The Story of England :: :: University of Virginia Library

Arthur merueilled ferly strong
Þat þe messegers dwelled so long,
& what þem letted, & þorow wham,
Þat þe sex þousand hom ne cam.
Þen cald he swyþe sire Ider
Þat was a doughti bacheler:
“Tak fyf þousand, & smartly fare,
“Þe sex þousand sekeþ, wher þey are.”
Sire Ider dide as Arthur bad,
& for his wendyng fele were glad.
Als Ider & his folk forþ ferde,
Gret noise vnder a wode þey herde;

449

Þey hied þem þanne, & wel go[d] pas,
Þey dredde þem sore of som mys cas.
Þen say Ider þat sire Wawayn
& Geryn, & Beof, foughte oþer a-geyn.
In to þe most pres Ider þen sprong,
& gaf a cri, þe wode al rong.
Þanne were þe Bretons alle abouen,
Þe Romayns route bakward schouen:
When Ider had met wyþ þe Romains route,
Of dynt ne deþ had he no doute;
Lytel þey þoughte hem self to saue,
So fayn þey wolde þe werre haue;
Þe Romayns þey ouer ryden & ronne,
& þer gode stedes wonne;
& þe Romayns atter power
Stryken & stoden ageyns Ider;
Manye were on boþe partys
Slayn þer for to wynne pris.

Petreus, he þat y of tolde,
þe noble Romayn fers & bolde,
He mayntende þer bataille,
& sette his folk wysly to assaille;
Wel couþe he stande, wel couþe he scurne,
& faire wyþdrawe hym, & eft returne.
Bytwyxt þem were many chaces,
ffele turnynges & fele wanlaces:
Þat hardy was, he fond hardy;
Who so couþe iuste, he fond redy;
Þat wel couþe fighte, þer fond his fere;
Þat nought ne couþe, þer myght he lere.

450

Al þe Bretons, oft astray þey rod,
Non held to-gydere, ne oþer abod.
ffor prowesse þat þey ȝernde al day,
Þer-fore þey nere of non array;
Þey nadde warde how þat þey ȝede,
But þat prowesse wer do of armes dede.

Petreus bygan auise hym more,
Hys beste men a-boute hym wore,
He couþe in werre wel stonde in stour,
& at his nede gete hym socour;
fful wel he halp þere help failled,
& wel hym rescowed when he was sailled;
God tent til al his men he tok,
When þey astraied, whideward þey schok,
& alle relyed þem wel ageyn,
Þat ilkon wyste his certeyn.

Beofs of Oxenforde perceiued wel
Þe comynges of Petron ilka del,
Þat wyþoute los schold þey nought go
But ȝyf þey mighte Petron slo,—
Sle, or take in pleyn[e] feld,—
ffor his confort þe Romayns vp held.
Hider & þider þe Bretons went,
Al out of array, & were ney schent.
Þe beste barons of þem alle,
Beofs to consail gon þey[m] calle:

451

“Lordes,” he seyde, “spekeþ wyþ me,
“Þo þat til Arthur wol leaute.
“Bygonne we haue a cuntek,
“But Arthur wot nought of þis chek;
“Wyþoute his wityng is þis tyrpeyl,
“Þer-fore y cald ȝow to conseil;
“Ȝyf hit falle wel, wel schal vs be;
“Ȝyf hit ne do, we gete maugre.
“But ȝyf we in þys firste stour
“Haue þe pris, & bere þe flour,
“I telle vs schent, ilka man,
“& mikel maugre þat we hit gan.
“Hit was ȝour conseil as wel as oures,
“Ȝe preied vs to bygynne þyse stoures:
“Þe bettere þer-fore peyne ȝow to do
“Þyng þat y schal conseille to;
“ffonde we now euer-ilkon
“ffort acombre þylke Petron;
“Quik or ded, vs bos hym haue,
“Ȝyf [we] þis day our folk schul saue;
“& elles schul we nere gon heþen,
“Þat we ne schul myl be byneþen.
“Þer-for, lordynges, alle to-gyder
“ffolewes whar y turne, or whider,
“& helpeþ wel when ȝe se nede:
“Ȝyf we gete hym, ful wel we spede.”
Alle þey seide, “what so bitydes,
“We schul þe folewe wher þou rydes;
“Go we þanne, þat God vs a-vaille,
“So þat we of hym ne faille.”
Beofs aspied & saw hym sone:
“I se Petron! make ȝow al bone!”

452

Beofs smot þe hors wyþ þe spores,
& þey after, ouer feld & fores;
Wilde he nere stynte ne ses
Vntil he cam in to alle þe pres
Þer Petron was, & til hym rod,
Hors til hors þat þey bistrod;
Til hym ful faste Beofs allied,
& on hys felawes wel hym affied.

Beof by þe nekke Petron hent,
& doun til erthe boþe þey went;
Beof fel doun al by hys wylle,
& held Petron al ston[e] stille;
Beof dide þere a ful gret wyle,
& putte hym self in gret perile.
Beofs held sore, & Petron drow;
Petron had go, nad Beofs be tow.
Þe Romayns Petron wilde rescouse,
But Bretons a-geyn þem faste gan brouse,
Wyþ scharpe speres to-gidere sett,
& al to-frusched þat þey wiþ mett:
When speres myghte namore serue,
Þer swerdes drowe, ful faste to kerue;
Wyþ hardy herte ilk oþer on hew,
In armes hente, of sadeles þrew,
Helmes bowed, & þorow were steke,
Scheldes clef, & swerdes breke,
Hauberks ryuen & al fur-mailled,
Stedes slayn, stumbled & failled,
Men were slayn, & feld to grounde,
& manye cast þat hadde no wounde;
So þykke þey were to-gydere in þrong,

453

Ilk oþer wroþ, ilk oþer swong,
& ilk oþer of sadeles wrast,
& vnder ho[r]se fet wer cast;
Non knew oþer, þey were so ney,
But by þer speche or by þer cry:
Bretons cried “kyng Arthour,”
& Romayns, “Lucius Emperour.”
Þe Bretons faste on þem abated,
& þe Romayns ful sore þem hated;
Þer couþe non knowe for certeyn
Whilk was Breton, whilk was Romeyn,
But by þer speche þat þey spak,
Or any out of þe pres ought brak.
ffayn wolde Wawayn Petron haue,
& Beofs wold þey al-gate saue;
He brak in to þe mykel pres,
To smyte sore wold he nought ses;
On alle sides he smot aboute,
& made þeym rounn þorow-out þe route;
Was þer non stod in his weye,
Þat his dynt ne dide hym deye.
Sire Ider on þat oþer syde,
ffor Geryn durste no Romayn byde;
Ilk on for oþer bolded here hert,
& smyten strokes so grete & smert
Þat no Romayn durst bide þer dynt,
But fer on bak dide þem stynt;
Þen was Petron alle a-glyft.
Þe Bretons vp sire Beofs lyft,
& horsed hym ful wel a-geyn,
& toke Petron, þe maister Romayn;

454

Þorow al þe pres þey hym led,
& wiþ hym vntil wode þey fled,
& dide hym þer he mighte be syker,
& eft al newe bygonne to byker.
But þen had þey no gouernour
Þat couþe meyntene þem in stour,
Namore þan schip or barge can,
Þere hym wanteþ a steres man.