 ERIK AND A NEED PART IV by CRETIAN DETOIR, TRANSLATED by W. W. COMPART. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by MJ, ERIK AND A NEED PART IV by CRETIAN DETOIR. All that night they talked of it, until the beds were prepared and they went to rest. In the morning, when it was daylight, ERIK, who was on the watch, saw the clear dawn and the sun, and quickly rising clothed himself. A need again is in distress, very sad and ill at ease. All night she is greatly disquieted with the solitude and fear which she felt for her Lord, who is about to expose himself to great peril. But nevertheless he equips himself, for no one can make him change his mind. For his equipment the king sent him when he arose arms which he put to good use. ERIK did not refuse them, for his own were worn and impaired and in bad state. He gladly accepted the arms and had himself equipped with them in the hall. When he was armed he descends the steps and finds his horse saddled and the king who had mounted. Everyone in the castle and in the houses of the town hastened to mount. In all the town they remained neither man nor woman, erect or deformed, great or small, weak or strong, who is able to go and does not do so. When they start there is a great noise and clamour in all the streets, for those of high and low degree alike cry out, Alas, Alas, who knight the joy that thou wish to win has betrayed thee, and thou goest to win by grief and death. And there is not one but says, God curse this joy, which has been the death of so many gentlemen. Today it will wreck the worst foe that it ever yet wrought. God hears well and notes that up and down they said of him, Alas, Alas, ill-starred worked thou, fair, gentle, skillful knight, surely it would not be just that thy life should end so soon, for that harm should come to wound and injure thee. He hears clearly the words and what they said, but notwithstanding he passes on without lowering his head and without the bearing of a craven. Never may speak he longs to see and know and understand why they are all in such distress, anxiety, and woe. The king leads him without the town into a garden that stood nearby, and all the people follow after, praying that from this trial God may grant him a happy issue. But it is not meat that I should pass on, from weariness and exhaustion of tongue, without telling you the whole truth about the garden according as the story runs. The garden had all around it no wall or fence except of air. Yet by a spell the garden was on all sides so shut in by the air that nothing could enter there any more than if a garden were enclosed in iron, unless it flew in over the top. And all through the summer and the winter, too, there were flowers and ripe fruits there, and the fruit was of such a nature that it could be eaten inside, the danger consisted in carrying it out. For whoever should wish to carry out a little would never be able to find the gate, and never could issue from the garden until he had restored the fruit to its place. And there is no flying bird under heaven pleasing to man, but it sings there to delight and to gladden him, and can be heard there in numbers of every kind. And the earth, however far it stretch, bears no spice or root of use in making medicine, but it had been planted there, and was to be found in abundance. Through a narrow entrance the people entered, king Avrain and all the rest. Ereglent writing lands in rest into the middle of the garden, greatly delighting in the song of the birds, which were singing there. They put him in mind of his joy, the thing he most was longing for, but he saw a wondrous thing, which might arouse fear in the bravest warrior of all whom we know, be it Taibo, the Escovon, or Ospinel, or Furnagu. And before them on sharpened stakes there stood bright and shining helmets, and each one had beneath the rim a man's head, but at the end there stood a stake where as yet there was nothing but a horn. He knows not what the signifies, yet draws back not a step for that. Rather does he ask the king, who is beside him at the right, what this can be? The king speaks and explains to him, Friend, he says, do you know the meaning of this thing that you see here? You must be in great terror of it, if you care at all for your own body, for this single stake which stands apart, where you see this horn hung up, has been waiting a very long time, but we know not for whom, whether for you or someone else. Take care lest thy head be set up there. For such is the purpose of the stake. I had warned you well of that before you came here. I do not expect that you will escape hence, but that you will be killed and rent apart. For this much we know that the stake awaits your head, and if it turns out that it be placed there, as the matter stands agreed, as soon as thy head is fixed upon it, another stake will be set up beside it, which will await the arrival of someone else. I know not when or whom. I will tell you nothing of the horn, but never has anyone been able to blow it. However, he who shall succeed in blowing it, his fame and honor will grow until it distance all those of his country, and he shall find such renown that all will come to do him honor, and will hold him to be the best of them all. Now there is no more of this matter. Have your men withdraw, for the joy will soon arrive, and will make you sorry, I suspect. Meanwhile, King Yvrain leaves his side, and Eric stoops over before a need, whose heart was in great distress, although she held her peace. For grief on lips is of no account, unless it also touched the heart. And he who well knew her heart said to her, Fair sister dear, gentle, loyal, and prudent lady, I am acquaintant with your thoughts. You are in fear, I see that well, and yet you do not know for what. But there is no reason for your dismay, until you shall see that my shield is shattered, and that my body is wounded, and until you see the meshes of my bright hobbock covered with thud, and my helmet broken and smashed, and me defeated and weary, so that I can no longer defend myself, but must beg and sue for mercy against my will. Then you may lament, but now you have begun too soon. Gentle lady, as yet you know not what this is to be. No more do I. You are troubled without cause, but know this truly. If there were in me only so much courage as your love inspires, truly I should not fear to face any man of eye. But I am foolish to vaunt myself. Yet I say it not from any pride, but because I wish to comfort you. So comfort yourself, and let it be. I cannot tarry longer here, nor can you go along with me. For as the king has ordered, I must not take you beyond this point. Then he kisses her and commends her to God, and she him. But she is much chagrined that she cannot follow and escort him, until she may learn and see what this adventure is to be, and how he will conduct himself. But since she must stay behind and cannot follow him, she remains sorrowful and grieving, and he went off alone down a path, without companion of any sort, until he came to a silver couch with a cover of gold embroidered cloth beneath the shade of a sycamore, and on the bed a maiden of comely body and lovely face, completely endowed with all beauty receded all alone. I intended to say no more of her, but whoever could consider well all her attire and her beauty might well say that never did Lavinia of Larentum, who was so fair and comely, possess the quarter of her beauty. Eric draws near to her, wishing to see her more closely, and the onlookers go and sit down under the trees in the orchard. Then behold, there comes a knight armed with vermilion arms, and he was wondrous tall. And if he were not so immeasurably tall under the heavens there would be none fairer than he. That is, every one aviared, he was a foot taller than any knight he knew. Before Eric caught sight of him he cried out, Vassal, Vassal, you are mad upon my life, thus to approach my damsel. I should say you are not worthy to draw near her. You will pay dearly for your presumption by my head. Stand back! And Eric stops and looks at him, and the other two stood still. Neither made advance until Eric had replied all that he wished to say to him. Friend he sense? One can speak folly as well as good sense. Threaten as much as you please, and I will keep silence. For in threatening there is no sense. Do you know why? A man sometimes thinks he has won the game, who afterward loses it. So he is manifestly a fool who is too presumptuous, and who threatens too much. If there are some who flee there are plenty who chase. But I do not fear you so much that I am going to run away yet. I am ready to make such defence, if there is any who wishes to offer me battle, that he will have to do his uttermost, or otherwise he cannot escape. Nay, quote he, so help me God! Know that you shall have the battle, for I defy and challenge you. And you may know, upon my word, that then the rains were not held in. The lances they had were not light, but were big and square. Nor were they plain smooth, but were rough and strong. Upon the shields with mighty strength they smote each other with their sharp weapons, so that a fathom of each lance passes through the gleaming shields. But neither touches the others flesh. Nor was either lance cracked. Each one, as quickly as he could, draws back his lance, and both rushing together, return to the fray. One against the other rides, and so fiercely they smite each other that both lances break and the horses fall beneath them. But they, being seated on their steeds, sustain no harm. So they quickly rise, for they were strong and lie. They stand on foot in the middle of the garden, and straightway attack each other with their green swords of German steel, and deal great wicked blows upon their bright and gleaming helmets, so that they hew them into bits, and their eyes shoot out flame. No greater efforts can be made than those they make in striving and toiling to injure and wound each other. Both fiercely smite with the gilded pommel, and the cutting edge. Such havoc did they inflict upon each other's teeth, cheeks, nose, hands, arms, and the rest, upon temples, neck, and throat that their bones all ache. They are very sore, and very tired. Yet they do not desist, but rather only strive the more. Sweat and the blood which flows down with it, dim their eyes, so that they hardly see a thing, and very often they mist their blows, like men who did not see to wield their swords upon each other. They can scarcely harm each other now. Yet they do not desist at all from exercising all their strength. Because their eyes are so blinded that they completely lose their sight, they let their shields fall to the ground and seize each other angrily. Each pulls and drags the other, so that they fall upon their knees. Thus long may fight until the hour of noon is passed, and the big night is so exhausted that his breath quite fails him. Eric has him at his mercy, and pulls and drags, so that he breaks all the lacing of his helmet, and forces him over at his feet. He falls over upon his face against Eric's breast, and has not the strength to rise again. Though it distresses him, he has to say in own, I cannot deny it. You have beaten me, but much it goes against my will. And yet you may be of such degree and fame that only credit will read down to me. And insistently I would request, if it may be in any way, that I might know your name, and be thereby somewhat comforted. If a better man has defeated me, I shall be glad, I promise you. But if it has so fallen out that a baser man than I has worsted me, then I must feel great grief indeed. Friend, dost thou wish to know my name, César? Well I shall tell thee ere I leave here, but it will be upon condition that thou tell me now why thou art in this garden. During that I will know all what is thy name and what the joy, for I am very anxious to hear the truth from beginning to end of it. César says he, fearlessly I will tell you all you wish to know. Eric no more withholds his name, but says, dist thou ever hear of King Locke and of his son Eric? Yea, César, I knew him well, for I was at his father's court for many a day before I was knighted, and, if he had had his will, I should never have left him for anything. Then you off to know me well, if thou weft ever with me at the court of my father the king. Then upon my faith it has turned out well. Now hear who hast ye tamed me so long in this garden. I will tell the truth in accordance with your injunction, whatever it may cost me. That damsel who yonder sits loved me from childhood, and I loved her. It pleased us both, and our love grew and increased, until she asked a boon of me, but did not tell me what it was. Who would deny his mistress' ought? There is no lover but would surely do all his sweet heart's pleasure, without default or guile, whenever he can in any way. I agreed to her desire, but when I had agreed she would have it too, that I should swear. I would have done more than that for her, but she took me at my word. I made her a promise without knowing what. Time passed until I was made a knight. King Yvrain, whose nephew I am, dubbed me a knight in the presence of many honorable men in this very garden where we are. My lady, who is sitting there, had once recalled to me my word, and said that I had promised her that I would never go forth from here until there should come some night who should conquer me by trial of arms. It was right that I should remain, for rather than break my word, I should never have pledged it. Since I knew the good there was in her, I could, nor reveal, or show to the one whom I hold most dear, that in all this I was displeased, for if she had noticed it she would have withdrawn her heart, and I would not have had it so for anything that might happen. Thus my lady thought to detain me here for a long stay. She did not think that there would ever enter this garden any vessel who could conquer me, and this way she intended to keep me absolutely shut up with her all the days of my life. And I should have committed an offence if I had to resort to guile and not defeated all those against whom I could prevail. Such escape would have been a shame. And I dare to assure you that I have no friend so dear that I would have feigned it all in fighting with him. Never did I weary of arms, and did I ever refuse to fight. You have surely seen the helmets of those whom I have defeated and put to death, but the guilt of it is not mine. When one considers it a right. I could not help myself unless I were willing to be false and recreate and disloyal. Now I have told you the truth and be assured that it is no small honor which you have gained. You have given great joy to the court of my uncle and my friends. For now I shall be released from here, and because all those who are a court will have joy of it, therefore those who have awaited the joy called it Joy of the Court. They have awaited it so long that now it will be granted them by you who have won it by your fight. You have defeated and bewitched my prowess and my chivalry. Now it is right that I tell you my name if you would know it. I am called Mabonagraine, but I am not remembered by that name in any land where I have been save only in this region. For never when I was a squire did I tell or make known my name. Sire, you knew the truth concerning all that you asked me. But I must still tell you that there is in this garden a horn, which I doubt not you have seen. I cannot issue forth from here until you have loaned the horn, but then you will have released me, and then the joy will begin. Whoever shall hear, and give it heed, no hindrance will detain him. When he shall hear the sound of the horn from coming straight way to the court. Rise up, Sire, go quickly now. Go take the horn right joyfully, for you have no further cause to wait. So do that which you must do. Now Eric rose and the other rises with him, and both approached the horn. Eric takes it and blows it, putting into it all his strength, so that the sound of it reaches far. Sire quickly did a need rejoice when she heard the note, and Guivret was greatly delighted too. The King is glad, and so are his people. There is not one who is not well suited and pleased at this. No one ceases or leaves off from making merry and from song. Eric could boast that day, for never was such rejoicing made. It could not be described or related by mouth of man. But I will tell you the sum of it briefly and with few words. The news spreads through the country that thus the affair has turned out. Then there was no holding back from coming to the court. All the people hastened thither in confusion, some on foot and some on horse, without waiting for each other. And those who were in the garden hastened to remove Eric's arms. In an emulation they all sang a song about the joy, and the ladies made up a lay which they called the lay of joy. But the lay is not well known. Eric was well sated with joy and well served to his heart's desire. But she who sat on the silver couch was not a bit pleased. The joy which she saw was not at all to her taste. But many people have to keep still and look on at what gives them pain. The need acted graciously. Because she saw her sitting pensive, alone on the couch, she felt moved to go and speak with her, and tell her about her affairs and about herself, and to strive, if possible, to make her tell in return about herself, if it did not cause her too great distress. A need thought to go alone, wishing to take no one with her. But some of the most noble and fairest dames and damsels followed her out of affection, to bear her company, and also to comfort her, to whom the joy brings great chagrin. For she assumed that now her lover would no longer be with her so much as he had been, in as much as he desired to leave the garden. However disappointing he may be, no one can prevent his going away, for the hour and the time have come. Therefore the tears ran down her face from her eyes. Much more than I can say was she grieving and distressed. Lid the last she sat up straight. But she does not care so much for any of those who tried to comfort her, that she ceases her moan. A need salutes her kindly. But for a while the other could not reply a word, being prevented by the sighs and sobs which torment and distress her. Some time it was before the damsel returned her salutation, and when she had looked at her, and examined her for a while, it seemed that she had seen and known her before. But not being very certain of it, she was not slow to inquire from whence she was, of what country, and where her Lord was born. She inquires who they both are. A need replies briefly, and tells her the truth, saying, I am the niece of the Count, her whole sway over La Lute. The daughter of his own sister, at La Lute I was born and brought up. Her cannot help smiling without hearing more, for she is so delighted that she forgets her sorrow. Her heart leaps with joy which she cannot conceal. She runs and embraces a need, saying, I am your cousin. This is the very truth, and you are my father's niece, for he and your father are brothers. But I suspect that you do not know, and have never heard how I came into this country. The Count, your uncle, was at war, and to him there came to fight for pay, knights of many lands. Thus fair cousin it came about, that with these hireling knights there came one who was the nephew of the king of Randigan. He was with my father almost a year. That was, I think, twelve years ago. And I was still but a little child. He was very handsome and attractive. Where we had an understanding between us that pleased us both. I never had any wish but his, until at last he began to love me and promised and swore to me that he would always be my lover, and that he would bring me here, that pleased us both alike. He could not wait, and I was longing to come hither with him. So we both came away, and no one knew of it but ourselves. In those days you and I were both young and little girls. I have told you the truth. So now tell me in turn, as I have told you, all about your lover, and by what adventure he won you. Fair cousin, he married me in such a way that my father knew all about it, and my mother was greatly pleased. All our relatives knew it and rejoiced over it, as they should do. Even the Count was glad, for he is so good a knight, that better cannot be found, and he does not need to prove his honour and knighthood. And he is a very gentle berth. I do not think that any can be his equal. He loves me much, and I love him more, and our love cannot be greater. Never yet could I withhold my love from him, nor should I do so. For is not my lord the son of a king? For did he not take me when I was poor and naked? Through him has such honour come to me that never was any such vows saved, to a poor helpless girl. And if it please you, I will tell you without lying how I came to be thus raised up, for never will I be slow to tell the story. Then she told and related to her how Eric came to La Lute, for she had no desire to conceal it. She told her the adventure word for word, without omission. But I pass over it now, because he who tells a story twice makes his tale now tires him. While they were thus conversing, one lady slipped away alone, who sent and told it all to the gentleman, in order to increase and heighten their pleasure too. All those who heard it rejoiced at this news. And when Mabonograin knew it, he was delighted for his sweetheart, because now she was comforted. And she who bore them quickly the news made them all happy in a short space. Even the king was glad for it, although he was very happy before, yet now he is still happier, and shows Eric great honor. An need leads away her fair cousin, fairer than Helen, more graceful and charming. Now Eric and Mabonograin, Guivret and King of Reign, and all the others run to meet them and salute them, and do them honor, for no one is grudging or holds back. Mabonograin makes much of a need, and she of him. Eric and Guivret, for their part, rejoice over the damsel, as they all kiss and embrace each other. They propose to return to the castle, for they have stayed too long in the garden. They are all prepared to go out, so they sally forth joyfully, kissing each other on the way. All go out after the king, but before they reached the castle, the nobles were assembled from all the country around, and all those who knew of the joy, and who could do so came hither. Great was the gathering and the press. Mabonograin, high and low, rich and poor, strives to see Eric. Each thrusts himself before the other, and they all salute him and bow before him, saying constantly, May God save him through whom joy and gladness come to our court, God save the most blessed man whom God has ever brought into being. Thus they bring him to the court, and strive to show their glee as their hearts dictate. Breton-sithers, harps and viols, sound, fiddles and pulse-strees, and other stringed instruments, and all kinds of music that one could name or mention. But I wish to conclude the matter briefly, without too long delay. The king honors him to the extent of his power, as do all the others ungrudgingly. There is no one who does not gladly offer to do his service. Three whole days the joy lasted, before Eric could get away. On the fourth he would no longer tarry for any reason they could urge. There was a great crowd to accompany him, and a very great press, when it came to taking leave. If he had wished to reply to each one, he would not have been able in half a day to return the salutations individually. The nobles he salutes and embraces. The others he commends to God in a word and salutes them. An ed for her part is not silent when she takes leave of the nobles. She salutes them all by name, and they in turn do the like. Before she goes she kisses her cousin very tenderly and embraces her. Then they go, and the joy is over. They go off, and the others return. Eric and Guivret do not tarry, but keep joyfully on their way, until they came in nine days to robay, where they were told the king was. The day before he had been bled privately in his apartments. With him he had only five hundred nobles of his household. Never before, at any time, was a king found so alone, and he was much distressed that he had no more numerous sweet at his court. At that time a messenger comes running, whom they had sent ahead to apprise the king of their approach. This man came in before the assembly, found the king and all his people, and saluting him correctly said, I am a messenger of Eric and of Guivret the little. Then he told him how they were coming to see him at his court. The king replies, Let them be welcome, as valiant and gallant gentlemen. Nowhere do I know of any better than they too. By their presence my court will be much enhanced. Then he sent for the queen and told her the news. The others had their horses saddled to go and meet the gentleman. In such haste are they to mount that they did not put on their spurs. I ought to state briefly that the crowd of common people, including squires, cooks, and butlers, had already entered the town to prepare for the lodgings. The main party came after, and had already drawn so near that they had entered the town. Now the two parties have met each other and salute and kiss each other. They come to the lodgings and make themselves comfortable, removing their hose and making their toilet by donning their rich robes. When they were completely decked out, they took their way to the court. They come to court where the king sees them, and the queen, who is beside herself with impatience, to see Eric in a knee. The king makes them take seeds beside him, kisses Eric and Guivret. About a knee's neck he throws his arms and kisses her repeatedly in his great joy. Nor is the queen slow in embracing Eric in a knee. One might well rejoice to see her now so full of joy. The queen enters with spirit into the merry-making. Then the king causes silence to be made and appeals to Eric and asks news of his adventures. When the noise has ceased, Eric began his story, telling him of his adventures without forgetting any detail. Do you think now that I shall tell you what motive he had in starting out? Nay, for you will know the whole truth about this and the rest, as I have revealed it to you. You tell the story again would burden me, for the tale is not short, that anyone should wish to begin it afresh and re-embellish it, as he told and related it. Of the three knights whom he defeated, and then of the five, and then of the count who strove to do him harm, and then of the two giants, all in order, one after the other, he told him of his adventures up to the point where he met Count O'Ringo of Lemours. Many a danger have you gone through, fair gentle friend, said the king to him. Now tarry in this country at my court, as you are want to do. Sire, since you wish it, I shall remain very gladly, three or four years entire, but ask we fret to remain here too, a request in which I would feign joy. The king prays him to remain, and he consents to stay. So they both stay, and the king kept them with him, and held them dear and honoured them. The king stayed at court, together with we fret and a need until the death of his father, the king, who was an old man, and full of years. The messengers then started out, the nobles who went to seek him, and who were the greatest men of the land, sought and searched for him until they found him at Tintagal three weeks before Christmas. They told him the truth, what had happened to his old white-haired father, and how he now was dead and gone. This grieved Eric much more than he showed before the people. But Sire was not seemly in a king, nor does it become a king to mourn. There at Tintagal where he was, he caused vigils for the dead and masses to be sung. He promised and kept his promises, as he had vowed to the religious houses and churches. He did well all that he ought to do. He chose out more than one hundred and sixty-nine of the wretched poor, and clothed them all in new garments. To the poor clerks and priors he gave, as was right, black copes and warm linings to wear beneath. For God's sake he did great good to all. To those who were in need he distributed more than a barrel of small coin. When he had shared his wealth, he then did a very wise thing in receiving his land from the king's hand. And then he begged the king to crown him at his court. The king made him quickly be prepared. For they shall both be crowned. He together with his wife, at the approaching Christmas tide, and he added, You must go hence to Nantes in Brittany. There you shall carry a royal ensign, with crown on head and scepter in hand. His gift and privilege I bestow upon you. Eric thanked the king, and said that that was a noble gift. At Christmas the king assembled all his nobles, summoning them individually, and commanding them to come to Nantes. He summons them all, and none stayed behind. Eric too sent word to many of his followers, and summoned them to come hither. But more came than he had bidden to serve him and do him honour. I cannot tell you or relate who each one was and what his name, but whoever came or did not come the father and mother of my lady in need were not forgotten. Her father was sent for first of all, and he came to court in handsome style, like a great lord and a chattelain. There was no great crowd of chaplains or of silly gaping yokels but of excellent knights and of people well equipped. Each day they made a long day's journey, and rode on each day with great joy and great display. Until on Christmas Eve they came to the city of Nantes. They made no halt until they entered the great hall where the king and his courtiers were. Eric in need see them, and you may know how glad they were. To meet them they quickly make their way, and salute and embrace them, speaking to them tenderly and showing their delight as they should. When they had rejoiced together, taking each other by the hand, they all forecame before the king, saluting him, and likewise the queen who was sitting by his side. Taking his host by the hand, Eric said, sire, behold my good host, my kind friend, who did me such honour that he made me master in his own house. Before he knew anything about me he lodged me well and decently, all that he had made over to me, and even his daughter he bestowed upon me, without the advice or counsel of any one. And this lady with him the king inquires, who is she? Eric does not conceal the truth. Sire, says he, of this lady I may say she is the mother of my wife. Is she her mother? Yes, truly, sire. Certainly I may then well say that fair and calmly should be the flower-born of so fair a stem and better the fruit one pick, for sweet is the smell of what springs from good. Fair is a need, and fair she should be in all reason and by right, for her mother is a very handsome lady, and her father is a goodly knight. Nor does she an ought be liven, for she descends and inherits directly from them both in many respects. Then the king ceases and sits down, bidding them be seated too. They do not disobey his command, but straightway take seats. Now is a need filled with joy when she sees her father and mother, for a very long time had passed since she had seen them. Her happiness now is greatly increased, for she was delighted and happy. And she showed it all she could, but she could not make such demonstration but that her joy was yet greater. But I wish to say no more of that, for my heart draws me toward the court, which was now assembled in force. From many a different country there were Counts and Dukes and Kings, Normans, Bretons, Scotch, and Irish. From England and Cornwall there was a very rich gathering of nobles, four from Wales to Anjou, in Maine and in Poitou. There was no knight of importance, nor lady of quality, but the best and the most elegant were at the court at Nantes, as a king had bidden them. Now here, if you will, the great joy and grandeur, the display and the wealth that was exhibited at the court. Before the hour of Nantes had sounded, King Arthur dubbed four hundred knights or more. All sons of Counts and of Kings. To each one he gave three horses and two pairs of suits. In order that his court may make a better showing. Whosant and lavish was the king, for the mantles he bestowed were not of surge, nor of rabbit skins, nor of cheap brown fur, but of heavy silk and ermine, of spotted fur and flowered silks, boarded with heavy and stiff gold braid, Alexander, who conquered so much that he subdued the whole world, and who was so lavish and rich, compared with him was poor and mean. Caesar, the emperor of Rome, and all the kings who's named you here in stories and in epic songs, did not distribute at any feast so much as Arthur gave on the day that he crowned Eric. Nor would Caesar and Alexander dare to spend so much as he spent at the court. The rainment was taken from the chests and spread about freely through the halls. One could take what he would without restraint. In the midst of the court, upon a rug, stood thirty bushels of bright stirlings. For since the time of Merlin, until that day, stirlings had currency throughout Britain. There all helped themselves, each one carrying away that night all that he wanted to his lodging-place. At nine o'clock on Christmas Day all came together again at court. The great joy that is drawing near for him had completely filched Eric's heart away. The tongue and the mouth of no man, however skillful, could describe the third or the fourth or the fifth part of the display which marked his coronation. So it is a mad enterprise I undertake in wishing to attempt to describe it. But since I must make the effort, come what may, I shall not fail to relate a part of it, as best I may. The king had two thrones of white ivory, well constructed and new, of one pattern and style. He who made them beyond a doubt was a very skilled and cunning craftsman, for so precisely did he make the two alike in height, in breadth, and in ornamentation, that you could nor look at them from every side to distinguish one from the other, and find in one ought that was not in the other. There was no part of wood, but all of gold and fine ivory. Well were they carved with great skill, for the two corresponding sides of each bore the representation of a leopard, and the other two a dragon-shape. A knight named Bruant of the Isles had made a gift and present of them to King Arthur and the Queen. King Arthur sat upon the one, and upon the other he made Eric Sit, who was robed in watered silk. As we read in the story we find the description of the robe, and in order that no one may say that I lie, I quote as my authority Microbian, who devoted himself to the description of it. Microbius instructs me how to describe, courting as I have found it in the book. The workmanship and the figures of the cloth. Our fairies had made it with great skill and mastery. One represented their geometry, how it estimates and measures the extent of the heavens and the earth, so that nothing is lacking there, and then the depth and the height and the width and the length. Then it estimates, besides how broad and deep the sea is, and thus measures the whole world. Such was the work of the first fairy. The second devoted her effort to the portrayal of arithmetic. And she strove hard to represent clearly how it wisely enumerates the days and the hours of time, and the water of the sea drop by drop, and then all the sand and the stars one by one, knowing well how to tell the truth and how many leaves there are in the woods. Such is the skill of arithmetic that numbers have never deceived her. Nor will she ever be in error when she wishes to apply her sense to them. The third design was that of music, with which all merriment finds itself in accord, songs and harmonies and sounds of string, of harp, of breton violin, and of viol. This piece of work was good and fine, for upon it were portrayed all the instruments and all the pastimes. The fourth, who next performed her task, executed a most excellent work. For the best of the arts she there portrayed, she undertook astronomy, which accomplishes so many marvels, and draws inspiration from the stars, the moon, and the sun. Nowhere else does it seek counsel concerning ought which it has to do. They give it good and sure advice. Concerning whatever inquiry it make of them, whether in the past or in the future, they give it information without falsehood and without deception. This work was portrayed on the stuff of which Eric's robe was made. All worked and woven with thread of gold. The fur lining that was sewn within belonged to some strange beasts whose heads are all white and whose necks are as black as mulberries, and which have red backs and green bellies, and dark blue tail. Beast-beasts live in India, and they are called barbiolettes. They eat nothing but spices, cinnamon, and fresh clothes. What shall I tell you of the mantle? It was very rich and fine and handsome. It had four stones in the tassels, two chrysalites on one side and two amethysts on the other, which were mounted in gold. As yet a need had not come to the palace. When the king sees that she delays, he bids Gowen go quickly to bring her and the queen. Gowen hastens and was not slow, and with him King Kadoalant and the generous King of Galloway. We've wrecked the little accompanies them, followed by Ida, the son of Lute. Though many of the other nobles ran thither to escort the two ladies, that they would have sufficed to overcome a host. For there were more than a thousand of them. The queen had made her best effort to adorn a need. Into the palace they brought her the courteous Gowen escorting her on one side, and on the other the generous King of Galloway, who loved her dearly on account of Eric, who was his nephew. When they came to the palace, King Arthur came quickly toward them and courteously seated a need beside Eric, for he wished to do her great honor. Now he orders to be brought forth from his treasure two massive crowns of fine gold. As soon as he had spoken and given the command, without delay the crowns were brought before him, all sparkling with carbuncles, of which there were four in each. The light of the moon is nothing compared with the light, which the least of the carbuncles could shed. As of the radiance which they shed, all those who were in the palace were so dazzled that for the moment they could see nothing, and even the King was amazed, and yet filled with satisfaction when he saw them to be so clear and bright. He had one of them held by two damsels and the other by two gentlemen. Then he bade the bishops and priors and the abbots of the church stepped forward and anointed the new king, as the Christian practice is. Now all the prelates, young and old, came forward. For at the court there were a great number of bishops and abbots. The bishop of Nantes himself, who was a very worthy and saintly man, anointed the new king in a very holy and becoming manner, and placed the crown upon his head. King Arthur had a scepter, wrought, which was very fine. Listen to the description of the scepter, which was clearer than a pane of glass, all of one solid emerald, fully as large as your fist. I dare to tell you, in very truth, that in all the world there is no manner of fish, or of wild beast, or of man, or a flying bird that was not worked and chiseled upon it with its proper figure. The scepter was handed to the king, who looked at it with amazement. Then he put it without delay into King Eric's right hand, and now he was king, as he ought to be. Then he crowned a need in turn. Now the bells ring for mass, and they go to the main church to hear the mass in service. They go to pray at the cathedral. They would have seen, weeping with joy, the father of Queen Anneen and her mother, Carson Fide. In truth this was her mother's name, and her father's name was Lacanel. Very happy were they both. When they came to the cathedral, the procession came out from the church with relics and treasures to meet them, crosses in prayer books and censors and reliquaries, with all the holy relics, of which there were many in the church, were all brought out to meet them. Or was there any lack of chance made? Never were seen so many kings, counts, dukes and nobles together at a mass. And the press was so great and thick that the church was completely filled. No low-born man could enter there but only ladies and knights. Outside the door of the church a great number still remained. So many were there, come together, who could not get inside the church. When they had heard all the mass they returned to the palace. It was all prepared and decorated. Table set and cloths spread, five hundred tables and more were there. But I do not wish to make you believe a thing which does not seem true. It would seem too great a lie were I to say that five hundred tables were set in rows in one palace, so I will not say it. Rather were there five halls so filled with them, that with great difficulty could one make his way among the tables. At each table there was in truth a king or a duke or a count, and full a hundred knights were seated at each table. A thousand knights served the bread, and a thousand served the wine, and a thousand the meat, all of them dressed in fresh fur-robes of ermine, all are served with diverse dishes. Even if I did not see them, I might still be able to tell you about them, but I must attend to something else than to tell you what they had to eat. They had enough, without wanting more. Joyfully and liberally they were served to their heart's desire. When this celebration was concluded, the king dismissed the assemblage of kings, dukes and counts, of which the number was immense, and of the other humble folk who had come to the festival. He rewarded them liberally, with horses, arms and silver, cloths and brocades of many kinds, because of his generosity, and because of Eric, whom he loved so much. Here the story ends at last. Eric and a Need by Cretien de Troyes, translated by W. W. Comfort. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, read by MJ. Eric and a Need by Cretien de Troyes, translated by W. W. Comfort.