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The Story of England

by Robert Manning of Brunne, A.D. 1338. Edited from mss. at Lambeth Palace and the Inner Temple, by Frederick J. Furnivall

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Quomodo Brianus occidit Pellitum sortilegum.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Quomodo Brianus occidit Pellitum sortilegum.

Þey ȝede out of þe pres a lite,
Þat non ne scholde hem se ne wite.
He asked after þe clerk Pellith:
Wiþ þat he com þer also tyt.
“Lo!” scheo seide, “wher he comeþ here!”
& telde of Pellit al þe manere.
“Haue god day,” þen saide Bryan;
“Do þyn erende as þou bygan.”
Toward Pellit he gan hym hye,
ffro hym ne lefte he neuere his eye:
Pellit among þe pouere ȝede,
Als he schulde haue bet þer nede,
To & fro euere als a fool;
& Bryan folewede him ay on hool,
And right in al þe moste pres,
Among þem alle, Pellit he ches;
His staf ful sleyly vp he warp,
& putte þe longe pyk so scharp
Ageyn þe herte, in at þe bak,
Þat he fel doun; no word ne spak;
Cried he neyþer wo ne way,
But ded he was, & þer he lay.
Brian lefte his staf right þere,
& drow o syde, as nought ne were,

551

& as queyntely as he might,
O drey he held hym out of sight;
Among þe pore he hidde his face,
& sleyly wroughte, & hadde fair grace.
Al þat ilke day he sculked,
Among þe pouere men he hulked;
When þe night cam, he was ful fayn,
His wey he tok to þe south a-gayn.
What day, what night, ful faste he spedde,
Þat til Oxenforde algate he redde.
Þen com þe folk wyþouten sesse
Aboute Brian for to presse;
Þe Bretons alle, & þe of Cornewaille,
& out of Walys cam gret pedaille;
Þey frayned hym faste ‘when he cam,
‘& whider he wilde, and to wham;
“& what nede ys now in hande
“Þat Cadwalyn comeþ nought to lande?
“And where he ys, we preye þe telle,
“And wheþer he schal come or dwelle.”
“Sertes,” he seide, “wyþynne a þrowe
“ȝe schul wel vnderstande & knowe
“Þat Edwyn schal nought dur abyde,
“But ȝif mischaunnce hym by-tyde.
“But warnische casteles, do make toures,
“ffor ȝow schal sone come socoures.”
Of alle þe grete he wiste þer wille;
Þer-fore ful baldely & stille

552

Dide he vitaille þe toun ful wel,
Defensable wyþ bretaxes & pel.
He sente hys em a messeger,
& telde al on what maner
Þat he had slayn þe clerke Pellyt,
Stored Oxenforde til his profit.
Of þat bode þe kyng was paied,
His wendyng was nought delayed;
Night & day made hym redy;
Ten þousand he hadde til his nauy,
What of hise owen, & of ffrendes
Þat kyng Salamon wiþ hym sendes.
When Cadwalyn was al ȝare,
Til he was forþe, gret was his care;
At Totenesse he gan vp ryue;
Glad was þe folk he was on lyue;
& gret sorewe made þe kyng Edwyn
Þat slayn was so þe clerk Pēllyn.
Penda, þe kyng of Lyndeseye,
How Bryan dide, he herde wel seye;
Gret force of folk Penda dide fet,
Cadwalyn for to wyþ-set.
Oxenforde he byseged aboute,
But Brian heldym wel wyþoute.
When Cadwalyn was ryued on lande,
Til hym cam ful smert tydande
‘Þat an Englische kyng Penda
‘Byseged Bryan, & was his fa.’
Cadwalyn was al an-ired;
To rescowe Brian he desired;

553

Als faste as he mighte, he hasted;
Iornes to make, folk he tasted;
& when he was þe toun ought ney,
He bad þem reste þat were wery:
“Rest ȝou now for ȝoure trauaille;
“Þe smertloker ȝe may assaille.”
Þe folk of Oxenforde were glade
Of þe ioye þat Brian made;
Gret ioie þer was, he was so ner,
& more of his grete power.