Stories of Charlemagne and the twelve Peers of France

Roland, liking this talk but little, rode forth to meet Reynaud. But Reynaud, when he was now at the distance to charge, lighted down off Bayard, and fixing his spear in the earth, tethered his horse, and running forward knelt before Roland and said to him, "I pray you to have pity on me, for you are of kin to me. I will give you Bayard my horse, that is the most precious thing I have, and my lordship of Montalban, if you can make the King to be at peace with us. Further, I promise that I will leave France for the rest of my days, and go to the Holy Land with my brothers and Mawgis, and there make war upon the Saracens."

Roland was much troubled at these words, and said, "I would that it might be, but the King will not make peace except you deliver to him Mawgis." "Mawgis," said Reynaud, "is not one that a man can give or take. And now seeing that I have humbled myself in vain let us two settle this matter. There is no need that others should shed their blood, but we only. If you overcome me then shall you take me to the King, that he may do with me as he will; but if I, on the other hand, overcome, then will I take you to Montalban, but you shall suffer no harm or shame."

To this Roland consented, but his friends would not suffer it to be so. So the two armies met together in battle, and many were slain on both sides, but in the end Reynaud and his men prevailed over Roland and his army. Nevertheless Reynaud suffered this great loss and damage, that his brother Richard, having assailed Roland, was overthrown and taken prisoner.

When Reynaud heard these tidings he was greatly troubled, and would have given himself up to King Charles, if he might so deliver his brother. But this the others would not suffer. Then said Mawgis, "Trouble not yourselves about Richard, I will set him free. Do you go to Montalban." But they doubted how he should do this, and were in great heaviness.

Meanwhile Mawgis disguised himself in such a fashion that no one could know him. By eating of a certain herb he made himself much bigger to see, and with another herb he darkened his face almost to blackness. Then he put on him the habit of a pilgrim, having a mantle and hood, and great boots on his feet, and a staff in his hand. This done, he conveyed himself with more speed than if he had ridden the swiftest of horses to the King's camp, for he was a magician, as has been said. This speed he used that he might be beforehand with Roland.

When he was come to the Camp, he watched till the King came forth from his tent, and said to him, "God keep you, Sir, from all treason!" Now the King, having been deceived many times, said, "Who is this knave? Does he compass some treason?" For a while the false pilgrim made no answer. But then, as one that takes courage to speak, he said, "Sir, you may see that I am a poor man that has more need of health than of compassing treason. I am newly come from Jerusalem, where I worshipped at the Holy Sepulchre, and now I must go to Rome and to St. James of Compostella, but I am in great trouble. Yesterday, as I was passing over the river Gironde with ten men that I had to guard me, there fell upon me some thieves that slew all my men and took all that I had. These thieves told me that they were the four sons of Amyon, and one Mawgis, their cousin. And when I asked them why they dealt so hardly with me, they answered that they were in such sore need at their castle of Montalban that they could not choose but rob all wayfarers. Then they beat me and let me go. And now, Sire, I pray that you will avenge me of these robbers."

The King answered, "Gladly would I avenge you if I might, but I can do nothing against these men." And the false pilgrim said, "If I cannot have help of man, yet surely I shall have it of God." The King said, "This seems to be a godly man." And he turned to his lords. "It would be a good deed to give this pilgrim alms." And he commanded his steward to give him twenty pounds in silver.

When Mawgis received the money, he said to himself, "Surely you shall have a reward for this." But aloud he said, "I pray you, Sire, to give me some meat, for since yesterday I have neither eaten nor drunk." And the King commanded that he should be served with the very best.

So Mawgis ate and drank; he said nothing, but looked very earnestly at the King. And Charlemagne said, "Tell me, pilgrim, why you look so earnestly upon me?" The false pilgrim answered, "Sire, I have travelled in many lands, but never saw I, whether among Saracens or Christian men, so godly and courteous a prince. Now, therefore, of all the pardons that I have I will give you half." "That," answered the King, "is a fair gift. I take it willingly." So the false pilgrim gave him his staff to kiss for a token.

And now came Roland with Richard his prisoner. But before he had audience of the King, the Duke Naymes and other Barons said to him, "It will be ill done if you deliver Richard to the King. Let him depart in peace." "That," answered Roland, "I will do right willingly if I may."

But a certain yeoman that was standing by heard the Barons and Roland talking together, and told the matter to the King. And he, coming forth from his tent, when he saw Richard, cried, "Villain, now that I have you, I will see that you are hanged by the neck," and he smote him with his staff. Then Richard leapt upon the King, for he had been unbound, and the two wrestled together and fell to the earth. But the Barons laid hands upon them and held them apart.

When Mawgis saw how the King had smitten Richard, he had much ado to keep still. Nevertheless he restrained himself, making a sign to Richard, and when Richard knew him he was glad, being sure that he should be delivered by his means.

After this Mawgis departed from the King's camp, and went with all speed to Montalban. Being come there, he said to the three brethren, "Richard is yet alive, but he is in great straits. Come and deliver him while there is yet time." Thereupon they all set out. But when they were come near to the camp, and had hidden themselves in a wood that was hard by, it so happened that for weariness they all fell into a deep sleep. And this thing came near to the undoing of Richard.

Meanwhile the King called his Barons together. First he said to Berenger, Lord of Valois, "I will make you quit of all service to me if you will take this knave Richard and see that he is hanged." Berenger answered, "You love me little, my lord King, if you make such a demand of me. I will not do this thing."

Then the King said to another of the Barons, "You hold Bavaria of me, and are bound to serve me with three thousand men. I will quit you of this service if you will hang this knave Richard." "I will not hurt the man," answered the Earl.

Then he turned to Ogier the Dane and said, "Now, if you would prove me your love, hang this fellow." "Nay," answered Ogier, "I will not, and, moreover, I hold any man to be my enemy that shall harm Richard."

At the last he said to Turpin the Archbishop, "Hang this Richard, and I will make you Pope of Rome." "Sire," answered Turpin, "to do so would be against my priest's duty."

At last the King prevailed with a certain knight, Ripus by name, that he should do this deed. So this Ripus, having put a halter about Richard's neck, led him to the gallows which had been set up outside the wood. And when Richard would have given him gold he would have none of it. Only he suffered that a priest should shrive him, to whom indeed Richard confessed more sins than he had committed in his whole life, so gaining a little time, for he yet looked for help. And when the shriving was ended, then he begged for time wherein he might make his prayers, nor could Ripus say him nay.

And now, when he was in the greatest need, did the good horse Bayard help him, for he, having such wit as never horse had before, seeing that Reynaud his master was fast asleep, smote with his hoof on his shield that he woke him, and he, looking up, the gallows being hard by the wood, saw Richard now beginning to mount the ladder that was set against the gallows. Then he leapt on Bayard's back, and made all haste to deliver Richard, Mawgis and Alard and Guichard following him with all the speed they could use.

As for Ripus and his men, they could make no stand against the brothers and Mawgis. Many were slain, and the rest were right glad to fly. Then Reynaud took the bodies of Ripus and fifteen of his knights that lay dead upon the plain and hanged them on the gallows that had been set up for Richard.

CHAPTER VII

MORE DEEDS OF MAWGIS

When Reynaud had accomplished the delivering of his brother Richard, he sent the greater part of his company back to Montalban, but he himself remained with the rest, being minded to do some great thing against King Charles. And this he did, for making his way into the camp with his comrades, he came to the King's tent. Cutting the cords, so that the whole tent fell to the ground, he laid hands on the golden Eagle that was on the great pole in the middle, a thing so costly that no man could tell the price thereof. In this Mawgis helped him.

But this adventure had nearly turned out to the great disadvantage of the brothers and Mawgis. For Mawgis was not content with the taking of the Eagle, but would have slain the King. He made his way into the inner part of the tent where the King lay, and said to him, "Sir King, you have troubled us over long, slaying my father and doing us all manner of mischief. And now you shall die." So saying, he thrust at the King with his spear; but the King turned about, and the spear was thrust into the bed two feet and more. Then was King Charles sore afraid, and cried out for Roland. When Mawgis heard this he looked round, and lo! Reynaud and the brethren were gone.

When he found himself to be alone, then, for all that he was as stout a warrior as ever bare arms, he was not a little troubled, and turned to flee. But many of the King's knights pursued him, and hindered him from escaping, and at the last Oliver overthrew him, casting him down from his horse to the ground, so that he was fain to yield himself prisoner. And Oliver took him to the King's tent.

When the King saw him, he was very glad, and said, "Now, you false thief, you shall pay for all the villainies that you have done." "Sir King," answered Mawgis, "you have me in your power and you can work your will upon me. Nevertheless, I will counsel you for the best. Make peace, and you shall have the best knights in all the world to serve you. But if you slay me, you shall get from the deed no profit but much harm."

The King said to his Barons: "Now cause that they make a gallows, so that I may hang this Mawgis or ever we sup." "Sir," said the Duke Naymes, "I advise you to wait till the morrow. Your enemies will mock you, saying that you durst not do this man to death in daylight for fear of them." But the King answered, "I should be shamed, indeed, if this fellow should escape."

When Mawgis heard these words, he said to the King, "If this is what you fear, I will give you my word that I will not go away without taking leave of you in due form." "But who will be your surety?" said the King. Then Mawgis looking round, saw the twelve Peers, and he said to Oliver, "Sir, when I yielded myself to you, you promised to be surety for me to the King." Then he turned him to Roland, and made the like request and so with all the Twelve. And the Peers consented to his request, and stood surety for him.

Then Mawgis said to the King, "I am hungry, give me some meat." "Can you eat," said the King, "being in such a plight?" But the Duke Naymes said: "The man that has eaten is better prepared for all things." "So be it," said the King; "but where shall the fellow sit?" "He should best sit by you," said Roland. "You say well," answered the King, "for indeed I cannot trust him to be elsewhere."

After supper the King commanded that the Twelve Peers should watch Mawgis through the night. Nor was he even then content, for he called for irons, and bound the man's hands and his feet. And the key of the irons he kept. "Now," said he, "you shall not escape me, you false thief." "Think you so?" said Mawgis. "Nevertheless, I shall be at Montalban to-morrow before prime." And the King was so wroth, that he would have slain the man forthwith, only the Peers hindered him.

This done, they sat down to play at the tables, and at chess, and at other games. After a while they all felt a great desire to sleep. Whereupon Mawgis began to work upon them with his magic. First he made their sleep to be stronger by far, so that the King and the Peers and the whole company were altogether mastered by it. Then with another charm he loosed the collar from his neck and the fetters from his legs. Then seeing that the King had fallen with his head awry, he took a pillow and set it under him. Also he took from him his sword Joyous, and from Roland his sword Durendal, and the sword which Oliver carried, Hautclere by name. Also he took much treasure out of the King's treasury. When he had so done, he took a herb that he had, and rubbed the King's nose and lips with it, and said, "Wake, Sir King, I said that I should not go without taking leave. Now, therefore, farewell," and he vanished out of the place.

When the King came to himself, he was so angry as never man was before. He would have woke the Peers, but could not, so fast asleep were they. Then he bethought him of a certain herb that he had brought from overseas. This he rubbed on the nose and mouth and eyes of the Peers, and they awoke forthwith. Said the Duke Naymes, "Where now is Mawgis?" "He is gone," answered the King, "and by your fault, for ye hindered me when I would have hanged him." "Did you see him depart?" said Oliver to Roland, "No, by St. Denis," answered Roland. But the King said, "I saw him go with my own eyes." "Then you should have warned us," said Roland, and as he spake he put his hand to his side and missed his good sword Durendal. And when the Peers found that their swords were gone they were fairly distraught with anger.

The next day the King said to his Barons: "Go now to Reynaud, and tell him that if he will give back to me my golden Eagle and my crown, and my sword Joyous, then I will grant him a truce for two years. Ogier shall take this message, and the Duke Naymes and Turpin the Archbishop."

So these mounted their horses and rode to Montalban. When they were come to the gate, they called the porter and said to him, "We be knights of the King, and would fain speak with Sir Reynaud." So the porter told the thing to the brethren.

Richard went to the gate and saluted them courteously, and brought them into the castle, where they were honourably received by Reynaud and the Lady Clare, Alard also and Guichard helping. Then Ogier delivered his message, and Reynaud said, "Tarry here, my lords, this night, and we will give you an answer in the morning." To this they consented. So a great feast was prepared, and they sat down and were right royally entertained.

The next day the Duke Naymes said to Reynaud, "What answer do you make to the King?" Reynaud answered, "I will do as he desires."

When Ogier the Dane heard this, he was glad, and thought within himself, "Now will the King be greatly pleased. Maybe there shall be not a truce only, but peace. If I can move Reynaud to come back with us to the King, the two may well be reconciled." So he told his thought to Reynaud and Reynaud consented to it.

The next day they set out. Ogier and the Duke Naymes went on with all speed they might use to the King's camp; but Reynaud and Alard followed slowly with Turpin and another.

In the meanwhile a certain spy, having knowledge of the whole matter, made haste to tell it to the King, and this he did before that Ogier and the Duke were come to the camp. When the King heard it, he said to Oliver: "Take with you two hundred knights, and ride with all haste to the river of Besançon, where, if you use diligence, you will find Reynaud and Alard. Lay hold of them and bring them hither to me."

So Oliver rode with his knights, and when he was come to the river, he found Reynaud on foot and Bayard his horse so far from him that he could not mount him; so he was taken unawares. Then he turned to Turpin and that other in great anger, saying, "Villains, you have betrayed me." "Sir," answered Turpin, "I swear to you that I am innocent in this matter."

Reynaud said to Oliver, "Remember you how I helped you at Vancouleurs when you were borne to the ground, giving you again your horse and helping you to mount." "I remember it well," answered Oliver. "No man shall harm you if I can hinder him. Nevertheless I must take you to the King." So they set out to go to the camp.

But the Duke Naymes and Ogier and Oliver and all the Peers made entreaty to the King, that he would make peace with the brethren. But he hardened his heart against them. "You waste your breath," he said, "I will do the thing that I choose, though you all shall say me nay;" and turning to Reynaud he said, "You shall not cheat me as did that false thief Mawgis, for I will cut you into pieces and burn the pieces with fire." "Sir," answered Reynaud, "you shall not do so, God being my helper."

The King, being thus defied, turned him to Ogier, and said, "Ogier, will you take the part of my mortal enemy?" "That will not I," answered Ogier; "nevertheless I will defend my honour against all men, even against the King."

Then said Reynaud, "Sir, you have said that I am a traitor. Now know that I am no traitor, neither is there a traitor in all my house and kindred. And if any man say ought against me or my kinsmen, then will I fight with him, man to man." The King answered, "I will prove my accusation against you by force of arms." Then Reynaud said again. "Sir, you speak as a King should speak. I give you my gage that I am as true a man as any that lives in the world." "I will take your gage," answered the King, "If so be you can find sureties." Then Ogier and Turpin and the Duke Naymes and another stood sureties for him.

Reynaud said to the King, "Are you content with these sureties." "That I am," answered the King. Then Reynaud would know with whom he should fight. "With me," said the King. But when Roland heard this, he said, "It must not be so, Sire; I will fight in your place." And so it was ordered. Then Reynaud, being mounted on Bayard, with the Duke Naymes and Ogier and other Peers, returned to Montalban.

CHAPTER VIII

HOW MAWGIS BECAME A HERMIT

Reynaud entertained the Barons that night in Royal fashion. The next day, after they had heard mass, he was minded to set forth, and he said to his brothers and Mawgis, "Tarry here and keep this castle." "Nay," said Alard, "we will come with you. Maybe you will have need of help." "Alard has spoken well," said Ogier the Dane. Then said Reynaud to Mawgis, "You at the least will tarry here." "That will I do, fair cousin," answered Mawgis, "and be sure that Montalban shall suffer no harm through me."

Reynaud rode to Montfaucon, and there he found Roland waiting for him. Roland spake the first, and said, "Be sure, Sir Reynaud, that when you leave the field this day, you will so leave it that you will never again fight with me or any other man." "Such threatenings do not become so good a knight," answered Reynaud. Roland said again, "I am not here for peace, but for war. If you are wise you will keep yourself far from me." "You are overproud," answered Reynaud, "maybe I shall abate your high thoughts."

When Reynaud had spoken these words, he spurred Bayard and charged Roland, and Roland also charged from his side. With so great a shock did they come together, that their spears were broken to pieces. As for Reynaud, he was borne to the earth, his saddle girths breaking, and Roland's feet were thrust out of the stirrups. Then Reynaud rising quickly from the ground smote Roland a mighty blow with his sword, so that he scarce knew where he was. Nevertheless, drawing his good sword Durendal, he made at Reynaud, and dealt him a great stroke. Long and fierce was the battle between these two, for they both were as hardy knights as lived.

Then the Duke Naymes cried to the King, "This is ill done to send to their death two such valiant knights, who might do good service against the heathen. Bid them cease from their fighting, Sir King." But the King said nought.

Reynaud said to Roland, "Let us light down and fight afoot lest by chance we should kill our horses, for if we lose them we are not like to get their like again." With this Roland was content. So they lighted down from their horses and fought on foot. First they fought with swords, but neither one could get the better of the other. When Roland saw that he could not prevail with his sword he caught the other round the waist, and wrestled with him in the same fashion as the Northerners use. So they two strove together for so long a time as a man might take for the running of a mile. Then seeing that neither could throw the other they sat down, being utterly wearied; their helmets and shields were partly broken, and the ground whereon they had stood was trampled as if men had beaten corn thereon.

Then there came to pass a right wonderful thing. There suddenly fell upon the two so thick a cloud that neither could see the other. Then Roland, having bethought himself awhile, said to Reynaud, "Will you do me a courteous turn, and I will some day, if you should need it, do the same to you." Reynaud answered, "I am ready to do whatsoever you shall ask me." Then Roland said, "I will that you take me with you to Montalban, for I am persuaded in my mind that in this matter you have the right and I the wrong."

So Roland mounted his horse, and Reynaud mounted on Bayard, and they rode away side by side. When King Charles saw them he was not a little astonished, and leaping upon his horse he cried aloud, "Now shall I see who is on my side." And he hurried after the two knights, and many Frenchmen went with him.

By this time the King, having been baulked of his will once again, for he had counted it for certain that Roland would overcome Reynaud, was yet more steadfastly determined not to give peace to the brethren; therefore he bade Duke Richard of Normandy ride on and guard the crossing over the river while he himself followed with all the host that he could muster.

So the King and his army came to Montalban and set up his tent before the great gates of the castle. One came to Mawgis and said, "The King is come with a great host, and has set up his tent before the great wall." "Take no heed of this," answered Mawgis; "if the King has done this thing he has done it to his own loss."

When Reynaud knew of the matter he told it to Roland, and Roland said, "I will now send to the King my uncle this message—that Reynaud has dealt with me right courteously; also that he and his brethren and Mawgis will give themselves and their castle into his hands if only he will promise to save us alive." "You speak well," said Reynaud; "I am content to do this."

Then they doubted who should take this message to the King. At last it was agreed that the Duke of Naymes and Ogier the Dane should take it. So these two went to the King where he sat in his tent before the great gates of the castle.

But the King hardened his heart, and would not listen to the Duke Naymes and Ogier. Nay more, he cried, "Flee from this place, ye villains! Reynaud shall have no peace with me till I have Mawgis to do with as I will." Then the Barons went back to the castle and told how they had fared. Reynaud said, "I wonder that the King is so hard of heart. But Mawgis I will not give to him; no, not though I should die for it."

Then they went to supper, and ate their meat with much cheerfulness. Supper being ended, Reynaud said to Mawgis, "Cousin, I pray you to watch this night, for on this hangs the lives of us all." "Sleep in peace," answered Mawgis, "for all shall be well."

When all the Barons were abed Mawgis took Bayard out of his stable and rode to the King's camp. When he was come thither he cast upon all the host, by a charm that he had, a very deep sleep. This done, he went to the King's tent and took him out of his bed and laid him across Bayard, and carried him, still sleeping, to Montalban.

Mawgis went to the chamber of Reynaud and said to him, "Cousin, what would you give me if I should deliver the King into your hands?" "I would give you whatsoever you shall ask," answered Reynaud. "Promise me then that you will do him no harm," said Mawgis. Reynaud answered, "I promise." Then Mawgis led him to his own chamber and showed him the King asleep in his bed.

When Mawgis had delivered the King to Reynaud he went to the stable where he had left Bayard and rubbed the horse's back and head with straw, and kissed him, weeping the while. This done he put on him his pilgrim's garb, and having given the porter all the clothing that he had, went forth from the gate.

Mawgis journeyed till he came to the river Dordogne. This he crossed in a boat, and having passed through a pine forest that was on the other side of the river, came to a well whereby there was a little house with a spring before the door, in which a hermit might conveniently dwell. Having entered the house he saw an oratory and in it an image of Our Lady, and when he had knelt down before it he prayed that Our Lord would forgive him his sins. This done, he made a great vow that he would abide in that place for the rest of his life, eating only such wild things as were in the wood. This he did thinking that if he were away the King would make peace with the brethren.

CHAPTER IX

OF WHAT BEFELL AT MONTALBAN

There was great trouble and wondering when the brethren knew that Mawgis was not in Montalban. So they called the porter and asked him what he knew. The porter said, "Sir Mawgis went out on Bayard; in a little while he came back, having a man of great stature on the horse's neck before him, and went into the castle. Then he came forth again, poorly clad and on another horse. More than this I know not."

When Richard heard this he gnashed his teeth for anger, saying, "All this comes of the hatred that the King bears to us and to our kindred. Fain would I slay him," and he made as if he would draw his sword from the scabbard. But the others held him back, and they reasoned with him till he had promised to do no hurt to the King.

When they told what had happened to Roland and the other Barons they were not a little astonished, and Ogier the Dane said, "All this trouble comes through the King's rage against the brethren, for indeed it is beyond all measure. But now I trust there will be peace. In very truth there has been war too long, and many good knights have been slain."

And now the charm that Mawgis had laid upon the King came to an end, and he woke out of his sleep. And when he knew that he was in the castle of Montalban, being aware that this was of Mawgis's doing, he was yet more angry than before, saying that there should be no peace till Mawgis should be delivered to him.

When Richard heard him speak in this fashion he said, "Do you threaten us, Sire, in this fashion, being a prisoner and in our power?" But Reynaud said, "Be silent, my brother; let the King say what he will; 'tis for us to pray that he make peace with us." Then the brethren and all the knights and Barons that were there, whether of one party or of the other, fell upon their knees before the King, and begged that he would make peace, but the King hardened his heart, saying, "There shall be no peace till Mawgis be delivered to my will."

Reynaud said, "My lord King, if you had my three brothers in your power, and were about to hang them, even then would I not deliver Mawgis to you. But besides this I know not where he is." "I do believe that he is in this very place," said the King. "I swear by my baptism," cried Reynaud, "that this is not so, and I know not whither he is gone."

Then again all the Barons made intercession with the King that he would grant peace to the brethren, and to Mawgis. But the King did not abate in his wrath by one jot. "I will have Mawgis, that I may work my will upon him."

When Reynaud heard these words he rose up from his knees, for before he had been kneeling to the King, and said, speaking to Roland and to the other lords that were of the King's part, "Seeing that the King has hardened his heart, and will have no mercy on me and my kinsmen, I do call you to witness that I will henceforth seek my right by all means that a true knight may lawfully use." Then he turned him to the King and said, "You may go in peace when you will, I will do you no hurt, for you are my sovereign lord."

When the King's Barons heard these words they were not a little astonished, not thinking that any man could deal so generously with his enemy. As for Richard, he was greatly displeased, and said, "Now have you let the enemy go; I fear me much that we shall all pay for this ill courtesy that you have shown to him with our lives." But Reynaud answered, "Be silent, brother; know that I will not compel the King to do that which is against his will. And now depart from my sight, for your high words please me not."

Then Reynaud called to him a gentleman of his household, and said, "Go now without any tarrying to the yeoman that has charge of my horses and bid him bring me Bayard. I will that my sovereign lord should ride back upon him to his camp; better horse he could not have." So the yeoman brought Bayard, and the King mounted upon him and rode him to his camp, where the Frenchmen very gladly received him.

The King bade a squire take Bayard back to Montalban, whom, when Reynaud saw, he said to Roland and the other Barons, "My good lords, I know that the King is displeased with you for your love of me. Now therefore depart and make your peace with him. As for me, if I have aught against you, I forgive it with all my heart."

When the Duke Naymes heard these words, he would have kneeled to Reynaud, but this good knight would not suffer it. Then said the Duke, "Surely it cannot but be that the King's heart will be softened when he shall hear how nobly Reynaud has borne himself in this matter." "You say well," said the other Barons.

Then there were brought from the stables Roland's horse and the horses of the others. When they were now mounted there came forth from the palace the Lady Clare, and said to them, "My lords, I do entreat you to make peace, if by any means it may be done, between the King and my husband, for indeed he bears a large heart, as you very well know." And the Duke Naymes answered, "Lady, we will do it if it may be." So he and his fellows took their leave of Reynaud and the Lady Clare with much sorrow, and rode to the King's camp.

The Barons made intercession to the King that he would accord peace to Reynaud, but he would not hear, but rather was more inflamed with anger than before against him and his kinsmen. First, he bade his men make an assault upon the castle. This they did with great zeal, bringing engines wherewith to cast stones and darts against it, and setting ladders against the walls by which they climbed up to the highest parts. But all these things availed nothing, but rather turned to the damage of the King's men, of whom many were wounded and slain.

When the King perceived that he could not prevail in this way he bade his men cease from assaulting the castle, saying, "If I cannot take the hold of these villains by force I will take it by hunger." He set therefore at every gate two hundred knights, who suffered no man to go out or enter in.

After a while there came to be a great famine in Montalban, so that a man could not buy food for silver or gold, and not a few perished with hunger.

When knowledge of these things came to the King's ears he rejoiced greatly, saying to his Barons, "This time, methinks, Reynaud shall not escape me. By St. Denis, I will hang him, and drag the false Richard at a horse's tail, and deal with Alard and Guichard in the same way."

But Roland and Ogier and the Duke Naymes were very sorry, and made supplication to the King, but he hardened his heart against them.

In the castle the famine was so sore that Reynaud and his people could scarcely keep life in them. Then the Lady Clare said to her husband, "We have more than a hundred horses in the stables, let us, therefore, cause one of them to be slain, that you and I and the children may have a morsel of meat, for indeed we have not had aught for these three days past." And when she had so spoken she fell down in a swoon at her husband's feet.

Then Reynaud went to the stables, and choosing one of the horses, commanded that it should be killed and dressed for food, and this was done, but it was a little thing among so many. And so they did till all the horses were eaten, save four, that is to say Bayard, and one horse of each of the brethren.

At the last it came to this, that there was nothing left to eat but these four horses only. But Richard said, "My horse you shall not have, no, not though we die all of us. Verily we had not been brought to this pass but for our folly when we had the King in our hands and suffered him to go free." When the boy Aymon, that was son to Reynaud, heard this, he said, "What profits it, uncle, to speak of that which is past and gone? Besides this I do not doubt that the kindness which my father showed to the King will turn some day to his profit."

When Richard heard the boy speak so wisely he took him in his arms and kissed him, weeping the while, and said to Reynaud, "Let my horse be killed and given for meat to the Lady Clare and to the young boys my nephews, and to others that have need." And so it was done.

After a few days it came to this, that Bayard only of all the horses was left alive. And when the brethren would have had him also killed for food, Reynaud withstood them, saying that he would sooner die than that his horse should be killed. Yet when the Lady Clare besought him, and his children also, he yielded to them, saying that the horse should die. So he went to the stable, that he might do this deed himself. Yet when he looked upon Bayard, and had called to mind how many times the noble beast had saved his life, he repented him of his purpose. Then he gave him a handful of hay, for indeed there was nothing else that he could give, and went back to the Lady Clare and his brethren and said, "Endure till nightfall and you shall have meat. This I promise you," for he had a purpose in his heart.

Then he saddled Bayard, and came stealthily to his father's tent, that was in the King's camp, for he knew well where it was.

When Reynaud saw the Duke Aymon he said to him, "For pity's sake, my father, give me food, for my wife and my children and my brothers and all my people are dying of hunger. As I live there is but this horse Bayard that is left to us." But the Duke answered, "I have sworn an oath to the King that I will not give you any help by food or otherwise."

Reynaud said again, "My father, have pity upon your own flesh, for such we are. The King does us great wrong when he persecutes us in this fashion."

When the Duke heard these words he well-nigh fell into a swoon for pity. After a while he said, "You say truly that the King does you wrong. Now, therefore, light off your horse and go into the tent, and take whatsoever you can find, nor shall any man say you nay; but for my oath's sake, I may not give you aught." So Reynaud went into the tent, and took such things as he could find and laid them on the back of Bayard, and carried them to Montalban. That night they ate their meat in the castle with much gladness of heart.

The next day the Duke Aymon called his steward and said to him, "Take now the three engines that the King commanded me to make for assailing the castle, and fill them, not with stones, but with flesh, both salt and fresh, and with loaves of bread, and with other victuals, and cause that they discharge these things into the castle." And the steward did as the Duke commanded him.

When the King heard what the Duke Aymon had done he was very angry, and sent for him to his tent. And when the Duke came he said to him, "How are you so bold that you feed my mortal enemies. Verily you shall lose your head for it." The Duke answered, "Sire, if you should burn me by fire yet will I not fail my children. They are no thieves or murderers, or traitors, but as good and true knights as are in all the world."

When the King heard the Duke speak in this sort, he made as if he would have struck him. But the Duke Naymes stood forth and said, "Sire, I would counsel you to send the Duke to his house. You cannot look for him to be with you in this matter, that he should see his children die before his eyes." Then the King said to the Duke Aymon, "Get you out of my camp forthwith, for you have done me more harm than can well be told." And the Duke answered, "I will do your bidding willingly." But before he went, he said to the Peers: "My lords, I commend my children to you. See, I pray you, that they come to no harm."

The King commanded that all the engines of war should be broken, for he feared lest others also of the Barons should throw victuals into the castle. So Reynaud and his men had peace, for no man made assault upon the castle. But after certain days, the provisions being all consumed, the famine was as sore as it had been at the first.

Alard said, "My brother, we cannot live longer without meat." Then Reynaud took a sword in his hand and went to the stable, having it in his heart to slay his horse. And when Bayard saw him, for he had not come thither for many days, he made good cheer. Then Reynaud said, "I were cruel indeed if I did thee harm, good beast that thou art." But Yonnet, who was his younger son, said, "Father, do you chose that my mother and my brother should die, and Bayard live?"

Then Reynaud was much troubled, doubting what he should do. Then he bethought him of a thing that he might do. He called for a basin, and took blood from the horse, and this being mixed with other things of which they had a little he prepared a mess, by which the Lady Clare and the children were a little sustained. This he did for four days, but on the fifth day the horse was grown so feeble that there came no blood from him at all. And now it seemed as if all hope were gone.

Reynaud and his kindred and his house being in these straits, there came an old man who would speak with him. "Sir," said he, "you have done as well as could have been done by any man in keeping this castle, but now you can do no more. But listen to me. I was at the building of this place many years ago, when I was but a young child. And I mind me that the lord that builded it made a secret way by which a man might escape if he was so minded. This way I will show you, and you can depart from this place by it without danger."

Reynaud was right glad to hear this thing so that he forgot his hunger. Then he took his horse, which, indeed, could scarce stand for feebleness, and all the folk that were left in the castle; and they entered the secret way that the old man showed them. When they had gone a part of the way, Reynaud saw that they had not with them King John of Gascony. He said, "We have done ill to leave King John. It would be shame to us were he to die like a starving wolf that has fallen into a pit." So he went back and brought him. The others had small pleasure to see him, for even the Lady Clare, that was his sister, spake sharply to him saying, "Brother, you have done me such damage that you well deserved to die." But Reynaud said, "I have sworn homage to the King, and I must needs save him." And when the others heard these words, they confessed that Reynaud's thoughts were more worthy of a Christian man than theirs.

So having gone along the secret way for a while, they came to the end, and having issued forth found that they were in the Wood of the Serpent. Many things they suffered as they went, yet for hope's sake and by help of such wild fruits as they gathered on the way they bear up. And so with much toil and trouble they came to Ardennes, and were received with much gladness.

CHAPTER X

HOW PEACE WAS MADE

It happened about seven days after these things that the King rode by the castle, for he would fain know how the besieged fared. When he could see no man on the walls, he was not a little astonished, and going back straightway to the camp called his Barons together and told them of this matter.

The Duke Naymes said, "We must find out what has overtaken these people; let us feign to make an assault." So they feigned to make an assault, but no man came forth to defend the castle. Then the King said: "They are all dead of hunger," and he commanded that a long ladder should be set against the walls. By this certain of the Peers mounted, Roland being first of all, and after him Ogier the Dane and Oliver. But finding no man they descended on the other side and opened the gates that the King might come in.

So the King came in; but when he saw neither man, woman, or child in the whole place he was much astonished. And as he searched he found the secret way, which when he had seen he cried, "This has that false knave Mawgis done. Verily he will break my very heart for anger." But the Duke Naymes answered, "Not so, my lord; this way has been made many years."

Then by commandment of the King, Roland and a company of men went by the secret way till he came to the Wood of the Serpent. Nor were there wanting signs that many people had passed that way. So he returned to the castle and told what he had seen to the King, and the King with his host tarried awhile in Montalban.

A messenger came to the King, with tidings of the brethren. He said that he had seen them keeping a great court at the city of Ardennes, and that they had much treasure with them, and a great company.

When the King heard this he swore by St. Denys that he would not rest in his bed till he had besieged Reynaud and his company. So he commanded his Barons that they should make ready their baggage and march with all the haste they could on to Ardennes, and this they did.

When Reynaud was aware of their coming he swore a great oath that he would not suffer himself to be besieged. "Rather," said he, "would I fight with the King in the open field; verily, if by chance he should come into my hands I would not have pity on him as I did in past time." "Now, my brother," said Richard, "you speak as a man; if it come to fighting I will not fail of my duty." And Guichard and Alard said the same.

Then Reynaud ordered his host in a very skilful fashion, and mounting on Bayard rode towards the van of the King's army. When the King saw him coming, he grew so mad with rage that he was ready to fight with him, man to man. When the Duke Naymes perceived this, he said, "Sire, what mean you to do? It were folly to fight with these men. Rather make peace with them. For whether we prevail or they, there were a grievous loss of brave men, such as shall never be recovered." "Have done with such counsel," said the King, "I had rather be torn in sunder than make peace with these villains. Speak to me, therefore, no longer on this matter, but do you bear the Oriflamme of France as becomes a noble knight." "That will I do," said the Duke. "Verily, there is no man so old but that he will get hot in battle."

Then the hosts joined in battle, and the fight grew fiercer and fiercer. First Reynaud and the brethren drave back the King's hosts. With his first blow Reynaud clave a knight's head to the teeth, and with his sword shore the head of another clean from his neck. Then with a loud voice he cried, "Ardennes," and the courage of his men waxed so high that the King's men could in no wise stand against them.

When the King saw this he charged with all his might against his adversaries, slaying a knight at each blow. And when his spear was broken, he drew his sword, and did therewith marvellous deeds of arms. Never did he bear himself more valiantly than he did that day.

When Roland saw how his uncle fought in the very front of the battle, he was greatly afraid lest some mischance should befall him. Wherefore, spurring his horse, he made all haste to help him. The rest of the Twelve Peers did the same, and the King's host was stayed up against Reynaud's men. From prime to noon the battle was so equal that no man could say whether this side or that prevailed. But when the sun began to move to its setting, Reynaud's men began to give way, being fewer in number and spent with fighting. Then Reynaud said to him that bear his standard, "It is time to rest, carry the standard homeward."

When the King perceived this, he cried with a loud voice, "They fly; follow them with all speed; suffer them not to escape." This thing was the cause of no small damage; for Reynaud and his brothers and the knights that were of his side turned upon them that followed and slew many, and took prisoner Richard, Duke of Normandy. Him they carried into Ardennes and shut to the gates.

Roland went to the King and said, "The brethren have taken Duke Richard; lest, therefore, he come to any harm, offer conditions of peace. Remember, Sire, that you have now made war upon the sons of Aymon for fifteen years. Truly, had you done as much against the Saracens as you have done against them, you had brought them by this time under the Christian faith."

The King said, "Speak no more of peace; it shall not be save on conditions that you know. As for the Duke Richard they will not dare to harm him."

So the King laid siege against the city, and brought up great engines of war against it, expecting that Reynaud would deliver it into his hands, for he thought that by this time his strength must be well-nigh spent. But when many days had gone by, and there came no messenger from the town, he began to doubt within himself. So he called his lords together, and said to them, "It troubles me that we have no tidings of Duke Richard." Roland answered, "Sire, I marvel that you do not perceive the truth. The Duke Richard we shall never see again, unless you make peace with Reynaud and his brethren."

When the King had considered the matter awhile, knowing that Roland had spoken truth, he said, "Go now, three of you, to wit, Duke Naymes, Ogier the Dane, and Roland, with olive branches in your hands, and say to him, 'Thus saith the King, deliver to me Mawgis into my hands, and I will give you peace; you and your brothers shall have your lands again, and your two sons I will receive at my court, and I will make them knights with my own hands.'"

The three Barons went, with olive branches in their hands, and delivered the King's message to Reynaud. He answered, "My lords, I am glad with all my heart to see you; nevertheless I marvel much at the King's message. He demands that I shall give over Mawgis to him. Now all the world knows that I have not Mawgis to give or not to give. Truly I have lost him, and better friend or kinsman never was, by the King's cruelty and hardness of heart. Return therefore to the King and say, 'Mawgis I have not to give, nor would I give him if I had. As for the Duke Richard, I will hang him to-morrow over the chief gate at Ardennes.' And you, come no more on such an errand to me. I promise you that if any man come hereafter with such a message from the King, I will smite off his head."

So the three Barons returned to the King, and told him the words of Reynaud. And Roland said, "Sire, take it not ill, if I tell you that for your pride you will cause the Duke Richard to die. These sons of Aymon are the best knights in all the world, and they have asked peace of you, not once only but many times, and you have hardened your heart against them." The other Peers spake to the same intent. But the King would not listen to them. "Not so," said he, "they will not dare to hurt the Duke; verily, if they do such a deed I will hang them all with my own hand."

The next day Reynaud said to his brothers, "It is manifest that the King will not give us peace. I am resolved, therefore, to do him all the harm I can, and first I will hang the Duke Richard before his eyes and the eyes of all his host."

So Reynaud caused that a gallows should be set up over the chief gate of Ardennes. When this was done he sent ten yeomen to fetch the Duke. Now the Duke sat in his chamber playing chess with Yonnet, that was son to Reynaud. One of the yeomen said to him, "Sir Duke, come forth, for Reynaud has commanded that you be hanged forthwith." When the Duke heard him speak in this fashion, he disdained to make any answer, but said to Yonnet, "Play you quickly, for it is time that we go to dinner." When the yeomen saw that he paid no heed to them, they laid hands on him, one on each side, saying, "Rise up, Sir Duke, for you are to be hanged in despite of the King." When the Duke perceived that the men had hold of him, having one of the chess pieces in his hand, to wit, the Queen, with which he was about to give mate to Yonnet, he drew back his arm and gave one of the men such a buffet on the head as killed him outright. After this he took a rook from the board, and gave another yeoman such a stroke that his skull was broken; to a third he dealt a great blow with his fist and slew him. The others seeing how their fellows had fared, fled forthwith out of the chamber. Then the Duke said to Yonnet, "My child, you are fairly mated; as for these fellows they are drunken, I take it, to use me in such a fashion; but they have had their deserts," and he called to a servant that was there, saying, "Cast now these churls out of the window," and the man cast them out, fearing much, lest he should be dealt with in the same way.

When Reynaud and his brethren heard what the Duke had done, they went to his chamber in great wrath, and said, "Why have you slain my yeomen?" The Duke answered, "There came to my chamber ten churls saying that you had given commandment that I should be hanged, a thing which I could in no wise believe. For this cause I drave them out of my chamber, slaying some of them—I know not how many. Now if I have done amiss you can do to me what you will. But I judge the matter thus, that if these churls suffered at my hand the blame lies rather at the door of them that sent them on this errand."

Reynaud said in great wrath, "Believe it or no, as you will, but I am steadfastly purposed to have you hanged before the eyes of the King and his army." And he caused the Duke to be bound.

When the Duke perceived that Reynaud was truly purposed to deal with him in this fashion, he said, "Suffer me now to send a messenger to the King." "You shall send him," said Reynaud. So the Duke sent a messenger bearing two messages, to the King one, and another to the Peers. To the King he said, "I pray you, Sir, if you ever loved me, to make peace with Reynaud. If he have done aught amiss against you I will be his surety, and will answer for him that he shall make amends." To the Peers he said, "Show now to the King that if he suffer me thus to die, he shall do himself such dishonour as shall never be done away."

When these messages were delivered (but the King knew not that Richard had sent to the Peers) there was great debate, for the King hardened his heart as he had done before, and the Peers were urgent with him that he should turn from his anger. And the strife between them waxed so hot that the Peers departed from the King, taking their men with them, so that day the King's host was made the smaller by forty thousand men.

When the messenger came back with these tidings, how that the King was still hardened but that the Peers had departed from him, Reynaud was greatly moved, and turning to Duke Richard he said, "I pray you, my good cousin, pardon me for the great shame that I have done you." The Duke answered, "I blame you not. Rather do I blame the King for his cruelty and hardness of heart." Then Reynaud caused him to be unbound, and said, "Stand here by me, my cousin, and we will see what the King will do."

And now the King was at last brought to a better mind, for he said to a knight that waited on him, "Ride now as fast as you may, and when you come to the Peers tell them that I will listen to their counsel." So the knight rode with all speed, and when he had overtaken the Peers he delivered to them the King's message. And they came back to the camp.

The King said, "Go now to Reynaud and say to him, 'The King gives you peace on these conditions. You shall go in pilgrim's garb to the Holy Land, and on foot, begging your bread. You shall leave me your horse Bayard. On the other hand, I will restore to your brothers all their lands.'"

So the Duke Naymes went to Ardennes and told to Reynaud the King's conditions. Reynaud answered, "I accept them with my whole heart." Then he went to the stable, and took Bayard from his stall, and delivered him to the Duke Naymes. This done he took his banner, and raised it on the wall of the castle to be a token of peace. After this he went to his chamber, and, putting off his rich apparel, clad himself in poor garments, and took a pilgrim's staff in his hand, and so made ready to depart. But first he took leave of his wife, the Lady Clare. So sad at heart was she that she fell down at his feet like to one dead. When she had come to herself he said, "Take not this thing so much to heart. As for me I have such joy at the making of peace that the time of my banishment seems to be past already. Now may God have you in His keeping!" And he kissed her right tenderly, and went his way.

When the Lady Clare saw him go she fell again into a swoon, and this so sore that her gentlewomen deemed that she was dead. When she revived she said, "O Reynaud, my lord, there was never husband so good as you. Well I know that I shall never see you again." Then she went to her chamber, and took off her rich garments and clad herself poorly, saying, "This will I wear till my lord shall come again in peace."

As for Reynaud, his brethren and Duke Richard of Normandy and many others went with him a long way. But he said after a while, "My friends, you make my going the harder to me; I were better alone. Return now to Ardennes and comfort my wife and my children."

So they took leave of him with many tears.

CHAPTER XI

OF REYNAUD'S END

It must now be told in a few words what Reynaud did in the Holy Land, and what befell him afterwards.

First, then, when he was come to the city of Constantinople, he lighted by chance on his cousin Mawgis, who was lying sick in a certain house. So much did Mawgis rejoice to see Reynaud, that he was straightway made whole of the sickness that he had. Then the two went on together, and coming to Jerusalem, did excellent service for the true faith, delivering the city out of the hand of the Sultan of Persia, who had taken it by treachery.

This done the two departed, for they would not take any reward, and came to Rome. There they confessed their sins to the Pope, and having received absolution, made their way with all the speed they could to the city of Ardennes, where the brethren and all the people received them gladly.

Reynaud said, "I marvel much that I see not here either my wife or my children." Richard answered, "Your sons are at Montalban in all health and prosperity." "That is well," said Reynaud, but perceiving that his brethren were troubled, he bade them tell him the truth, for "I see," said he, "that you have heavy tidings." Then said Alard, "We may not hide from you that your wife, the Lady Clare, is dead. For when you left, she sorrowed continually, weeping both by day and by night, and so wasted away that she died."

Reynaud said, "Take me now to the place where you buried her." So they took him to the church wherein was her sepulchre. As he stood there weeping, there came to him his children, for they had been brought from Montalban, and kneeled down before him. And Reynaud kissed them and said, "See that you be good men, for I fear that I shall not be long with you."

Ten days afterwards he and his two sons and Mawgis departed from Ardennes, and came to Montalban. As for Mawgis, he returned to the Hermitage where he had dwelt at the first, and died there after seven years, being much honoured as a holy man.

Not long after the Duke Aymon died, bequeathing much wealth to his children. All this Reynaud divided among his brethren, keeping for himself the castle of Montalban, and this for a time only, for he was resolved to give up all worldly things.

In Montalban, therefore, he dwelt awhile, with his two sons, teaching them and training them in all honourable and godly ways. When he saw that they were each instructed in arms and in all other things that a good knight should know, he bade his steward furnish them with goodly clothing and arms and all other things needful. This done, he charged them that they should bear themselves honourably. "Be courteous," he said, "to all ladies; reverence those above you; be ready to help those that are in need; love your neighbour; so shall you have praise of all men." And when he had said these words, he bade them farewell, not without tears.

How these two fared at the King's Court, how they were in great favour with the King, and how they overcame their enemies—for the children of a certain lord that had hated their father sought to do them an injury—cannot be told in this place. Let it suffice to say that they prospered exceedingly.

Now must be told the end of Reynaud. When he saw that his sons were well established in dignity, he departed from Montalban and journeyed to the city of Cologne, in which city there was now in course of building a very fair church. He said to the master-mason, "Let me now serve the masons with such things as they need." The master-mason said, "Sir, you are more like to a king than a labourer, and it shames me to set you to such work." Reynaud answered, "Say not so; I will serve with a good will." And the man was well content to have it so.

After a while, the master-mason said to him, "See you those poor men that seek to carry a stone yonder? Go you and help them, for they are but weaklings." So Reynaud went; he said to the men, "Go and do what else is appointed of you, for I will deal with this stone." So he carried the stone to its place, though it were of such a bigness that four men could scarcely handle it. And after this he fetched other stones and mortar, and these in such plenty that the masons had much ado to deal with them.

When it was evening the masons came to be paid, and each man's wage was five pennies. But when the master-mason saw Reynaud, he said, "You shall have twenty pence, for you have laboured so as I have never seen any man labour. And you shall have as much every day." "Nay," answered Reynaud, "give me one penny only, that I may have wherewithal to keep me, for I work not for wages, but for the love of my God."

Then Reynaud found a lodging in the town, and bought for himself one pennyworth of bread, and of this and some water he made his supper. The next day he went to his work, and this he did many days, taking for his wage but one penny only.

But the other masons grew jealous of him, because that he was much better and stronger than they. So they laid a plot against him, and on a certain day when he slept they slew him, and having put his body into a sack, they cast it into the river.

Of the marvellous things that happened in respect of this said Reynaud, they that will may read elsewhere. Let it suffice to say in this place that the body was found after certain days and was honourably buried in the church of Cologne, and that year by year a feast is held in the memory of the Lord Reynaud, for indeed he was a very perfect, gentle knight.

And now it remains only to tell of the horse Bayard that was delivered, as has been said, to the King. When the host, returning to Paris, came to the river Meuse, a millstone was tied about his neck, and he was cast into the river. Some have said that this was done by command of the King; but this is not a thing to be believed. In any case, the good horse was not harmed, for he brake with his feet the stone from off his neck, and swimming to the shore, escaped to the forest of Ardennes, where he lived for many years, but suffered neither man nor woman to come near him.

CHAPTER XII

HOW RALPH ENTERTAINED THE KING

On the feast of St. Thomas, which is four days before Yule, King Charles rode out of the city of Paris with a great company of princes and nobles. As they rode across the moor a great tempest from the east fell upon them. So fierce was the wind and so heavy the rain, that they were scattered over the country, nor could they tell, the day being well nigh as dark as night, whither they were going. Of what befell the rest of the company there is no need to tell; this tale concerns King Charles only.

As he rode in sore plight, not knowing where he might find shelter, he was aware of a churl, who was leading a mare carrying two great panniers. "Now tell me your name," said the King. "They call me Ralph the Charcoal-burner," said the man. "I live in these parts—my house is seven miles hence—and I earn my bread with no little toil, selling coals to such as need them." "Friend," said the King, "I mean you no ill, for I judge you to be an honest man." "Judge as you will," answered Ralph, "I care not." "I am in sore need of a friend," said the King; "for both my horse and I are ready to perish, the storm is so fierce. Tell me then where I can find shelter." "Shelter!" said Ralph, "I know of none, save in my own cottage, and that is far hence in the forest. But to that you are welcome, if you care to come with me."

The King was right glad to hear these words. "That is well," said he, "God reward you for your goodness." "Nay," answered the churl, "keep your thanks till they have been earned. As yet you have had from me nothing, neither fire, nor meat, nor dinner, nor resting-place. To-morrow when you go you can thank me, if you be so minded, with better reason. To praise first, and, may be, to blame afterwards—that is contrary to sense." "So shall it be," said the King. So they went their way, talking as they went.

When they were come to the house Ralph called with a loud voice to his wife, "Are you within, dame? Come out, open the door without delay. My guest and I are shivering with cold; such evil weather I have never seen." The good wife, when she heard her master's voice, made all haste to the door, knowing that he was a man of a hasty temper. "You are welcome home," said she to Ralph; and to the stranger, "You are welcome also." "Kindle a great fire," said Ralph, "and take two capons of the best, that we may have good cheer," and he took the King by the hand, and would have him go before him into the house. But the King stood back by the door, and would have the charcoal-burner pass in before him. "That is but poor courtesy," said the man, and took him by the neck and pushed him in.

When they had warmed themselves awhile by the fire, which was blazing in right royal fashion, Ralph cried to his wife, "Let us have supper, Gillian, as quickly as may be, and of the best, for we have had a toilsome day, and may well have a merry night. Never have I suffered worse weather or been so near to losing my way as when I met with this stranger here."

In no long time, when they had washed themselves, the supper was ready. "Now, friend," said Ralph, "take the dame by the hand, and lead her to the board." And when the King held back, he cried, "Now this is the second time," and smote him suddenly under the ear with his right hand, so strongly that he staggered half across the chamber, and fell to the ground. When the King rose, and indeed he could scarcely stand, "Now, Gillian," said Ralph, "take him by the hand and go to the table as I bid you." To his guest he said, "Now this is the second time that you have been lacking in courtesy, first by the door, and then at the table. Will you not do as you are bid? Am not I the master of my own house?" The King said to himself, "These are strange doings. Never have I been so dealt with in all my life." Nevertheless for peace' sake he did as he was bid, and giving his hand to the dame, led her to the table. So they sat, the charcoal-burner on one side of the table, and the King and dame Gillian on the other. Right good cheer they had, fat capons, and bread, and wine of the best. Truly they wanted for nothing.

Said the churl to the King, "Sir, the foresters in this place threaten me much about the deer. They say that I am ever bringing down the fattest of the herd. They will hale me, they say, to Paris, and bring me before the King, and make complaint against me. Say what they will, why should I not have enough for myself, aye, and to set before a guest? And now, my friend, spare not; there is enough and more." When they had well eaten, Ralph said to his wife, "Now, Gill, send round the cup. I will drink to my friend, and he shall drink to me." So the dame handed the cup, and the two drank to each other. Then, supper being ended, they sat by the fire, and the Charcoal-burner told many merry tales. When it grew late, he said to the King, "Tell me now where you live." "I live at Court," said he, "where I have an office with the Queen." "And what is your office?" "I am gentleman of the Queen's bed-chamber." "And what is your name?" "My name is Wymond; Wymond of the Wardrobe they call me. And now, if you will come to Court, I can doubtless serve you, for I will see that you have a good sale for your fuel." Said Ralph, "I know not where the Court of which you speak may be." But Charles urged him, saying that the King and Queen would be in Paris to spend Yuletide together, and that there would be much merrymaking, and that without doubt he would sell his fuel to great advantage. "You seem to talk reason," said Ralph, "I will come. And now let us have another cup, and so to bed." So the collier and the dame led him to another chamber, where there was a bed handsomely furnished, and closed in with curtains. When they saw that he was well served and had all that he needed, they bade him good-night, and the King thanked them for their courtesy.

The next day as soon as it was light, the King rose from the bed and dressed himself without help, for, indeed, he had neither valet nor squire. Then his palfrey was brought to him, which when he had mounted, he called to Ralph, where he lay, for he would take his leave in friendly fashion, as was fitting in one that had had such good cheer. When the churl was roused, he said to the King, "Now tarry awhile till this evil weather be ended." "Nay," answered the King, "I must needs to my work and office; Yuletide is now at hand, and he that is found wanting will be greatly blamed. And now call thy good wife that I may pay her for the shelter and good cheer that I have had." "Nay," cried Ralph, "that shall never be; to think that I should take pay for sheltering one that is of the Court of the King Charles!" "So be it," answered the King; "but at least if you will not take pay, come to the Court with a load of fuel as soon as may be; I warrant that if you will do so, you will make good profit of your goods." "That will I," answered Ralph. "I would fain see how coals sell at court. And now tell me your name once more, lest I forget it."

Then the King rode away, nor had he travelled long when Roland and Oliver, with a thousand men after them, met him. They had come forth to search for him, and right glad were they to find him. So they turned their horses' heads and journeyed back to Paris. When they were near the town, Turpin the Archbishop came forth from the gates to meet them with a great company of bishops and priests and others giving thanks to God that their lord the King was come again to Paris. And when they had come to Paris, they went to the Church of St. Denis, where there was service. And after service they went to the Palace, and kept their Yule feast with much mirth and plenty of good things. For one-and-twenty days did they feast. Never had such a Yuletide been kept in the land of France.