surmise the games and joy which at the castle on that day were seen. Sojofri and Brunissant, the fair, alone nor ate nor opened their lips. The lady glanced at Sojofri with a sigh, and each sweet glance shot through his softened eyes and fell into his heart, while Sojofri, on his side, at every moment blushed, and through the very marrow of his bones, by dart invisible, did feel that he was pierced. Using of love the live long night they watched till rosy morning came. In her chamber the fair lady, and Sojofri, on his gorgeous couch, thought but of the gentle speeches they would make the morrow mourn, and when once the sun had risen they were up and quickly clad, and when mass at length was over, side by side they sat them down in the great hall of the castle, where they oped their swelling hearts. Twas Brunissant, who first the silence broke, nor dazzled by her beauty, Sojofri lost in gazing on her face the pretty speeches he had framed our nights. My Lord, she said, in voice of sweetest tone, Your coming brings us joy and happiness. No service could be higher than the one you've rendered us, and bless we, good King Arthur, in his nights, bless we, the land which claims so brave a man, and bless we, too, the lady for whose sake such noble acts are done. Alas, Sojofri at this latter phrase, no lady cares for me. You speak in jest, said then Fair Brunissant, your sense and valor raise you up too high for noble lady not to care for you. I care perhaps for her, not she for me. No, she at least of this your love for her. I cannot say fair lady if she guess, but I near told my love. No blame, then, can at least a light on her. If you near seek where lies the remedy of that same evil, whereof you complain, who is in the wrong? She's I, sweet lady, I. Her greatness curbs me, fills me with strange fears. I cannot ask her love for near an emperor who trod this earth, but by that love were honoured, such as the heights above all other dames, to which she's raised by sovereign grace and wealth. What you now say is forloy, gallant knight, empress and kings near one in true love's lists, a greater prize than brave and courteous man. Such love holds not to riches. Noble heart and gentle grace have in his court more power than lands and titles. How many folks there are of high descent, whose worth is valued highly at a groat? How many others rolling in bright gold, whose value would not buy a coat of mail? Hide, then, no longer in your single heart the thought with which it's filled. Your valour and your deeds give you a claim to match upon this earth with the most fare, most high. So Joffre heaved aside, and thus much moved, replied, Lady, forgive, I pray you, the avowal which you, forsooth, are destined now to hear, avowal that no torture ere had drawn, but which is due to those sweet words of yours. You, then, are she for whom my heart doth melt, she whom I love and fear, and I implore. She who doth hold the keys of all my joys, my pains, and who can make of me, even at her will, foolish or wise, a coward or a brave. At length had Brunison the fair attained the sum of her desire, yet she her joy concealed, and in a tone of playfulness exclaimed, Sir Joffre, you are pleased to banter me, ne'er can I think I have the power you say. A hundred times more power you may believe than I can ever tell. That we shall prove right soon, she made reply. The age is spoiled by wicked usages, true courtesy is lost, and he who warmly vows that he doth love too oft, but utters lies. If you full truly wish to have my love, I must be wed as well as would my lord. Sir Joffre cared not, you may well believe, such offer to refuse. He had just vowed by Peter and St. Paul, naught upon earth such joy could give to him, when a knight entered, beating on his shield, to announce the coming of the lord of Brunison. To horse, good knights, to horse, the lady cried. When lords and damsels, mounting in hot haste, went out to meet their suzerain. And thus the cavalcade rode gaily off, headed by Joffre and fair Brunison. They saw approach to ladies dressed in black, with eyes all red and swimming with fresh tears. Joffre saluted them, and then inquired for tidings of Lord Melian. But one of them in an undertone replied, with a sigh, that of Lord Melian, nothing did she know, she thought, but of her woes. Tell us, Sir Joffre, why you shed these tears? Since you do wish to know my lord, I'll speak the truth. A knight, misshapen, and ill-bred saboot, wishes to force on me his odious love. And I in grief have left King Arthur's court, where I have neither found advice nor aid. You do astonish me, Sir Joffre cried. Where was a Gawain, then? Ivan the courteous. Coedis, that's brave knight, Tristram and Calogrant. Lads a lot do lack. Eric and Caravis, and bitter Quex. Pray, where were they? I know it's not by heaven good my lord, nor have I any trust but in Sir Joffre, that's most famous knight whom now I seek, that he may turn my fate, and my good rites maintain. I will maintain its sirtees, then Joffre said. But I am he, the Joffre whom you seek. But I must first conclude a matter here, which before all things claims my every thought. The morning lady wept, and urged a suit, spite of the angry looks of Bruny-sonde. Sir Joffre would not yield, but to Mont-Bruin, with Melian, straight returned. The lady there, giving all course to think that to her suzerain she bowed her will, was for long time entreated, she her hand should give to Devon's son. Then they set out for Carlisle's gallant court, and in their train were twice twelve hundred maids, and full three thousand knights in brilliant arms. The first three days of travel, nor to Coed, but on the fourth, having pitched their tents in a green mead, barmy with flowers, and shut in with trees, Joffre and Melian suddenly did hear a voice which helped implored in piercing tone. The son of Devon called for horse and arms, and would alone go seek this cause of wail. He thus arrived upon the borders of a pond of some extent, and limpid water, where a damsel stood, tearing her hair and robe, and in her grief her face. My lord, she cried, as Joffre hastened up, have pity for Saint Mary's sake, upon a dame who in this pond is drowning. She was the best, the wisest of her sex. Joffre advanced, and there in truth he saw, within the waters, battling with death, a dame who now appeared, now slid beneath the wave. He soon alighted, and his efforts used to save her, with the but-end of his lance. But whilst his arm was thus outstretched, and he stood by the brink, the damsel pushed him, with such hearty will, that once he toppled in, which she perceiving leapt in after him. Drawn downward by the great weight of his arms, so Joffre disappeared with those two dames. The daying and the rage of his good horse, which poured the ground, and madly bit the earth about the pond, announced this dire mischance to Melian. He hastened there, and finding Joffre drowned, he swooned away, to as then the rest, among whom the news had flown, galloped full speed towards that fatal pond. Force was required to drag Lord Melian off, but when restored he tried to drown himself, and for Fair Bruny sawned, she by her seneschal was barely saved. Since Joffre lost, she would not him survive. Joining her cries to dames and damsels moans, and to the lamentations of her lords. Oh Joffre, Joffre, sobbed she wildly out. Frank, generous knight, all powerful at arms, who then hath taken thy life? Some traitor blow hath struck thee by surprise, for living man could nare her fairly one. Oh Joffre, lone on earth, what good am I? Worthless is life which keeps me far from thee. I pray for death which comes not at my call. Where shall I seek this true and senseless death, which will not reunite me to my love? There neath the water doth his body lie, which calls me, waits in vain. Then suddenly, up springing, lost and mad with grief, she to the treacherous water wildly flew, and was by dint of strength they dragged her back. Then she her tresses tore, her lovely face, till in a swoon her woe and sense were numbed. Good Oh Joffre had her carried to her tent, where on her couch the damsels laid her down. Then he returned, and with the other knights around the fatal wave did weep and groan. Such were their tears, their mourning and their cries, that the archbishop learnt the fatal news, and to console that doleful train proceeded to the mead. With wisdom there he preached, and in his sermon said, My friends, the scripture teacheth us, that God is master of all things, and when he pleaseth, can again resume those gifts he hath bestowed. If then, so Joffre hath been tamed by him, he, as his work, might freely call him back, and it were sin to find such judgment ill, and felony towards our sovereign Lord. They among you who held this brave knight, dear, should now to heaven pray he may be saved, and should at once give all those cries of woe, as vain rebuked towards your heavenly King. End of chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Joffre the Knight and the Fair Brunissande by Jean-Bernard-Marie Lafond. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The Giant While the archbishop preached beside the pond, so Joffre found himself with those two dames in a delicious land. Valley and plain, water and shady grove, city and castle, all was charming there. Before he well recovered his surprise, the lovelier of his two companions said, I now, sonnites, do hold you in my power. Perchance this time you'll not refuse to do the service, which with tears I begged of you, some three short days are gone. Lady, so Joffre wondering, replied, May things I nest as eyes on you before. I am that weeping dame who did entreat you to defend her rights, against felon d'Albarou, a wicked wretch whom God confound. This monster, who doth not deserve the name of night, since he doth not but plan most villain acts and set vile snares, bears on his shoulders more the head of a horse or bull than that of living man. His eyes are large as eggs, his features horrible, his lips are thick and black, his fangs project from out his mouth, which is itself huge as a leopard's jaw, and against nature are his frightful shape, distended body and misshapen legs. It is not to fright you, good my lord, I draw this portrait of my foe, your heart near harboured fear, but true it is, he doth all men alarm, so that his aspects at a distant scene, doth scare away all such as would defend my cause. As yet in fight invincible he had dispoiled my lands and all the country round, but I my castle now have left me, and that tomorrow must be given up, if God and you oppose not such decree, but I would rather suffer torture death than fall into his power. Is all this true? asked Joffrey. Yea, lord, by the faith. Since yours the right, I'll battle with this foe, but you have wronged me, and fair Bruny Sond hath surtease her thoughts on death. She, said the lady, fear not, will not die, and you will me have saved. As thus discoursing they the castle reached, a building strong, surrounded by good walls, with fosses, cut from out the solid rock, filled with a living stream. Joffrey was there most grandly entertained by that fair lady's vassals. And mourn come, when he had dressed and armor buckled on, bathed well his face and hands, and prayed to heaven to give him grace that day, and strength to uphold the right of the oppressed. He with humility attended mass, and gave seven marks of silver. When mass was done, he to the terrace mounted with the dame and with her damsels, and watched for felons coming. Short space elapsed during their stopping there, he suffering in his heart for Bruny Sond's just grief, ere a bright band of knights appeared upon the plain. Lady, he then inquired, is this our fault? Tis he, my lord, with all his train, he rides ahead of them. Let him then come, and we will hear his cause. Felon came gently on, bearing upon his fist a hawk, most rare as it was beautiful. It had a slender neck, a large beak, sharper than a razor's edge, long wings, a tail, a palm, at least in length, a sinewy leg, and strong and shapely foot. Just as he came beneath the castle walls, Felon perceived some hundred cranes, all grouped about the grass of a small verdant close. At once he loosed the hawk, which flying off began to wheel about the grassy spot, then rose up in the air to such vast height, scarce could the eye detect his presence there. Some time elapsed, then straight away down he shot, and pounced upon the cranes with cries so dread, that fluttering and hiding in the grass, they let themselves by Felon's men be caught, without attempting to escape away. When they had thus some dozens of them tain, Felon recalled the bird, which on his fist again returned to perch. By heaven, quoth Geoffrey, muttering half aloud, that man possesses a right precious bird, never was fine a scene or one more staunch, and could I win it and return above, so it would be a worthy presence for the king. You shall return full soon, my gentle lord, the lady smiling said, and shall bear with you, I have little doubt, both Felon's bird and arms. During this time the giant had drawn near, and when he stood before the castle bridge, with all his strength he cried, Come down, all you who there above do stand, and with you bring along that idle jade, whom I will make the servants of my squires. My lord, said Geoffrey, calmly in reply, if you left here the jade whereof you speak, pray you to point her out, and none will strive such person to detain. You know full well the meaning of my words. Give up the dame, and castle has agreed. All covenant is sacred. So give up the dame. But if you please my lord, so Geoffrey said, where is the right by which you claim such prize? The right of my good pleasure, senior knave, who soon shall dangle on a hempen rope. It is an ill answer, savouring great pride, but all injustice doth not win its end. You would abuse your strength against a woman, having no defence. Go arm yourself, for heaven hath sent her one who will maintain her right. And the saints help me, felon then replied, you shall pay dearly for those words of yours. Giving his squire the hawk, without delay he donned his horberk and his armour rich, buckled his helm, and seized his lance and shield. When out he cried, let that pert knave descend who wants to fight. We soon shall see upon this very spot how he doth wield his arms. So Geoffrey went to put his armour on, and as he did so, made to god his prayer, crossed he the drawbridge without noise or vaunt, while the fair lady and her vassals knelt and made this orison. Thou, lord, who didst thy hands upon the cross, permit thy foes to nail, and let an infidel pierce through thy side. Now grant to Geoffrey strength to conquer, felon. The champions met within the verdant close, where the hawk chased the cranes, and when the giant did so Geoffrey see, fiercely he cried, hast now thy senses fool, to dare meet such as I, I, who could vanquish full a score like thee. I vaunts like these, so Geoffrey calmly said, I hold as little worth, for idle words are but as empty wind. Now list, if thou wilt render back onto the dame who owns yon castle, even the smallest thing thou hast unjustly filched from her away, thou mayst depart without a scratch or wound. Fine bargain on my faith, the giant said, Thou dost pretend to grant me thy good grace, and I affirm I will not quit this spot till, with this hand, I've torn thee limb from limb. Now I no more can list, pride blinds thy sense, henceforth then, beware of me, and Geoffrey, at these words, wheeled round his horse, to give him a broad field, when at full gallop he did rush at felon. Seeing him come, the latter grasped his shield, and flew to strike him with such dire shock, both horse and knight were thrown, but in the encounter Geoffrey's steady lance had broken his shield, and pierced the arm right through. Like lightning Davon's son was on his feet, his good sword firmly grasped. Mad with his wound, felon came running up and loudly cried, For heaven, villain, thy last hour is come, and without mercy shall thy carcass swing. It was his thought to pin him to the earth, but Geoffrey dealt his horse so true a blow, its gleam shaved off his head. So both were now afoot, and front to front with the same arms. Now we shall shortly learn which is the better knight. Felon, all pale with foam upon his lips, struck with his sword upon Sir Geoffrey's helm, a blow so strong it paired the visor off. The latter dealt him in his turn, a stroke which made his shield arm droop, but such the force with which he gained this point, his sword escaped his hand. This felon seeing, he his foot placed on, so that the knight might not resume the blade. Then he assailed him with such strength, fire flew from out his helm. Yeal thee, Sir Knight, the giant fiercely cried, since thou art now disarmed. Sir Geoffrey answered not, but raised his shield to ward a blow that seemed intended to conclude the fight. The felon's sword fell on it with such force, it shivered it in bits, and full two feet the blade struck in the earth. Quick as the lightning's flash, the youthful knight darted to raise his own, which when he held, he turned again on felon. He, humbled in his pride, exclaimed aloud, Mercy, Sir Knight, oh mercy, pray restrain thine hand, and hold me at a ransom. Since you speak thus, Sir Geoffrey made reply, dragging the giant's sword from out the ground. Render yourself to her, you have so oppressed. As for myself, no ransom do I wish, saving Yon Hawke, which chased ere while the cranes. Felon then called about him all his knights, who bore him to the castle. There, when the leech had bound his gaping wounds, they laid him on a couch, worn by two quiet steeds. Whilst the fair dames, followed by numerous train, led Geoffrey back to where they brought him from. End of chapter 10, Chapter 11 of Geoffrey the Knight and the Fair Brunissande by Jean Bernard Marie Lafond. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The court of Carl Isle. Lord Mellion and his troop were still encamped upon the borders of the magic pond. Judge their surprise, their shouts, their whirl of joy, when, mid a numerous train, Sir Geoffrey rose. As for Fair Brunissande, so great the emotion which such change produced, it found no vent in words, but in a swoon she fell into his arms. Geoffrey related how the fairies' art had to her country led him through the deep and dark some waters, how he had vanquished her great to giant foe, and gained the wondrous hawk for the good king. Then the recital oar, they gaily took their way, and at the peep of the next following morn, they saw Fair Carl Isle's towers. Leaving their train a little way behind, Geoffrey and Mellion clad in armour bright, pranced on the glasses with eight chosen knights. Such a bravado at King Arthur's court could not unnoticed pass. Quex the High Seneschal soon crossed the bridge, and meeting Geoffrey cried, Good soothed to-night, thou shalt repent, I coming! Tis thou shalt feel repentous more than I, responded Geoffrey, who divined the man, and meeting him full speed. Did with such strength and art a sail, so Quex he hurled him to the ground. As he assayed to struggle to his feet, he reeled apace, then fell, while Geoffrey cried. Why, how now, jolly Quex? What sayst? Art drunk! Gawain had now appeared upon the field, spurring his horse to join in the affray. So Geoffrey went to meet the worthy lord, and as he yielded up, so Quex his horse. To you alone, good knight, he said, I yield. Gawain then knew the voice of Davon's son, and pressed him in his arms, which, when his squire had learnt, he flew to take the tidings to the king. Good Arthur overjoyed, then left his halls, and with a gallant host of knights and lords, came forth to honour Tolad's vanquisher. Fair Bruny sawn, he courteously decreed with all her train. Then, smiling, said to Geoffrey, Hath then, how seneschal, on you his horse thus generously bestowed? My lord, the son of Davon made reply, for chance you may remember, on the day I begged you arms to follow Tolad's track, so Quex exclaimed I'd fight him better drunk. To his then my wish to teach him, good my lord, how I can strike when fasting. He is well struck, me thinks, the king replied, and made the lesson stead him. Saying the words, he led Sir Geoffrey in to good Queen Guinevere, who, as she tended him her rosy cheek, thanked him with warmth for having avenged her cause on Tolad. King Arthur on his side did give him thanks for all the precious gifts he there had sent. Fair White Ash and Lance, the yeoman's dwarf, and Ian the leper's too, estu de vefe, and the captive knights, Melian, and Tolad's numerous prisoners, with felon d'albarou. Then was the convent church most richly decked, to which the king in pomp conducted him with the fair Bruny Saund. More than a score of thousand gallant knights, the fair betrothed accompanied. The good archbishop who had chanted mass before the altar joined the happy pair. Then to the palace back again they came, and the great feast began. At trumpet sound, Lucas the royal steward, with twenty thousand pages clad in vests of scarlet silk, bearing fine snowy cloths, vases of silver and rich cups of gold, flock to the hall to furnish forth the boards. Already harps had tinkled, minstrels tried to charm their hearers with the gay romance, when straight into the hall, the squire rushed, crying aloud, To arms, good lords, to arms, defend your lives! But hast thou seen, good friend? King Arthur said. O Sire, I have seen a bird, a wondrous bird, which never man of mother born described. He hath a beak at least ten palms in length, and a huge head large as a fish's boat. His eyes like carbuncles or diamonds shine, and then his feet, good sooth, without a lie, they are as big, as big as yonder door. I know not how I did escape his moor, but ne'er me thinks was I so near my death. Bring me my arms, exclaimed the gallant king, that I may learn whether this squire hath lied. Gawain, Sojofri, and Somelian, feign would follow him to help, but he forbade, and thus alone did quit the castle. Scarce had he crossed the bridge, when he beheld this marvellous great bird. He quietly drew nigh, his shield on arm, his sword within his hand. But spreading its grand wings, the bird escaped a blow full promptly aimed, and by both arms embracing tight the king, rose with its prey full swiftly in the air. Ladies and knights despairingly rushed out, and all the country spread with rending cries. The bird still rose, and when in bulk it seemed no bigger than a crane, it then the king let go. The crowd, all breathless, hastened to the spot, where they expected that their king would fall, crushed from that dizzy height. Not so, ere that he reached the ground, the bird had deftly seized on him again, and to the summit of a lofty tower, borne him in ease away. Reposing there a space with rapid wing, it flew towards the wood, wheeled with a graceful flight, then to the palace brought the king again, itself returning to a human shape, that of the fair enchanter, whom Arthur pardoned as he had done at Pentecost. The fright his trick had caused. And thus did close the joyous nuptial feast, the brave sojofri and fair Brunisand. The morrow morn they left the merry court, and all the train, which called Sommelian Lord, escorted back in triumph to Montbrun that happy pair, meeting upon their way the lady of the pond. She was in fact the fairy of Gibel, who there had come to bless their life and love.