 | The English Charlemagne Romances |  |
The Sege off Melayne
1
Here Bygynnys the Sege off Melayne.
1
All werthy men that luffes to hereOff cheuallry þat by fore vs were
Þat doughty weren of dede,
Off charlles of Fraunce, þe heghe kinge of alle,
Þat ofte sythes made hethyn men for to falle,
Þat styffely satte one stede.
This geste es sothe, wittnes þe buke,
Þe ryghte lele trouthe who so will luke,
In Cronekill for to rede.
Alle lumbardy þay made þaire mone
And saide þaire gaumes weren alle gone
Owttrayede with hethen thede.
2
The sowdane Arabas the strongeWerreyde appon Crystyndome with wronge
And Ceties brake he downn;
Robbyde þe Romaynes of theire rent,
Þe popys pousty hase he schente,
And many a kynges with Crownn.
In Tuskayne townnes gon he wyn
And stuffede þam wele with hethyn kyn,
This lorde of grete renownn;
And sythen to lumbardy he wane,
Mighte to lett hym hade no man,
Thus wynnes he many a townn.
2
3
The Emagery þat the[r] solde bee,Bothe the Rode & þe marie free,
Brynnede þam in a fire:
And þan his Mawmettes he sett vp there
In kirkes and abbayes þat there were,
Helde þam for Lordes and Syre.
To Melayne sythen he tuke þe waye
And wanne þe Cyte apon a daye,
Gaffe his men golde & ill hyre.
Many a Martyre made he there
Off men and childire pat there were
And ladyes swete of Swyre.
4
Þe lorde of Melayne, sir Alantyne,Sawe þe Crystynde putt to pyne,
Oute of þe townn he flede
To a Cyte þat was there by,
Alle nyghte he thoghte þer In to ly,
He was full straytly stede.
Þay myghte it wynn with spere & schelde
Appon þe morne hym buse it ȝelde
Or laye his lyfe in wede.
Was neuer no knyghte putt to mare care,
Full hertly to Criste þan prayes he thare
To knawe þe lyfe he ledde.
5
Þe Sawdane sent hym messangers freeAnd bade hym torne and hethyn bee
And he solde haue his awenn:
Melayne, that was the Riche Cite,
And alle þe laundis of lumbardye,
And to his lawe be knawenn:
3
He sall be hangede or oþer morne
And with wylde horse be drawen:
His wyffe & his childire three
By-fore his eghne þat he myghte see
Be in sondre sawenn.”
6
He prayede þe sowdane þan of graceÞat he wolde byde a littill space
Whils one þe morne at daye,
And he sall do hym for to witt
If þat he wolde assent to itt
To leue apon his laye.
Bot þan heues he vp his handis to heuen,
To Iesu Criste with mylde steuen
Full hertly gane he praye.
“Lorde,” he saide, “als þou swelte appon þe tree,
Of thy man þou hafe Pete,
And Mary mylde þat maye!
7
If I solde Crystyndome for-sakeAnd to hethyn lawe me take
Þe perill mon be myn.
Bot, lorde, als þou lete me be borne
Late neuer my sawle be forlorne
Ne dampnede to helle pyne.
Bot, lorde, als þou swelte on þ rode
And for mankynde schede thi blode
Some concelle sende þou me:
Whethire þat me es better to doo,
The hethyn lawe to torne too,
Or my lyfe in lande to tyne.”
8
Than wente þat knyghte vn to beddeFor sorowe hym thoghte his hert bledde,
And appon Iesu þan gan he calle.
4
Als man þat was wery for-wepe.
Þan herde by hym on a walle
Ane Angelle þat vn-to hym gane saye:
“Rysse vp, sir kynge, & wende thy waye,
For faire þe sall by falle,
To Charles þat beris the flour delyce,
Of oþer kynges he berys þe pryce,
& he sall wreke thy wrethis alle.”
9
The Angelle bade hym ryse agayne,“And hy þe faste to charlemayne,
Þe Crownnede kynge of Fraunce,
And say hym god byddis þat he sall go
To helpe to venge the of thy foo
Bothe with spere & launce.”
The kynge was full fayne of that,
His swerde in his hande he gatt
And þerto graythely he grauntis.
He garte swythe sadyll hym a palfraye
And Euen to Fraunce he tuke þe waye,
Now herkenys of þis chaunce.
10
The same nyghte by fore þe dayeAls kyng Charls in his bedde laye
A Sweun þan gan he mete.
Hym thoghte ane angele lyghte als leuen
Spake to hym with mylde steuen,
Þat gudly hym gane grete.
Þat angele by-taughte hym a brande,
Gaffe hym þe hiltis in his hande,
Þat euen was handefull mete:
And saide:“Criste sende the this swerde,
Mase the his werryoure here in erthe,
He dose þe wele to weite.
5
11
He biddes þou sall resteyne it tyteAnd þat þou venge alle his dispyte,
For thynge þat euer may bee.
And sla alle there thou sees me stryke,
And sythen þou birne vp house & dyke,
For beste he traystis in thee.”
The walles abowte Melayne townne
Hym thoghte þe angele dange þam downn,
þat closede In þat Cite.
Sythen alle þe landis of lumbardy,
Townnes, borows, and bayli:
this was selcouthe to see.
12
When Charls wakenede of his dremeHe sawe a bryghtenes of a beme
Vp vn-to heuenwarde glyde.
Bot when he rose þe swerde he fande
Þat þe Angelle gaffe hym in his hande
Appon his bedde syde.
He schewede it thanne to his Baronns alle,
And than saide his lordes bothe grete & smalle:
“Þe sothe is noghte to hyde:
We wote wele þat goddis will it es
Þat þou sall conquere of hethennesse
Countres lange and wyde.”
13
To mete þan wente þat Riche kyngeBot sone come there newe tydynge,
Als he in sete was sette.
The lorde of Melayne he sawe come In,
Þat was his Cosyn nere of kyn,
And hym full gudely grette.
The grete lordis alle hailsede hee
And prayede þam all sesse of theire glee,
And sayse to Charls with owtten lette:
6
To fare to þe felde to feghte for mee,
My landis agayne to gette.”
14
He tolde þam alle at þe Borde and byThat the Saraȝenes had wonn lumbardy—
Þay mornede & made grete mone—
And how the angelle bade hym goo:
The kynge tolde his sweuen alsoo,
Þay accordede bothe in one.
Thane sayde þe Beshope Turpyne:
“Hafe done! late semble þe folke of thyne!
Myn hede I vndir nome
Þat gode es greuede at þe saraȝenes boste:
We salle stroye vp alle theire hoste,
Þose worthely men in wone.”
15
Bot alle þat herde hym Genyenn,Þat was a lorde of grete renownn
And Rowlande Modir hade wedde.
Þare wery hym bothe god & sayne Iohn,
The falseste traytoure was he one,
Þat euer with fode was fedde!
For landis þat Rowlande solde haue thare
Dede fayne he wolde þat he ware,
Þe Resone ryghte who redde.
His firste tresone now by gynnes here,
Þat þe lordis boghte sythen full dere,
And to ladyse grete Barett bredde.
16
“Sir,” he sayde, “þat ware a Synfull chaunce,Whatt solde worthe of vs in Fraunce,
And þou in þ felde were slayne?
7
And latte Rowlande thedire Ryde,
Þat euer to Bekyre es bayne,
With Batelle & with brode banere;
Of his wyrchippe wolde I here,
Witt ȝe wele, full fayne.”
For Rowlande this resone he wroghte
Euere more in his herte he thoghte
He solde neuer come agayne.
17
The kynge þan sent a MessangereTo grette lordes bothe ferre & nere
And bade þam make þam ȝare.
Bot þe peris take a concelle newe
Þat made alle fraunce ful sore to rewe
And byrdis of blyse full bare.
Þay prayede þe kynge on þat tyde
Þat he hym selfe at home walde byde,
To kepe þat lande riȝt thare:
“And Sendis Rowlande to lumbardy,
With fourty thowsande cheualry
Of worthy men of were.”
18
Then Rowlande thus his were þan madeFares forthe with Baners brade,
Þe kynge byleues þare still
With-In þe Cite of Paressche
For to kepe þat townn of pryce,
Als þay accordede till.
And if þe Sowdane wane þe felde
Lyghtly walde þey it noghte ȝelde
To þay had foughtten þaire fill.
Bot be comen was þe feftenede daye
Þer fore myghte mornne bothe man & maye,
And ladyse lyke full ill.
8
19
To Melayne euen þay made þam bownn,And Batelde þam þare by-fore þe townn,
þose knyghttis þat were kene.
And In to þe Sowdane þay sent a knyghte
And bade hym come owte with þam to fyghte,
To witt with owtten wene.
The Sowdane grauntis wele þer-till,
Þat tornede oure gudmen all to gryll,
And many one mo to mene.
Than þe Saraȝene come owte of þat Cite,
Forty thowsandes of cheualrye,
Þe beste in erthe myghte be[ne].
20
Þe forthirmaste come a saraȝene wyghte,Sir Arabaunt of Perse he highte,
Of Gyon was he kynge:
He saide þer was na cristyn knyghte,
Ware he neuer so stronge ne wyghte,
To dede he [ne] solde hym dynge.
And one sir Artaymnere of Beme,
Þat was sir Olyueres Eme,
Byfore þe stowre þay thrynge;
And euen at þe firste countire righte
Þe Saraȝen slewe oure cristyn knyghte,
It was dyscomforthynge.
21
The lorde of Melayne to hym Rade,Sir Alantyne with owtten bade,
Þe Crystyn knyghte to wreke,
Bot he stroke oure Cristyn knyghte þat stownde
Þat dede he daschede to þ grounde,
Mighte no worde after speke.
Sythen afterwarde he bare down
Worthy lordes of grete renownn,
Ay to his launce gane breke:
9
And to þe hethyn hoste þam ledis:
Loo þus-gates fares þe freke!
22
Bot by þat was done þe grete gon meteBarouns ondir blonkes fete
Braythely ware borne donn.
Thay stekede many a staleworthe knyghte,
Þe hethen folke in þat fyghte
Þe moste were of renownn.
Oure knyghtis one þe gronde lyse
With wondes wyde one wafull wyse
Crakkede was many a Crownn:
Riche hawberkes were all to-rent,
And beryns thorowe þaire scheldis schent,
Þat many to bery was bownn.
23
Þe Saraȝene semblede so SarelyÞat þay felde faste of oure cheualrye,
Oure vawarde down þay dynge.
Righte at þe firste frusche þay felde
Fyve thowsande knyghtis trewly telde,
this is no lesynge!
Oure knyghtis lyghtede one þe bent,
Thorowe þaire scheldis are þey schent,
Of sorowe þan myghte þay synge!
Than oure Medill-warde gane þam mete,
Þare myghte no beryns oure bales bete,
Bot þe helpe of heuens kynge.
24
Þe Medill warde sir Rowlande ledde,Þat doghty in felde was neuer drede
To do what solde a knyghte.
10
Of Fraunce, þat bare þ floure delyce,
Hase loste bothe Mayne & myghte.
Our Medillwarde sone hade þaye slayne,
And Rowlande was in handis tane,
And oþer seuen þat were knyghtes.
But als god gaffe hym þat chaunce,
Þay wende he hade bene kynge of fraunce
Þat lyfede in þase fyghtis.
25
Bot of a knyghte me rewes sore,Þat in þe felde laye wondede thore,
Þe Duke of Normandy.
He lukes vp in the felde,
His vmbrere with his hande vp helde,
On Rowlande gane he cry:
“Rowlande, if þe tyde þat chaunce
Þat þou come euer more in to fraunce,
For þe lufe of mylde Marie,
Comande me till oure gentill kynge,
And to þe Qwene my lady ȝynge,
And to all Cheualrye.
26
And if þou come in to Normandy,Grete wele my [faire] lady,
And sir Richerd my sone;
And dubbe hym Duke in my stede,
And bydde hym venge his Fadir dede,
Of myrthe if he will mone.
Bid hym hawkes & houndes forgoo,
And to dedis of armes hym doo,
thase craftes for to konne;
Appon þe cursede Saraȝens for to werre,
Venge me with dynt of spere,
For my lyfe es nere done.
11
27
A, Rowlande! by-haulde nowe wnatt I see,More Ioye ne myghte neuer bee,
In ȝouthe ne ȝitt in elde.
Loo! I see oure vawarde ledde to heuene
With Angells songe & merye steuene,
Reghte as þay faughte in þe felde!
I see moo Angells, loo! with myn eghe,
Then there are men with-In Cristyante,
Þat any wapyn may welde.
To heuen þay lede oure nobill knyghtis,
And comforthes þam with mayne & myghtis,
With mekill blysse & belde.”
28
Bot by Rowland gan a saraȝene standeÞat braydede owte with a bryghte brande
When he harde hym say soo;
And to þe Duke a dynt he dryvede,
At þe erthe he smate righte of his hede;
Þer-fore was Rowlande woo;
And Rowland styrte þan to a brande
And hastily hent it owte of a saraȝene hande,
And sone he gane hym sloo.
With þat swerde he slewe sexty,
Þe beste of þe saraȝene cheualrye,
Off hardy men and moo.
29
Þan Rowlande in handis is taken agayne,And putt vn to full harde payne,
Þat Sorowe it was to see.
And foure nobill knyghtis þan haue þay slayne,
By-fore þat were in handis tane
With sir Rowlande þe free.
12
An hundrethe knyghtis to kepe þam then,
Rowland and oþer three,
And to oure rerewarde sythen þay rode;
Oure Barons boldely þam abode,
Nowe helpe þam þe Trynytee!
30
Þe Duke of Burgoyne, sir Bellande,Þe Fadir of sir Gy of nevynlande,
Þe rerewarde þan Rewlis hee.
He comforthede alle oure nobyll knyghtis,
Said, “lordis, halde ȝour feldes & ȝour ryghttis
And no saraȝene ȝee flee.
And þofe ȝe see thies lordis be slayne
Ne hope ȝe noghte for alle þaire payne
Þat ne we sall solance see,
Bot the werkynge of oure wondis sare
Of the paynes of helle fele we no mare,
Bot hy to heuen one heghe.”
31
Thay fruschede In fersely: for goddis sakeGrete strokes gane þay gyffe and take
With wondis werkande wyde:
Bot ȝitt the saraȝens with þay speris
Full ferre on bakke oure Batelle berys
And knyghtis felde vndir fete.
Walde neuer no Crystyn knyghte thethyn flee
Þoghe þat he wyste ryghte there to dye,
I doo ȝowe wole to wytt.
Bot alle in fere þay Endide righte thare
Þat Sewede þe Saraȝenes sythen full sare
For lordis þat leuede þe swete.
13
32
Thus fourty thowsande hafe þay slayneSafe foure þat were in handis tane,
Rowlande ande oþer three:
One was þe gentill Erle sir Olyuere,
Anoþer was sir Gawtere,
Þe kyngis Cosyns nere;
The thirde was sir Gy of Burgoyne,
His Fadir in þe felde laye þere slone,
Þe soryare myghte he bee.
They ledde thies lordes in to Melayne,
With þat þe Sowdane turnes agayne
Righte gladde of his menȝee.
Prymus passus: the first Fytt.
33
To the Sowdane chambir many a manOure foure lordis ledd thay than
To rekken of theire Arraye.
Thay Ette and dranke and make þam glade,
Bot littill myrthe oure lordis hadde:
Þe Sowdane gane þam saye,
“Welcome be thow, kynge of Fraunce,
The by-tide a cely chaunce,
thi lyfe was sauede this daye.
The false lawes of Fraunce sall downn,
The Rewme sall leue one Seynt Mahownn
Þat alle þe myghtyeste maye!”
34
And Rowlande answerde full gentilly:“I ne rekke whethir I lyfe or dye,
By god þat awe this daye.
14
Bot a Cosyne ame I one
To charlles by my faye.
He will gyffe me golde and Fee,
Castelles ryche with towris heghe,
Þat lorde full wele he maye.
Bot goddis forbode & þe holy Trynytee
Þat euer fraunce hethen were for mee
And lese oure crysten lawe!
35
For sothe, þou Sowdane, trowe þou mosteOne þe Fader and þe Sone and þe holy goste,
thire thre are alle in one:
Þat Borne was of Marye free,
Sythen for vs dyede one a tree,
In other trowe we none.”
Thane loughe þe sowdane withe eghne full smale,
And saide; “ane hundrethe of ȝoure goddis alle hale
Haue I garte byrne in a Firre with bale
Sen Firste I wanne this wone.
I sawe at none no more powstee
Than att anoþer rotyn tree
One erthe, so mote I gone!
36
Goo, feche one of theire goddis InAnd if he in this fire will byrne
Alle oþer sett att noghte.”
Þan furthe þer rane a saraȝene in þat tyde
To a kyrke was there by-side,
A faire rode In he broghte
Fourmede ewenn als he gane blede.
Oure Cristen knyghtis by-gane þaire crede
And Rowland god by-soughte,
And saide: “þou þat was borne of a May,
Schewe þou, lorde, thi meracle this day,
Þat with thi blode vs boghte!”
15
37
They keste þe Rode in to þe fireAnd layde Brandis with mekill Ire,
Fayne wolde þay garre hym birne.
The Sowdane saide: “now sall ȝe see
What myghte es in a rotyn tree
Þat ȝoure byleue es In.
I darre laye my lyfe full ryghte
Þat of hym selfe he hase no myghte
Owte of this fire to wyn.
How solde he þan helpe a-noþer man
That for hym selfe no gyn ne kan,
Noþer crafte ne gyn?”
38
Thay caste one it full many a folde,Þ rode laye still ay as it were colde,
No fire wolde in hym too.
All if þe crosse were makede of tree
The fire ȝode owtt þat come þer nee,
Þan wexe þe sowdan woo:
“And ȝif þe deuell,” he sayde, “be hym with In
He sall be brynt or euer I blyne;”
Of hert he was full throo.
“Thies cursede wreches þat are here In
Hase wethede þaire goddis þat þai may not byrn,
I wote wele it es soo.”
39
Þan bromstone þat wele walde birn,And pykke & terre mengede þer In,
Þay slange in þe fire full bolde.
Torches þat were gude and grete
For to helpe þat mekill hete
Þay caste In many a folde.
The fire wexe owte at þe laste,
Oure knyghtis made þaire prayere faste
To Criste þat Iudas solde.
16
Þat þam thoghte þat alle þe byggynge brake,
Þat was with In þat holde.
40
A fire þan fro þe crosse gane frusche,And In þe Saraȝene eghne it gaffe a dosche,
Ane Element als it were,
That þay stode still als any stone,
Haundis nore fete myghte þay stirre none
Bot drery wexe in chere,
Thay wyste noþer of gude ne ill.
Þan Rowlande sais his felawes vn-till:
“Sirs, hy vs alle hethyn in fere.
This Meracle es schewede thorowe goddis grace
For alle þe saraȝenes in this place
May noþer see nore here.”
41
Sayde sir Gy of Burgoyne: “ȝitt or I gooThe sowdane sall haue a stroke or twoo
Þat glade sall hym no glee.”
He ferkes owte with a fawchon
And hittis þe Sawdane one þe crownn
Vn to þe girdyll welle nee.
Thay tuke þe grete lordes with Ire
And brynte þam in þat bale fire,
Those doughty garte they dye.
Bot sythen þe Saraȝenes Crouned sir Garsy,
Þay ofte sythes chaste oure cheualry,
A bolde Saraȝene was he.
42
Alle þat was þan in þat placeThay slewe clenly thorow goddis grace,
Oure worthy men & wyghte.
17
Ilkone of þam fande a whitte stede
Sadilt & redy dighte.
Thay stirtt vp on those stedis full steryn,
Þay fande no man þat þam wolde warne,
Oure ferse men felle in fighte.
And als þe Cronekill ȝitt will saye
Eeuen to Fraunce þay tuke þe waye,
To Paresche þay ryde full righte.
43
Bot ȝitt þay wolde noghte come att ParescheTo þay had offerde to Seyne Denys,
And wendis to þat abbaye;
And leues þaire stedis righte at þe ȝate
And wightly In þay tuke þe gate,
Þaire prayers for to say.
And by þay hade þayre prayers made
Agayne þay come with owtten bade,
Thaire horse þan were away.
And alle þe bellis þat in þat abbaye was
Range allone thorowe goddis grace,
Whils it was pryme of þe day.
44
And there-by wiste those lordis of pryceThat þ myghte of god and Seynt denys
Had broghte þam thethyn a way:
Thaire horse þat so there come to handes
Was thorowe þe prayere of seynt Denys,
Thus will þe Cronecle say.
Bischope Turpyne þan come fro paresche townn
To seynt Denys with grete Processiownn
For thiese lordes for to pray
That was in lumbardy at þe were:
And when he sawe Rowlande there
He saide: “lordis, morne we may.”
18
45
Thay meruelde why þe bellis so range,And þe clergy lefte theire sange,
Thoghte ferly of þat fare;
Thay hade meruelle whate it myghte mene.
Als sone als þe byschoppe hade Rowlande sene
To hym he went full ȝare.
Sayd: “a, Rowlande, how fares lumbardye
And all oure nobill cheuallry,
þat þou hade with the thare?”
“Certis, sir Bischoppe, it is noghte to layne,
The saraȝenes hase oure gude men slayne,
Þou seese of þam na mare.”
46
The Bischop keste his staffe hym froÞe mytre of his hede also:
“I sall neuer were the more,
Ne oþer habite for to bere,
Bot buske me bremly to þe were,
And lerene one slyke a lore.
A! Mary mylde, whare was thi myght,
Þat þou lete thi men thus to dede be dighte,
Þat wighte & worthy were?
Art þou noghte halden of myghtis moste,
Full Conceyuede of þe holy goste?
Me ferlys of thy fare.
47
Had þou noghte, Marye, ȝitt bene borneNe had noghte oure gud men thus bene lorne?
Þe wyte is all in the.
Thay faughte holly in thy ryghte,
Þat þus with dole to dede es dyghte,
A! Marie, how may this bee?”
The Bischoppe was so woo þat stownnd,
He wolde noghte byde appon þe grownnd
A Sakerynge for to see,
19
And flote with Marye euer amange
For þe losse of oure menȝee.
48
Then Come kynge Charls appon PilgremageFro Paresche town with his Baronage
To seynt Denys he went.
Bot when the Bischoppe mett with þe kynge
He wolde noghte say “gud mornynge,”
Ne ones his browes blenke.
Þe kynge hade meruelle what þat myght be,
Bot als sone als he Rowlande see
Wyghtly to hym he went.
Be Rowlande had his tale tolde
Þe kynge myghte noghte a tere holde,
For bale hym thoght he brynt.
49
“Allas,” he saide, “Cosyn syne,Whare are alle þe nobill knyghtis of myne
Þat euer to fighte were fayne?”
“Sir, bi god & by sayne Iohn,
Þe Saraȝenes alle bot vs hase slone,
It is no bote to layne.
Bot we were taken in to holde,
Bot als þat criste hym selfe wolde
Þat we wan owte agayne,
Thorowe þe grace of god om[n]ipotent,
In his chambir or we went
Þe Sowdane haue we slayne.”
50
Genyonn saide: “lorde, by my Rede,All if þe Sowdane thus be dede
Thay will haue anoþer newe,
20
Garcy þat is his awenn brothir,
Þat more Barett will brewe.
These landes of hym I rede ȝe halde
Or he will kindill cares full calde,
ȝhe trowe þis tale for trewe.
Or ells with In thies monethes three
Als qwhitte of Fraunce sall ȝhe bee
Als ȝhe it neuer ne knewe.”
51
“Now cristis Malyson,” quod þe Bischoppe,” myghte he haueÞat Charle firste this concell gaffe
& noghte bot it be righte!
To make homage to Saraȝene,
Iesu kepe vs fro þat pyne
And Marie his modir bryghte!
Bot at home, sir kynge, þou sall kepe nane
Bot alle thy gud men with the tane,
Þat worthy are & wighte,
Appon ȝone cursede saraȝenes to were,
And venge the one þam with dynt of spere,
Þat þus thi peris hase dyghte.
52
And alle þe Clergy vndir-take IOff alle Fraunce full sekerly
Þay sall wende to þat were.
Of þe pope I haue pouste,
Att my byddynge sall þay bee
Bothe with schelde and spere.”
The Bischoppe sendis ferre & nere
To monke, Chanoun, Preste and frere,
And badd þam graythe þaire gere,
And keste þaire [care] clene þam froo,
Come helpe to feghte one goddis foo,
Alle þat a swerde may bere.
21
53
The Clergy grauntes alle þer to,Als doghety men of dede solde do,
Þat worthy were & wyghte.
Be comen was wekes three
Thare semblede a ful faire menȝhe,
In baneres burneschid bryghte.
A hundrethe thowsande were redy bownn
Of Prestis þat werede schauen crownn,
And fresche men for to fighte.
Thay lightede appon a lawnde so clere
Vndir þe Mownte Mowmartere,
It was a ful faire syghte.
54
With þat þe Bischoppe Turpyn come,And also a Cardynall of Rome,
With a full grete powere,
Thay semblede appon a noþer syde
Baners bett with mekill pryde,
Þe clergy þat was so clere.
And appon þaire knees þay knelide down,
The Bischoppe gafe þam his Benyson,
Alle hollyly in fere.
And thane sent he In to the kynge
And badde hym forth his Baronns brynge,
And saide, “my Prestis are here.”
55
Bot ȝitt this false GenyounConselde þe kynge ay with treson
Þat hym selfe solde duelle þer still:
“And lette þe Bischoppe wende his waye,
Doo at ȝone Saraȝenes that he maye,
There sall he feghte his fill:
And byde thi selfe in this Citee.
Slayne in þe felde gife þat þou bee
Alle Fraunce may like it full ill.”
22
Slyke concell he gaffe þam þare
The kynge grauntis þer till.
56
And forthe to þe Bischoppe þan sendis he,And for thynge þat euer myghte bee
He solde hym neuer be-swyke.
Bot take his nobill Cheualrye
And wende forthe in to lumbardy,
“For I will kepe my Ryke.”
The Bischoppe saide: “by goddes tree,
Or þat Charls doo so with mee
Full ill it sall hym lyke!
I sall hym curse in myddis his face.
What! sall he nowe with sory grace
Be-come ane Eretyke?”
57
The Bischoppe leues his powere thareAnd In to þe Cite gane he fare
And þe Cardenall with hym.
And when he come by fore þe kynge
There was none oþer haylsynge
Bot stowte wordes and grym.
He saide: “allas, sir Charllyone,
That þou thus sone be comes a crayon,
Me thynke thi body full dym.
Alle the false councell þat touches þe crown
Here gyffe I þam goddis malyson,
Bothe in lyfe and lyme.
58
And Cristis Malyson myghte he haueThat fyrste to þe þat Concell gaffe,
And here I curse the, þou kynge!
23
Thou ne dare noghte fyghte one goddes Enemy:”
& a buke forthe gane he brynge:
And þe Sertayne sothe als I ȝow telle
He dyde all þat to cursynge felle,
this was no manere of lesynge.
“Nowe arte þou werre þan any Saraȝene,
Goddes awenn wedirwyne,
Of sorowe now may þou synge!
59
If Cristyndome loste beeÞe wyte bese casten one the,
Allas, þat þou was borne!
Criste for the sufferde mare dere,
Sore wondede with a spere,
And werede a Crown of thorne.
And now þou dare noghte in the felde
For hym luke vndir thy schelde,
I tell þi saule for lorne.
Men will deme aftir thi daye
how falsely þou forsuke thi laye,
And calle the kynge of skorne.”
60
Bot then kyng Charls with owtten weneAt the byschoppe was so tene
A fawchone hase he drawen,
And þe Bischoppe styrte þan to a brande,
Hent it owt of a sqwyers hande,
Both with myghte & mayne,
And braydes owte þe blade bare:
Be myghtfull god þan he sware:
“If I wiste to be slayne,
Charls, and þou touche mee
Thou fares noghte forthir fete thre
Or it be qwitt agayne.”
24
61
Than grete lordes ȝede þam by-twene,The kynge comande his knyghtis kene
The Bischoppe for to taa.
And þe Bischoppe said: “sirres, I will ȝow no scathe
And bi my faythe it es grete wathe
Bot if ȝe late me gaa.
For certis I will noghte taken bee
With nane þat I now here see,
Bot if ȝee firste me slaa.
And whilk of ȝow þat touches me
With owtten harme passes noghte hee.”
Than with his horse come þay.
62
“Here,” he said, “I a-vowe to mylde marie,And to hir sone god almyghttye,
I sall noghte leue the soo.
For we are halden with þe righte
Clerkes appon cursede men to fighte,
I calle the goddes foo.
I sall gerre buske my batelle bownn
And halde the, Charls, with In þis townn,
With-owt þou sall noghte goo.
Was neuer kynge þat werede a crown
So foule rebuytede with Relygyon,
Þou sall sone witt of woo.
63
Goddes byddynge hast þou broken,Thurghe þe traytour speche spoken
Alle Cristendom walde þou schende.
When Criste sent the a suerde vn till
Thou myghte wele wiete it was his will
that thi selfe solde thedir wende,
There-fore I sall stroye the,
Bryne and breke downn thi Cite,
If þou be neuer so ten[d]e.
25
Fighte with þam whils I may dry,
In goddes seruyce to ende.”
64
The Bischoppe & þe CardynereAppon þaire horses gatt bothe in fere,
Owte of þe townn þay rade
Also faste als þay myghte dryve
To the grete Batelle be-lyfe,
And Buskede baners full brade.
They Romede to-warde Paresche town,
And thoghte to bete the Cyte downe
With þe powere þat he hade.
“Slyke clerkes beris my Benysone,
For trewere men of Relygyoun
In erthe were neuer none made.”
65
Charls ouer þe walles bi-helde,And sawe the hoste come in the felde
And drawe to-wardes þe town.
Bot þan said Duke Naymes vn to þe kynge:
“Sir, ȝonder comes vs new tythynges
With Baners buskede alle bown.
I rede ȝe praye ȝone clergy sesse
And aske þe Bischoppe forgyfnesse
And Absolucioun.
And graunt hym graythely for to goo
For to feghte appon goddis foo,
Or loste es thi renownn.”
66
“In faithe,” saide þe kynge, “I graunt.”The Bischoppe es gude & on evynhaunt
With Baners bryghte of hewe
26
The kynge vndid his hede alle bare,
The Bischoppe wele hym knewe,
And appon his knees he knelid down
And tuke his absolucyoun,
theire Ioye by-gane to newe.[OMITTED]
67
The kynge says: “haly fader free,This gilte I praye the forgyffe me
And I will wirke ȝour will.
And with ȝour clergye tournes agayne,
Riste and Ryott ȝow by þe water of sayne,
Ay whills I come ȝow till.”
The Bischoppe grauntis hym in þat tyde,
And pyghte Pauylyons with mekill pryde,
With wyne & welthes at will.
The kynge in to þe Citee went
And aftir his Baronage he sent,
Alle forwardes to fulfill.
68
And by the thre wekes comen wereCharls had semblede a faire powere,
Hym selfe come all at hande.
Erles, Dukes, & þe xij duchepers,
Bothe barons and Bachelers,
knyghtis full heuenhande.
Thay offerde alle at seynt denys,
And grete lordes to armes chesse,
And Charls tuke his hande.
And thus remewes that grete powere,
The leuenynge of [þair] baners clere
Lyghtenes all þat lande.
27
[Tertius] Passus: a ffittt
69
Thus Charls with his cheualryeVn to he come at lumbardy
In no place wolde he hone.
And to the Saraȝenes was it tolde
That Charls make werre appon þam wolde,
To venge þat are was done.
The grete lordes þan to gedir spake:
“It is better þat we sir Garcy take,
And Crownn hym þe Sowdane Sone.”
Than sent þay to many an hethyn knyghte,
Þay badde þat alle solde come þat myghte,
By þe heghten day at none.
70
When þay were semblede sekerly,Thay Crownnede þe Sowdane sir Garcy,
Þat Solance was to see[ne].
Sexty knyghtis of dyuerse lande
Ilkon sent hym sere presande
To witt with owtten wene.
Thay dressede on hym a dyademe,
And made hym Emperour so hym seme,
These knyghtis þat were kene.
Syne present hym with golde,
And Stones of vertu þat was holde,
Þe beste in erthe myghte bene.
71
The kynge of Massedoyne landeSent þe Sowdane a presande,
Þe Meryeste one molde:
Sexty Maydyns faire of face,
That cheffeste of his kyngdome was,
And faireste appon folde:
28
And Sexti stedis noble and wyghte,
In euer-ilke Iournay bolde.
And appon Ilke a stede a knyghte sittande
With a fawcon appon his hande,
And a cowpe full of golde.
72
Sexty grewhondes vn to þe gamen,And Sexti Raches rynnande in samen,
Þe beste in erthe myghte bee.
He come hym selfe with this presande
And broghte in his awenn hande,
Þat was worthe thiese three:
In visebill a full riche stone,
A Safre þe beste þat myghte be one
To seke alle Crystiauntee.
The Sowdane was full fayne of this,
And kyndely gan his cosyn kysse
With mekill solempnytee.
73
When he his powere semblede hade,A ryalle feste þe Sowdan made
Of worthy men in wede.
Of alle þe damesels bryghte & schene
Þe Sowdane hade hym selfe I wene
Þaire althere Maydynhede;
By þam ilkone he laye a nyghte,
And sythen Mariede hir vn-to a knyghte,
Þay leffed one haythen lede.
So mekill luste of lechery
Was a-mange þat cheualry
Þat þay [myg]hte noghte wele spede.
29
74
To Charls now will I torne agayneÞat passes ouer Mountayne & playne,
At [Me]layne wolde he bee;
And when he come in to þat stede
Where als þe cristyn men by fore weren dede,
Off Fraunce so grete plentee,
There heghe appon an hill appon highte
Turpyn garte an awtre dyghte,
Þat alle þe folke myghte See;
And off the Trynytee a messe he says,
And hertly for þe saules he prayes,
And the bodyes þat þare gan dye.
75
The Bischoppe sone gane hym reuesche,In gude entent he says a messe,
In þe name of god almyghte:
He blyssede þe awtere with his hande,
And a fayre oste of brede þer appon he fande,
Þat euer he sawe with syghte.
His chalesse was so full of wyne
There myghte no more hafe gone þer in,
It come fro heuen on highte.
He dide his messe forthe to þe ende
And thankede gode þat it hym sende,
And Marie his modir bryghte.
76
The Bischoppe in his hert was fayneAnd thankede god with all his mayne,
And Marie his modir free.
He tolde þe hoste with lowde steuen,
How brede & wyne was sent fro heuen,
Fro god of moste poustee:
“And all þat euer hase sene this syghte
ȝee are als clene of syn, I plyghte,
Als þat day borne were ȝee.
30
In his byggynge sall he belde
Euer more in blysse to bee.”
77
The Bischoppe þan keste of his abytteAnd aftir armours he askede tytte,
For egernesse he loughe.
A kirtill and a corsett fyne,
Þer ouer he keste an acton syne,
And it to hym he droughe:
An hawbarke with a gesserante,
His gloues weren gude & auenaunte;
And als blythe als birde one boughe
He tuke his helme & sythen his brande,
Appon a stede a spere in hande,
Was grete and gud ynoghe.
78
Sayse “I praye ȝow, all my cleregy here,Assembles vndire my Banere,
The vawarde will I haue.
Charls & his knyghtis kene
Lete Erles & Barons with hym bene,
Bothe Sqwyers & knaue,
I beseke freschely for to fyghte,
That þe [le]wede men may se with syghte,
And gud Ensample haue.
Standis [now baldly f]or ȝoure trouthe;
Appon ȝo[ne Saraȝen]es haues no rewthe;
For golde in erthe, none saue.”
79
Thus Ch[arls led]eth a faire menȝheFor[th to Mela]yne, þat riche Cite,
Braydes vp Baners ȝare.
31
He comandes his knyghtis kene,
Þat þay solde make þam ȝare:
And Or he wolde passe owte of þe townn,
He made his Offerande to Mahownn,
þe wars leue gode þay fare.
And sythen owt of that Citee,
Off heythen men an hugge menȝhee
Þat Semyde als breme als bare.
80
Sir Arabaunt, with Ire and hete,A Furlange bi-fore þe Batelle grete,
Come and askede fighte.
And by-fore of oure folke had he slayne
Bothe þe lorde of Melayne
And many an oþer knyght.
Than sayde þe Bischoppe:“so mot I spede,
He sall noghte ruysse hym of this dede,
If I cane rede a ryghte!”
And or any knyght myght gete his gere
The Bischoppe gart hym with a spere
Appon his tepet lighte.
81
Turpyn strake hym so sekerlyThurgh þe breste bone all plenerly,
A lange ȝerde and more,
That dede he daschede to þe grounde,
Grysely gronaunde in that stownde,
Woundede wonderly sore.
The Bischoppe þan lighte full apertly
And off he hewes his hede in hy,
Þat are was breme als bare.
His horse vn to þe Cristen Oste gan spede,
A Sqwyere broghte agayne his stede,
And one he leppe righte thare.
32
82
The Bischoppe sqwyere in the placeSaw þat þe kynge dede was
Þat had bene of grete powere;
His helme & his hawberke holde,
Frette ouere with rede golde,
With stones of vertue dere;
His gowere pendande on þe grounde,
It was worthe a thowsande pownde,
Off rubys and Safere:
He lowtede down, vp wolde itt ta,
The Bischoppe bad hym fro it ga:
“Go fonnge the anoþer fere.
83
To wyn the golde þou arte a fole,Þou bygynnes sone for to spoyle,
Loo! ȝonder comes moo.
Thou settis more by a littill golde,
Þat þou seese lye appon þe molde,
Þan to fighte one goddes foo.
Loo! ȝonder comes Saraȝenes in þe felde,
Go kill þam down vndir thi schelde,
Slyk [w]orchippes were gude to do.”
He tuke þe pendande in his hande,
The Bishoppe bett hym with his brande
[Þat] he keste it hym fro.
84
With þat come girdande sir Darnadowse,A nobill knyghte and a cheuallrouse,
Prekande one a stede.
He was þe chefe of Famagose,
A Saraȝene þat fayne wolde wyn lose,
And to þe Cristen oste gan spede.
He bad sende owte Charlyon
If he dare come to wynn pardoun
A bofett for to bede.
33
He calde hym selfe with owt lesynge
The chefe of hethyn thede.
85
Then kyng Charls tuke his spere hym to,The Bischoppe Turpyn and oþer mo
Prayede god solde hym spede.
“A, dere lorde,” said Rowlande in heghe,
“Late me fare to fighte for thee,
For hym þat one rode gan blede.”
Than Charls sweris by saynt paule:
“Sen ilke a man feghtis for his saule
I sall for myn do mede.
Slayne in the felde gif þat I bee
Kynge off Fraunce here make I the,
With reghte þe Reme to lede.”
86
Þan with owtten any more habadeTheis two kynges to-gedir rade,
With Ire and grete envy.
And at þe firste course þat þay ranne
Thies kynges two with horse & manne
At þe grounde bothe gun ly.
Deliuerly vp sone bothe þay stirtt,
And drewe þaire swerdis with noble hertt,
With owtten noyse or cry.
Thay dalt so derfely with þaire brandes,
Thay hewe theire scheldis to þaire handis
In cantells hyngand by.
87
So darfely bothe þaire dynttis þay dristeA littill while þay wolde þam riste,
Þe Saraȝene prayede hym styntt:
34
A Cristynn man þat þou solde bee,
thou arte so stronge of dyntt.
Bot torne vn to oure lawes & take þam to,
And I sall gyffe the rewmes two,
And elles will þou harmes hentt.”
Bot þe Bischoppe Turpyn þan cryes on heghte:
“A! Charles, thynk appon Marie brighte,
To whayme oure lufe es lentt.
88
And if euer þat þou hade any myghte,Latt it nowe be sene in syghte,
What pouste þat þou hase.
Latte neuer oure kynge with dynt of brande
B[e] slayne with ȝone Saraȝene hande,
Ne ende, lady, in this Place.
A [God] wote we sall be safe,
[Neuer] the lyk wolde we hafe
Of oure comly kynge of face.
[Þou ma]kere bathe of son and see,
[Pity t]he dole w[e d]ree for thee,
And graunte vs of thi grace!”
89
[Charls] saide:“sir Bischoppe, nay,[Neuer sall I] forsake my lay:”
And to-gedir gan þay goo.
So stiffely aythere at othere strake,
Appon his helme sir Charles brake
His nobill swerde in two.
Bot þan the franche folke with nobill steuenn,
Thay cry vp vn to þe kynge of heuenn,
And for þaire lorde were wo.
The Saraȝene was curtays in þat fighte
And lawses owt a knyfe full righte,
His swerde he keste hym fro.
35
90
And Charles voydede his broken brande,Owte he hent a knyfe in hande,
And Samen þay wente full tytte.
Thay daschede full darfely with þaire dynt,
Mighte no steryn stele þam stynt,
So styffely bothe þay smyte.
In sondre braste þay many a mayle,
Thaire hawberghes thurgh force gan fayle:
To see had lordis delitte.
Bot a felle stroke sir Charls gafe hym one
Evyn at þe breste bone,
Þat strake his hert gan blende.
91
The Saraȝene was dede of þat strake,And Charls gan this fende vp take,
And with his awenn brande
He broches hym so boldely
That his hert blode sekerly
rane to oure kynges hande.
And thare he wane þe saraȝene swerde,
And certis þat with one the erthe
He conquered many a lande.
The Cristen folke were neuer so fayne;
Bot by the kynge was horsede agayne
Þe Batells were doande.
92
And hawberkes sone in schredis were schorne,And beryns thorowe the bodys borne,
And many a saraȝene slayne.
Knyghtis one þe bent bledis,
Many lay stekede vndir stedis,
In gilten gere full gay[n]e:
Other with glafes were girde thurgh evyn:
We may thanke gode þat is in heuen
Þat lent vs myghte & mayne.
36
Þe Cristynnes faughte in goddis righte,
Þe Bischoppe loughe for fayne.
93
Bot, als þe Cronakill ȝitt will telle,Þer come a saraȝene fers and felle
And to þe Bischoppe glade.
And stroke hym righte thorowe þe thee,
And agayne to þe hethen oste gane flee,
And Turpyn after hym rade.
The Bischoppe folouede hym so ferre
Þat þe saraȝene hade þe werre
For þe maystrie þat he [made].
He stroke hym so in þe sowdane syghte,
He fande neuer man þat after myghte
Hele þe hurt [he had]e.
94
Bot they helde In þe Bischoppe in þat rowtteÞat he ne myghte noghte wyn owte,
And þer he [was doande].
The kynge of Massedoyne land with a spere,
Þe Bischope fro his horse gane bere,
And sette [on hym his hande]
The saraȝenes sware he solde be dede,
And þe kynge sayde, “naye,” in that stede
For no Saraȝene liffande.
And righte als þay solde oure Bischoppe slo,
Thay smote þe kynge of Massaydoyne fro
Clenly of his reghte hande.
95
Bot þan kynges men of Massaydoyne weren wo,When þay saughe þaire lorde was wondede soo,
And trowede he walde be dede.
37
Agaynes þe Sowdane folke to fighte,
Full styffely in þat stede:
For that gane fyfetene thowsandeȝ dy
Of þe Sowdans cheualry,
Laye bledande þan full rede.
And with þat Turpyn gatt a-waye
To Charls Oste, full fayne were þay,
A horse þay to hym lede.
96
Bot when þe Bischoppe was horsede agayne,Alle þe cleregy weren full fayne,
And presede in to þe place.
So depe wondes þat day þay dalt,
Þat many on wyde opyn walt,
Þat wikkidly wondede was.
Thay sloughe so many an heythen kynge
Þat at þe laste þay tuke to flyinge,
Als god vs gaffe þe grace.
Many a Saraȝene garte þay falle,
And Turpyn with his Clergy alle
Folowede faste one þe chase.
97
And Charls on þe toþer sydeSloughe þam downn with wondis wyde,
the doughty garte þay dy.
The Sowdane hym selfe so harde was stedde
Þat with Ten thowsande a-way he fledde,
And faste to Melayne gatt he.
The Cristen men chasede þam to þe barres,
And sloughe righte there fele folke & fresche,
All þat þere walde byde & bee.
Bot þan kynge Charls tuke þe playne
And Semblede all his folke a-gayne,
To luke how beste myghte [þe].
38
98
Thay myghte noghte þe Cite wynn,The strenghe of þe Saraȝenes þat were with-In.
Þe Bischoppe said:“I rede
Of oure knyghtes in þe felde
es many wondede vndir schelde,
And also some are dede;
And ȝone Saraȝenes full of tresone es,
There I concelle bothe more & lesse
We stirre noghte of this stede,
Ne or to-morne serche neuer a wounde,
Bot luke þan who may be sownde;
Lete Criste wirke:” & forthe he ȝede.
99
Here to a[c]ordes euerilkon,Lordes [haf] þaire horses tone,
And Comen es the nyghte.
Fo[r alle] þe Saraȝenes there
Th[ay ne mygh]te no forthir fare,
Bot bydis in brenys bryghte.
Ch[arles acordede] als þay rade,
All [nyghte on]e þe bent þay bade
With standardes euen vp streghte.
The kynge prayede the Bischoppe fre
His wonde þat he wolde late hym see,
Þat he hade tane in þat fighte.
100
Bot þe Bischoppe saide:“a vowe to god make I here,There sall no salue my wonde come nere,
Ne no hose of my thee:
Ne mete ne drynke my hede come In,
The Cite of Melayne or we it wyn,
Or ells þer fore to dye.”
He garte dele his vetells then
Firste amanges oure wonded men,
Bot no mete neghe wolde hee.
39
Knelande he his prayers mase
To gode of moste Pouste.
101
Oure folke hade done so doughtilyThat many of þam weren ful wery,
So hade þay foghten þan.
Bot one þe morne þe Cristen stode
A thowsande ouer theire fete in theire blode
Of theire awenn wondes wane.
Othere refreschynge noghte many hade
Bot blody water of a slade,
Þat thurghe þe Oste ran.
The Sowdane sent a Messangere
To kynge Charles als ȝe may here,
And that sawe many a man.
102
Þe Messangere bare a wandeOf ane Olefe in his hande,
In takynnynge he come of pece.
And lowde he cryede appon Charls þe kynge,
And saide he myghte his handis wrynge,
“Appon lyfe if þat he es:
For oure Sowdane hase by Mahownn sworne
Þat he salle mete hym here to-morne,
With full prowde men in prese:
With fowrty thowsande of helmes bryghte,
Was neuer ȝitt frekkere men to fighte
Sene in hethynnesse.”
103
And Charles ansuerde at þat tide:“In faythe I sall þam here habyde
Wode giffe þat þay were.
40
Þat es alle heythynnesse with-In,
Hyne will I noghte fare.”
The Messangere agayne þan rade,
And they sett wache and still habade
Whills Pryme was passede & mare.
Bot or þe nonee neghede nee,
To þam þan soughte a felle semble
With Baners breme als bare.
104
Bot than sir Charles spekes full gudelyTo Rowlande his nevewe þat stode hym by,
And seid; “sir, so god the spede,
This day wirke þou Manfully
With thi nobill Cheualry,
And of þe Saraȝens hafe [no dre]de.
Thou sall see þat I sall noghte be sparede,
My selfe sall haue the vawarde,
There Iesu [Crist þe sp]ede.”
The trumpetes trynes one righte þan,
To Ioyne so Iolyly thay by-gane,
Oure worthy men in wede.
105
Thay ruysschede Samen with swilke a rakeThat many a Saraȝene laye on his bake,
& one þe lawnde righte þer þay lay;
Full Grisely gronande one the grete,
Stekyde vndir stedis fete,
And liste no thynge of playe.
So darfely þan þay dynge þam downn,
Thay saide þe myghte of saynt Mahownn
Was clenely all a-waye.
“A! mount Ioye!” oure lordes gane crye,
And Charles with his cheualrye
Full freschely faughte þat day.
41
106
They hewe of hethen hedis in hye,Oure Cristen men so sekirly
Of þam hade littill drede,
Bot brittenesse þam with brandis bare
And Saraȝenes thurghe þe schuldire schare,
þat to þe girdill it ȝede.
Thay tuke none hede of gudes nore golde,
Lay neuer so mekill appon the molde,
Oure worthy men in wede;
Bot beris abake the Batells brade,
Fowrty thowsande in a slade,
Laye stekede vnder stede.
107
And so harde by-stade was þe SowdaneHym selfe with ten thowsande þan
To Melayne tuke þe gate.
Oure Cristen knyghtis with þaire speres
The hyndirmaste fro þaire blonkes beres,
And chacede þam to þe ȝate.
The owte barres hew þay downn,
And slewe hethynn kynges with crownn,
And þaire powere þer-ate.
To sawtte þe Cite sadly þay by-gann,
Off Cristyn men many a cruelle man,
Þe hethyn wex all mate.
108
With speris & with spryngaldes faste,With dartis kenely owte þay caste,
Bothe with myghte & mayne.
With gownnes & with grete stones
Graythe gounnes stoppede those gones
With peletes vs to payne.
Oure Cristyn men that were of price
Bendis vp bowes of devyce,
And Bekirs þam agayne.
42
That by it drewe vn to the nyghte
Fele folke of fraunce were slayne.
109
There were of oure clergy dedeAnd oþer lordes in þat stede,
Or thay of sawte walde sesse.
By þan þay sawe it was no bote to byde
And fro þe Cite warde þay ryde,
Oure prynces prouede in presse.
The Bischoppe es so woundede that tyde
With a spere thorowe owte the syde,
Þat one his ribbis gan rese.
Thurgh þe schelde & the browe bare
A schaftemonde of his flesche he schare:
lordynges, þis es no lese.
110
He pullede it owte, keste it hym fro,And weryde þe handis þat it come fro,
And þat it lete forthe glyde.
The Sowdane ouer þe wallis by-helde
And sawe þe Cristen in the felde
Frowarde þe Cite ride.
And appon kynge Charls þan cryes he:
“What! Charls, thynkes now to flee?
I trowe the moste habyde.
I sall the mete to-morne in felde,
With fourty thowsand vnder schelde,
Sall fonde to felle thi pryde.”
111
Says Charls: “þou false hethyn hownde,Thou ne dare noghte byde appon þe grounde,
Þer euer more worthe the woo
43
Hase þou stollen a waye lyke a tyke,
The deuelle myghte with þ goo!
That Cite bot þou ȝelde to me,
And fully trowe and Cristyn be
Appon one god and no moo,
In felde ȝif euer I see the mare
I sall by myghtfull god” he sware,
“Hewe thi bakke in twoo.”
112
Then of oure Cristen men in þe feldeMany semblede vnder schelde,
And some ware wondede sare.
Thay þat were bothe hale & sownde
Comforthed þam þat were euyll wonde,
So als Criste wolde it were.
The kynge þan of his helme tase,
And to the Bischoppe swythe he gase
And sayde: “Fadir, for goddes are,
Thy woundes that thou walde late me see,
If any Surgeoun myghte helpe thee,
My comforthe were þe mare.”
113
“What! wenys þou, Charls,” he said, “þat I faynte beeFor a spere was in my thee,
A glace thorowte my syde.
Criste for me sufferde mare;
He askede no salue to his sare,
Ne no more sall I this tyde.
I sall neuer ette ne drynke,
Ne with myn eghe slepe a wynke,
Whate bale als euer I byde,
To ȝone Cite ȝolden bee,
Or ells þer-fore in Batelle dye,
The sothe is noghte to hyde.”
44
114
Als þay stode spekande of þis thynge,To Charls come a newe tydynge
Þat Blenkede all his blee:
Thay saide þat one sir Tretigon,
Þat was þe Sowdane syster son,
And þe beste of Barbarye,—
“Certys, Charls, he comes at hande
With men of armes a sexty thowsande,
To strenghe with ȝone Cite.” [OMITTED]
115
[OMITTED] “Now sone, when I hafe foughten my fill,I sall avise me gif þat I will
One thi message to wende.”
116
“Now sir Bawdewyne, buske, & make þe bownn.”He saide: “allas, þou charelyonn,
Þat euer I tuke thi fee!
For ȝitt my selfe es saffe & sownnde,
My body hole with owttyn wounde,
Als þou thi selfe may see;
I walde noghte, for all thi kyngdome,
Þat euer þat worde vn-to france come
I solde so feyntly flee.
45
For, by god þat awe this day,
Þou sall haue none of mee.”
117
“A, sir Ingelere, for a knyghte þou art kyde,”“Whi, sir Charls, what walde þou þat I dide?
“I pray the wende thi waye.”
“Bi Iesu Criste þat sittis aboffe,
Me thynke þou kydde me littill luffe,
When þou þat worde wolde saye.
Bot me sall neuer be-tyde þat taynte:
I hope þou wenys myn herte be feynte,
I say þe schortly, naye:
Þat I sall neuer so fremdly flee,
God lett me ȝif it his wills bee
Neuer habyde þat daye.”
118
The Duke Berarde was wondede sare,Thurgh þe schelde into þe Body bare
He was borne with a brande.
Of this message þay gun hym frayne,
bot he hade no worde to speke agayne,
Bot grymly stude lukande.
Than Turpyn gan to Charls say:
“Here arte þou seruede, bi my fay,
Þou fayles of þat þou fande.
The Duke es woundede so wonder sare
It ware grete syn to greue hym mare;
Gude sir, þou late hym stande.”
119
Thay prayede a Banarett þan of pryce,One sir Barnarde of Parische,
For grete gyftis he wolde wende.
46
I ame ouer symple to ȝow to saye,
Where euer ȝe will me sende.
I aske ordir of knyghte þer till;
Bot giffe ȝour giftis where ȝe will,
Elles ȝe be my frende.”
Thay made hym knyghte with full gud chere,
He tuke leue at þe twelue duȝepere
this curtayse knyghte & he[nde].
120
He saide þan: “haue guddaye, Charls, in this stede,For þou sall neuer gyffe me brede,
Ne in thy burdynge say,
If I be pore of golde and fee,
Þat I fro this grete Iournee
Fayntly fledde a way.”
He rydis euen to þe ȝatis of Melayne
And there with saraȝenes was he slayne,
He dide full wele þat day.
And Charls for hym in hert was woo,
Bischoppe Turpyn and othere moo
For his dede sore mournede thay.
121
Thus haue þay prayede euerylkone,Bot there wolde goo neuer one,
The symple thay bade none sende.
The Bischoppe Turpyn cryede appon highte:
“Sen ȝe are so frekke for to fighte
God of his myghte ȝow mende!
ȝitt are we ten thowsande here
That are ȝitt bothe hole and fere,
Þat wele for kene are kende.
And of gude men þat none will flee,
To fourty thowsande or we dye
In þe felde to make þaire ende.”
47
122
Bot als Turpyn lengs hym on his brandeOuer an hill he saw comande
ful many a brade Banere,
The Duke of Bretayne, sir lyonelle,
That Charls was thare he herde telle
And hade mystere of powere.
He broghte hym thirty thowsande fyne,
Vetaylls gude and nobill engyne,
This bolde with full blythe chere,
Than Turpyn gan to Charls say:
“I see a felle hoste, bi my fay,
Þat sone will neghe vs nere.
123
ȝone are the saraȝenes mekill of mayne,The full powere owt of spayne,
Þat sone sall full ill spede.
For by hym þat swelt on tree
This day no saraȝene sall I see
Sall gerre me torne my stede.”
And In his hande he caughte a launce:—
“Haue gud day, Charls, and grete wele fraunce.”—
& agayne þat hoste he ȝede.
In fewter sone he keste his spere
And thoghte the Boldeste down to bere
Þat Batelle walde hym bede.
124
So blody was that Bischoppis wedeHis conysaunce ne ȝit his stede
Þe Bretons ne couthe noghte knawe.
Bot als an harawde hym by-helde
He lukede vp in to his schelde,
And sayde to alle one rawe:
“If Bischoppe Turpyn appon lyve be,
In faythe, lordynges, ȝone es he
Þat ȝe se hedirwarde drawe.”
48
“A Mounte Ioye,” cryes one þat he myghte here,
He was glade of þat sawe.
125
The Wardayne rydis hym agayneAnd said: “sir Bischoppe, for goddis payne,
Who hase greued the?”
He tuke his spere owt of reste adownn
And gaffe þam alle his Benysonn,
the Bretons when he þam see.
The Bischoppe tolde þam of his care
Bot þan the Bretons hertis were sare,
For þe dole oure Oste gun dryee.
A Messangere went to telle the kynge,
So fayne was Charles neuer of thynge
With eghe þat he gan see.
126
And or Turpyn myghte his tale halfe telleHe sawe come houande ouer a felle
Many a brade Banere;
Standardis grete with stalworthe men,
Sexti thowsande wele myghte þay ben,
In brenyes burnescht clere.
Vnder þe cante of a hille
Oure Bretons beldis & bydis stille,
When þay wiste whate þay were.
The Bischoppe saide: “bi goddis myghte,
Thaym sall rewe or it be nyghte,
the tyme þat þay come here!
127
Go we to ȝone companyWith ‘Mountioye’ baldly & þam ascrye,
Late þer be no Lettynge.”
49
To fighte with slyke a grete menȝe,
It is better wende to þe kynge.”
“A, sir, whare þay are sexti thowsande men!
And if þay were mo bi thowsandis ten,
[Bi] God þat made all thynge,
The more powere that thay be,
The more honour wyn sall we,
We dowte noghte þam to dynge.”
128
The Bischoppe to þe kyng sentAnd prayes hym to byde appon þe bent,
Þe Cite for to kepe;
That there no saraȝene solde come owte,
To þay had rekkenede with þat rowte,
Þay sawe come ouere þe depe.
Oure Bretons kyndely comforthes he,
Sayse: “alle þ Saraȝenes ȝe ȝonder see
Þaire frendis sore may wepe:
We sall wirke þam wondis full wyde,
I hete þam be þaire lemans syde
Sowndely neuer sall þay slepe.”
129
For Isschuynge owte of þe Citekynge Charles with his menȝe
Helde his Batelle still.
Oure Bretons bolde þat fresche come In
Thoghte þat þay wolde wirchippe wyn
And gatt þe cante of þe hill.
The Saraȝenes were so strange & stowte
Thay late no lede þat þay wolde lowte,
Þay were so wykkede of w[ill].
Oure Bretons dide so doughtyly
That lange or none sekerly
Þe saraȝenes lykede full ill.
50
130
Samen þan strake þat grete stowreAls it were aftire þe none ane houre,
It was noghte mekills mare:
Bot Many a saraȝene in þat stownde
Lay grysely gronande on the grownde,
Woundede wonderly sore.
Bot there god will helpe þer es no lett;
So stronge strokes þay one þam sett
With burneschede bladis bare,
That fourty thowsande saraȝenes kene
With Brandis lay brettenyde on the grene,
So bolde oure Bretons were.
131
And to þe Cite þe toþer wolde haue flede,And Rowlande thoghte he wolde þam stedde,
Ten thowsande was with hym.
And when he with the saraȝenes mett,
Full grym strokes he ouer þam sett,
With growndyn speris and grym.
Charles appon þe tothere syde
Sloughe þam downn with wondis wyde,
And made þaire dedis full dyme.
And thus thay chase þam here and thare,
Als þe howndes dose the hare,
And refte þam lyfe and lyme.
132
Rowlande rydis to Letygon,Þat was þe sowdane Sister sone,
And stroke hym with a spere,
That dede he daschede in þe felde:
Helme ne hawberke he myghte none welde,
Ne neuer after none bere.
51
Passede neuer one qwyke a way,
Bot euyll þay endide there.
The Cristenyde knelide down in þat place
And thankede god þat gaffe þam grace,
So worthily þam to were.
133
The false in þe felde thus gun þay felle,The kynge callede sir lyonelle,
And a-vauntede hym full heghe.
The Duke of Burgoyne bi-fore was dede,
He Sessede hym in his stede,
And gafe hym his doughter free.
And to þe Bischoppe þan swythe he gase,
That wery and sore wondede was,
And fastande dayes three:
Be þat tyme he myghte note wele a worde owt-wyn,
The teris rane ouer Charles chynn,
Þat Sorowe it was to See:
134
“And þou dy, þan dare I sayeThe floure of presthode es a-waye,
Þat euer hade schauen crownn.
For there ne is kynge ne Cardynere
In Cristyndome may be thi pere,
Ne man of Religiownn.”
He will no man his wondes late See,
Ne mete ne drynke none neghe hym ne,
For prayer ne for pardownn.
Oure Oste for þe Bishcoppe mournes alle,
And graythes þam to Melayne walle,
With Baners buskede bownn.
52
135
New vetailles þe bretons broghte þanÞat refresschede many of oure men,
Of brede, brawne & wyne.
A nobill hurdas ther was graythede
And Baners to þe walles displayede,
And Bendis vp þaire engyne.
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