Waldef: A French Romance from Medieval England (Foundations) [New ed.] 9781641894067, 9781641894074, 1641894067

Table of contents :
COVER
Contents
Series Editors’ Preface
Translators’ Preface
Abbreviations
Introduction
Brief Plot Summary
Date, Author, Audience
Sources and Influences
Themes and Issues
Style and Aesthetic Qualities
The Manuscript and Its Readership
Note on the Text and Translation
Suggested Further Reading
Waldef
Appendix I: Extracts from the original text Le Roman de Waldef
Appendix II: Reordered text of vv. 10807–11190
Index of Names

Citation preview

FOUNDATIONS This series responds to the pressing need for new primary texts on the premodern world. The series fits Arc’s academic mission to work with scholars of the past in expanding our collective horizons. This source of accessible new texts will refresh research resources, engage students, and support the use of innovative approaches to teaching. The series takes a flexible, case-by-case approach to publishing. The works may be original language editions, facing-page (with English translation) editions, or translations. Each edition includes a contextual introduction and explanatory notes to help the reader situate the text. Advisory Board Robert E. Bjork, Arizona State University Alessandra Bucossi, Università Ca’ Foscari, Venezia Chris Jones, University of Canterbury / Te Whare Wānanga o Waitaha Sharon Kinoshita, University of California, Santa Cruz Matthew Cheung Salisbury, University of Oxford

WALDEF A FRENCH ROMANCE FROM MEDIEVAL ENGLAND

Translated by

IVANA DJORDJEVIĆ, NICOLE CLIFTON, and JUDITH WEISS

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CONTENTS

Series Editors’ Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii

Translators’ Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix Abbreviations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . x

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Brief Plot Summary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Date, Author, Audience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Sources and Influences. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Themes and Issues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Style and Aesthetic Qualities. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 The Manuscript and Its Readership . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Note on the Text and Translation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Suggested Further Reading . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23

Waldef. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29

Appendix I. Extracts from the original text, Le Roman de Waldef. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 Appendix II. Reordered text of vv. 10807–11190. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239 Index of Names. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243

SERIES EDITORS’ PREFACE The early thirteenth-century

Waldef is the least known of the Frenchlanguage romances of England. Pioneering attention from Rosalind Field has drawn attention to Waldef as a major work in the “matter of England” and as a great intertextual work at the heart of the insular romance corpus, catching up many themes from earlier romance and historiography in its allusions and going on in turn to influence subsequent romances. Work by Judith Weiss has explored Waldef’s engagement with empire, with East Anglia and the sea and other aspects of its thematic riches and its complex relation to romance convention and historical circumstance. The extant manuscript of the French text continued to attract readers’ inscriptions in its margins into the later Middle Ages and Waldef was twice translated into Latin in the fifteenth century. Yet the enduring medieval interest in this text has not attracted proportionate interest from modern scholars of insular romance. The FRETS (French of England Translation) series—previously published by Arizona Centre for Medieval and Renaissance Studies and now published as part of ARC Humanities Press’s Foundations series, recognises both the cultural vitality of translation as a form of medieval literary activity and the significance of modern translations of medieval texts as the driver of new literary study and exploration. As editors of the series we have long felt that the chief reason for the under-recognition of Waldef is its lack of a modern English translation. At 22,000 lines, the romance has been a formidable project for any individual to take on. But here, at last, much dedicated collaborative work by Ivana Djordjević and Nicole Clifton together with a doyenne of translations from insular French, Judith Weiss, has enabled FRETS to offer a remedy for inattention to Waldef in the form of a full translation. We thank Anna Henderson, our publisher at ARC Humanities Press, and her production team for identifying the provision of this substantial text as fitting ARC’s mission to make a wider range of medieval texts accessible. We are delighted to offer a volume that will enable scholars and students readier access to Waldef and very grateful to our translators for their selfless hours of labour. Thelma Fenster Jocelyn Wogan-Browne

TRANSLATORS’ PREFACE Until 1984, when A. J. Holden published his edition of Le Roman de Waldef, this

romance was known, but rarely studied. While there were entries on it in encyclopedic compendia, and it was occasionally mined for linguistic material, the only sustained discussions of the work as a whole were by Legge, in her survey of Anglo-Norman literature, Levy, in a 1972 article, and Anderson, in an extended entry in a multi-volume work (see Suggested Further Reading). The availability of Holden’s edition changed this, though less than might have been expected. The sheer length of the text, as well as its unavailability in a modern English (or French) translation, still prevented it from attracting the attention it deserves, in spite of Rosalind Field’s seminal 2000 article “Waldef and the Matter of/with England” and Judith Weiss’s discussions of some aspects of it in a series of articles over the past fifteen years or so. We embarked on the present translation in the hope of rescuing this highly interesting narrative from undeserved neglect by making it more accessible both for novices and for seasoned scholars. It has a great deal to offer both categories. The lengthy genesis of the book had its roots in each translator’s dissatisfaction with the romance’s academic obscurity, but each of us balked at the sheer magnitude of the undertaking. In the spring of 2011, Thelma Fenster pointed out that a text of this length required a collective effort, and that is how our team came together. During the years we spent working on Waldef we have had few opportunities to meet in person: an initial get-together over lunch to discuss general principles, a break between conference sessions a year later, which we used to review a draft translation of some sections of the text together, and, several years after that, a week when all three of us were able to sit around the same table, putting the finishing touches to our first complete draft. In between, e-mail, cloud-based data sharing, and electronic video-conferencing allowed us to bridge the Atlantic and ignore, for the most part, differences in time zones. A meticulously transcribed, occasionally even improved, electronic version of the Holden edition made our life easier, for which we thank Simon Beaulieu. Henry Bainton’s excellent translation of the Waldef prologue appeared in time for us to use it, gratefully, to improve and correct our own rendering of some lines in the same section. We have been sustained throughout by the enthusiastic interest, support, and generous advice of the series editors, Thelma Fenster and Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, to whom we are greatly indebted. The publication of the book was supported by much appreciated funding from Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Thomas F. X. and Theresa Mullarkey Chair in Literature, Fordham University; the Marc Fitch Fund; the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences at Northern Illinois University; and the Faculty of Arts and Science at Concordia University (Montreal).

ABBREVIATIONS ACMRS AND

Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies

ANTS

Anglo-Norman Text Society

Bramis CFMA

FRETS

Holden ODNB

Anglo-Norman Dictionary: www.anglo-norman.net/gate Bramis, Johannes. Historia Regis Waldei. Edited by Rudolf Imelmann. Bonner Studien zur englischen Philologie 4. Bonn: Hanstein, 1912 Classiques français du moyen âge

The French of England Translation Series

Le Roman de Waldef (Cod. Bodmer 168). Edited by A. J. Holden. Bibliotheca Bodmeriana 5. Cologny-Geneva: Fondation Martin Bodmer, 1984

OED

Oxford Dictionary of English Biography: www.oxforddnb.com

SATF

Société des anciens textes français

Tobler-Lommatzsch

Oxford English Dictionary: www.oed.com

Tobler, Adolf, and Erhard Lommatzsch. Altfranzösisches Wörterbuch. 12 vols. Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1955–2018

INTRODUCTION Dated to approximately

1200–1210,1 the anonymous romance Waldef provides a foundation myth for East Anglia, particularly Norfolk. Drawing on a rich combination of earlier romances, classical legends, chronicles, and saints’ lives, the author creates a multi-layered story of pre-Conquest kings whose shifting political alliances lead both to battles and to peace treaties, some brokered by princesses who fall in love opportunely with these belligerent monarchs. Although the author does not name his patron, he claims to write for a lady who wanted to “read and learn” (v. 81). The intended audience is the French-speaking (or at least French-literate) gentry and nobility of England, most likely during the reign of King John. Set in an indeterminate past after the withdrawal of the Roman Empire in 410 and before the Conquest of 1066, the romance underlines the Anglo-Norman upper classes’ identification with their new homeland: the Anglo-Saxon era is their history, too. The adventures of Waldef and his family connect England to a wider world, not only Normandy and France, but Germany and the Mediterranean.2 At the same time, the romance problematizes that connection, as Waldef’s sons overreach their ability to rule outside their father’s kingdom. The romance critiques social structures and political actions as well as chivalric values. Its protracted battles repeatedly reveal the difficulties inherent in shaping and maintaining alliances, as well as emphasizing the value of reconciliation and forgiveness. It also traces fault-lines and conflicts within families, particularly between fathers and sons. The author reworks one common romance motif, the separation and reunification of a family, by refusing to allow Waldef to live happily ever after once his lost sons, Guiac and Gudlac, return to him. Instead, the grown sons leave home in search of foreign conquests, rejecting their father’s strategy of warring on his neighbours. Their parents grieve their departure, rightly so since the second separation proves permanent: Waldef dies alone, battling the treacherous nephews of a former enemy turned ally. Conflicts continue through generations, rather than achieving lasting resolution. Similar revisions of familiar tropes occur frequently. The poet combines well-known plot devices in original and thought-provoking ways, interlacing themes so that readers are constantly challenged to re-evaluate their judgments of characters and situations. Because Waldef both draws on earlier tales and influences later stories in both AngloNorman and Middle English, it is central to the Anglo-Norman literary corpus. Its narra1  Le Roman de Waldef, ed. A. J. Holden, Bibliotheca Bodmeriana 5 (Cologny-Geneva: Fondation Martin Bodmer, 1984), 16–18.

2  Attention to the interaction of empire with more local concerns is a characteristic of the “second generation” of Anglo-Norman romance, to which Waldef belongs. Rosalind Field was the first to talk of two “generations” of these romances: see her groundbreaking article “Waldef and the Matter of/with England,” in Medieval Insular Romance: Translation and Innovation, ed. Judith Weiss, Jennifer Fellows, and Morgan Dickson (Cambridge: Brewer, 2000), 25–39. Judith Weiss explores the theme of empire-building in “Emperors and Antichrists: Reflections of Empire in Insular Narrative, 1130–1250,” in The Matter of Identity in Medieval Romance, ed. Phillipa Hardman (Cambridge: Brewer, 2002), 87–102.

2

Introduction

tor deliberately situates his story in an insular literary tradition that blurs the dividing line between history and romance. The prologue refers to the Norman Conquest, then to the Brut, a history of England from its legendary founding by Brutus, a descendant of Aeneas. Next the prologue invokes Tristram, who became connected to the Arthurian legend, and Aelof, the father of the hero in the insular Roman de Horn. The narrator thus prepares his audience for a particular kind of story, although his estoire of Waldef and his family almost immediately departs from known territory, either historical or legendary. Nonetheless, names of characters and places give the romance a distinctly English flavour. Waldef clearly continued to attract readers for more than two hundred years after its composition, since the single extant manuscript was copied around 1300, two Latin translations were made in the fifteenth century, and names of some fifteenthcentury readers appear in the margins of the Anglo-Norman manuscript.3

Brief Plot Summary

The Roman de Waldef is a lengthy text and we cannot do justice here to all its interesting developments.4 In his prologue the author claims his amie (sweetheart) has asked him to translate the story of King Waldef from English. He traces the early history of Norfolk (the northern half of East Anglia) from Roman settlers and their cities to Anglo-Saxon petty kings, starting with Atle (founder of Attleborough) and moving to his descendants: King Bede, his nephew Florenz (son of Odenild, Bede’s sister), and Bede’s son Waldef, whose mother is sister to King Morgan of Normandy. When Bede dies, a wicked seneschal takes power and marries the queen. Florenz takes his nephew to Normandy, where Morgan protects them. Florenz and the adult Waldef return to England and Attleborough, and kill the usurper. Waldef is crowned and marries Ernild, daughter of the king of Lincoln, after battling two rivals for her hand: Osmund, king of Oxford (who becomes a friend), and the rapacious Uther, king of London. In Waldef’s absence, his land has been invaded by the Swedish king Urvein. Waldef’s appeals for help to Okenard of Narborough and Urri of Brancaster, as well as the kings of Colchester, Thetford, and Cambridge, are all refused, but Harding of Tasburgh comes to his aid. Waldef and Harding achieve an alliance with Urvein, and then Waldef takes revenge on the men who refused to aid him, seizing Thetford and all Suffolk. When he lays siege to Colchester, the inhabitants expel their king, Swein, whereupon Waldef, who has become Swein’s ally, has the citizens punished. His sons, Guiac and Gudlac, are born. Uther summons all the English kings to a feast in London, which Waldef and Swein do not attend; to punish them, Uther and his vassals march on Thetford, but they are defeated and Uther is killed. His place is taken by Fergus of Guildford. While Waldef is at

3  We refer frequently to the longer Latin version, by Johannes Bramis, a monk at Thetford Abbey (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 329), in the notes to the text; see Abbreviations for bibliographic details. The later, shorter Latin version is in Dublin, Trinity College, MS 632, second half of the fifteenth century: “The Romance of Waldef,” ed. J. G. Smyly, Hermathena 18 (1919): 240–328. Readers of the romance are discussed later in this introduction. 4  A. J. Holden supplies a generous synopsis of the poem in the introduction to his edition of it (Holden, 7–16).



Brief Plot Summary

3

Thetford, his wife and sons are abducted by Saracen pirates. Storms separate the sons from each other and from their mother; Guiac is finally sold to the king of Cologne, Gudlac to the king of Morocco, and Ernild ends up in Denmark. In searching for her, Waldef is imprisoned in Valencia, rescues a calumniated queen in Poitou, and also rescues Ernild twice, first from Denmark and next from Dublin, where she is nearly married to Urvein. After reconciling with his enemy Merlin, Florenz falls in love with his own mother, Odenild, and their marriage is narrowly averted when she recognizes the ring he wears as the one she gave him when he was a baby. Fergus seizes and imprisons Waldef, but Waldef is saved by the intervention of his former enemy Okenard, who then manages to join him in Thetford. The allies besiege London, where Fergus is aided by his nephews Brand and Hildebrand. Guiac serves Conrad, king of Cologne, and helps him defeat the pagan king Eron of Saxony. Gudlac has to flee Morocco, then reaches Denmark, and helps its king beat back a Norwegian attack. The brothers are each rewarded with men and a fleet. They meet, unaware of their relationship, at sea on the way to England; at first they fight, then they are reconciled. Gudlac and his Danes become allies of Fergus, who offers Gudlac his daughter in marriage. Guiac’s army from Cologne devastates East Anglia, forcing Waldef to abandon his siege and confront the massed forces of Fergus, Guiac, and Gudlac. A single combat to settle differences between Waldef and Guiac is interrupted by Ernild, who, thanks to an angelic revelation of Guiac’s identity, halts the fight between father and son. Waldef makes peace with Fergus. Resolved on further conquests, Guiac and Gudlac leave for Cologne, despite their parents’ tearful protests, taking Florenz’s son Lioine with them. Conrad having died, his men elect Guiac their king. Guiac invades Saxony, whose king is Saluf, brother of Eron (whom Guiac and Conrad had defeated earlier). Lioine takes Guiac’s challenge to Saluf, on the way killing Saluf’s nephew, Garsire, and befriending Tierri, who helps and accompanies him when on his return journey he is pursued by Saracens. Guiac puts Saluf and his army to flight; the latter asks for help from the German emperor, Alexis, but Guiac then defeats and wounds the emperor, besieging him in Worms. The emperor’s daughter falls in love with Lioine, and summons him to secret meetings with her in a tower, which he can only reach by swimming a dangerous river. A palace official learns their secret and decoys Lioine out to sea, where he drowns. When his body washes up on the shore and is brought to the palace, the distraught princess dies beside him. The lengthy siege forces the emperor to submit. Guiac is crowned in his stead and announces he intends to conquer Rome and Greece. (There is a gap in the manuscript here; according to Bramis’s early fifteenth-century version of the romance, Guiac also has designs on the Holy Land and the Earthly Paradise.) His followers are enthusiastic, but their celebrations are interrupted by the arrival of a mysterious pilgrim, warning the emperor of God’s anger at his presumption. As the pilgrim disappears, bad news comes from England: though the dying Fergus has left London to Gudlac’s wife, Brand and Hildebrand have seized it and Winchester, and, with the help of an Irish giant, Hunewald, have killed Waldef and his men in Rochester and taken all his castles except Attleborough, Tasburgh, and Thetford. Guiac interprets this as divine punishment, gives up his empire, which he returns to Alexis, and retires from the world. Charged with avenging

4

Introduction

his father, Gudlac returns to England and prepares to fight Hunewald. (At v. 22306, the romance breaks off. Bramis provides a continuation which may not be a totally reliable indication of the original ending of Waldef. In Bramis’s version, Gudlac kills the giant Hunewald, then returns to Thetford to tell his mother about this feat and Guiac’s renunciation of the world. Calling on his allies from Cologne, Gudlac raises an army to attack Brand and Hildebrand and re-take London. Bedemund, the son of Gudlac’s friend Wicard, kills both Hildebrand and Brand, the former during a mission requesting him to submit, the latter in battle with Gudlac’s forces. In the meantime, Guiac wanders, begging, as far as Babylon, where he does penance for eight years. An angelic vision then orders him to return to Germany and follow the orders of its barons. It turns out that Emperor Alexis has just died, and the assembled barons elect him their new emperor. Once crowned, Guiac travels to England to see his brother, only to receive word that his German capital is besieged by an army from the East. The two brothers return together to Germany, where they kill the invaders. Following this triumph, Guiac successfully conquers first Greece, then Rome. He gives Greece to his nephew, Richer, and has himself crowned emperor of Rome. His sons and grandsons inherit his double empire.)

Date, Author, Audience

Though we are not told the name, position, or geographical context of the writer, nor the name of the lady for whom he writes, his amie, he is clearly familiar with East Anglia. His occasional distortions of its geography, such as placing Thetford on the sea, can be explained by the literary convention that a significant city must have a port.5 Several East Anglian families have been suggested for his patron: the Bigods, who ruled over both Norfolk and Suffolk, the Warennes, and the Mortimers.6 The romance’s connection with East Anglia is reflected in the likely distribution of its manuscripts to East Anglia in the medieval period. Henry Bainton notes that Thetford Priory must have had access to a copy of Waldef when Bramis translated it, and that Peterborough Abbey may have owned a copy in the late fourteenth century.7 The poet supplies us with other information about himself in his claims for his narrative. Eager to assert the historicity of his estoire, he gestures to his influential forerunner, Wace’s Brut (vv. 23–24), and alludes repeatedly in his prologue to written historical sources and “heroic tales” (gestes, v. 53). He implies he is following the example of those Normans who, discovering that “the great histories composed in English” (vv. 40–41) 5  Holden, 32.

6  Holden, 33–34. In an unpublished conference paper, Neil Cartlidge has argued that the poem may have appealed directly to the Bigods, perhaps specifically to Roger III and his brother Hugh, but also “to the whole community of Norfolk aristocrats” (“Glorious East Anglia: Alternative History in the Roman de Waldef,” 15th Biennial Conference on Romance in Medieval Britain, Vancouver, August 2016).

7  Henry Bainton, “Waldef [Dean 155], Prologue: Cologny-Geneva, Fondation Martin Bodmer, MS Bodmer 168, f.1r-v,” in Vernacular Literary Theory from the French of Medieval England: Texts and Translations, c. 1120–c. 1450, ed. Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Thelma Fenster, and Delbert W. Russell (Cambridge: Brewer, 2016), 45–51 at 46–47.



Date, Author, Audience

5

still remained, translated some of them into French. Such claims are not uncommon, as French writers seem to have been stimulated by the well-established and generically ranging English book culture of the later eleventh and twelfth centuries.8 However, the only substantive surviving example of English-to-French translation is Gaimar’s Estoire des Engleis, which relies on the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.9 When Latin histories claim to translate English or British sources, the claims may be not verifiable fact but an invocation of authority. Henry of Huntingdon’s translation of the Battle of Brunanburh really does translate the account of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. On the other hand, the Gesta Herwardi’s Old English source, if it existed, is now lost, while Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain was widely regarded as fictional even at the time of its composition, despite the author’s claim to have relied on “a very old book in the British tongue.”10 The Waldef poet’s claims, however, signal his familiarity with such histories, and thus suggest that he is well-read in English as well as in the more usual Latin and French. He may well have been a cleric, despite his claim to have a sweetheart. Anglo-Norman literature so often presents a female patron “collaborating with her clerk or chaplain, estate steward or other writer” that the claim in Waldef is plausible.11 Women’s patronage of Anglo-Latin writers was already an established tradition in the eleventh-century Anglo-Saxon court, with significant works commissioned by queens including Emma of Normandy.12 This tradition continued into the Anglo-Norman period, with Edith-Matilda, the first wife of Henry I, commissioning biographical and other works in Latin.13 Henry I’s second wife, Adeliza of Louvain, requested a French biography of her husband, which is the first known use of written French in historical writing. In the twelfth century, we find nuns and secular noblewomen as well as queens moving in literary circles. Geffrei Gaimar, author of the Estoire des Engleis, names both 8  Thomas O’Donnell, Matthew Townend, and Elizabeth M. Tyler, “European Literature and Eleventh-Century England,” in The Cambridge History of Early Medieval English Literature, ed. C. Lees (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 607–36. 9  Geffrei Gaimar, “Estoire des Engleis” | History of the English, ed. and trans. Ian Short (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009).

10  Henry of Huntingdon, “Historia Anglorum”: The History of the English People, ed. and trans. Diana Greenway (Oxford: Clarendon, 1996), 310–14. Geoffrey of Monmouth, The History of the Kings of Britain: An Edition and Translation of “De Gestis Britonum,” ed. Michael D. Reeve, trans. Neil Wright, Arthurian Studies 69 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2007), 4–5. De Gestis Herwardi Saxonis, transcr. and trans. S. H. Miller and D. W. Sweeting, Fenland Notes and Queries 3 (1895–97): 7–72 at 7. For contemporary attitudes toward Geoffrey of Monmouth’s work, see “Appendix D: Early Responses to Geoffrey of Monmouth” in The History of the Kings of Britain, trans. Michael Faletra (Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview, 2007), 287–91. Bainton says that Geoffrey’s influence is “indirect, but profound … apparent in Waldef’s vast scale” (“Prologue,” 46).

11  Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Thelma Fenster, and Delbert W. Russell, “Si sa dame ne li aidast: Authorship and the Patron,” in Vernacular Literary Theory from the French of Medieval England, 89–95 at 91.

12  Elizabeth M. Tyler, England in Europe: English Royal Women and Literary Patronage, c. 1000–c. 1150 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2017), particularly 120–34.

13  Lois L. Honeycutt, “Matilda [Edith, Mold, Matilda of Scotland],” ODNB; Tyler, England in Europe, particularly 302–53.

6

Introduction

Queen Adeliza and Constance, the wife of Ralf/Ralph fitz Gilbert, who helped Gaimar by borrowing books on his behalf.14 The nuns of Barking Abbey, an elite institution with a sophisticated Franco-Latin culture, not only commissioned works in both languages but also composed texts in French, such as the Life of Edward the Confessor.15 Its author conceals her name, a common move for both men and women writers of the period.16 However, concealing the name of a patron, as the author of Waldef does, is unusual, since high-ranking patrons add to the prestige of writers and their works. “The erotics of patronage … with all its pleasures of submission, service, inversion and play with relations of power” is another reason for our poet to claim he writes for an amie.17 The medieval writer’s position with respect to his employer is usually subordinate, or feminized, as Elaine Tuttle Hansen has argued; it is easier for a male writer to negotiate this equivocal position when that patron is a woman.18 The Waldef poet simultaneously obeys and defies his amie. Although he agrees in the prologue to translate the story for her, later he refuses to stop when she wants him to, instead sketching a lengthy outline of his hero’s adventures (not all of which come to pass) to be continued “when it pleases her to hear more” (vv. 7141–96). His reference to his listeners as seigneur (vv. 8151–52) seems to hint at a masculine audience, but as this is a conventional address to mixed audiences, it offers no help in identifying either audience or patron. The claim to write for an amie situates Waldef as suitable for a female audience, signals the writer’s familiarity with literary conventions, and, since he promises to name her at the end of the book, encourages his audience to read on or to keep listening in order to discover the mysterious patron. Since Waldef can be dated only loosely, primarily by the state of its language, it is not possible to speak precisely of its “historical moment.” Nonetheless, its themes and incidents bear witness to the uncertain political situation in England during the last decades of the twelfth century and the opening years of the thirteenth. Difficult choices faced the nobility when a king clashed with his sons in conflicts bordering—or no longer merely bordering—on civil war (as with Henry II, d. 1189, and his sons); or when a king was long absent from the realm (as with Richard I, d. 1199) or was a young child (as in the early years of Henry III, crowned 1216). Under all the Angevin kings, allegiances shifted constantly. Both royalty and magnates abused power, and it was difficult for nobles to oppose them. The kings and their families engaged in incessant efforts to preserve and increase their landholdings, at the same time as cities grew more powerful and tried to 14  Gaimar, Estoire des Engleis, vv. 6436–65; for Adeliza, v. 6489 and the appendix. Honeycutt, “Adeliza [Adeliza of Louvain],” ODNB; Tyler, England in Europe, 359–60.

15  On Barking’s literary patronage see Thomas O’Donnell, “‘The ladies have made me quite fat’: Authors and Patrons at Barking Abbey,” in Barking Abbey and Medieval Literary Culture: Authorship and Authority in a Female Community, ed. Jennifer N. Brown and Donna Alfano Bussell (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press/Boydell, 2012), 94–114. 16  La Vie d’Edouard le confesseur: poème anglo-normand du XII e siècle, ed. Ö� sten Södergård (Uppsala, 1948), v. 5308: “Mais sun num n’i vult dire a ore.” 17  Wogan-Browne, Fenster, and Russell, “Si sa dame ne li aidast: Authorship and the Patron,” 92.

18  Elaine Tuttle Hansen, Chaucer and the Fictions of Gender (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 3–7.



Sources and Influences

7

expand their prerogatives.19 Moreover, bloody power struggles were almost inevitable when the legitimate ruler was engaged in conquests (or crusading) in faraway lands, as was the case with many of the Plantagenets as well as with Waldef and his sons. Rather than responding to any particular conflict, king, or problem, Waldef can be seen as a way to make sense of contemporary tensions by mapping them onto the past. As king, Waldef struggles to unite and expand his territories, repeatedly making alliances and fighting battles, facing treachery and sudden turns of fortune. The audience for Waldef could never know how their own history was going to develop; what they knew was the present uncertainty. Waldef’s story might seem reassuring, suggesting that the turmoil of their days had its counterpart in other periods of English history. Indeed, since one of the names written in the manuscript’s margins is that of an attendant on Elizabeth Woodville, Edward IV’s queen (d. 1492), it appears that Waldef found an audience during the fifteenth-century Wars of the Roses.

Sources and Influences

Waldef draws on both historical and literary sources, which often overlap or intertwine in the text. For example, there were several men named Waltheof (the Anglo-Saxon spelling) in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, who appear in both chronicles and hagiography. The most famous is probably the earl of Northumbria, who initially submitted to William the Conqueror but later rebelled against him and was executed in 1076.20 After the earl was buried in Crowland Abbey, the local abbot encouraged the idea that he might be a saint. His grandson, another Waltheof, first a monk and then an abbot, was likewise believed to be a saint. An earl of Lothian who died in the late twelfth century was also named Waltheof. The romance avoids clear references to historical events in the plot, but uses the resonance of the name to help characterize the hero, a significant landowner who had complex relationships with other lords in East Anglia and the Midlands. Etymologically, the name means “foreign thief” in Anglo-Saxon, which offers another layer of significance to any reader or listener who was fluent in English as well as French. Other names also help to add a sense of historicity to the romance. Waldef’s father, Bede, borrows his name from the great eighth-century Northumbrian historian of the English church. Edwin, Elfere, Emma, and Edward all have the names of Anglo-Saxon kings and queens. Cnut and Hardecnut/Hardecunut share their names with Danish kings of England. The many names ending in -bert, -brand, -ald, and -ild are all Germanic in origin; Erkenwald and Hereward, in particular, evoke the Anglo-Saxon past.21 The name

19  Susan Reynolds, An Introduction to the History of English Medieval Towns (Oxford: Clarendon, 1977); D. M. Palliser, ed., The Cambridge Urban History of Britain, vol. 1: 600–1540 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Maurice W. Beresford, New Towns of the Middle Ages: Town Plantation in England, Wales, and Gascony (London: Lutterworth, 1967; repr., Gloucester: Sutton, 1988). 20  C. P. Lewis, “Waltheof, Earl of Northumbria (c. 1050–1076), Magnate,” ODNB.

21  A seventh-century bishop of London, Erkenwald later became the patron saint of London. Hereward, a Saxon rebel against William I, from East Anglia, has some basis in history but many of his exploits are probably fictional.

8

Introduction

Uther alludes to the father of the legendary King Arthur; other Arthurian names include Hoel, Merlin, Morgan, and Moderet/Modred. The city of Winchester, a traditional setting for Arthur’s court, also plays an important role for Waldef. Both the narrator and characters refer to King Arthur, so we must assume that the narrator’s use of Arthurian names is deliberate.22 They seem to form part of the critique of empire-building that begins in the prologue, with the introduction of Julius Caesar in v. 7. Historical writing forms an important part of the intertextual matrix of Waldef. In the opening lines of the text, the author refers explicitly to the Brut, a title applied to various medieval histories of Britain’s origins. Here it may refer specifically to the French text by Wace, who introduces Androgeus aiding Julius Caesar in his conquest of Britain.23 Indeed, our author explicitly sends readers to the Brut for Romano-British history (vv. 23–24) as a supplement to his own account of English kings (v. 28). Elements of Androgeus’s story find their echoes in episodes of Waldef: strife between uncle and nephew, accidental killing of one boy in a fight with another, the motif of enemies reconciling (“after great anger, great love, after great shame, great honour”).24 The romance’s prologue also alludes to a favourite motif in Wace, the effect of time and change: “people, who changed at that time, just as the languages did” (vv. 43–44), “the world changed, times changed, kings and peoples died” (vv. 257–58). Wace says, “Then foreigners arrived … then the Angles and Saxons arrived.… Next the Normans and the French came.”25 Holden has observed that the author of Waldef picks up some other episodes from the Brut,26 yet he fails to note the importance of the Belin and Brenne section. This portion treats the lives of two brothers who make war on each other, then reconcile through their mother’s intervention, and go on to conquer all of France and Italy as far as Rome. It clearly underlies the careers of Waldef’s sons Guiac and Gudlac, and Guiac explicitly likens himself and his brother to the earlier pair of British brothers (vv. 14976–15014, 17661).27 Romance likewise contributes to the intertextuality of Waldef. The prologue refers to Tristram, a tragic lover with conflicting loyalties, and to Aelof, the father of Horn, a brave fighter who dies heroically, thereby indicating that his story will treat knights’ suf-

22  See Rosalind Field, “What’s in a Name? Arthurian Name-Dropping in the Roman de Waldef,” in Arthurian Studies in Honour of P. J. C. Field, ed. Bonnie Wheeler (Cambridge: Brewer, 2004), 63–64.

23  Wace’s “Roman de Brut”: A History of the British, trans. Judith Weiss (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1999; rev. ed. 2002), vv. 4424–834, and Waldef vv. 16–17. Although similar stories appear in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Latin History of the Kings of Britain, contemporary authors generally referred to this work by its author’s name. Holden acknowledges the influence of Wace’s Brut on “inspiration and organization” but thinks precise references are “rare and vague” (27–28). 24  Wace, Brut, vv. 4434–45.

25  Wace, Brut, vv. 3762–69; the whole passage at vv. 3757–84 is relevant, as are vv. 14729–56. 26  Holden, 27–28.

27  Their story appears in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain (III.1–230); Wace devotes nearly a thousand lines to the brothers, adding more dramatic and romance-like elements (vv. 2313–3169), which is why we think our author was most familiar with Wace’s version. Furthermore, one of the brothers’ antagonists is named Guthlac in Wace (Guicthlacus in Geoffrey), making the allusions in Waldef yet more pointed.



Themes and Issues

9

fering, both emotional and physical. Waldef is studded with motifs familiar from insular and Continental romance, whether these are direct borrowings or drawn from a common repertoire. For example, the motif of a landless hero serving a ruler, for which he is rewarded with an army (or a princess), familiar from Anglo-Norman romances such as Boeve de Haumtone and Horn, occurs twice (in Denmark and in England) in the career of Waldef’s son Gudlac. Another motif is that of the abandoned baby who survives to an accomplished adulthood and reunion with his family, familiar from the Lais of Marie de France as well as from the Life of Saint Gregory. Moral tales also make an appearance, such as the story of the vindictive wife from the Latin story collection Dolopathos (a version of the Seven Sages of Rome). The widely disseminated legend of St Eustace (versions are extant in Latin and most vernacular languages of Christian Europe), with its account of a family separated and reunited, is another possible influence on the vicissitudes of Waldef and his family. Towards the end of the poem, the author includes an extended account of Lioine’s tragic love affair, drawing on the classical tale of Hero and Leander, best known to medieval audiences through Ovid’s Heroides.28 Old French epic also contributes episodes and attitudes, such as the complicated relationship to “Saracens,” including a deathbed conversion. Names and events from the Anglo-Saxon past combine with references to romance, epic, hagiography, and didactic and classical stories to add a patina of historicity to the story of Waldef and his family, while situating the narrative with respect to Latin and French literary history. In turn, Waldef supplies a fund of episodes and literary tropes drawn on by subsequent romancers. The thirteenth-century Gui de Warewic, in particular, owes much to Waldef, as Holden has shown, with “precise and sustained” verbal similarities between the two.29

Themes and Issues

Waldef is about three times the length of one of Chrétien de Troyes’s romances, which are for many readers the “standard” against which other French romances are measured. The greater length allows the poet to develop and revisit many issues, offering new perspectives as the years pass and characters age. Many significant themes are interlaced throughout the romance, introduced at one point and revisited at others: the Anglo-Saxon past; the problems of conquest; political relations between England and 28  Holden, 24. Rudolf Imelmann discusses this source in the introduction to his edition of the Historia Regis Waldei: see Bramis, lvii–lix.

29  Holden, 29–31. Gui cannot be dated with complete certainty, but recent studies have placed it earlier in the thirteenth century than its editor did. “Gui de Warewic”: roman du XIIIe siècle, ed. Alfred Ewert, CFMA 74–75, 2 vols (Paris: Champion, 1932–33), 1: v–vii. Holden considered the hypothesis underlying Ewert’s dating to 1232–1242 “very fragile” (29). On the dating of Gui, see Judith Weiss, “The Exploitation of Ideas of Pilgrimage and Sainthood in Gui de Warewic,” in The Exploitations of Medieval Romance, ed. Laura Ashe, Ivana Djordjević, and Judith Weiss (Cambridge: Brewer, 2010), 54–55n44, and also Yin Liu, “Romances of Continuity in the English Rous Roll,” in Medieval Romance, Medieval Contexts, ed. Rhiannon Purdie and Michael Cichon (Cambridge: Brewer, 2011), 149–59.

10

Introduction

Normandy, and between England and the rest of the world; patterns of loyalty, betrayal, and shifting alliances, both personal and political; religion; the role of women; and family relationships and generational conflicts. Waldef claims the Anglo-Saxon past as part of the heritage of French speakers living in England. At the time of the poem’s composition, the Norman Conquest was already some 140 years in the past. Intermarriage had long since mixed the Normans and the English, and those Normans who settled in England, such as the Bigods and Warennes in East Anglia, had quickly committed to their new home, investing in their lands and architectural projects.30 Waldef is not a propaganda piece urging the conquerors to respect Anglo-Saxon culture or reassuring the conquered English that the Normans can see value in their stories and laws. Rather, the romance (like Gui and Boeve) stresses continuity, establishing ancient origins for contemporary families, regions, and customs. On one hand, the distant past functions as an exotic “other” just as do physical places such as Spain and Morocco; on the other hand, that past and those places affirm for contemporary readers the centrality of England and the shared identity of its inhabitants. The English (of whatever origin) are English because of their relationship to the island. Waldef begins English history with the Romans, a conquering people, rather than with Brutus or Albina, the individual explorers who found Britain in the Brut narratives; Saxons and Normans in turn follow the Romans to English shores. All three groups are seafaring peoples, explorers, invaders, and conquerors. The romance announces its concern with the complexities of conquest by beginning English history with Julius Caesar, whom it inaccurately terms “emperor” (he was one of the last rulers of the Roman Republic). Waldef represents Caesar as making repeated efforts to conquer England, although historically he invaded once, and later Roman incursions were under other leaders; the more effective campaign was some eighty years after Caesar’s invasion. The Roman withdrawal from England in the early fifth century left the country at the mercy of Germanic invaders, as in the accounts of Geoffrey of Monmouth and Wace. In romances as well as chronicles, King Arthur finally brings about political stability, only to have Rome demand tribute. Arthur’s determination to turn the tables and instead make Rome pay him appears as a justifiable response to an unreasonable request, although some later texts criticize his war on Rome.31 In contrast, English history according to Waldef omits the Germanic invaders, and Guiac and Gud30  Andrew Wareham briefly traces Roger Bigod’s investment and building projects in Lords and Communities in Early Medieval East Anglia (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005), 139–52; see also Judith Green, The Aristocracy of Norman England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997).

31  The Alliterative Morte Arthure expresses this view, which is shared by some earlier texts, such as Draco Normannicus, the Historia Meriadoci, and Ipomedon (which embeds stock Arthurian motifs in a romance with a southern Italian setting): see Judith Weiss, “Emperors and Antichrists,” 97–98, and Judith Weiss, “Ineffectual Monarchs: Portrayals of Regal and Imperial Power in Ipomedon, Robert le Diable and Octavian,” in Cultural Encounters in the Romance of Medieval England, ed. Corinne Saunders (Cambridge: Brewer, 2005), 55–68. In many ways the figure of Alexander the Great also influenced that of Arthur, from Geoffrey of Monmouth onwards. See Judith Weiss, “Arthur, Emperors and Antichrists: The Formation of the Arthurian Biography,” in Writers of the Reign of Henry II, ed. Ruth Kennedy and Simon Meecham-Jones (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 239–48 at 241.



Themes and Issues

11

lac’s desire to follow in Arthur’s footsteps by (re)conquering Rome arises purely from ambition rather than as a response to any aggression from that empire. At least since Æthelred’s marriage to Emma of Normandy in 1002, England and Normandy had enjoyed cordial relations. As the mother of King Edward the Confessor and the great-aunt of William the Conqueror, Emma is a key figure in late Anglo-Saxon history, linking Normandy not only to England, but also, through her second marriage to King Cnut, to Denmark and Norway.32 Although Waldef has no female character who corresponds precisely to Emma, the romance’s network of connections among the English, Normans, and Danes hints at the author’s awareness of her significance, as does Bede’s marriage to Ereburc, sister to King Morgan of Normandy. King Bede, Waldef’s father, serves Morgan faithfully for a year, earning both respect and rich gifts as together they battle the French, a separate group from the Normans. After Bede’s death, the young Waldef finds refuge at Morgan’s court, as Edward the Confessor found refuge in Normandy after Æthelred died. Morgan and Normandy fade into the background once Waldef grows up, retakes his father’s throne, and subdues his English neighbours. In the romance, the past is a time of constant conflict, but the most important warfare takes place within England. The adventures of Waldef and Ernild outside of England show them as victims of fate, enduring their trials and responding to opportunities, like the heroes of hagiographic romance. Waldef’s sons, though kidnapped as children, do not remain passive victims. They actively resolve to make their mark via foreign invasion, dividing the world between them and sometimes re-writing their father’s adventures. In Morocco, Gudlac’s attack on the king’s nephew (vv. 11817–906) echoes his father’s unfortunate quarrel with the son of the mayor of Rouen (vv. 2348–58). Together, Guiac and Gudlac place East Anglia in relation to countries bordering the Mediterranean and the North Sea. Guiac’s claim on the German imperial crown demonstrates that an Englishman could, if he wanted, hold that position (vv. 20359–670).33 Both of Waldef’s sons, insisting upon their Englishness despite their foreign upbringing and affective ties to the kings who adopted them (vv. 11773–76; 12185–96), set out to find their home and parents once they are old enough to strike out on their own. In this way, the romance seems to assert the importance of ties to land and lineage, even as the ending of the romance opens Guiac’s and Gudlac’s ambitions to criticism. Although Gudlac arguably ought to have stayed in England with his wife, his continued search for fame and fortune after marriage echoes Chrétien’s Yvain, while Guiac’s religious conversion might be considered a happy outcome by medieval audiences (as the conversion of Gui de Warewic is presented).

32  Both Tyler, England in Europe, and Hugh M. Thomas, The Norman Conquest: England after William the Conqueror (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2008), have genealogical tables showing the complex intermarriages of the English royal families before and after the Conquest.

33  No medieval Englishman actually became Holy Roman Emperor, though Henry I’s daughter Matilda (1102–1167) was empress through her marriage to Heinrich V (d. 1125), Holy Roman Emperor and king of Germany; see Marjorie Chibnall, “Matilda [Matilda of England],” ODNB. Henry III’s brother Richard of Cornwall (1209–1272) made several bids for the imperial title and did become king of the Germans; see Nicholas Vincent, “Richard of Cornwall, First Earl of Cornwall and King of Germany,” ODNB.

12

Introduction

Their attempts to extend their father’s patrimony, though unsuccessful in the romance, arise from impulses they share with their father and other ancestors, and Bramis’s continuation offers an ending in which Guiac becomes emperor of both Germany and Rome, with his descendants succeeding him. Political alliances in Waldef are repeatedly made, broken, and sometimes reforged. The aggressive East Anglians constantly make war on their neighbours.34 This perpetual fighting results from the early barons’ decision to split up the country into factions (vv. 261–72), perhaps reminiscent of the Heptarchy (the seven kingdoms of Anglo-Saxon England). At first it seems that the narrator approves of this picture of endless war and conquest, since the hero, his allies, and his sons engage in warfare almost all the time. But repeated reconciliations modify this impression. Although it is rare in romance for bitter enemies to settle their differences, Waldef’s conflicts with Osmund, Urvein, and Okenard all resolve in friendship.35 In fact, Waldef himself makes an important statement about reconciliation: [E]ntre amis avient suvent Grant curuz e grant maltalent, Cum avient entre pere e fiz, Qui suvent par mal sunt partiz E puis devienent bons amis, Qui ançois furent enemis; Cum plus sunt enemis mortels, Plus devienent amis charnels

vv. 4625–32

[Between friends great displeasure and anger often occur, as they occur between father and son, who often separate in anger and later become good friends when previously they were enemies. The deadlier their enmity, the closer their friendship.]

The context is ambiguous: Waldef expresses these hopeful sentiments in letters to potential allies against a pagan invasion, but the addressees, Rut and Cnut, remember past wars and insults from him and dishonour his messengers, returning messages of defiance. Ultimately Waldef’s men kill these two kings in battle (vv. 5391–402). Nonetheless, anger does turn to affection in several cases: Osmund decides to help Waldef because he is impressed by his behaviour (vv. 3834–42); Urvein, a pagan, makes a calculated decision based partly on Waldef’s honour in battle and partly on Waldef’s men having stolen a march on him (vv. 5081–98); and Okenard, despite having been dispossessed by Waldef, discovers under stress that he still feels more loyalty to Waldef than to his employer, Fergus, who has behaved dishonourably by capturing Waldef when he is out for a pleasure sail (vv. 10323–786; see discussion below). At the same time, military aggression threatens to destroy Waldef’s family when his own sons first attack 34  See Judith Weiss, “‘History’ in Anglo-Norman Romance: The Presentation of the Pre-Conquest Past,” in The Long Twelfth-Century View of the Anglo-Saxon Past, ed. Martin Brett and David A. Woodman (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015), 275–87 at 280. 35  Osmund and Waldef at vv. 3934–37; Urvein and Waldef at vv. 5083–104; Waldef and Okenard at vv. 10415–56.



Themes and Issues

13

each other and then him. They do become friends, yet the sons’ ambitions prevent them from aiding their father in his final battle. Compared to many contemporaneous romances and epics, Waldef does not foreground religion, despite the presence of several groups of pagans who interact with the Christian heroes. Major feasts and fasts of the Christian calendar do not even appear as calendar markers: Easter, Christmas, and Pentecost are never mentioned. The feast of the Ascension appears once (v. 3263), and even Trinity Sunday appears only twice, as the day on which Waldef and Florenz receive arms (v. 2653), and on which Waldef begins his decisive war on Fergus (v. 10925). The characters invoke God, Jesus, and assorted saints with some frequency, and in a handful of encounters with pagans, the Christian Trinity is favourably compared to the “Saracen trinity” of Mahomet, Tervagant, and Apollin.36 Notably, the Saracens are honourable opponents, who behave courteously. Urvein proposes single combat between himself and Waldef to avoid the bloody waste of a pitched battle. Later, he returns Ernild to her husband, providing the couple with great gifts (vv. 8581–692), although he had hoped to marry the lady. The king of Valencia, old and feeble, offers Waldef great riches in return for his help in battle; when Waldef refuses this gift and asks instead that the king release his Christian prisoners, the king grants his request (v. 7503–39).37 Lioine’s encounter with Garsire, a headstrong young pagan, ends in the latter’s deathbed conversion to Christianity (vv. 15967–16096). However, none of the heroes undertake battles for religious reasons. Although many romances of the period refer to or include crusading among their themes, Waldef does not engage with the crusades as such. Much of Waldef’s plot focuses on battles, alliances and betrayals, raising armies, and similar masculine activities. Nonetheless, women play a significant role, beginning with the claim that a woman is the romance’s patron. Love and attraction drive the plot at key moments throughout the text. For example, Morgan’s sister Ereburc falls in love with Bede and encourages his advances (vv. 1029–106). Their public courtship contrasts with the clandestine affair conducted by Bede’s sister, Odenild, with Dereman, one of Bede’s soldiers (vv. 429–626). This affair ends in the tragedy of Dereman’s death and the drama of Odenild concealing her pregnancy, the result of which is Florenz/Foundling, Waldef’s cousin and protector. Florenz, abandoned as an infant, eventually falls in love with his own mother, but at their wedding feast, she recognizes his ring and so their relationship comes to light. The Dereman-Odenild-Florenz thread, interlaced through nearly nine thousand lines of the romance, shows the poet playing with the romance tropes of abandoned infants and their recognition, but where Marie de France, to take one example, focuses on the woman and her predicament, Waldef places the tropes of abandonment and restoration in a framework that emphasizes their political signifi36  Many texts refer to these figures as the “gods” of the Saracens; Mahomet derives from the Prophet Mohammad, the origins of Tervagant are uncertain, and Apollin’s name comes from the Greek god Apollo. See notes to vv. 4968, 4965–80, and 11712. The encounters are as follows: Waldef and Urvein at vv. 4739–5110; Waldef and the king of Valencia at vv. 7197–550; Lioine and Garsire at vv. 15826–16098. 37  This episode closely resembles a similar adventure in Gui de Warewic: see Holden, 29.

14

Introduction

cance and implications for the men. Indeed, Florenz’s first wife (the sister of King Swein, and presumably the mother of his son, Lioine), seems to have been forgotten, perhaps to have died without mention. Underneath the satisfaction of the recognition scene we can see that women are often men’s prey. Even marriage to a king may not be adequate protection. Florenz’s war against Felix for lust’s sake recalls that of Uther against Gorlois in the Arthurian legend. However, when Odenild recognizes her son’s ring, Waldef and Florenz’s emotional ties are strengthened by the discovery that they are not merely companions but cousins (vv. 9223–68). Odenild’s husband Felix, restored to his throne, also benefits from his association with his wife’s son and nephew (vv. 9293–322). The principle of interlacing episodes also helps to make sense of an episode, partly borrowed from Dolopathos, in which Bede expresses troubling misogyny through a request for a courtier to bring his jester, his enemy, and his friend to court (vv. 1632–33); the “enemy” turns out to be the man’s wife.38 The men present all take the wife’s reaction to public shaming as proof of women’s perfidy, and Bede delivers a tirade on the perversity and wickedness of women (vv. 1933–2094). The narrator interrupts with praise of his patron, which sits uneasily in this context as a reminder of women’s socio-economic indispensability (vv. 1845–72). Some six thousand lines later, Waldef finally provides a retort to his father, when he saves a calumniated queen, proving her innocence and the guilt of her accuser. Waldef instructs her husband, “be careful never to trust any man who accuses your wife of wrongdoing unless you can properly ascertain that she’s in any way guilty” (vv. 8071–76). When men weave nets of deceit, women have limited options for response. In many medieval romances, the family is a point of departure, from which the hero sets out on his adventures, perhaps never to return. Certainly Waldef contains many instances of separated families: Florenz’s mother abandons him (vv. 677–712), Waldef must be taken away for his own safety (vv. 2191–222), Waldef’s wife and sons are kidnapped (vv. 6970–72), and Tierri leaves his father and sister to help Lioine and Guiac (vv. 16443–82). At the same time, themes of family loyalty and family conflict run throughout the romance, a smaller-scale version of its political alliances and betrayals. Family members help each other and turn on each other: Florenz, Waldef’s cousin, saves him from being killed by his stepfather, the treacherous steward Frode (vv. 2154–90). He also kills Waldef’s half-brother, Frode’s son, presumably to prevent him seeking revenge when he grows up, as Waldef did (vv. 3121–64). Brothers may be allies or rivals. Belin and Brenne, aggressive brothers from Brut historiography, are explicitly invoked as models by Guiac and Gudlac (vv. 14976–15014, 17661).39 In a dramatic recognition scene, Ernild follows the example of Belin and Brenne’s mother by baring her breasts in order to make peace between her sons (v. 14501); as she suckled them both, they should have pity on her and each other. Whereas Wace spells this out with a lengthy account of the mother’s speech (vv. 2729–816), the author of Waldef simply alludes to it with Ernild’s gesture, assuming that his audience will understand its significance. 38  Johannes de Alta Silva, “Dolopathos,” or, “The King and the Seven Wise Men,” trans. Brady B. Gilleland (Binghamton: Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance Studies, 1981). 39  See note 27.



Style and Aesthetic Qualities

15

The family reunion, though joyful, proves impermanent, turning into intergenerational conflict. When Waldef tries to persuade his sons to stay in England by suggesting that they could win lands there, they point out that Cornwall, Devon, and Somerset belong to his neighbours and that warring on them would upset recently established political arrangements (vv. 15080–104). Here again the author layers relationships and critique, with the sons calling their father’s practice into question. And yet the neighbours continue to wage war on Waldef, suggesting that his may be the right perspective after all. King Fergus’s nephews, Brand and Hildebrand, rebel in an effort to reclaim their uncle’s throne (vv. 20883–916), despite Gudlac’s marriage to Fergus’s daughter Ykenild (vv. 13149–88), which ought to cement the alliance and ensure a lasting peace. Although apparently a betrayal of agreements with Waldef and his allies, this episode echoes the successful efforts of Waldef and Florenz to regain Waldef’s heritage at the beginning of the romance. The same conflicts play out repeatedly, in different settings and generations. They almost seem to echo Beowulf’s interpolated stories of semi-mythical family conflict, in which truces brokered by marriages repeatedly shatter, with women torn between their fathers and their children, their brothers and their husbands.

Style and Aesthetic Qualities

Like most medieval French narratives, Waldef is composed in octosyllabic rhyming couplets, which occasionally become monorhymed sections of four, six, or more lines, reminiscent of the laisses (rhymed or assonating) of chansons de geste.40 The couplet is a flexible form, capable of both brisk movement and slow elaboration. Medieval stylists preferred each couplet to express a single thought, although a complex sentence may extend over a number of couplets, each containing a sub-clause. The author of Waldef uses regular octosyllabic couplets throughout, and also respects the unity of the couplet, rarely using enjambment or continuing a single thought beyond the bounds of the rhyming lines. The poet frequently uses multiple synonyms to intensify his meaning: “destroy and lay waste” (v. 112), “outlaws, thieves, and raiders” (v. 120), “an excellent, valiant knight, bold, fierce, and a great fighter” (vv. 127–28). This repetition is a deliberate stylistic choice to highlight ideas important to the poet and to his readers. For example, the many temporal adverbs in the prologue emphasize successive waves of action and reaction, insist on the cyclical nature of history, and invite comparison of the “English” heroes to the Roman ruler who invaded England.41 The technique is both common and admired in medieval French (and English) literature. This principle of intensifying by accretion applies to episodes as well as within sentences. Whenever some phrase or motif recurs, readers will do well to assume that the repetition indicates a deliberate emphasis, and question the assumptions, conventions, 40  Holden counts 581 quatrains, sixty sets of six lines of the same rhyme, ten of eight lines, three of ten lines, and one of a dozen lines (36).

41  These adverbs are jadis (v. 1), devant nus (v. 3), dunc (v. 5), ore (v. 6), suvent (vv. 10, 13, 21), puis (vv. 16, 22), and combien de tens (v. 20).

16

Introduction

or realities that underlie it. The many separations and reunions, alliances, battles, courtships, and other repeated motifs all serve to explore these tropes from different angles, and to stress that these are the building blocks of romance and of human relationships. Often these incidents, especially the recognition scenes, allude to an underlying question about identity: Who am I, away from the context of family, friends, home, and language? In expressing such anxieties, the romance provides opportunities for vicarious exploration of problems involving identity, only some of which achieve final resolution. Analyzing a single passage from the poem will illustrate some of the poet’s characteristic devices and techniques. When Okenard saves Waldef from King Fergus’s prison, he fully expects to sacrifice his life for his lord’s. However, Edward, the sheriff of London, makes a speech of some sixty lines in which he firmly rebukes Fergus and his desire for revenge. After this, Okenard is allowed to leave. The bulk of the speech focuses on Okenard’s status, Fergus’s feelings, and the legal issues (we omit nearly twenty lines summing up Okenard’s actions). In this extract, monorhymed sections are underlined; alliterating sounds appear in bold; the polyptoton on treire receives double underlining; and words associated with speaking and hearing are italicized. We leave marking other lexical terms (discussed below) as an exercise for the reader. “Rois,” fet il, “vers moi entendez. Par vostre ire ne vus hastez De fere tant contre reisun, De treire hum a dampnaciun; N’est pas l’us de ceste cité Que humme soit a mort dampné Par ire ne par volenté, Si par esguard nun del regné. D’Okenard vus voil jo mustrer, Qu’ore vus oï comander Que il fust detreit u pendu; Cest esguard n’avom pas veü, Ne vus apent rien d’esguard fere— Dire le vus voil e retreire— Mais vostre curt feire le doit, Iço apent a nostre droit. De la cité sui, si dirrai Mun avis, pur nul nel lerrai, D’Okenard que avez jugé: A mult grant tort l’avez dampné. De traï�sun l’avez reté, Ateint ne l’avez ne prové; Unc ne vus fist pur verité Ne fiance ne fealté Ne vostre humme unc ne devint, Terre n’onur de vus ne tint, Ainz est estranges soldeers, Servi vus a pur vos deniers; Se il demein de vus s’en veit Foi ne fiance ne vus deit. De tant le devom plus loer E de lealté afermer,

10712

10716 10720 10724 10728 10732 10736 10740



Style and Aesthetic Qualities

Quant sis sires l’ot dechascié, De sa terre desherité, E puis le vit si encombré Que il estoit a mort dampné; N’iert mervelle s’il ot dolur Quant il vit tenir sun sengnur, Qui humme lige il estoit E ligance a lui fet avoit .................................. Si nul i a qui el en die, Que il en ait fet felunie, Par devant vus se defendra, Si cum la curt esguardera, E se nul ne li veult pruver Ne rien envers li desreisner, Je l’os pur verité juger Que il s’en doit tut quite aler.”

17

10744 10748

10768 10772

[“My lord king,” he said, “listen to me. Don’t rush, in your anger, to act so far against reason as to condemn a man. It’s not the custom in this city for a man to be condemned to death in anger or by arbitrary will but only by the decision of the kingdom. I want to speak to you about Okenard, whom I’ve now heard you order to be pulled apart or hanged. We have not made this judgment. Let me inform you that it’s in no way your prerogative to make a judgment: your court should do it instead. This concerns our rights. I’m from the city, and I’ll tell you my opinion about Okenard, whom you’ve sentenced; no one can make me desist. You have condemned him quite wrongly. You’ve accused him of treason but you have neither established it nor proved him guilty. The truth is that he never swore you loyalty nor homage, nor did he ever become your man. He held neither land nor fief from you but is an outsider, a mercenary who served you for your money. If he leaves you tomorrow, he owes you neither oath nor loyalty. Therefore we should praise him all the more and applaud his fidelity, since his lord Waldef drove him out and dispossessed him of his land, but then Okenard saw Waldef in a dire predicament, condemned to death. It wasn’t surprising that he was distressed when he saw his lord held captive, whose liegeman he was and to whom he had done homage. … If there’s anyone who says otherwise, that he has committed a crime, he’ll defend himself before you as the court decides, and if no one wants to show that he’s guilty or prove anything against him, I venture to pass judgment that he should get off scot-free.”]

Edward uses many words that emphasize speaking and hearing, since the spoken word is the basis for medieval legal relationships:42 entendez (v. 10711), mustrer (v. 10719), oï comander (v. 10720), dire … retreire (v. 10724), dirrai / mon avis (vv. 10727–28), loer (v. 10741), afermer (v. 10742), die (v. 10767), and defendra (v. 10769). The central question is to whom Okenard owes loyalty, and therefore whom he can have betrayed. Fergus thinks Okenard betrayed him, but Edward insists that with respect to Fergus, Okenard is a mercenary; his loyalty belongs to Waldef. Thus, in the centre of this speech, which itself occurs at the centre of the poem, Edward uses a series of alliterating synonyms, fiance ne fealté (loyalty nor homage) and foi ne fiance (oath nor loyalty), combined with multiple negatives, to emphasize that Okenard’s faith is not owed to Fergus (vv. 10734, 10740).

42  See M. T. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307, 3rd ed. (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), particularly chap. 8, “Hearing and Seeing” (255–94).

18

Introduction

The poet plays with prefixes for the verb treire, to bring, carry, or drag. It appears first in v. 10714, de treire hum a dampnaciun (literally, to bring a man to damnation; we have translated as “for a man to be condemned to death”). The sentence Fergus wishes to carry out is que il fust detreit u pendu, “that he should be pulled apart or hanged,” where the abstract treire has turned into detreire, with an uncomfortably literal meaning. Three lines further along, it becomes retreire, to reiterate, when Edward insists that the decision is not Okenard’s but his court’s, in a line that places the main verb centrally, with infinitives at beginning and end: Dire le vus voil e retreire, again drawing attention to speech acts as legal actions. The centre of the speech regards Okenard’s connection to Fergus, which is contractual rather than feudal: Terre n’onur de vus ne tint, Ainz est estranges soldeers, Servi vus a pur vos deniers

vv. 10736–38

Alliteration connects the first and last words of the first line, emphasizing that Okenard has not held any land or fief from Fergus; rather he has worked for money, deniers, as a mercenary, soldeers. Soldeers is literally a hireling, one who works for sous (Fr) or shillings (Eng), both words deriving from the Latin solidus, a gold coin of a fixed weight; by 1300, the word soldier enters English with its modern meaning, a member of an army.43 Edward emphasizes the nature of the relationship between Okenard and Fergus, by rhyming the money words, denying any feudal relationship based on land or fief—onur, with its implications of honour, a connection beyond the merely expedient—and also rejecting the idea of loyalty emphasized by the alliterating phrases fiance ne fealté and foi ne fiance, immediately before and after the passage just quoted. Four monorhymed passages within this selection emphasize legal concepts and processes. In the first (vv. 10715–18), four rhyming words foreground key concepts: cité / dampné / volenté / regné. Edward speaks as a man of the city, insisting on its ancient customs, which Fergus is about to violate, “condemn[ing]” Okenard “by arbitrary will,” when such judgments should only be passed by the “kingdom.” The two jurisdictions, city and kingdom, surround the arbitrary, angry actions of Fergus, in effect blocking Fergus from action. In the second passage, six lines (vv. 10729–34) rhyme: jugé / dampné / reté / prové / verité / fealté (judged/sentenced, damned/condemned, accused, proved, truth, loyalty/fealty). The first four—the things Fergus is doing—contrast with the last two, which address Okenard’s actions: “The truth is that he never swore you loyalty nor homage.” The third monorhymed selection emphasizes Waldef’s own wrongful actions toward Okenard, in the past, and the present similarity between them. Despite Waldef’s past behavior, Okenard’s loyalty persisted to the point where he would willingly offer his life in exchange for Waldef’s. This time, the rhyme words are all verbs: dechascié / desherité / encombré / dampné (vv. 10743–46). Okenard was driven out and “dispossessed,” but when he saw Waldef “in a dire predicament” and “condemned,” he had to act. The last section similarly rhymes verbs, this time infinitives: pruver / desreisner / 43  OED, s.v. soldier.



Style and Aesthetic Qualities

19

juger / aler (vv. 10771–74). Again Edward accompanies them with multiple negatives: if no one wants to “show that he’s guilty or prove anything against him,” Edward himself will judge (“pass judgment”) that Okenard should go free. The series of legal terms ends with the verb to go, allowing the narrative as well as Okenard to move away from this crisis point. The poet’s use of doublets within lines or couplets, such as foi and fiance, extends to a similar technique at the level of episodes. Some episodes echo each other precisely, as in the doubled kidnap of Ernild by pirates and the doubled recognition scenes when Waldef finds her again. In others, repetition of themes, symbols, or words advances the plot and illustrates the poem’s moral outlook. In the sequence in which Okenard rescues Waldef, is defended by Edward, and receives his reward from Waldef, the poet marks a contrast between Waldef and Fergus in their treatment of their followers. Following Edward’s speech, Waldef raises an army to take revenge on Fergus, and the question of payment or reward for fighting returns. The poet moralizes about the difference between serving a good man and a bad one: “Whoever serves a worthy man prospers mightily, but whoever serves a bad man comes off the worse. He who serves the worthy man will in the end profit by it, and he who serves the bad one, as we have heard many times, will never get anything good from him” (vv. 10861­–67). Profit (pru) is a key word here, and difficult to translate, since it means both honour and wealth. The romance distinguishes between wages—that is, cash paid for a defined term of service, such as Fergus pays Okenard—and the sort of reward offered by Waldef to men who will follow him to war because of their affective ties. Their fortunes run in parallel: if Waldef wins, he will distribute the lands he gains among his followers, but his defeat could mean losses for his men, as well. The point is illustrated by an interruption in the Fergus-Waldef conflict when a messenger from Lincoln announces the death of Erkenwald, Waldef’s father-in-law (vv. 11031–36). Waldef delays his attack on London, Fergus’s stronghold, in order to award Lincoln to Okenard as a heritable fief. Okenard’s reward for his loyalty, though a substantial one in monetary terms, functions not in a cash economy but in an economy of honour, based on personal ties. Waldef must go in person to introduce Okenard to the city-dwellers of Lincoln, indicating his own ultimate responsibility for the city and his trust in Okenard as its new lord. The entire sequence emphasizes respect for the law and its processes. Edward is presented as an admirable character, a man from the city, identified with and upholding its customs (us); able and willing to speak against a powerful and angry man, and to defend a man whose actions could be interpreted either as praiseworthy loyalty to his lord despite their past disagreements, or as a betrayal of his current employer. The sheriff sorts out the ambiguities and insists on the difference between being paid and being rewarded, being an employee and being a liege. Even his name, Edward, evokes the Anglo-Saxon past and the Leges Edwardi Confessoris (mid-twelfth century), which, claiming to go back to Cnut and Edward the Confessor, “constituted the legal standard of the age.”44 The poet’s style is intimately connected to his content. 44  Bruce R. O’Brien, God’s Peace and King’s Peace: The Laws of Edward the Confessor (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 56; Weiss, “‘History’ in Anglo-Norman Romance,” 285.

20

Introduction

The Manuscript and Its Readership The romance is found in just one manuscript, Bibliotheca Bodmeriana 168 (formerly Phillipps 8345), dated from the end of the thirteenth century to the beginning of the fourteenth.45 It also contains the chanson de geste Otinel and the romance Gui de Warewic. The manuscript’s margins show traces of early readers, including the names of four early modern women who may have owned or read its texts. These are Ane Wyn (fol. 209r), Elezabeth Matssil (fol. 209r), Jane Grey (fol. 5r; rear flyleaf), and Anne Echyngham (fol. 207v, with a partial attempt, “Anne Ech,” on fol. 208v).46 These four names are all in different hands, of the fifteenth or sixteenth century. The two from folio 209r are unidentified, although “Mattsil” suggests Mattishall, in Norfolk.47 Jane Grey’s signature appears in two other extant volumes: London, British Library MS Royal 14.E.iii, and Princeton University Library, Garrett MS 168, which allow us to date her to the fifteenth century, and to place her in royal circles, probably as an attendant to Elizabeth Woodville, Edward IV’s queen.48 She may have been a relative by the queen’s first marriage to John Grey of Groby. There are two plausible candidates for Anne Echyngham. The first was born to Sir Thomas Echyngham and Margaret Knyvett in the 1420s and died in 1498; she was married twice, first to John Rogers of Dorset and then to John Tuchet, sixth Lord Audley. Another possibility is an Anne whose father’s name is unknown; as the widow of Edmund Lewknor of Sussex, she married Edward Echyngham and died in 1539. No men’s signatures appear in the manuscript, but an ex libris in the binding shows that the manuscript later belonged to “W[illia]m Fermor, Esqr of Tursmore in Oxfordshire,” probably the William Fermor (1737–1806) who built Tusmore House and came from a Catholic family of collectors and connoisseurs.49 The women’s signatures strongly 45  Available online at www.e-codices.ch/en/list/one/fmb/cb-0168.

46  Françoise Vielliard had trouble with Anne Echyngham’s secretary hand, reading her entries as “Anne Elhy …” and “Anne Rey.” Vielliard, Manuscrits français du Moyen Âge, Bibliotheca Bodmeriana: Catalogues, 2 (Cologny-Geneva: Fondation Martin Bodmer, 1975), 93–94 at 94. She noted that one branch of the Grey family were well-attested as book collectors as early as the fourteenth century, implying that they might have owned the manuscript. In correspondence (June 10, 2008), Mme Vielliard linked Bodmer 168 with Cambridge, Fitzwilliam 242, the Grey-Fitzpayne Hours, which, she said, bore the arms of Sir Richard de Grey, who married Joan, daughter of Sir Robert FitzPayne, in 1308; the implication was that this Joan might have been among the owners or readers of the MS. The Fitzwilliam Museum, however, has refuted this: the owner of Fitzwilliam 242 was in fact John de Pabenham, whose coat of arms was similar but not identical to that of the Greys of Codnor. 47  The rear flyleaf also has a rough sketch of two ladies’ heads, looking away from one another, and a crossed-out inscription, “Wyn my louve wt lyeyll [loyal],” which suggests a pun on the surname Wyn, perhaps even a family motto.

48  Princeton University Library, Garrett MS 168, is an account of the death of the Turkish sultan Mehmed II in May 1481, so Jane wrote in that book no earlier than the second half of that year. Jane’s signature also appears on the flyleaf of London, British Library MS Royal 14.E.iii, in the company of the names “Elysabeth, the kyngys dowter” (b. 1466) and “Cecyl the kyngys dowter” (b. 1469), the daughters of Elizabeth Woodville and Edward IV. 49  See Judith Weiss, “Wace to Laȝamon via Waldef,” in Reading Laȝamon’s “Brut”: Approaches and Explorations, ed. Rosamund Allen, Jane Roberts, and Carole Weinberg (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2013), 559–60n33, for the Greys’ connection to the Gorleston Psalter. An ancestor, Sir William



Note on the Text and Translation

21

suggest that Waldef and the other texts of Bodmer 168 had an audience of aristocratic women in the early modern period.50 In addition to these names, which are clearly signatures in different handwritings, two other women’s names appear along the inner margins of folios 188v and 190v: M A R G E R E T and K A T E R I N E, in elaborate capitals echoing the style of the large capitals adorning the text. These might be pen practice, the names of popular saints, or the names of family members or love objects of male readers. In any case, they add to the sense of a female presence in Bodmer 168.

Note on the Text and Translation

We have translated from the text of Waldef edited by A. J. Holden, with reference to the digitized manuscript as necessary.51 Our translation is in prose rather than verse, since prose narrative is the closest equivalent in our own time for the medieval use of verse as the standard medium of long and complex narratives. The manuscript has paragraph breaks, which we have nearly always retained, but where paragraphs are lengthy we have introduced extra breaks. Our treatment of the editor’s punctuation is fairly free: we do not always keep it but may rearrange his sentences, sometimes combining separate ones, sometimes substituting a full stop for a comma or vice versa. Occasionally we contract a sentence into a more compact one (for example, vv. 8077–82). Medieval French makes heavier use of pronouns than modern English and we have sometimes replaced a pronoun with its proper noun for clarity’s sake. Where synonyms are particularly close in meaning, we have sometimes translated by substituting an intensifying adverb: “ran very swiftly,” for example, in place of “ran fast and swiftly.” As regards proper names, if they are recognizably taken from Arthurian literature we have used the familiar spelling: Artur is translated as Arthur, Utier/Uthier as Uther, Moderet as Modred. The spelling of many of the remaining names varies throughout the poem; in these cases we have chosen the variant that occurs the most often. At some point in the textual transmission, a section of text running from v. 10875 to v. 11022 (ff. 65vb–66va) appears to have been transposed from its proper place in Fermor (1648–1711), in his will left “statues, pictures and books” to his son Thomas, whose wife Henrietta (née Jeffries) was a notable antiquary; in 1698 another William Fermor bought up some of the collection (marbles, medieval manuscripts) of Thomas Howarth, the Earl of Arundel. See Genealogical Collections Illustrating the History of Roman Catholic Families of England, pt. i, ed. J. Jackson Howard and H. Farnham Burke (privately printed, 1887), 2 ff. See also Bernard Quaritch, Contributions towards a Dictionary of English Book-Collectors (London, 1892–99), pt. xii, “William Fermor Esq. of Tufmore [sic].”

50  In the late medieval and early modern periods, the gentry and nobility of both sexes routinely learned French. See Kathleen Lambley, The Teaching and Cultivation of the French Language in England during Tudor and Stuart Times (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1920); Douglas Kibbee, For to Speke Frenche Trewely: The French Language in England, 1000–1600: Its Status, Description, and Instruction (Amsterdam: Benjamins, 1991); and James Carley, The Books of King Henry VIII and His Wives (London: British Library, 2004). 51  We signal all divergences from the text as printed by Holden, except when they concern dittographies and accidentally transposed letters in his edition.

22

Introduction

the narrative: in the only extant manuscript it precedes vv. 11023–184 (ff. 66va–67va) instead of following them. As a result, elements of the episode in which Waldef inherits Lincoln and gives it to Okenard as recompense for his loyal service are mixed up with Waldef’s retaliatory campaign against King Fergus of London.52 While the state of the text is compatible with a bifolium having been copied back to front, or with a copyist losing his place in the exemplar and picking it up at the wrong point later, without further work it is difficult to reconstruct how this might have happened. Our translation follows Holden’s edition in preserving the manuscript order, but we print a reordered text in Appendix II, to make it easier to follow the action of this part of the narrative.

52  There is no transposition in Bramis (146–49), in whose translation the two episodes are separate: the feast at which Waldef learns of King Erkenwald’s death is held in Thetford before the campaign against London, and Okenard’s coronation in Lincoln likewise precedes the siege of London.



Suggested Further Reading

Suggested Further Reading

23

Edition Le Roman de Waldef (Cod. Bodmer 168). Edited by A. J. Holden. Bibliotheca Bodmeriana 5. Cologny-Geneva: Fondation Martin Bodmer, 1984. Discussions in Surveys of Anglo-Norman Romance

Field, Rosalind. “Romance in England, 1066–1400.” In The Cambridge History of Medieval English Literature, edited by David Wallace, 152–76. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Legge, M. Dominica. Anglo-Norman Literature and Its Background. Oxford: Clarendon, 1963. Wadsworth [Field], Rosalind. “Historical Romance in England: Studies in Anglo-Norman and Middle English Romance.” Unpublished PhD thesis, University of York, 1972. Watkins, Elizabeth Jane. “French Romance and English Piety: Genre and Codex in Insular Romance.” Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Toronto, 2014. Weiss, Judith. “Insular Beginnings: Anglo-Norman Romance.” In A Companion to Romance: From Classical to Contemporary, edited by Corinne Saunders, 26–44. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. Articles or Chapters on or Connected with Waldef

Anderson, Robert. “Waldef.” In Le Roman jusqu’à la fin du XIIIe siècle, edited by J. Frappier and R. R. Grimm. Grundriss der romanischen Literaturen des Mittelalters 4. 2 vols. 4.1: 283–91, 4.2: 216–21. Heidelberg: Winter, 1978. Bainton, Henry. “Waldef [Dean 155] Prologue: Cologny-Geneva, Fondation Martin Bodmer, MS Bodmer 168, f. 1r-v.” In Vernacular Literary Theory from the French of Medieval England: Texts and Translations, c. 1120–c. 1450, edited by Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Thelma Fenster, and Delbert W. Russell, 45–51. Cambridge: Brewer, 2016. Field, Rosalind. “Waldef and the Matter of/with England.” In Medieval Insular Romance: Trans­ lation and Innovation, edited by Judith Weiss, Jennifer Fellows, and Morgan Dickson, 25–39. Cambridge: Brewer, 2000. —— . “What’s in a Name? Arthurian Name-Dropping in the Roman de Waldef.” In Arthurian Studies in Honour of P. J. C. Field, edited by Bonnie Wheeler, 63–64. Cambridge: Brewer, 2004. Gaullier-Bougassas, Catherine. “L’invention d’un passé mythique de l’Angleterre dans Waldef et Gui de Warewic.” In Le passé à l’épreuve du présent: Appropriations et usages du passé du Moyen Âge à la Renaissance, edited by Pierre Chastang, 89–102. Paris: Presses universitaires Paris-Sorbonne, 2008. —— . “Origines d’un lignage et écriture romanesque: les romans lignagers anglo-normands.” In Seuils de l’oeuvre dans le texte médiéval, edited by Emmanuèle Baumgartner and Laurence Harf-Lancner, 19–36. Paris: Presses de la Sorbonne nouvelle, 2002. Ham, Edward B. “The Language of the Roman de Waldef.” Medium Ævum 4 (1935): 176–93. Lecco, Margherita. “‘Tradurre’ nella letteratura anglo-normanna: Il prologo del Roman de Waldef.” In Lingue testi culture: L’eredità di Folena vent’anni dopo. Atti del XL Convegno Interuniversitario (Bressanone, 12–15 luglio 2012), edited by Ivano Paccagnella and Elisa Gregori, 131–43. Padova: Esedra, 2014. Levy, Brian. “Waltheof ‘Earl’ de Huntingdon et de Northampton: la naissance d’un héros anglonormand.” Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale 18 (1975): 183–96.

24

Introduction

Suchier, Walter. “Eine moderne Kopie des altfranzösischen Waldef-Romans.” Zeitschrift für französische Sprache und Literatur 67 (1957): 236–37. Weiss, Judith. “East Anglia and the Sea in the Narratives of the Vie de St Edmund and Waldef.” In The Sea and Englishness in the Middle Ages: Maritime Narratives, Identity and Culture, edited by Sebastian Sobecki, 103–11. Cambridge: Brewer, 2011. —— . “Emperors and Antichrists: Reflections of Empire in Insular Narrative, 1130–1250.” In The Matter of Identity in Medieval Romance, edited by Phillipa Hardman, 87–102. Cambridge: Brewer, 2002. —— . “‘History’ in Anglo-Norman Romance: The Presentation of the Pre-Conquest Past.” In The Long Twelfth-Century View of the Anglo-Saxon Past, edited by Martin Brett and David A. Woodman, 275–87. Farnham: Ashgate, 2015. —— . “Wace to Laȝamon via Waldef.” In Reading Laȝamon’s “Brut”: Approaches and Explorations, edited by Rosamund Allen, Jane Roberts, and Carole Weinberg, 541–60. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2013. Wogan-Browne, Jocelyn. “Feminism-Plus: Sarah Kay’s The ‘Chansons de geste’ in the Age of Romance: Political Fictions and the ‘Roman de’ Waldef.” In The Futures of Medieval French: Essays for Sarah Kay, edited by Jane Gilbert and Miranda Griffin. Cambridge: Brewer, forthcoming.  Editions and Translations of Other Medieval Texts Cited

Barthélemy l’Anglais. Le livre des regions. Edited by Brent A. Pitts. ANTS Plain Texts Series 15. London: ANTS, 2006. Beowulf. Edited by Bruce Mitchell and Fred C. Robinson. Oxford: Blackwell, 1998. Béroul. Roman de Tristan. Edited by Stewart Gregory. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1992. Beuve de Hamptone. Edited and translated [into French] by Jean-Pierre Martin. Champion Classiques. Paris: Champion, 2014. Boeve de Haumtone. Der anglonormannische “Boeve de Haumtone.” Edited by Albert Stimming. Halle: Bibliotheca Normannica, 1899. “Boeve de Haumtone.” In “Boeve de Haumtone” and “Gui de Warewic”: Two Anglo-Norman Romances. Translated by Judith Weiss. FRETS 3, 25–95. Tempe: ACMRS, 2008. Bramis, Johannes. Historia Regis Waldei. Edited by Rudolf Imelmann. Bonner Studien zur englischen Philologie 4. Bonn: Hanstein, 1912. La Chanson de Guillaume. Edited by Duncan McMillan. 2 vols. Paris: Picard, 1949. La Chanson de Roland. Edited by Frederick Whitehead. Revised by T. D. Hemming. London: Bristol Classical Press, 1993. Chrétien de Troyes. Le Chevalier de la Charette. Edited and translated [into French] by Alfred Foulet and Karl D. Uitti. Classiques Garnier. Paris: Bordas, 1989. —— . Cligès. Edited by Alexandre Micha. CFMA 84. Paris: Champion, 1957. —— . Erec et Enide. Edited by Mario Roques. CFMA 80. Paris: Champion, 1953. “Le Couronnement de Louis”: chanson de geste du XIIe siècle. Edited by Ernest Langlois. CFMA 22. 2nd edition. Paris: Champion, 1966. De Gestis Herwardi Saxonis. Transcribed and translated by S. H. Miller and D. W. Sweeting. Fenland Notes and Queries 3 (1895–97): 7–72. Gaimar, Geffroi. “Estoire des Engleis” | History of the English. Edited and translated by Ian Short. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Geoffrey of Monmouth. The History of the Kings of Britain: An Edition and Translation of “De Gestis Britonum.” Edited by Michael D. Reeve, translated by Neil Wright. Arthurian Studies 69. Woodbridge: Boydell, 2007.



Suggested Further Reading

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—— . The History of the Kings of Britain. Translated by Michael Faletra. Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview, 2007. Geoffroi de Charny. “The Book of Chivalry” of Geoffroi de Charny: Text, Context, and Translation. Edited by Richard Kaeuper and Elspeth Kennedy. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996. Gottfried von Strassburg. Tristan. Translated by A. T. Hatto. London: Penguin, 1960. “Gui de Warewic”: roman du XIIIe siècle. Edited by Alfred Ewert. 2 vols. CFMA 74–75. Paris: Champion, 1932–33. “Gui de Warewic.” In “Boeve de Haumtone” and “Gui de Warewic”: Two Anglo-Norman Romances. Translated by Judith Weiss. FRETS 3, 97–243. Tempe: ACMRS, 2008. Guillaume le Clerc. Fergus of Galloway: Knight of King Arthur. Translated by D. D. R. Owen. London: Dent, 1991. —— . The Romance of Fergus. Edited by Wilson Frescoln. Philadelphia: Allen, 1983. Henry of Huntingdon. “Historia Anglorum”: The History of the English People. Edited and translated by Diana Greenway. Oxford: Clarendon, 1996. Hue de Rotelande. Ipomedon. Edited by A. J. Holden. Paris: Klincksieck, 1979. Johannes de Alta Silva (Jean de Haute Seille). “Dolopathos,” sive “De rege et septem sapientibus.” Edited by Alfons Hilka. Sammlung mittellateinische Texte 5. Heidelberg: Winter, 1913. —— . “Dolopathos,” or, “The King and the Seven Wise Men.” Translated by Brady B. Gilleland. Binghamton: Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance Studies, 1981. “Le Lai d’Haveloc” and Gaimar’s Haveloc Episode. Edited by Alexander Bell. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1925. Map, Walter. De Nugis Curialium. Edited and translated by M. R. James. Revised by C. N. L. Brooke and R. A. B. Mynors. Oxford: Clarendon, 1983. Marie de France. Lais. Edited by Alfred Ewert, introduction and bibliography by Glyn S. Burgess. London: Bristol Classical Press, 1995. Odo of Cheriton. The Fables of Odo of Cheriton. Translated by John C. Jacobs. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1985. Paris, Matthew. Chronica majora. Edited by H. R. Luard. Rolls Series 57. 7 vols. London, 1872–83. Raoul de Cambrai. Edited and translated by Sarah Kay. Oxford: Clarendon, 1992. “The Romance of Waldef.” Edited by J. G. Smyly. Hermathena 18 (1919): 240–328. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Edited by J. R. R. Tolkien and E. V. Gordon. 2nd edition, revised by Norman Davis. Oxford: Clarendon, 1968. Thomas. The Romance of Horn. Edited by Mildred K. Pope. 2 vols. Anglo-Norman Texts 9–10, 12–13. Oxford: Blackwell, 1955, 1964. —— . “The Romance of Horn.” In The Birth of Romance in England: Four Twelfth-Century Romances in the French of England, translated and introduced by Judith Weiss, 45–137. FRETS 4. Tempe: ACMRS, 2009. Thomas [of Britain.] “Le roman de Tristan,” suivi de la “Folie Tristan” de Berne et la “Folie Tristan” d’Oxford. Edited by Félix Lecoy, translated [into French] by Emmanuèle Baumgartner and Ian Short. Champion Classiques. Paris: Champion, 2003. Thomas of Kent. The Anglo-Norman Alexander (“Le Roman de toute chevalerie”) by Thomas of Kent. Edited by Brian Foster. 2 vols. Anglo-Norman Texts 29–33. London: ANTS, 1976–77. “La Vie d’Edouard le confesseur”: poème anglo-normand du XIIe siècle. Edited by Ö� sten Söder­ gård. Uppsala, 1948. Wace. “Le Roman de Brut” de Wace. Edited by Ivor Arnold. 2 vols. Paris: SATF, 1938, 1940. —— . Wace’s “Roman de Brut”: A History of the British. Translated by Judith Weiss. Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1999. Revised edition 2002.

26

Introduction

Background

Bancourt, Paul. Les Musulmans dans les chansons de geste du Cycle du roi. 2 vols. Aix en Provence: Université de Provence, 1982. Bartlett, Robert. England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 1075–1225. Oxford: Clarendon, 2000. Beresford, Maurice W. New Towns of the Middle Ages: Town Plantation in England, Wales, and Gascony. London: Lutterworth, 1967. Reprint, Gloucester: Sutton, 1988. Borough Customs. Edited by Mary Bateson. Vol. 1. London: Selden Society, 1865–1906. Brears, Peter. Cooking and Dining in Medieval England. Totnes: Prospect, 2012. Brown, Jennifer N., and Donna Alfano Bussell, ed. Barking Abbey and Medieval Literary Culture: Authorship and Authority in a Female Community. Woodbridge: York Medieval Press/ Boydell, 2012. Burns, E. Jane. Sea of Silk: A Textile Geography of Women’s Work in Medieval French Literature. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009. Carley, James. The Books of King Henry VIII and His Wives. London: British Library, 2004. The Catholic Encyclopedia. 15 vols. New York: Appleton, 1907–12. www.newadvent.org/cathen. Clanchy, M. T. From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307. 3rd edition. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013. Cooper, Helen. “Magic that Does Not Work.” Medievalia et Humanistica, n.s., 7 (1976), 131–46. Crosland, Jessie. “Dolopathos and the Seven Sages of Rome.” Medium Ævum 25 (1957): 1–12. Damian-Grint, Peter. “Estoire as Word and Genre: Meaning and Literary Usage in the Twelfth Century.” Medium Ævum 66 (1997): 189–206. Djordjević, Ivana. “Saracens and Other Saxons: Using, Misusing, and Confusing Names in Gui de Warewic and Guy of Warwick.” In The Exploitations of Medieval Romance, edited by Laura Ashe, Ivana Djordjević, and Judith Weiss, 28–42. Cambridge: Brewer, 2010. Ekwall, Eilert. Concise Oxford Dictionary of English Place-Names. 4th edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1960. Genealogical Collections Illustrating the History of Roman Catholic Families of England. Part i. Edited by J. Jackson Howard and H. Farnham Burke. Privately printed, 1887. Green, Judith. The Aristocracy of Norman England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Hansen, Elaine Tuttle. Chaucer and the Fictions of Gender. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992. Hassell, James Woodrow Jr. Middle French Proverbs, Sentences, and Proverbial Phrases. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1982. Huot, Sylvia. Madness in Medieval French Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Kibbee, Douglas. For to Speke Frenche Trewely: The French Language in England, 1000–1600: Its Status, Description, and Instruction. Amsterdam: Benjamins, 1991. Kinoshita, Sharon. “Almeria Silk and the French Feudal Imaginary: Toward a ‘Material’ History of the Medieval Mediterranean.” In Medieval Fabrications: Dress, Textiles, Clothwork, and Other Cultural Imaginings, edited by E. Jane Burns, 165–76. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Lambley, Kathleen. The Teaching and Cultivation of the French Language in England during Tudor and Stuart Times. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1920. Liu, Yin. “Romances of Continuity in the English Rous Roll.” In Medieval Romance, Medieval Contexts, edited by Rhiannon Purdie and Michael Cichon, 149–59. Cambridge: Brewer, 2011.



Suggested Further Reading

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Morawski, Joseph. Proverbes antérieurs au xve siècle. CFMA 47. Paris: Champion, 1925. O’Brien, Bruce R. God’s Peace and King’s Peace: The Laws of Edward the Confessor. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999. O’Donnell, Thomas. “‘The ladies have made me quite fat’: Authors and Patrons at Barking Abbey.” In Barking Abbey and Medieval Literary Culture: Authorship and Authority in a Female Community, edited by Jennifer N. Brown and Donna Alfano Bussell, 94–114. Woodbridge: York Medieval Press/Boydell, 2012. O’Donnell, Thomas, Matthew Townend, and Elizabeth M. Tyler. “European Literature and Eleventh-Century England.” In The Cambridge History of Early Medieval English Literature, edited by C. Lees, 607–36. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Owst, G. R. Literature and Pulpit in Medieval England. Revised edition. Oxford: Blackwell, 1961. Palliser, D. M. ed. The Cambridge Urban History of Britain, vol. 1: 600–1540. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Quaritch, Bernard. “William Fermor Esq. of Tufmore [sic].” In Contributions towards a Dictionary of English Book-Collectors. Part xii. London, 1892–99. Raynaud de Lage, Guy. “L’inspiration de la prière ‘du plus grand péril’.” Romania, 93 (1972): 568–70.  Reynolds, Susan. An Introduction to the History of English Medieval Towns. Oxford: Clarendon, 1977. Rothwell, William. Review of Le Roman de Waldef (Cod. Bodmer 168), edited by A. J. Holden. Medium Ævum 56 (1987): 143–44. Russell, Delbert, trans. Verse Saints’ Lives Written in the French of England. FRETS 5. Tempe: ACMRS, 2012. Studer, Paul, and Joan Evans. Anglo-Norman Lapidaries. Paris: Champion, 1924. Thomas, Hugh M. The Norman Conquest: England after William the Conqueror. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2008. Tyler, Elizabeth M. England in Europe: English Royal Women and Literary Patronage, c. 1000–c. 1150. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2017. Vielliard, Françoise. Manuscrits français du Moyen Âge. Bibliotheca Bodmeriana: Catalogues 2. Cologny-Geneva: Fondation Martin Bodmer, 1975. Vince, Alan. “The New Town: Lincoln in the High Medieval Era (c. 850–c. 1350).” In The City by the Pool: Assessing the Archaeology of the City of Lincoln, edited by David Stocker, 159–296. Oxford: Oxbow, 2003. Wareham, Andrew. Lords and Communities in Early Medieval East Anglia. Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005. Weiss, Judith. “Arthur, Emperors and Antichrists: The Formation of the Arthurian Biography.” In Writers of the Reign of Henry II, edited by Ruth Kennedy and Simon Meecham-Jones, 239–48. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. —— . “The Exploitation of Ideas of Pilgrimage and Sainthood in Gui de Warewic.” In The Exploitations of Medieval Romance, edited by Laura Ashe, Ivana Djordjević, and Judith Weiss, 43–56. Cambridge: Brewer, 2010. —— . “Ineffectual Monarchs: Portrayals of Regal and Imperial Power in Ipomedon, Robert le Diable and Octavian.” In Cultural Encounters in the Romance of Medieval England, edited by Corinne Saunders, 55–68. Cambridge: Brewer, 2005. ——. “Mestre and Son: The Role of Sabaoth and Terri in Boeve de Haumtone.” In Sir Bevis of Hampton in Literary Tradition, edited by Jennifer Fellows and Ivana Djordjević, 25–36. Cambridge: Brewer, 2008. 

28

Introduction

Wogan-Browne, Jocelyn, Thelma Fenster, and Delbert W. Russell. “Si sa dame ne li aidast: Authorship and the Patron.” In Vernacular Literary Theory from the French of Medieval England: Texts and Translations, c. 1120–c. 1450, edited by Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Thelma Fenster, and Delbert W. Russell, 89–95. Cambridge: Brewer, 2016. Wood, Diana. Medieval Money Matters. Oxford: Oxbow, 2004. Woodcock, Thomas, and John Martin Robinson. The Oxford Guide to Heraldry. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990.

WALDEF In Britain long before our time there lived many powerful kings from whom nobles held their lands. What is now called England was then called Britain.1 Julius Caesar, who was bent on conquering, made a great effort to take it. Julius, the emperor of Rome,2 often came to conquer England with a fierce army, for he greatly desired the land. He came often with a large force, and often lost men, which left him heavy-hearted. Finally he conquered it by military might, with the help of Androgeus, a duke of Kent, as the Brut clearly tells.3 It relates how the Romans conquered it, received tribute, often suffered defeat, and subsequently lost the tribute.4 Whoever wants to know the story5 should read the Brut, and he will hear it there. (1–24) I want to tell you a story well worth listening to. It is based entirely on the truth, for it is about the English kings:6 how at that time they held, divided, and ruled the land, and what happened to them. This history is much loved and well remembered by the

1  5–6 What is now called England … Britain Bretaigne esteit … Engleterre clamee: subsuming the different territories of the British archipelago into England was a widespread convention in historiography and romance, most closely associated with Brut­-type narratives in the tradition established by Geoffrey of Monmouth and Wace. The Waldef poet invokes it here only to set aside the Brut tradition in broad outline (though he mines it throughout for evocative detail) and offer instead an English-centred, even regional, narrative.  2  9 Julius, the emperor of Rome Julius de Rome ert emperere: Julius Caesar (100–44 BCE), Roman general and statesman, was in fact assassinated before he could become emperor. He conquered Britain in 54 BCE.

3  17–18 with the help of Androgeus, a duke of Kent, as the Brut clearly tells Par Androgeu, un duc de Kent, / Com le Bruit conte apertement: Androgeus first appears as the fictitious nephew of the British king Cassibellaunus in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae (ca. 1138), which was translated into French by Wace in his Brut, some twenty years later. Cassibellaunus gives Androgeus the “duchy” of Kent, a historical anachronism since Britain at this period did not have dukedoms. In a subsequent feud with his uncle, Androgeus asks Caesar to invade Britain and promises to help him. See Geoffrey of Monmouth, The History of the Kings of Britain: An Edition and Translation of “De Gestis Britonum,” ed. Michael D. Reeve, trans. Neil Wright, Arthurian Studies 69 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2007); Wace’s “Roman de Brut”: A History of the British, trans. Judith Weiss (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1999; rev. ed. 2002). On the Waldef poet’s use of Wace see Judith Weiss, “Wace to Laȝamon via Waldef,” in Reading Laȝamon’s “Brut”: Approaches and Explorations, ed. Rosamund Allen, Jane Roberts, and Carole Weinberg (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2013), 541–60. 4  22 and subsequently lost the tribute Com perdirent puis le treü: following the conquest the British agree to pay the Romans three thousand pounds annually (Wace, Brut, vv. 4811–13). The Romans relinquish this when they leave Britain (v. 6211) but return in Arthur’s reign to demand it.

5  23 the story l’estoire: Rosalind Field suggests that “the term estoire is deliberately used in these lines to associate the narrative with the work of Wace and other historians as distinct from romance”; see Field, “Waldef and the Matter of/with England,” in Medieval Insular Romance: Translation and Innovation, ed. Judith Weiss, Jennifer Fellows, and Morgan Dickson (Cambridge: Brewer, 2000), 25–39 at 33. (See also Peter Damian-Grint, “Estoire as Word and Genre: Meaning and Literary Usage in the Twelfth Century,” Medium Ævum 66 [1997]: 189–206.) The author reinforces his truth claim by repeated references in this prologue to its putative historical sources. 6  28 English kings rois engleis: the pre-Conquest, Anglo-Saxon kings.

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English, by princes, dukes, and kings. That is, it was much loved by the English, great and small, until the Norman Conquest.7 When the Normans took the land the great histories composed in English survived and were translated for the people,8 who changed at that time, just as the languages did.9 Afterwards yet more stories were translated, such as the Brut, such as the story of Tristram,10 who suffered so much pain and sorrow, and of good King Aelof, who fought so much and so violently.11 These and many others that you can often hear are greatly loved by many people. These heroic tales,12 which were in English, have been translated into French. People in olden times had a very good custom: between them they remembered what had happened to them, committing all those 7  38 Norman Conquest la prise des Normanz: the Norman conquest of England took place in 1066.

8  40–42 the great histories composed in English survived and were translated Les granz estoires puis remistrent / Qui des Engleis estoient fetes, / Qui des aucuns ierent traites: these lines present numerous difficulties. Damage to the MS, which has left several words partly or wholly illegible, has effaced most of the word we restore as estoires (v. 40), a plausible reading. The blurred preposition of v. 41, rendered by Holden as des (“about the English”), was first deciphered as en (“in English”) by Anderson and later by Bainton, with whom we concur: are the stories “about the English,” as Holden implies, or “in English”? Remistrent (v. 40) can be the preterite of two different verbs, remaindre (remain, survive, continue, be left over), our translation, and remettre (restore, revive, remake, reinstall). See Robert Anderson, “Waldef,” in Le Roman jusqu’à la fin du XIIIe siècle, ed. J. Frappier and R. R. Grimm, 2 vols, Grundriss der romanischen Literaturen des Mittelalters 4 (Heidelberg: Winter, 1978–1984), 1: 283–91, 2: 216–221 at 2: 219; Henry Bainton, “Waldef [Dean 155] Prologue: Cologny-Geneva, Fondation Martin Bodmer, MS Bodmer 168, f. 1r-v,” in Vernacular Literary Theory from the French of Medieval England, ed. Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Thelma Fenster, and Delbert W. Russell (Cambridge: Brewer, 2016), 45–51 at 48, 50.

9  44 just as the languages did E les languages si changerunt: see Brut, vv. 1189–98, 3775–80, and passim.

10  47 Tristram Tristram: also known as Tristan or Tristran, lover of King Mark’s wife Iseut; the affair ends in their deaths. The story is known through the twelfth-century Anglo-Norman poem by Thomas of Britain (“Le roman de Tristan,” suivi de la “Folie Tristan” de Berne et la “Folie Tristan” d’Oxford, ed. Félix Lecoy, trans. Emmanuèle Baumgartner and Ian Short [Paris: Champion, 2003]), and later through Gottfried von Strassburg’s Tristan (trans. A. T. Hatto [London: Penguin, 1960]). Marie de France writes about Tristan in Chevrefoil (Marie de France, Lais, ed. Alfred Ewert, introduction and bibliography by Glyn S. Burgess [London: Bristol Classical Press, 1995]), Chrétien de Troyes mentions him in Erec et Enide (ed. Mario Roques, CFMA 80 [Paris: Champion, 1953]) and Cligès (ed. Alexandre Micha, CFMA 84 [Paris: Champion, 1957]), and he is the subject of a number of continental French poems, the best known of which is probably the Roman de Tristan of Béroul (ed. Stewart Gregory [Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1992]).

11  49–50 and of good King Aelof, who fought so much and so violently Com est Aelof, li bons rois, / Qui tant en fist des granz desrois: most likely a reference to Thomas’s Roman de Horn (Romance of Horn), ca. 1170; Aelof is the protagonist’s father. See The Romance of Horn, ed. Mildred K. Pope, Anglo-Norman Texts 9–10, 12–13 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1955, 1964) or The Birth of Romance in England: Four Twelfth-Century Romances in the French of England, trans. Judith Weiss, FRETS 4 (Tempe: ACMRS, 2009), 45–137.

12  53–54 These heroic tales … Ces gestes …: geste originally meant “actions, deeds” (from the Latin res gestae), but gradually acquired the meaning of “memorable actions” and eventually “narrative of memorable actions,” hence “heroic tales.” Peter Damian-Grint finds that its usual sense in histories is “Latin source” (“Estoire as Word and Genre,” 195). The Waldef poet specifies that his sources were in English, however.



Waldef

31

events to memory, so that their successors often recounted them, improving them in the process. (25–62) I want to tell you the history of the powerful and valiant king Waldef: how he was often betrayed, how he lost his two sons, taken away from him to foreign lands when they were very young, in which country each was brought up, how there was mortal war between them, how they eventually became good friends, and the many heavy misfortunes that befell them. (63–74) My sweet love asked me to do this as she made me a promise which filled my heart with hope.13 She strongly entreated me to translate this story and set it out for her clearly, so that she could read and learn. Since I dared not deny her, I did her bidding. Then I examined all the texts, studied the English history, and translated it into French. I do not wish to name myself now, nor reveal my love’s name. If I can complete the book, bringing it to a successful conclusion, I will indeed be able to reveal my love’s name and my own. (75–92) When the Romans held England, they sent a native of Rome to be king and defend the people and the land, so that no one should harm them.14 A famous knight of great prowess and valour, he knew well how to defend his land and vanquish his enemies. As was customary, he sent tribute to Rome. The king was much harassed by war, for as an outsider he was less feared and less respected than if he had been born in England. Numerous complaints often came to him about foreigners coming to his country over land and sea, to destroy and lay waste to his land: Irish and Scots and Welsh, Danes and the wicked Norwegians.15 He often defeated them, killing many and taking many prisoner. In the great wars which often broke out he defended himself very well. (93–118) From Norfolk the king received reports of frequent incursions into his territory by outlaws, thieves, and raiders intent on destroying the land. Repeatedly distressed by these reports, he called one of his relatives, Castor, a man of Roman stock. He was an excellent, valiant knight, bold, fierce, and a great fighter. “Castor,” the king said, “come forward. Look, here’s my glove as token that I give you all Norfolk, both near and far.”16 Accepting the glove, Castor said “Thank you, Sire!” and took leave of the king, then went away with a host of followers. He travelled by daily stages until he arrived in Norfolk. There he found a beautiful country, whose fine forests and rivers were well stocked with everything. Its islands, manors, towns, and people were all very handsome. He found no castle nor any fortified town. He crisscrossed this delightful country until he came to an 13  75 My sweet love Ma duce amie: on this figure and the question of the romance’s patronage, see Introduction, pp. 5–6.

14  95–96 the Romans … sent … to be king Uns rois i ot ... Li Romein l’orent enveé: historically the Romans did not send kings to govern Britain.

15  113–14 Irish and Scots and Welsh, Danes and the wicked Norwegians Ireis e Escoz e Waleis, / Deneis e les felons Noreis: according to Geoffrey’s Historia (VI.91) and Wace’s Brut (vv. 6142–44), these enemies, except for the Welsh, harass the British once the Romans depart, which leads to Britain’s invitation to Constantinus of Brittany (Arthur’s grandfather) to rule. Arthur defeats these foes.

16  133 here’s my glove as token par mun gant ci pernez: the glove was a symbol of office and authority.

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area that was then called Flegg,17 right on the sea, where people would come ashore to ravage the land and lay waste to it. Castor had stone and lime brought there and built a fortified city. He raised great dykes and made good walls, well banked with earth, and commanded his people to get to work right away building a strong, high wall, so that the city would not have to fear any assault. (119–62) Leaving Flegg, he went straight back to Norfolk. It was a lovely, summery day, and he surveyed the land for a long time. Near him he saw an inlet of the sea, where ships would dock, and close at hand he saw beautiful flowery meadows; on the other side were great forests, with rivers nearby. So Castor went down, and called all his men. “My lords,” he said, “what do you advise? I think I’ve never seen such a beautiful place in this land. Shall we stay tonight by this inlet, and choose a place where we can build a fortified city? That will make us much more feared, and also more secure. Not all strangers in this country are friendly to us. If you agree, I want to build a fortified city here, for this is the heart of our land.” “This should be done,” they all replied. Then they proceeded to mark out the city: they sent for masons and assembled the people of the land; they had stone and mortar brought and they raised steep dykes, making great haste to get the city ready. They had more than a thousand workers, some on the walls, some on the towers. All the walls were banked with earth, so as to be more secure. (163–200) When the splendidly fortified city was ready, Castor named it Castorie, after himself. From Castor it is called Castorie, so that we still remember him by its name.18 Castor greatly loved a knight of his called Brun, a very dear close relative. He gave Brun all Flegg and the fine city of Castre, so that he should protect the land by keeping out all raiders. Because it was given to Brun, the city was called Brancaster for a long time afterwards. Castor had another companion called lord Nero.19 He gave him excellent land in the north, near the sea. Nero, in turn, acted as a worthy man: he built a strongly fortified city there, with such a good, high tower at the gate that those inside would never be afraid. He protected the country all around, so that no one dared do any wrong there.20 Valiant and wise, Castor had many strong castles built throughout his land, on every shore. 17  150 Flegg Fleg: though now part of the mainland, the coastal area of eastern Norfolk known as Flegg was an island surrounded by marshes at the time when the Danes settled it following their conquest of England in 1016.

18  205 From Castor it is called Castorie De Castor l’apelent Castorie: Caister on Sea, where remains of a second-century Roman fort (castra) still survive, is not to be confused with Brancaster, in the north of the county, given to Brun (vv. 212, 216), or Caistor St Edmund on the river Tas, three miles south of Norwich and likewise settled by the Romans, which the author also calls Castre (vv. 247–52; “Caister” in our translation). Medieval etymologies for place names often trace them to the names of people; here, the poet is perhaps borrowing from Wace, who was in turn influenced by Geoffrey of Monmouth. Specifically, both authors explain that Brutus has named Britain after himself (Geoffrey I.21, Wace vv. 1175–78) while Tours has been named after Brutus’ nephew Turnus (Geoffrey I.20, Wace vv. 1025–26). 19  220 lord Nero danz Neron: Holden (288) believes Nero is introduced to explain the origins of Nereburc (vv. 4345 ff.), today’s Narborough, an inland town on the Nar, a tributary of the Ouse. 20  230 do any wrong: MS mesprendre: Holden’s mes prendre (“take more”) does not fit the context; we adopt the MS’s reading.



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In them he stationed loyal vassals, to defend the shore so well that no one could harm it. (201–36) Castor was now greatly feared. He protected his land so well that no one dared hurt him or do any kind of wrong. He dwelled in peace in his principal city, Castorie, as it was known for a long time. Much later, when the population changed, it was called Caister, from Castorie, as we find in the text. Still later, St Edmund became its lord.21 You have often heard tell how he was martyred and how his city was destroyed. (237–52) When the good Castor died, he was buried at Caister. After his death, his sons held the land and the entire domain. The world changed, times changed, kings and peoples died, the Romans lost the land, sometimes by peaceful means but also in war. And then the barons assembled and decided that, whether good or ill came of it, they would no longer allow foreigners from other lands to have anything to do with them. They would divide the land among themselves and rule it without outside help. Acting on their decision, they sectioned off the land. Each county remained separate, with its own king. If any king needed another’s help, all would come to his aid. Afterwards they agreed that all future kings of London would enjoy such high authority that when they sent for the others each would come to his great feast to celebrate with him.22 And if the king of London wanted to go to war, they would all follow him with their troops, wherever he led. If anyone opposed this, the others would attack him and decide together how to deal with him once he had been overpowered. Because of his valour, wealth, and power, the king of London had that authority over all the others in the kingdom. He was lord, king, and master of both London and Winchester, and people in the land all around were subject to him. (253–98) At that time there was a king in Norfolk and another in Suffolk.23 One of them, valiant, wise and renowned, was called King Atle. Beleaguered by wars, with enemies on every side, he was greatly impoverished, since foreigners often came into his land and burned his towns and cities, causing great damage. He fought with the king of Thetford and often laid waste to his lands. (299–312) 21  249 St Edmund Seint Edmund: King Edmund, patron saint of Bury St Edmunds (Suffolk), was martyred by the Danes in 869–870.

22  281 come to his great feast to celebrate with him Pur sa grant feste celebrer: the regular summoning of nobles to assemblies on major feast days is frequent in literary texts but also reflects contemporary historical practice. Failure to attend such an assembly was considered a serious affront to the king. For literary treatments see, e.g., Geoffrey of Monmouth’s and Wace’s accounts of royal feasts held by Uther (Geoffrey VIII.137, Wace vv. 8255 ff.) and his son Arthur (Geoffrey IX.156, Wace vv. 10199 ff.).

23  299–300 a king in Norfolk and another in Suffolk en Norfolque / un rois e un altre en Suffolque: the separation of the two counties reflects twelfth-century administrative divisions, but also the situation before the kingdom of East Anglia was established in the sixth century. When Waldef places both under his sway (see vv. 5561–63 below), his status is enhanced by association with the historical kings of East Anglia. In the early sections of the poem, kingship of Norfolk is associated with Attleborough and that of Suffolk with Thetford (see also v. 3249 and the note to it), even though Thetford, now part of Norfolk, was split between the two counties in the Middle Ages (Holden, 288).

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Unwine, who left the entire coast in ruins, lived at the same time. They say that he fought Atle for two-and-a-half days and neither could beat the other, but the story also tells us that they became friends in battle. After that they kept the peace well between them, but much later Atle died from the wounds he had received. King Atle decided to build a fortified town with a good, strong castle. He built it where he would be nearer to the king of Thetford so that the latter, who had been harassing him, should be more afraid of him. Atle then negotiated a two-year truce with his enemies, so he could build his great city, stronger than any other anywhere. It had good walls well banked with earth, steep, well built dykes, and four towers over the four gates, stronger than any others elsewhere. He built the keep, from which one could survey the country all around and see ships arriving from far over the deep sea, which came up to the castle on one side. On the other side were woods and forest, much to his liking.24 Since the city was very strong, the king was the more feared. He busied himself greatly with it and gave it his own name, calling it Attleborough because he had built it.25 Later, lacking a good lord, it was destroyed by a ruthless king, causing great suffering.26 (313–54) When King Atle died and was buried there, his heirs held the land after him, protecting it as best they could, up to the time of King Elfere. He was a good king, valiant and bold, who defended his land so well that in his whole life he never lost any of it through cowardice. There is an excellent story about him, which most people remember. After Elfere came Waldef, a very good, even-tempered king, no better in the world. He greatly vexed the kings around him, his close neighbours, when they wronged him in any way, but he never hurt anyone unless they had hurt him first. (355–74) After Waldef came Bedemund. There was no better king in the world nor one who knew better how to protect territory. He was a brave, generous and proud king, who protected the whole country well and destroyed all his enemies. In his whole life he never lost any of his land. When King Bedemund died, his son Giac came after him. He too was a brave and worthy king, none more powerful in the land. He never cared for peace but was always at war with his neighbours. He never let the king of nearby Thetford enjoy peace, and often raided the land of the powerful king of Colchester, king and overlord of Essex, killing many of his people. He hated his mortal enemies and greatly loved men loyal to him; his great affection for them brought him great honour. Both in pitched battle and in skirmish he was stronger than anyone. (375–400) 24  344 forest, much to his liking les forez tut a sun chois: “forest,” a technical term in twelfth- and thirteenth-century England, designated royal land set aside for hunting and governed by special laws. It did not necessarily have trees or woods. See Robert Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 1075–1225 (Oxford: Clarendon, 2000), 673–74. 25  349 Attleborough Atleburc: according to the Concise Oxford Dictionary of English Place-Names, Attleborough (“Atleburc” in the Norfolk section of Domesday Book) derives from “Ætla’s burg.” Though the poet places the town on the seacoast (vv. 341–42), it is actually in central Norfolk, some thirty miles from the coast, as Holden notes (288).

26  353–54 lacking a good lord … great suffering Pur defalte de bon sengnur / Iert ele destruite a dolur: Holden suggests (288) that this could be an allusion to a historical event, though he thinks the reference too vague to allow precise identification.



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After Giac, his son, King Bede, held the land. He was a most brave and valiant king, but he spent his whole life in fighting and warfare. Although he never kept his land in peace, a better knight never girded on a steel sword. But he had a very bad habit for a powerful man: he greatly loved foreigners and despised men of his own land. He took as much as he could from his own men and gave those possessions to foreigners. Because his men came to hate him for this and were less willing to serve him, his retinue was made up of foreigners. Then misfortune befell him, so that he had to flee from his country to a foreign land. A soldier called Dereman accompanied him, a renowned knight, none better in the realm. He was the son of the king of Hertford,27 so brave, bold, and strong that he had never found a knight who could endure his blows. At the time he was serving the good king Bede for the sake of a sister of his, whom he loved with all his heart, and she loved him just as much. We have never heard of anyone so discreet as they were, for they greatly feared the king. She was so lovely, well bred, and radiantly beautiful, that I think no woman ever born was so prized for her comeliness. She resembled a fairy more than anything else, and her name was Odenild.28 (401–42) No one alive knew about the affair, either from Dereman or from the girl, so circumspectly they acted and so discreetly they met. Whenever Dereman wished, he would come into the castle and climb across the high wall at night, believing himself to be quite safe. In this way he came to Odenild and took his pleasure with her. But within a month they would come to grief. The king had a seneschal,29 a vicious, thoroughly evil fellow called Frode. This Frode had a son called Frodelin, basely disloyal, yet enjoying the king’s favour. He greatly envied Dereman because he was so valiant. Having made thorough inquiries about Dereman and Odenild, he knew all about their love, how Dereman came and went, and what he did there. One night Frodelin went to ambush Dereman, girded with his steel sword. He was malicious and very cruel, and carried a hidden javelin. As he stopped beside the wall he saw Dereman and let him pass without opposition so that he could go and talk to his love. When Dereman returned and was about to climb down the wall, the wicked traitor stepped forward, swung his arm, threw the javelin, and pierced him through the body with it, so that he fell to the ground. Dereman promptly jumped to his feet and drew his good burnished sword. He had no trouble recognizing the young man,30 who quickly turned to flee. “Villain,” said Dereman, “why have you killed me? May God confound your fiendish face! You’ve returned evil for good. You’ll never escape me alive.” At that he struck him with his steel sword, so that his head flew from his trunk. 27  425 Hertford Hereford: MS Hereford for what should be Hertford. Hertford is a town twenty miles north of London, while Hereford is close to the Welsh border, very far from the area where the poem’s action is set. Holden retains “Hereford”; see his note, 288–89. Variant spellings for both the city and the county, Hertfordshire, recur throughout and are normally not individually noted.

28  441 she resembled a fairy more than anything else Plus de nule rien semblot fee: romance heroes and heroines are always exceptionally beautiful, sometimes supernaturally so. Ernild, heiress to the king of Lincoln, will be praised in the same terms (v. 3287 below). 29  455 seneschal seneschal: the wicked seneschal, or steward, is a stock figure in medieval romances, but it is unusual to find the seneschal’s wickedness displaced onto his son. The rivalry of royal courtiers to gain the king’s favour is a commonplace of medieval literature. 30  485 young man vaslet: a young man of noble birth serving a lord; see AND, s.v. vadlet.

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He retraced his steps, climbed over the high wall again, and came back to Odenild, who jumped to her feet at once. (443–96) “My love,” she said, “welcome! Why have you come back?” He replied with a sigh, opening his cloak: “I’ve come back in great pain, dying because of your love. The son of Frode the seneschal—may God give him shame and great misfortune—has pierced me thus through the body with a big javelin, sharp and keen.” When she saw the blood that streamed down his side, she fell to the ground in a faint, calling upon Saint Mary. “Alas! what shall I do, poor wretch? Now that I’ve lost the living thing I love most in this world, I’ll never again feel any joy.” She fainted again, then wept, moaning and lamenting. You have never seen such intense grief; she would willingly have died there. “My fair love,” he said, “let be. What good is this sorrow? Your distress gives me more pain, truly, than my death.” “Ah!” she said, “my dear,31 your bright face is now so pale! You were so brave and bold; and now we shall be parted! May the Lord God never look with favour on the man who struck you with that javelin.” At that she once again fainted, so that her soul almost left her body. When she came to she began again her great lamentation, wishing she were dead. No man alive could have failed to feel pity to see their violent grief, as they wrung their hands and tore their hair. (497–536) “Ah Dereman, my love,” she said, “you’ve suffered so much pain for me; I’m the cause of your death. It wouldn’t be right for you to die thus for me unless I were to die for you. If you die, I too shall die; there’s no other way out. The truth is, I’m pregnant by you.” At that she renewed her lament. “I am indeed with child; it has quickened.”32 Then she fainted again. “When King Bede finds out, he’ll have me burned at the stake.” “My fair love,” said Dereman, “now listen to me for just one moment. You are pregnant by me; I’m certain our child will be a boy, and I’m very happy about it. When the boy is born, have him well looked after, for you will yet have great joy. I’m sure that after my death the child will be a great comfort to you. (537–560) “Now I must go, my dear; I can no longer stand on my feet.” At that he went to kiss her, and as he bent down he fell to the ground, for his strength had failed him. He stood up again with difficulty, and left, weeping. With that they parted, never to see each other again. When Dereman left, Odenild stayed, lamenting sorrowfully, now fainting, now grieving, and calling herself forlorn and miserable. “Ah, what shall I do, wretch that I am? How distressed and dejected I am! Why can’t I die right now? I’d welcome that! Ah heart, how hard you are, harder than a stone in a wall. You’re too strong: why won’t you break? Since I can’t die this minute, wretched creature that I am, I’ll let myself fall from the tower, or drown myself in the sea. No one can stop me!” She stood up, a grieving woman, and would soon have killed herself, when her handmaiden ran up to her, grabbed her in her arms, and held her back, holding her tightly, while Odenild tried to break free, cry31  523 my dear beauls amis: an expression that can be addressed both to a friend, as in “fair friend,” and to a lover, as it is used here.

32  547 it has quickened Ço sui ... de vif enfant: when Odenild says she is carrying a vif enfant (living child), she means she is far enough along that she expects to go to term; according to some medieval medical handbooks, it was at this point possible to predict the child’s sex, so Dereman may have reason to believe it is a boy (v. 554).



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ing and wailing. “Let me go at once,” she said. “May God afflict you! Why won’t you let me go?” Trying to shake her off, she went toward the door, tugging, while the maid held her back. Odenild pulled and dragged in one direction and the maid pulled in the other. They dragged each other about until they were both exhausted and fell onto a bed, still holding each other. (561–604) The maid said to her: “Now, my lady, put aside this madness and just listen to me. You are bearing a child who has already quickened. You’d commit a great sin if in your anguish you chose to kill yourself and your child. It would be too great a folly; you’d be lost and damned. Let go of this insanity, and when you give birth you’ll do it here, secretly. It will never be discovered. We’ll look after the child very well, and it may all turn out for the best. No one alive will ever know this or pay any attention to you.” She begged her so much, entreating her so sweetly, that she dissuaded her from this sin, and left her sleeping. (605–26) When the knight left, he climbed over the wall with great difficulty, went straight to his lodging, and immediately asked for the priest. He received the last rites from him, then died. The city bells tolled, and there were great displays of grief. Everyone, young and old, children as well, wept in the streets. Everyone lamented his death continually, crying loudly: “Alas, valiant Dereman, you were so valorous and such a great fighter! Who will defend us now? Never again in our lives will a man come to this land and defend us so well from all our deadly enemies, who have left the country in ruins.” (627–46) On hearing the news, the king felt such terrible grief as he had never felt before. They buried the body reverently in a church. But let us turn from Dereman to Odenild, who grieved and lamented greatly, with unfeigned sorrow. When her time came, she had a most fair and beautiful child. Then she called her handmaiden, very troubled. “My friend, what can we do? Advise me. If the king knew about it, he’d have us burned at the stake. Now, do you know what I’ve been thinking? As soon as it’s night, take this child with you and go to the shore where the ships are. Leave him there discreetly and make sure to return quickly. I’m certain that when the sailors find him they’ll cherish him; as soon as they find him, I know they’ll look after him. We won’t be found out but will be left in peace forever.” And the other replied: “I agree; depend on me to do it.” (647–76) As soon as night fell and the city was quiet, they took the child and got him quite ready, bathing him in warm water and wrapping him in silk. Around his neck they hung a beautiful and precious ring, worth at least thirty marks. On his chest his mother placed a letter: the person who found the child, the letter said, should look after him well and keep the ring with him.33 The handmaid took the child up and left the room, going out through a postern gate so that no one noticed her, and went straight toward the sea. She saw a large group of people coming quickly toward her, but she did not know who they were. They asked who she was but, knowing nothing of them, she would not respond. 33  690 should look after him well and keep the ring with him Od cel anel bien le gardast: recognition tokens accompany abandoned infants in a number of medieval stories, such as the romance Sir Degaré, Marie de France’s Lai le Freine and its Middle English translation, and the Legend of Pope Gregory. Tokens may be objects such as rings, rich cloth, or letters; money may also be left with the child.

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She left the road, and abandoned the child on the grass in a large hazel thicket to the right. Then she went back to her mistress, and told her in great detail how she had fared. They managed things so discreetly that people never knew anything of what they had done, so well did they conceal it and cover it up. (677–712) The king greatly loved his sister and later gave her to the king of Huntingdon, a brave and courteous knight called Felix. He was very young, the same age as the lady, who was a model of grace and good sense. She was a lady of such great renown that she had no equal in the land. (713–22) One morning King Bede rose and called all his hunters to go hunting in the forest to amuse and entertain himself. While one of the hunters was chasing an animal, blowing his horn at intervals,34 he heard that child crying. Going at once toward the sound, he found it on the grass, lifted it up, and carried it away, going straight back to his lodgings, where he called his hostess. “Lady,” he said, “come here.” He took her into a room and showed her the baby, telling her from beginning to end how he had found the child in the forest. They quickly undressed the infant, whom they found more beautiful than any they had ever seen. As the lady searched the child, she found the ring on him, and very gently removed it without his noticing. They examined the child for a long time and both of them repeatedly declared that he must be high-born, no matter who had left him there. (723–50) The lady, who was childless, laughingly said to the hunter: “Give me this infant, for that will be greatly to your advantage. I’ll have him brought up and baptized, and looked after as if he were my own child.” And he replied: “I agree. He’s yours now, upon my word.” So the lady brought him up and had him named Florenz. She had him well cared for, so that he never lacked anything, neither clothes nor drink nor food. Once the child could walk, he often came and played at court. Everyone talked about the boy, how handsome and well proportioned he was; no fairer had ever been born. He would go to court when King Bede was at dinner and come before the knights. Because he was so handsome, they were very fond of him, often giving him food and calling him “Foundling,” because he had been found. The king would often call him, give him food, and heap praise on his looks. He often wished to God that the boy were his son or his nephew because he was so shapely. (751–84) I will leave the child for now and tell you of King Bede, who was much harried by a terrible war. When his enemies heard that the brave Dereman was dead and buried, they became hostile to Bede, and gathered a large army. Three mighty and powerful kings, strong, fierce, and wealthy, from Cambridge, Thetford, and Colchester, entered Norfolk by force, burning and ravaging the land. King Bede did not know what to do. When he could not withstand their warfare he wanted to retreat, or flee the land in search of aid and assistance. His people could not help him because they were so impoverished. So many of them had been wrongfully dispossessed and were now poor beggars, utterly unable to help him. And the foreigners let him down and no longer wanted to serve him when he could not reward them as he used to. They all went away, leaving him to 34  729 at intervals D’un en altre: Holden (289) notes that in this context the expression d’un en altre should mean “at regular intervals,” even though that meaning is not attested elsewhere.



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grieve bitterly in front of his people. He then realized that if he had loved his people, and greatly cherished and honoured them, giving them the gifts he had bestowed on foreigners, the war would never have happened. (785–820) King Bede was very troubled, since he did not have the forces to defend himself against his enemies or join battle with them. He summoned all his barons, affirming his great affection and friendship. “My lords,” he said, “listen to me. See what a sorry plight I’m in, and how wretched and miserable I am, since I don’t dare fight against my deadly enemies, who have destroyed this whole country and mortally hate me. Since we don’t have the men to fight them, we must endure their attacks. I’ll have a ship made ready for me at once and go to Neustria, where I’ll ask the brave King Morgan for aid and assistance.35 He’ll give us much help, and you can be sure that I’ll bring you excellent aid as soon as I can.” He summoned his seneschal, whom he greatly loved and trusted. “Frode,” he said, “come here. You are very wise. I entrust my land to you, to defend until my return.” He also summoned Gimund, a most renowned knight, more loyal than anyone in the world, and commended his city to him. Finally he told all his men to be loyal to one another and defend his well provisioned cities, while he went into foreign lands to seek help for them. (821–60) When his ship was ready he boarded it in utter secrecy, with only four other knights, and set sail at once. His people stayed behind, greatly mourning his departure, but lord Frode and lord Gimund, together with the remaining barons, negotiated a one-year truce with their enemies. They returned to their country and arranged things so well that they suffered no losses that year. (861–74) King Bede sailed until he arrived in what was then called Neustria and is now Normandy. Finding the land ravaged, they asked a peasant who had laid it waste. Their enemies, he replied, because the mighty king of France with his whole French army had attacked King Morgan,36 laying waste to the entire land. At present he was besieging Morgan in his principal city, Rouen. King Bede travelled day and night until he arrived in that city and took lodgings there. Rising early in the morning, he put on splendid clothes and went to the king’s court, where he soon introduced himself to King Morgan. He said he was from a foreign land and, having heard of his war, had come to serve him, if Morgan was willing to retain him. (875–900) King Morgan paid him great honour and thanked him for his offer. He told King Bede how harshly the French had treated him. The Normans talked a lot about Bede because he was so tall and handsome, and they said that he must be a man of great prowess. Then they heard a great cry, which rang through the streets: “Mount, knights, mount at once! To arms, to horse! The seneschal of the king of France has arrived with a great force, at least two hundred knights with him, all armed and on their warhorses.” (901–16) 35  841 King Morgan roi Morgan: less frequently, Morgan is called duke (e.g. v. 1051).

36  883 the mighty king of France de France li riche rois: Under the kings between William I (the Conqueror) and John (Lackland), England was part of the Angevin or Norman “empire,” which stretched from England through Northern France to Sicily and crusader kingdoms in the Middle East. The French, from central France, differed both linguistically and politically from the Normans.

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At once they left the king, went quickly to their lodgings, and armed themselves carefully. King Bede rode out of the city ahead of everyone else, lance in hand, shield hanging from his neck. With him were his companions, who would now strike valiantly. The seneschal saw him right away but did not recognize him, and said to his companions: “Listen! I see a knight coming all armed on his horse. I don’t think he was born in this country. He’s a foreigner! If I don’t get his good horse, I’ll never be happy.” Without further delay, he spurred his horse, and they struck each other great blows on their shields with sharp, keen swords. The king struck him with great force through the body, knocking him flat on the ground. That turned out badly for the seneschal! At that point the king could not spend more time on him nor capture him, so he seized the horse and led it away, entrusting it to one of his men. The French ran to the spot. They found the fallen seneschal, so badly wounded that they had great trouble carrying him away. King Bede advanced; he clashed with a Frenchman, and toppled him from his good horse. Then he called to his English men: “Now strike, my friends! Strike, my noble lords!” And each one struck his man and made him fall far from his horse. (917–58) At that point King Morgan arrived with his powerful army, and told his Normans that the English were extremely valiant: “They have cut down I don’t know how many, striking skilfully with keen swords, and their lord is highly regarded: he has avenged us on the seneschal, who did us many an ill turn and killed many a knight. There are no more than five Englishmen, but how they fight those French! Would to almighty God that we had a hundred like them! I’m sure we could cut down French pride before this month is out. Let’s go at once to their aid!” Then they all dug in their spurs and went off to strike their enemies. They smashed many great spears there, emptied many saddles, and knocked down many knights. Indeed, the English did very well, coming and going in a body, King Bede in front of them, carving a path for them with his sharp blade. The battle was hard and fierce, and many died there in great pain. The French got the worst of it, for many of them were taken or killed. They turned tail, fleeing toward the army, and our men pursued them. In the army the news spread, and the king grieved both for his Frenchmen who had been captured and for the seneschal who had been killed. He often swore many great oaths, by the God he worshipped, that the city would be destroyed before the month was out. (959–98) Morgan went back to his city, happy and overjoyed. The English king and all his men were greatly praised. They entered the city, carrying the booty they had taken and bringing with them their prisoners, for whom they would get large ransoms.37 They were delighted to have captured seventy. Afterwards they went to their lodgings, where they were all disarmed. Morgan sent for Bede and paid him great honour that day. King Morgan had a sister; I believe there has never been a woman of such worth, beauty, learning, or goodness. The flower of the kingdom, she surpassed every other woman in reputation, and she was very well educated. Her name was Ereburc. At dinner Morgan placed her next to Bede, then said to him, laughing: “My lord Bede, enjoy yourself now! Eat with 37  1006 for whom they would get large ransoms Dunt en prendrunt grant raançuns: holding prisoners of war for ransom was common and could be very lucrative. For examples see Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 242, 284–85. See note to v. 6923.



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this girl; I’ve put her next to you to delight and entertain you.” Bede thanked him warmly, for he had never been so happy before. (999–1028) Bede gazed at the girl, for he had never yet seen anyone so beautiful. He could not take his eyes off her lovely face, whiter than the lily, and her beautiful body, tall and shapely. He thought the man she loved would be fortunate. He was so captivated by her beauty that he sat there quite dumbstruck. The girl thought much the same. She gazed at him, sighing, amazed at his beauty, so handsome and comely was he. Softly she said, under her breath: “Lord, what fine people these Englishmen are! How shapely and handsome this one is! If his love were true, a king’s daughter certainly ought to love him sincerely and be faithful to him.” They often exchanged looks, but no word was uttered. (1029–50) When Duke Morgan had eaten, everybody went to their lodgings in the city, and Bede went with them. He went directly to his rooms, saying nothing to anyone. Bede was now overwhelmed by love, so that he quite forgot his country. He paid no heed to it, for he cared about nothing but love. He fell onto a bed, saying he had been struck by such pain that he could do nothing but lie there quite still. He sighed and lamented bitterly, for love had him firmly in its grip. The girl was in the tower, overwhelmed by love. She did not know what to do, nor did she dare tell anyone her trouble. “Alas, the land of England! How badly bred are your people! They are too passive! They don’t know how to talk to women or serve them, although they are very handsome and shapely, and full of valour. They’ve been taught bad manners: they shouldn’t leave their country and go abroad if they don’t know how to talk to people. If he had addressed me first and said a single word about love, I would have opened my heart to him, even if he thought it presumptuous. But if I had spoken to him first about such feelings, he would have considered me wanton and thought less of me for it. If I can manage to talk to him at leisure, I’ll tell him exactly what I want, and then leave the outcome to fate.”38 She was so overcome with love that she did not know what to do. She could neither stand nor lie down calmly, but went often to the window to gaze at the city, toward the lodgings of the man she now loved. They ardently loved each other, yet neither knew anything about the other’s feelings. Thus they behaved for a whole week, and indeed longer. (1051–106) Bede lamented bitterly, and everyone was sorry for him. He could neither eat nor drink, nor even stay in his bed. He dared not reveal his feelings to anyone, not knowing what might happen. The king of France was furious at the loss of his men. He summoned Count Girard, the lord of Blois, his sister’s son, a most courageous knight. There was none better in all France, nor who struck better in a fray. “My fine nephew,” he said, “come here. I order you quickly to take a thousand knights, the most prized in my army, and proceed to that city. Should you find those traitors there, seize them all at once, for they’ve wronged me, as you know.” And Girard replied: “I shall readily do your command!” He went back to his lodgings, armed himself as fast as he could, then ordered 38  1094 and then leave the outcome to fate E puis soit nus al covenir: Holden observes that E puis soit nus al covenir is an unusual construction, and suggests that mis al covenir would make better sense (291). The manuscript clearly reads nus, n with a superscript us abbreviation (f. 7va), but it is possible that the copyist’s exemplar read mis.

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his trumpets sounded and all his knights to arm. With great pomp and arrogance they rode up to the city. When the inhabitants saw them, they came out at once to confront them, and King Bede and all those in the city quickly armed. King Morgan appeared, fully armed on his warhorse. “Bede,” he said, “what shall we do? Should we attack them, or keep to our defences?” Bede replied: “Certainly we shall fight them! We’ll come out of the city and attack them with great force. I’ll charge them immediately with a hundred knights, and the good count of Mortain, who never fails in time of need, will take another hundred with him, the best of all his men.39 He’ll be glad to strike, and keep the battle going. And you will follow us with your powerful men. God willing, we’ll hit them very hard and soon defeat them all.” Bede rode out of the city and said to his companions: “My lords, we’ll soon see who’ll strike hard for his lady’s sake.” He struck a knight, parting his soul from his body, and a second and a third, knocking them off their good warhorses. Then they all joined battle, badly wounding each other. The worthy Count of Mortain appeared and cut off many heads, helping brave King Bede. (1107–74) King Morgan now rode out boldly with his men, often urging them to strike hard. They attacked the French without mercy. Both sides struck at each other. There you could have seen so many noble men fallen, dead or wounded or maimed, and so many riderless horses. So many knights were howling and crying. Ive, an English-born companion of the valiant Bede, spurred forward.40 He met a Frenchman and gave him such a blow with his sword that he knocked him dead to the ground. When count Girard saw this, he spurred at full gallop in that direction. Quickly turning on Ive, he fought him fiercely, knocking him off his horse, so he lay dead on the ground. But Bede soon came along and struck many blows with his keen sword, shattering many strong helmets. Count Girard advanced with a hundred armed knights to encounter King Morgan. He fought the king fiercely and captured him in the fray, along with as many as ten knights. They carried Morgan off as a prisoner and often called him a wicked traitor, saying that he would surely be hanged in the morning. (1175–1212) When Bede heard that Girard was leading Morgan away, he shouted his war-cry at the top of his voice. “My lords,” he cried, “help now! The king our master is captured. If he’s taken away like this we’ll all suffer, we’ll be dead and done for! We must help him at once!” They spurred their horses, and Bede went ahead, keeping his good sword unsheathed, so that no one he hit could escape death. Many died there in agony as they helped Duke Morgan. They captured Count Girard along with four brave knights, the most powerful in all France, and killed many of the others, whose bodies covered the fields. The French soon fled, with the Normans pursuing them. One French knight, pierced through the body, rode away, racing his good horse into the French king’s camp, straight to the king’s tent, though he could barely stay in the saddle. When the king recognized him, he said: “Tell me at once, who has hit you? Where are my men? What have they done? Tell me how they are faring. Have they had any success? Haven’t they 39  1151 Mortain Moretuien: an important Norman county, initially established in the twelfth century for Robert, probably an illegitimate son of Richard I of Normandy. 40  1187 Ive Ive: Holden (291) notes that at this juncture the name is left blank in the manuscript, but v. 1196 makes clear that Ive is meant.



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taken the city?” “No, my lord,” said the knight, “they haven’t. We are completely defeated. Count Girard of Blois is a captive, along with all our best men, and just as many are dead as captured. They’ll never return home.” When he finished, the king said: “So did they get help?” “Yes indeed, sire, from five Englishmen, who alone killed all our French men. But one of them is especially brave. People here call him Bede. He struck so well with his steel sword that no one could oppose him.” The king was extremely distressed that his army had been beaten in this way. (1213–64) King Morgan joyfully returned, making quickly for the city, bringing along the prisoners, who would yield large ransoms. The wounded were carried in and the dead all buried. When King Morgan disarmed, he was happier than ever before in his life. He had his prisoners well guarded in his tower. Throughout the city he had it proclaimed that everyone should come to dinner with him. King Bede was summoned, and the king paid him great honour, placing him next to his sister at table. At that time he had no idea of their great love, which later caused him grief. Bede was now highly esteemed, and the whole country talked about him. (1265–84) The girl sat at dinner and looked at Bede, often pensive and sighing, because in her heart she was wretched and angry that he would not talk to her, nor utter a single word of love. Bede knew by her sighs that she was desperately in love. “Maiden,” he said, “you are very much in love. Is your sweetheart far away then? How fortunate he must be, to be loved by you. If I were of such worth that you loved me, I should be happier and more joyful than if I’d been given the world. But I’m not of such noble birth nor of such high lineage. I haven’t the wealth, possessions, land, or power that would make me worthy of your love.” She replied: “That’s nonsense! You shouldn’t say that. I’d never act that way. I’m no merchant’s daughter, transferring my love from person to person for their gold or their silver. I’d rather love a courageous mercenary who has nothing but his horse than an emperor’s son with all his enormous wealth, if he wasn’t brave. But you are highly esteemed, even if you come from another land. You have great power, worth more than any other possession, along with great beauty, goodness, valour, and prowess, worth more than any riches. In love nothing should be considered except renown, valour, and esteem. One should never look for high rank, noble birth, wealth, breeding, authority, lineage, or power. Since you possess so many qualities, I believe a king’s daughter certainly ought to love such a man, even if he were a foreigner. Even if you were the son of a poor nobleman,41 you have so much valour and courage that an emperor’s daughter could honourably give you her love. So I shall tell you what I feel—don’t think it presumptuous of me! Ever since you came to this land and joined the duke, I’ve heard you so greatly praised by everyone that I’m sure it is right to love you above all else, and so I do, truly! But I dare not tell you what I desire.” (1285–1348) And he replied: “My lady, you have now told me news which makes me so very joyful! For my part I can tell you much the same. Truly, since the moment I saw you I’ve been so captivated and distressed by love of you I don’t know where to turn. I thought I would go quite mad. I’ll tell you everything: I have suffered so much pain for you, such torment, grief, distress, and sadness, that I couldn’t have stood it much longer. I would have died.” 41  1337 poor nobleman un vaassur: a nobleman of lower rank who held land from a great lord.

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In getting to know each other, they spoke so long together that in the end she promised him she would go with him when he left the kingdom; no reproof could ever hold her back. So they swore to each other that no one alive should notice or find out anything about their love. Bede was now gladder and happier than he had ever been, since he was sure of his beloved, whom he loved more than his life. After this he stayed all that year with the noble Duke Morgan. He served him to the best of his ability, so that the French king was forced to come to terms with Duke Morgan, because he could no longer hold out against him. Thus they came to an agreement to be good friends, and released their prisoners. Then the king went back to France, very sad over the great loss of his men. (1349–90) Duke Morgan was in excellent spirits. Bede came to him and said: “My lord duke, listen to me. As you know well, I have served you, avenged you on your enemies, and expelled them from this country. You are in full possession of your land, where you will never again fear war. I cannot stay longer with you but wish to return to my country, and if I have served you well, I swear that gives me great pleasure. A year and more has passed since I came here to you. If you happen to need me to do anything more in this land, whether in peace or war, I’ll never refuse to serve you as my lord, nor shall I ever fail you.” “My lord Bede,” said the duke, “postpone this journey and stay here with me. You shall have plenty of gold and silver. This very day I’ll give you the best fief in my land. If that seems too little to you, I’ll give you more without delay: strong castles and fortified cities, as many as you’d like to take.” King Bede answered him: “My lord, thank you. I didn’t come here to acquire land; I don’t want a foot of your land, or even half that, because I wish to go back to my country, where I left some of my friends. I don’t know if they’re dead or alive but I’m sure they fear for me.” The duke could not hold him back, for he saw how much he wished to go. He gave him plenty of gold and silver, silk clothes and plate, fine horses and fine war steeds, the costliest in the land. (1391–1434) Bede took his leave of the duke, who granted it reluctantly, and returned to his lodging. The city mourned his departure bitterly, for everyone cared for him, respected and cherished him. Then he sent word to his beloved that he was all ready to go to his country, for he had already taken his leave, and she should immediately prepare to join him in the evening. She had never been so happy, and quickly got ready. As soon as it grew dark, with the city quiet and everyone asleep, she left the tower and came to Bede’s lodging, and they went on their way. King Bede received her with great joy. They speedily mounted their horses, went straight to the sea, and found there a ship ready to hand, which they boarded without delay. They had a favourable wind, and sailed night and day until they saw England, which they easily recognized. Bede then remembered for the first time that he had left the country at war when he departed. He did not know what to do, whether to turn back or land to inquire for news. And if the land was conquered and subject to his enemies, he would return to the duke he had served so well, and relate to him exactly how he, the king of a mighty country, had lost his land through war: while he had been in the duke’s service, his enemies had conquered it. The duke would come to his aid and he would re-conquer his land. At that point he saw some fishermen sailing in the sea. Bede called to one of them and asked him how things were in the land, and



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whether they had peace or war. And the man replied that the land was perfectly peaceful all the time, because King Bede had gone away into who knew what realm but lord Frode and lord Gimund, and the barons who had stayed behind, had protected the land well. They would find it perfectly at peace there. (1435–98) When Bede heard the news, he was heartily glad, and said what good men he had, who had so loyally guarded his country from all his deadly enemies. With a good wind and a fine breeze, they gained the port safe and sound, landing at Attleborough. Then Bede summoned all his barons, who came with all speed and received him joyfully. (1499–1510) Now, back in his city, the king summoned his barons from all around. He gave them plenty of gold and silver and whatever pleased them, for he was extremely grateful to them, and often thanked them for guarding his land. After this he married his beloved, and they held a wedding feast, more opulent than has ever been seen. Many gifts were bestowed there, much gold and silver, silken clothes and magnificent tunics, palfreys, mules, and horses: the king gave generously to all who would ask. King Bede became very bold: he summoned his country’s army, rode against his enemies, and ravaged their land, laying it waste. Through this war, he intended to destroy his enemies. Then his foes joined forces, bringing the armies from their lands. Between them they gathered a mighty host and advanced on King Bede, intending to crush him. They repeatedly swore they would never leave his land unless they took his body with them, dead or alive. (1511–40) When King Bede heard this, he quickly summoned his men and arranged his affairs, laying in plenty of provisions. He considered his crowded land, overburdened with people, and decided to get rid of the old men, keeping with him the young ones, who would give him valuable aid.42 Then he had it proclaimed throughout his land and announced in the market-places, appealing to all men’s love of honour, that no one over sixty should be either seen or discovered after thirteen days, in borough, town, or city, without at once losing his head.43 After that, anyone sheltering him would be at the king’s mercy and forfeit life or limb: there was no avoiding that. Since people feared King Bede very much, no one dared stay for a moment after they heard the proclamation. They hid themselves in many places. Those most cherished were concealed in cellars and given rations in secret, while the rest were driven far away into foreign realms. (1541–72) All that year King Bede endured suffering and distress, with good fortune and bad alternating, as frequently happens in war. There’s a saying that whoever wants to wage war must expect both to win and to lose. Before the year was out, the king had much success, defeating all his enemies. Driving them from his land, he ruined them, taking a

42  1547–2104 He considered … trusted her again En sun curage purpensa … en li puis ne se fia: a widespread medieval story which, Holden suggests (25), comes from Johannes de Alta Silva’s third tale (“Senex”) in the Latin Opusculum de rege et septem sapientibus (The Narrative of the King and the Seven Sages), written at the end of the twelfth century or beginning of the thirteenth, here joined to the motif of female treachery. See also Jessie Crosland, “Dolopathos and the Seven Sages of Rome,” Medium Ævum 25 (1957): 1–12.

43  1558 his head le pié: Holden retains MS pié (“foot”), although he observes (292) that it is unsatisfactory and suggests that the original word may have been chef (“head”).

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great deal of booty. He established peace in his land, so that there was no longer anyone who dared do him any wrong or stir up war against him. After the war was over, the king rode through his land, hunting in his forests, which were always abundantly filled with stags, hinds, and boars. (1573–96) King Bede held a great feast in Caister, where he appeared cheerful and happy, with all his barons gathered together. On the third day, when they dispersed and went back to their lands, he was very downcast. He sat in the great hall, much preoccupied and deep in thought. Then Gimund appeared in front of him. “Sire,” he said, “what’s on your mind? I now see deep dejection in that face which is usually so serene. Sire, if you’re thinking about something that frightens you, you shouldn’t hide it from me but tell me openly.” The king replied: “Since you ask, Gimund, you shall know it. I’m concerned about my friends, of whom I have few in this country, while I have many enemies and fear their wickedness. Though you’re young, you’re renowned for your wisdom, and your father, Gimund, was very wise, brave, and noble-hearted. We’ll soon know whether you take after him in wisdom. Now I want to learn from you who is trustworthy. As you love me and hold your lands from me, I want you to bring me your jester,44 your enemy, and your friend. Bring them here to me within eleven days.” And Gimund replied: “My dear and gracious lord, I shall willingly do that.” (1597–1636) He took his leave of the king and went away, thinking hard. He travelled all day until he reached his stately castle. Bede’s request had left him deeply perplexed and worried. His wife kept asking why he was so unusually preoccupied, but he did not want to say, so, changing the subject, he did not reveal his thoughts. Gimund’s father, also called Gimund, was a very old man, renowned for his wisdom. Gimund kept him well guarded in one of his cellars, so that no one knew he was alive except him, his wife, and his servant. Turning over in his mind what the king had asked him, he went to his father and told him word for word what the king had said: that next time he should bring before him his enemy, his friend, and his jester. If he did not do so, he would soon be ruined or shamed. (1637–68) When his father saw his son dejected and downcast, he listened to his words and thought hard. “My dear son,” he said, “don’t be afraid. You’ll get through this well. Appear promptly before the king on the appointed day. Bring with you your hunting dog, which you love so much, your son and your wife, whom you love and cherish so dearly. Take them there, as is prudent. You’ll say of your dog that he truly is your friend: if you ever maltreated, beat, or hurt him and drove him away from you, he’d still be glad to see you, however much you’d abused him. If you had to cross the sea and he couldn’t go with you, he’d let himself die rather than forsake you. I’m sure it’s true that you have no better friend. Tell the king this about your son: however worried or angry, distressed or anxious you may be, when you see your child playing in front of you and you can speak to him, laugh and jest and have fun, your child will give you more joy and pleasure, 44  1632 your jester tun gugleür: an entertainer with many skills, which include music, comedy, and acrobatics (see AND, s.v. jugleur).



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I believe, than a harper, a rote-player, or a fiddler.45 That day you’ll easily show him that you have no better jester. (1669–1708) “About your wife, whom you love above all else, you’ll tell him exactly what you think, without holding back, whoever might disapprove. If you ever beat her or maltreated her, or struck her hard, or treated her brutally, so as to upset her, and if she knew anything blameworthy about you, whether wickedness or treason, whereby you could lose your life, you’d quickly be betrayed. You can tell him for sure that you know of no worse enemy.”46 Gimund did not forget what his father had told him, and he was very relieved and glad to have received such advice. When the appointed time approached, Gimund called to his wife. “My lady,” he said, “come here. Dress yourself most elegantly, in silken clothes with fine ornaments. You are coming to court with me. The queen wants to see you and is keen to talk to you.” The lady dressed herself richly, happier than ever before. She put on shimmering samite,47 so that she would be noticed at court. Then Gimund got ready and went off to court in good time, bringing with him his wife, his hunting dog, and his son, whom he loved so much, together with a large retinue. He found the king in Attleborough, and they all came into his presence. “My lord king,” said Gimund, “listen to me. Here I am, having carried out your command. You gave me an order and told me that this very day you wished me to bring you my friend, my jester, and above all my enemy. Here they are in this place: my hunting dog, my son, and my wife. Here they are, my dear and gracious lord. You’ll never see a finer dog than this one here. There’s no better in the world, nor one who loves his master more. Now, no matter how much I were to beat him, humiliate him, break all his bones, and chase him away from me, he would return to lie at my feet and would never willingly leave. Or if I took to the sea and left him behind, he would rather drown himself in it than be parted from me. I’ve told you what I think: the hunting dog is my true friend. (1709–72) “Now I’ll tell you about my child, for whom I feel such great love. No matter how sad I am, if he comes to me I feel joyful and glad seeing him so handsome and lively, and when I see him playing, dancing, jumping, and laughing, even though he is little I feel enormous delight, more than I would get from a harper or fiddler or rote-player. This is my jester, sire; I have none better. I shall tell you this much about my wife: I certainly don’t know any better than her. I feel such great love for her that I know no one better in the world. But I’ll tell you one thing about her, and I won’t refrain from saying it for fear of her. If I were in a mood to wrong her, or strike her or offend her, so that she was angry with me, and if I had committed some crime for which I should lose my life, or some mortal treachery, unknown to anyone in the world except her alone, she would tell people about it, just for that one grievance—that would be that. Love wouldn’t keep her 45  1706 a rote-player … a fiddler un rotur … un gigur: the rote was a triangular zither with strings on both sides of the sound-box; the gigue was a stringed precursor of the violin. 46  1720 for sure: MS reads de fi, not defi.

47  1737 shimmering samite un ver samit: samite, a rich silken fabric occasionally interwoven with gold, was a luxury; see E. Jane Burns, Sea of Silk: A Textile Geography of Women’s Work in Medieval French Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 186.

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from having me torn from limb to limb. You have heard my opinion: I have no enemy but her.” (1773–1808) The lady was furious, and immediately jumped up in consternation. “My lord,” she said, “you’re wrong! You speak about me infamously. I am not your enemy, nor have you suffered any loss through me. But you are the king’s enemy, and I shall tell you why: against his orders, you have most secretly kept your father in a cellar. You have him cared for and treated with respect, supplied with what he wants. You deserve to be hanged, or burned to ashes on a pyre, since you didn’t deign to obey the order of the king—to whom you owe love and loyalty—for a single day, nor to serve him as your lord.” Having heard her, the king smiled, and said to one of his earls: “This lady is very angry and now has gone much too far. It’s not up to her whether her lord is ruined, put to death, killed, or forever dispossessed.” Those in the hall burst out laughing and often said to each other that they would never believe women nor place any trust in them, because a woman can hide nothing. How then could a woman love, when in a fit of anger she might reveal what she had done? (1809–44) Because of this, women incurred much hatred. Men turned against their wives and mistresses, whom they greatly neglected and reviled for a long time. I believe that she would not have spoken out against Gimund, her dear husband, even if given the city of St Rémy.48 … We should not blame ladies when we cannot praise them. There is no man alive so wise or so noble that he does not sometimes do wrong, as we surely know. I shall tell you this much about the lady I serve: I dare not say or argue that she has her equal for virtue. It would take me too long if I were to show all her beauty and great worth, her nobility and sweetness, as well as her virtues, more numerous than in any other woman. I will speak no more of ladies, whom I commend to God. My story returns to the king, in whose presence the lady spoke. (1845–72) “My lord Gimund,” said the king, “listen to me now. It’s not up to your wife whether you are hanged or burned, but by concealing your father in this way you have gravely offended me.” “My good lord,” said Gimund, “mercy! I’m not about to lie to you. My father was a very old man and seriously ill. Because he couldn’t look after himself, I had to take care of him. I certainly did put him in a cellar and had him tended as best I could. Do what you like with me, for you have heard the truth.” “Now tell me, Gimund,” said the king, “I ask you by the faith you owe me: who gave you the advice—whoever did so was most loyal—to bring your wife here and present her as your enemy, and to bring your dear son and your hunting dog, which you hold dear?” “Sire,” he said, “I’ll tell you, there’s no point in hiding it. My father gave me the advice and had me bring them here.” “My lord Gimund,” said the king, “I’ll judge in your favour, so help me God. Now go fetch your father and have him come straight to me. I mean to bestow great honour upon him: I’ll make him my counsellor. He’s a man of great wisdom and I may have great need of him, and for love of him I declare that all the old men who have been banished or hidden will return to their country and henceforth hold their lands in peace.” (1873–1914) “Sire,” he said, “thank you! In this you do me great honour.” The lady stood before the king, terrified. “Sire,” she said, “listen to me. My lord king,” she said, “mercy, for God’s 48  1852 Holden (293) notes that the scribe accidentally skipped the final line of a quatrain.



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sake! Reconcile me to my husband, for now he’s very angry with me. It was certainly due to extreme anger that I said something so foolish.” “My lord Gimund,” said the king, “look at your wife, who stands here. I know well she has greatly angered you, but I can certainly see that she regrets it. Pardon her now, for love of me, and don’t bear a grudge. The foolish words she said to you were prompted by extreme anger. Don’t you have any understanding of people and of women’s traits, of how women have little common sense and little forethought? Just because they are slightly cross, they’ll tell everything they know. However dear a friend is to them, if they know a damaging secret about him, they’ll never conceal it for long but reveal it in anger, no matter how close a friend he is or how deadly the secret. How would they conceal things about others when they can’t even be discreet about what they themselves do right now? On the contrary, they have to reveal it. Don’t take any notice of their words. You know well women’s nature. Now I’ll tell you what I’ve learnt and know about them. When they set their sights on someone, they love immoderately and too much. This love doesn’t last long, just until the woman gets angry. Be wary of that! However much you may love your wife, if you ever forbid her anything, whether good or bad, she’ll insist on doing it, and the more that annoys you, the more she’ll enjoy it. She’ll go out of her way to do it, and threats will never deter her. Each of you should know this well. If you want her to do something that really pleases you, even if it’s hard for her, you can be sure that she’ll do it as well as she can if you forbid it, and no pain will deter her. What you want, she won’t do. What you don’t want will be done. What you love, she’ll hate, and what you hate, she’ll love. They are all perverse in this way. They are so bad (and I really want everyone to hear this) that when she welcomes you with the greatest joy, and kisses and embraces you (they are all of this school), she is planning some mischief to deceive and trick you, and fool you with her pretence. When she is in front of you, weeping tenderly, begging you for mercy if she has wronged you or anyone else, apparently feeling the most grief, anger, and sadness, swearing on relics this will never again happen, then above all beware trickery. By her demeanour, by her tears, she will be planning to trick you. Under her breath, she will often say no oath would ever make her desist. Such are women, my lord Gimund. You think you have the best in the world, the most loving toward her husband and the most unwilling to anger you, but now you ought to know her well and how far you can trust her. No one can defend himself from them. They are greatly to be feared. (1915–2010) “My lord Gimund, I’ll tell you more of what I know about women. Women have yet another custom, as every man knows very well. No matter how true a lover a woman may have, and no matter how greatly he may favour her, if he takes it upon himself to admonish her just a little bit about her folly she’ll no longer love him but will hate him ever after. And even though her hate for you may be intense, from the moment she realizes that you condone her folly and don’t admonish her, then, indeed, know well that she’ll favour no one more than you.”49 (2011–26) 49  2021–23 And even though her hate for you may be intense, from the moment she realizes that you condone her folly E pur quoi ele bien vus hace, / Mes sul itant qu’ele le sace¸ / Que sa folie consentez: we adopt Holden’s emendation of MS se fole to sa folie (Holden, 294).

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“Moreover, Gimund, I tell you that many men have been betrayed by women. In vain do they discipline, strike, beat, and scold them. But I’ll tell you the best retribution I know of. Keep her closely confined and shabbily clothed. If she suffers privation, with shabby clothing and little to eat and drink, she has her due. Pay no attention to her weeping. Each of you knows well that these are the things she most detests. If she complains, let her! Don’t temper her punishment on account of that. If she suffers hardship and adversity, all this should greatly please you. And the tougher you are with her, the better you’ll find her to be. Neither strength nor prowess, wisdom, beauty, power or wealth can avail against a woman and her propensity for deceit. The strongest man who ever lived was deceived by a woman. That was Samson the mighty, whose body was so strong. And King Solomon the wise, who was such a high-born king and possessed such great wisdom, was tricked by a woman, and King David was similarly tricked by a woman.50 Who can now protect himself and trust a woman when the strongest and the wisest who ever lived were so mistreated, deceived, and betrayed by women? (2027–66) “Therefore I don’t marvel at us, my dear lord Gimund, nor at you, when men who were so strong and so wise couldn’t protect themselves from either betrayal or deception. No wonder you’re wary of them. May the devil take them all! Women have an odd way of thinking and are good at deceiving men. When a woman wants to do something that will advance her,51 she’ll know well how to seduce the fool. So first she’ll embrace him and kiss him tenderly. From this he can easily understand that she is after his possessions, but when she’s got what she wanted she’ll soon think no more of him. He, on the other hand, will never recover anything he’s given her. A woman never loves you so much that you wouldn’t find yourself outside the door should someone else come along and give her a little more. No matter how craven he may be, as long as he’s willing to give more, he’ll be much more cherished, respected, served, and prized. Now take your wife away, and if she suffers trouble and affliction she has greatly deserved them. But do something for me: forgive her for my sake, and don’t shame her.” Gimund agreed to the king’s request and took his wife away with him. Thereafter he never loved her as much and never trusted her again. (2067–104) King Bede was greatly loved and greatly feared by his men. They loved and cherished him very much, for he was an excellent ruler. By his wife he had a son, whom they called Waldef,52 a beautiful child. But the good king did not live long. He fell ill when the child was only a year-and-a-half old. Summoning his earls and his barons, the king gathered them all before him. He sent for his seneschal and entrusted his land, as well as his dear son and his wife, to his care, giving him everything to administer. He charged him in the 50  2053–60 Samson … Solomon … King David Sampsun … Salemon … li rois Davi: the three names form a topos of misogynistic discourse in much medieval literature, as examples of important men brought down by women; see, for example, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, ed. J. R. R. Tolkien and E. V. Gordon, 2nd ed. rev. by Norman Davis (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), vv. 2417–18, and G. R. Owst, Literature and Pulpit in Medieval England, rev. ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1961), 385. 51  2077 When a woman wants Quant la veult: as Holden notes (294), two syllables are missing from this line, which must have read Quant la feme veult … (feme counts as two syllables).

52  2110 whom they called Waldef Waldef leal baptizer: we follow Holden’s suggestion (294) that the MS’s leal (or le al) must have originally read l’apele al.



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name of friendship, and adjured him before his people, that once the child was of age, and wise and strong enough to protect the land, they should all raise him to the throne. And they replied: “We shall do so. We shall look after him to the best of our ability.” After this King Bede died and was buried with great solemnity. He was greatly mourned in the country, with everyone lamenting and grieving for him. (2105–32) For a long time Frode took care of the land in such a way that no trouble came to it. He took over the castles and fortified towns, and did his will with them all. The poor greatly feared him and the rich greatly loved him because he gave them great possessions and treated them with respect. He was a very shrewd man and had enormous wealth, some of which he distributed to his neighbours so that they should all be favourably disposed to him. He firmly maintained peace in the country, and all goods were plentiful there. Afterwards he summoned all his barons and had himself raised to kingship. He took the queen and married her by force, then put her in a tower to be closely guarded, so that she could not escape. The king was utterly ruthless. (2133–53) One day, he saw the child walking before him in his palace in Attleborough, his principal city, of which he was lord and liege. Watching him closely, Frode devised a terrible treachery—may almighty God confound him! He would have the child killed, for he was a threat to him. If he were to live long, he would cause him a great deal of trouble. At once he summoned a young man, asking him to come to him discreetly. People called the young man Foundling because he had been found in the forest, but his real name was Florenz. He was very handsome, courteous, and well brought-up. The king asked him to approach. “Come here,” he said, “my dear friend. Would you like to be very powerful, wealthy and prosperous, and mighty in my land?” And he replied: “My dear lord, I would gladly be that.” And the king replied: “You shall be, if you do what I ask. Seize the son of King Bede and secretly take him away as soon as night falls, so that no living creature knows of it. Throw him into the sea, far off, and take great care to conceal this. For this you will be richly rewarded, and you will always be dearer to me on account of it.” The young man turned to go, having told the king that he would indeed do that. (2154–90) At nightfall, Florenz went to the child’s room and took him away, unnoticed by anyone. Walking very fast, he made his way straight to the sea, often looking at the child, and saying to himself, “Alas! What have I done! I will so often be reproached with the crime and the treason I mean to commit wrongfully against the son of my excellent lord, the like of whom I’ll never have again. Alas! Alas that I ever considered that! I’d rather be burned to ashes or hanged from a high gallows right now than to have committed this crime. Cursed be the life of the man who thought of the treason and ordered me to undertake it!” He then turned aside, going straight to a village. He asked around until he found an old woman there. Speaking kindly to her, he gave her much and promised more, in return for her promise that she would take good care of the child all that year. The bargain was quite agreeable to both, and the young man went back at once. (2191–222) Having got up early, the king quickly made his way to the hall. He saw the young man and summoned him. “Tell me the news now,” he said. “What have you done with the child? Have you carried out my order?” “Yes, sire, indeed,” he said. “I think you won’t see him again.” The king replied: “This will be to your advantage. Make sure no one learns of it.” The king now rejoiced greatly, for he truly believed the child had drowned in the

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sea, as he had intended. One day, in good spirits after a meal, he asked for his horses and went out to amuse himself. He and his knights went for a ride on the beach, and the king gazed at the sea for a long time. On their way back they rode through a village. Children were playing in a street, and the king stared at one of them. The child was so handsome and well proportioned that the king marvelled at his beauty. He observed him for a long time, then asked a woman who his father was. “I truly don’t know,” she said. “I won’t lie, sire. A young man from your court, very pleasant, courteous, and handsome, paid me so much and entreated me so earnestly that I’ve looked after the child for him this past year and more already.” The king stopped, greatly angered, and swore to almighty God—for he had indeed recognized the child—that the man who should have killed him must die by nightfall. He would have killed the child himself except that this would have made him look bad. The king turned back and went straight to the court. He saw the young man and summoned him. “A curse on him who begot you!” he exclaimed. “Base traitor, you’ll die now! You’ll be hanged from the gallows. You’ll rue the day when you failed to do to the child what I had ordered you. You have greatly offended me. And you, why didn’t you kill him, as you’d told me you would? You’ve handed him over to be cared for […]”53 (2223–82) Florenz was frightened. He earnestly entreated the king. “Sire,” he said, “mercy, for God’s sake! On my word of honour, I assure you I threw the child into the sea and found the body the next day, and there indeed I got rid of it and buried it on the shore. If you’re doubtful and don’t believe this, I will, if you wish, go to his grave and bring you tokens: either one of his arms or a foot, which no doubt you’ll easily recognize.” The king was silent, then he spoke. “Traitor,” he said, “go there at once, go! If you don’t bring me any tokens you’ll be flayed in the morning.” (2283–300) The young man leaped up and left at once. Desperately afraid, he fled fast, going straight to the sea, where he saw a ship being prepared. The ship and all on board were ready, waiting only for night to fall. Turning quickly, he went back to the child, and took him away. On his return, he talked the sailors into allowing him and the child to board the ship and go with them. As soon as they could, they weighed anchor and took to sea, sailing until they landed in Normandy. Having safely reached the shore at Fécamp,54 they disembarked and went to the city of Rouen, where they stayed for a long time. They spent a good five years there, until Waldef was handsome and tall, and very courteous and attractive. Florenz was much loved at Duke Morgan’s court and by all the townspeople, who often commented on how quick-witted and wise he was for his age. He watched over Waldef well there, anxious not to let anyone discover his identity. He was greatly afraid of King Frode, for if Frode knew for certain that Waldef was in this country he would contrive to have him killed. Florenz was very courteous and much loved by the townsmen and the ladies of the city, who gave him lavish gifts, including gold and silver, which brought him great prosperity. (2301–42) 53  2282 The second line of the couplet is missing.

54  2319 Fécamp Feschamp: a port in Normandy active in cross-Channel traffic in the Middle Ages.



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So it happened that the city children were playing with the sons of wealthy burgesses, as they once used to do. The son of the city’s mayor was having much fun playing games, but they played together so long that in the end they fell out. The boy was so angry at Waldef that he punched him with his fist. And when Waldef felt the blow he did not take that as a joke but became furious. He promptly picked up a rock and struck the mayor’s son so hard that he fell dead to the ground. (2343–58) When the wise men of the city learned of this, they seized the boy immediately.55 People rushed to bring him to the judge, and told him how the boy they had arrested had killed the mayor’s son. Some wanted to sentence him to be hanged or dismembered. Others, seized by great compassion for him because he was so handsome, wanted to help him and shield him from this dispute. At that point Florenz appeared. He was very angry and upset when he heard that Waldef had thus been apprehended and that they had sentenced him to death. Then he thought of what he could do. He could not tell anyone of his anguish. “O, God!” he said, “what agony I feel for my good lord’s son, who has now been sentenced to death here! O, God! What grief and what a pity! What a great loss that will be! If he lived to come of age no one would be better, for he’d resemble his father. If I could die for him and save his life in exchange for mine, I’d certainly do that. I wouldn’t shrink from it for anything in the world. My loss would be negligible, as I’m not high-born. Nothing good can come from me, but his good qualities are inexhaustible.” Little did Florenz know how closely related he was to Waldef, as his first cousin. One was the sister’s child, the other the brother’s, as you have heard earlier. (2359–400) As he came before the judge, his heart was full of grief when he saw the child restrained and about to be sentenced to death. “My lords,” he said, “listen to me. What do you want from the child who stands here? Why have you brought him here? Has he done something bad? Indeed, you have wrongfully seized him.” The sheriff replied:56 “He well deserves to die. I believe he is guilty of homicide, for he has killed my child, and this is why we have arrested him, in accordance with the custom of the land. He’ll be either burned or hanged from a high gallows.”57 (2401–18) “My lord sheriff,” said Florenz, “now wait just a minute! This child you’re holding here and accusing of your son’s death—you should know that’s all wrong, for he isn’t guilty of it. It was my fault: I killed him because he had greatly angered me earlier. I struck him with a stone so that I felled him dead to the ground. I was afraid, so I ran away and hid in a cave. After that you seized the child and did with him as you pleased. Now 55  2359–63 When the wise men … to the judge Quant li sené de la cité / Unt cele aventure esgardé, / Mult tost i cururent la gent, / Le vaslet pristrent erraument; / Amené l’ont a la justise: we adopt Holden’s suggested reversal of vv. 2361 and 2362 (Holden, 294).

56  2411 the sheriff li vesquons: father of the slain boy, he was earlier referred to as the town’s mayor (Le fiz al maire de la cité, v. 2347) or simply the mayor (Li fiz al meire, v. 2365). The same person could have held the office of mayor concurrently with that of sheriff, representative of royal authority in a county; see note to v. 10703. 57  2418 hanged from a high gallows en haltes furches pendu: death by public hanging (sometimes followed by the hanging of an executed criminal’s corpse or body parts in a public place) was meant to serve as example and warning.

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release this child, whom you’re about to sentence to death. Judge me, here before you, for I won’t resist death. On the contrary, I’ll await your judgment.” They seized Florenz at once and said to him openly: “Since you’ve confessed with your own mouth, you’ll be hanged this very day.” (2419–42) Waldef was before the judges, with tears in his lovely eyes, when he saw how they held Florenz, who was willing to suffer death for his sake. When he saw Florenz’s hands being tied behind his back, he started to cry again, often saying to himself: “God! How badly things are now going for me, when I’m about to lose such a friend, who has so tenderly cared for me. I still don’t know who I am, and will never find that out from him, nor can he ever tell me. Now here he is, having surrendered himself to death for my sake. He’s most wrongfully treated, since he’ll be put to death for something he isn’t guilty of. He’s too noble! I will in no way let him die but will die myself, having better deserved death.” (2443–64) He came before the judges and proudly addressed them. “My lords,” he said, “you do wrong in wanting to kill a man who hasn’t deserved death. I’m the one who hit the child with the stone so that he died from it, yesterday morning as we played. Now judge me according to this action and let him go in peace, for he was definitely not present when the child was struck down. Many townspeople know that he’d gone hunting.” “My lords,” said a burgess who was very learned in their laws, “now we don’t know whom to condemn and whom to release from death, since each wants to save the other. I’ll set this out before the duke. We’ll do as he decides, so that we aren’t reproached.” He quickly rose and went at once to the duke, telling him everything from beginning to end. The duke sent for them, and when they were brought before him he observed them for a long time. Seeing that they were handsome and well proportioned, great pity for them seized him. Then he spoke to them: “Where are you from, from which country?” “Sire,” Florenz replied, “all our relatives are English. Most of our kinsfolk were born there.” (2465–500) The duke said: “Which of you was rash and bold enough to kill our mayor’s son and cause us such a great loss?” Florenz replied: “Sire, I did it, and killed him through my own fault. Now judge according to my action, and let him go in peace.” To which Waldef responded: “Truly, sire, I struck the blow that killed the child. This man is most wrongfully accused.” The duke ordered that they should both be carefully guarded. By the next day he would know which of them to condemn. “Oh, my lord the duke,” Florenz said, “before we’re thrown in prison please allow us just a short delay, so that I can speak to you and tell you what’s on my mind. You may hear something that will afterwards give you great joy.” “I agree,” said the duke. “Come here now, and speak to me.” And Florenz stepped forward and knelt before him. “Sire,” he said, “now listen. You see there this child, whom they want to sentence to death. But you shouldn’t allow this. Instead you should feel affection. He’s your nephew, your sister’s son. He’s the son of the beautiful Ereburc, who was such a noble maiden, and whom King Bede, who once served you so well, loved so much. When he went to England, he took the maiden with him and married her with great honour. He conceived this young man with her. King Bede was much loved. He was crowned king of Norfolk, he was powerful and wealthy, and in his land he was well endowed with secure castles and good men. He often defeated his enemies. (2501–48)



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“When he was about to die, he summoned his seneschal, Frode. He entrusted to him his entire land, as well as the queen, whom he loved so much, and his son Waldef here, who was then very young and small. He had no other heirs and bequeathed his realm to him. After King Bede died and was buried, the villain married the queen and handed the child over to be killed. I took the child away and brought him to this land. We’ve been in this town for more than five years. I dared not reveal this to you because I was so afraid of the villain, who would have had the child killed at once if anyone had told him of it. This is how I have acted to protect your nephew. (2549–70) “The children were amusing themselves by playing in the street. Your nephew Waldef was there, as was his custom. Along came your mayor’s son, who was angry with Waldef because Waldef was more loved and more praised than anyone. In his great anger he hit Waldef, and Waldef hit him in the head with a large stone, killing him. He committed the crime because he was very angry. Waldef was captured and brought before the judges, and in order to save him I decided to offer myself in his place. Whether he was right or wrong, I wish to endure death for his sake, because I’ve cared for him and saved him from death before. I know that if he lives he’ll have no match in this world. It would be a huge pity if a man of such high lineage were to be condemned and executed for so little cause. You’ve heard the truth—do with us as you will.” (2571–98) When the duke heard this speech, he looked at Waldef gently and recognized by his face, his bearing, his build, that he resembled his good father, who had served him in the past. “My friend Florenz,” said the duke, “tell me now, before God, whether you’re in any way related to Waldef.” “Sire,” he said, “not at all. I was never a kinsman of his; I’m very sorry I’m not.” The duke called Waldef to him and kissed him many times. He told the townspeople that the two had been fully pardoned for the killing of the child, for which they had both been arrested. They had been so fully acquitted that henceforth no one was to be so bold as to even mention this, since they would enjoy his strong protection. Instead they should all go home, for the two were his close friends. One was the son of a good friend of his and from now on he would never cause them trouble. The townspeople turned back, some happy and glad, and others, who were related to the dead child, angry and aggrieved. (2599–628) The duke would not betray them. He greatly feared the perfidy of the English, who would have the boys killed if they should learn of this. The duke loved them and greatly honoured them. He did his best to educate and look after them, so that people should love them. He had Waldef serve at his table and sleep in his chamber.58 They stayed with the duke so long that Waldef grew to be handsome and well proportioned. Having passed his fourteenth year, he had entered the fifteenth. He could flatten any young man in the town, no matter how bold or nimble, if they came to blows, and if anyone angered him, he could bind that man hand and foot. When the duke learned that he was possessed of such strength and excellence that he could be a knight, he decided to knight him soon. (2629–52) 58  2637 serve at his table Devant li … servir: to serve a king or magnate at table was an honour, to which privileges were attached.

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On the feast of the Trinity the duke gave arms to both Waldef and Florenz.59 They had splendid equipment, and for their sake twenty young men were knighted with great pomp.60 That day many people greatly praised both Waldef and Florenz. The Normans said among themselves that they had never seen two youths as sumptuously equipped. Florenz was the elder, old enough that his moustache was already appearing, but Waldef was young, having just turned fifteen. Afterwards they took their leave of the duke, who gave them riches. They went to foreign lands, wherever they heard talk of war. Waldef was sad and downcast, for he did not know who his relatives were. (2653–74) They went to Spain and stayed there a long time, serving the mighty king so long and so well in his wars that they won much praise and renown. They were much loved in the land. When they wanted to leave, the king offered them fortified castles and wealthy towns, extensive lands and prestigious fiefs, provided they would stay with him, in his pay. But they would not accept that, for they did not care to stay. The king gave them gold and silver, and anything they wished. They took their leave, went away, and arrived in Gascony, where they led a very good life, performing many knightly deeds. After they left Gascony they came to Burgundy,61 where they stayed until they acquired great renown there. Through Provence they made their way into Poitou, and across Brittany and Anjou, where they stayed nearly a year and won much. They had splendid retinues and paid high wages. Never did they enter a fight without winning it. When they had stayed there as long as they liked, they took their leave from the rulers they had served and went away, journeying by daily stages until they came into Normandy. They were highly renowned in the country and the region. Duke Morgan was delighted that they were so greatly praised for their feats of arms. They stayed with him a long time. (2675–717) One day they went hunting and took two deer and a boar. When they were about to return, Waldef said: “My dearest master,62 I entreat you to tell me without delay who I am, of whom I was born, from what lineage I’m descended, and why the duke has loved, cared for, and honoured us so much.” “My lord Waldef,” said Florenz, “this is indeed the right place and time for you to learn about your lineage. You are the son of a king and a 59  2653 Trinity une Trinité: first Sunday after Pentecost, itself celebrated fifty days after Easter Sunday.

60  2657–58 for their sake twenty young men were knighted with great pomp E vint vaslet pur sue amur / Sunt adubez a grant honur: groups of young men were often knighted together, both historically and in romance. Horn receives knighthood along with fifteen companions (Horn, ed. Pope, vv. 1392–452) and Guy of Warwick is knighted with twenty companions (Gui de Warewic, ed. Alfred Ewert, CFMA 74–75, 2 vols [Paris: Champion, 1932–1933], vv. 629–56). Geoffroi de Charny gives instructions to “all those who are to be knighted the next day” (“The Book of Chivalry” of Geoffroi de Charny: Text, Context, and Translation, ed. Richard Kaeuper and Elspeth Kennedy [Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996], 167). 61  2696 Burgundy Buluingne: we concur with Holden (295) that Buluingne (Boulogne) is almost certainly an error for Burguingne (Burgundy).

62  2722 master mestre: on the special relationship between a young nobleman and his mestre (master, tutor, mentor, role model) in the twelfth century, see Judith Weiss, “Mestre and Son: The Role of Sabaoth and Terri in Boeve de Haumtone,” in Sir Bevis of Hampton in Literary Tradition, ed. Jennifer Fellows and Ivana Djordjević (Cambridge: Brewer, 2008), 25–36 at 25–26.



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queen, and are of noble origin. You are the son of Bede, the good king, who once fought so much and so violently. There was no such knight in the world, nor one who was as praiseworthy. King Bede was your father, Queen Ereburc your mother. She was the sister of Duke Morgan, whom your father served for many years, protecting his land well. But when he parted from him, he took with him the duke’s sister. He married her in England: it was indeed there that you were begotten and born in the noble city of Attleborough. Your father was proclaimed its king but did not live long after that, as he fell ill soon afterwards. He sent for all his barons and assembled them before him. To his seneschal, whom he loved dearly, he entrusted his land, the queen, and you, entreating him earnestly to take good care of all three. The traitor, named Frode, was full of iniquity. You were very young when the king was buried. Frode took the queen by force and had himself raised to the throne. This made him vicious and arrogant, and he greatly oppressed his people. (2718–66) “Moreover, he did something even worse, which I haven’t told you about yet. In his great city of Attleborough, where he lived a vicious life, he saw me one day and called me aside. He kissed me, young and foolish as I was. He put his arm around my neck, believing he could easily trick me by promising me a big reward. He entreated me, and promised me great wealth if I should do something for him: seize you by night, take you to the sea and drown you in it, and afterwards hide this well and not speak of it for anything. I dared not refuse, so afraid was I of his terrible rage. I agreed to all that he wanted. But I wouldn’t have done it for any riches. I’d rather have let myself be burned to ashes. In the evening I lost no time but went to the castle, walked in, and found you sleeping in a bedroom. Had you stayed there longer, I know you would have been put to death before the third day was over. Dejected and very worried, I gently took you in my arms and covered you with my cloak, then left by the postern gate and went straight to the shore. I kept thinking about the wicked and treacherous act that the scoundrel intended to carry out, and just thinking about it made me weep anxiously. That night I went quietly to a nearby village, where I persuaded a woman to let me leave you with her. (2767–810) “Later the king recognized you as he was coming back from an outing. He was greatly enraged at me, his eyes rolling in anger, and said he would hang me or have me burned because I hadn’t carried out his order to kill you. I was so terrified I didn’t know what to do. I dared not leave his presence. I was willing to assure him several times and offered to swear to him on holy relics that I had thrown you into the sea and had found you the following day. If he refused to believe that for fear of being deceived, I pledged my life in exchange for permission to go to the shore, where I had buried the body. I assured him I could bring back some of the bones, so that he would know for a fact that they truly belonged to the child.63 I received his permission with great difficulty. I begged and entreated him until he reluctantly gave me leave, ordering me to go and return quickly. I jumped up at once and went away, but I never kissed him again. I fled fast, and quickly reached the village where I’d left you to be looked after. Then we went straight to the 63  2830 I assured him I could Bien soi de li pur verité: Holden points out (295) that this line makes little sense as it stands. In his review of Holden’s edition (Medium Ævum 56 [1987]: 143–44), William Rothwell disagrees, arguing for a reading similar to the one here.

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sea, hastily boarded a ship, and sailed across the water until we landed in Normandy. We stayed in Rouen until you killed that child: that was very wrong of you. Afterwards we were sentenced to death and brought before the duke. I told him from beginning to end what I’ve just told you. Once he knew you were his nephew, he treated you with more honour. This is how I have watched over you and kept you away from many a danger. Now you’ve heard the truth about your lineage.” (2811–60) “My lord Florenz,” said Waldef, “you have looked after me most tenderly, and often saved me from death. Now I truly don’t know how I can reward you, for I can never forget this. When I was to be put to death, hanged, burned or dismembered, you were willing to suffer death yourself in order to defend me from death. You were willing to take upon yourself the evil that I did in killing that child, and you did so in order to protect me. Let us go now to England and kill the wicked traitor. I will give you all my land, and won’t keep even one foot of it. Then I’ll go and provide for myself among strangers, as a mercenary. Let’s go and take leave of the duke without waiting any longer. I’ll never be happy until I’m revenged on the seneschal who has wrongfully disinherited me and who wished to have me drowned.” (2861–86) “My lord Waldef,” Florenz replied, “by Him who made the entire world, you shall not give me a single foot of the land that you own. I know well that if you live I’ll see you conquer so much that you’ll make me wealthy and powerful. I don’t ask for any of your possessions. Let’s go and take our leave of the duke, since we don’t want to stay here any longer.” They went straight to the duke and asked him for permission to leave, telling him that they wished to go to England, to avenge themselves on the treacherous scoundrel who had wrongfully dispossessed them. The duke commended them to God and gave them much wealth. He often had prayers for them addressed to God, so that He should protect them from trouble. They took their leave and went away, going straight to the sea. With a favourable wind and good weather, they immediately boarded the ships, sailing swiftly. They landed directly at Attleborough and quickly disembarked. They asked a townsman where King Frode was that day, and he told them truthfully that he was in the city. He had gathered all his barons, and was already sitting down at a meal with most of his friends, of whom he had few in the land, as he was greatly hated. (2887–922) “My lord Waldef,” said Florenz, “ Let’s leave all our men on board the ships and go to the city. If we find the traitor there, we’ll soon tell him things that will make him very angry indeed.” Then they girded on their good steel swords and mounted their palfreys. Going straight to the city, they entered by the main gate. They admired the city, which was so prosperous that not a thing was lacking there. When they arrived at Frode’s palace, they dismounted at the gate. “Gatekeeper, my friend,” said Florenz, “open the gate, in the name of God. Let the two of us in, for we wish to speak to the king. We are two young knights who’d like to enter his service. I’ll reward you with a very fine and valuable gold arm-ring I have, if you’ll let us go in and have our horses looked after.” The gatekeeper opened the gate at once and welcomed them courteously. He quickly took charge of their horses, and the brave youths went on their way. (2923–52) “My lord Waldef,” said Florenz, “make sure you don’t utter a single word but remain completely silent. Let me speak to the king, for I know well how to address him.” With



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that they went into the palace, where there were many Englishmen. Step by step they made their way directly to the high table, where King Frode sat. Florenz spoke to the king first. “May the Lord who created us bless those whom I see here, and consign King Frode to hell! My lords,” he said, “listen to me now, you who are gathered here. I ask if any of you remember good King Bede, the worthy, the generous, the valiant.” “Yes,” said Gimund, “I knew him well. He was indeed our lord, a man of great valour. Alas the day when we lost him! That was a great loss for us.” (2953–76) “Sir knight,” said Florenz, “you’re a wise man. Now please tell me: when King Bede died he had a son named Waldef. What did the barons entrusted with protecting the land and caring for the child do with him? I know well that wherever he may have ended up, he’s already strong enough to bear arms. You should greatly honour him for the sake of his father, who loved you so wholeheartedly.” “Sir knight,” said Gimund, “by Him who made this world, I can’t tell you of the child, but our lord King Frode became his guardian when his father Bede died. I don’t know what he did with him afterwards.” Earl Harding said: “I believe he sent him away to be brought up. But if it should now please the king to send for the child and show him to his men, if the boy is strong enough to bear arms, the king should come to an agreement with him and knight him.” “Harding,” said Earl Okenard, “you’re talking nonsense, so help me God, when you speak of that child. It’s been twelve years and more since he was buried. Let him never be mentioned. We have an excellent king and lord, and will never seek a better.” (2977–3014) When the king heard all this, he was incensed. “Harding,” he said, “you talk a lot and you’re very eloquent, but now you’ve said something for which you’ll yet pay dearly. And you, Gimund, you’ve become too garrulous. I’ll bring down that great pride of yours and teach you to talk.” Then he replied to Florenz, aloud, in front of everyone. “You, fellow,64 who are you who dared to attack us? He who let you in here will pay for it. I swear by my eyes that he’ll lose both of his; he’ll never escape otherwise. And you two, since you’ve come here—I don’t know what the devil you sought here—you’ll be thrown into my prison and will die there in great pain.” (3015–36) “King,” said Florenz, “now bear with me and let me speak. My lords,” he said, “be quiet, all of you. If Waldef, the son of good King Bede, were here among you, you’d love him faithfully.” They all responded with one voice: “May it never please almighty God to let us die before we could submit to him.” When Florenz heard how loyally they all spoke, he said: “My lords, listen. See this man here. Good King Bede conceived him with the queen who sits there. He is the heir to this city, and a valiant and daring knight. Now it’s clear that God hates that traitor sitting there. Once he wanted to kill the child, but God, our Lord, wouldn’t have it. I took the boy to Normandy and looked after him there a long time. The duke, his uncle, knighted us. He loved and cherished us greatly. Now I’ve brought him here to you. You should be grateful to me for it! Admit him now among you, and defend him as your lord.” Then he drew his good steel blade, and took up position before the king. (3037–68) 64  3027 You, fellow Vus, dan vassal: vassal (“good warrior,” “worthy man”) can be complimentary, but in this case it is the king’s deliberate reminder of Florenz’s subordinate status.

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“King,” he said, “now rejoice! You should know me well. Truly, my name is Florenz. In the time of our good king Bede, whom I loved very much, they used to call me Foundling. For more than seven years I was raised in his court, until the king died and was buried. You seized the realm and made yourself king. You often asked me to murder Waldef, promising me riches if I did so. See him standing there! I kept him safe in a faraway land, and now I’ve brought him here to you. I’ll serve you now at dinner, and give you such a dish as you never had before, one befitting a bad king.”65 Then Florenz raised the good steel blade and severed King Frode’s head from his trunk. At once he commanded that he be dragged through the city and thrown into the sea, to play there with the fishes. And Waldef drew his own blade. He would have done the same to his mother except that Florenz held him back, stepping between the two of them. (3069–100) “Sire,” he said, “stop! Do you want to kill your mother? You can be sure she isn’t guilty. I saw it all and know it well.” Florenz reconciled them there and then. “Lords,” he said, “on your feet! What does it mean that you’re not greeting your lord, whom you see here?” Barons could be seen jumping up, no longer holding back. Tables were overturned there, tablecloths and cups upset, as they all ran to their lord and threw themselves at his feet. There was not one who did not weep, either from joy or from regret. They embraced him as their lord, joyfully welcomed him, and did him homage. The city resounded with great joy. (3101–20) In the great hall the valiant Florenz saw a beautiful child of about seven years old, standing before the dais. He asked who the child was. A man replied that he was the son of King Frode,66 who had never been loyal or faithful. At that Florenz sprang forward, grabbed the child by both feet, and struck him so hard against a pillar that he spilled his brains. Then he commanded that the body be thrown in the sea, to go fishing with his father and help him set his fishing nets. “My lord Florenz,” said Waldef, “by the eyes in my head, you’re very bad at protecting and caring for children. Why did you kill him? You’ll carry the burden of a great sin.” Florenz replied: “I’ll tell you why. I’ll never love a traitor, nor anyone of his kin.” But if Florenz had truly known how Frode’s son, the lowborn young traitor Frodelin, had killed his good father Dereman as he went to meet his mother, as you have heard earlier, he would have hated them even more, had he been able to hate more. Had he been able to seize anyone of that lineage, he surely would have killed them all. “I’m entirely certain,” said Florenz, “that if this boy had lived until he became a knight and gained power, he would have been a great enemy to us, always lying in wait until he could hurt us. Now we’ll never have to fear that, for I have arranged a good peace.” (3121–64) 65  3087–89 I’ll serve you … a bad king. Al mangier … a roi malveis: this sarcastic battle taunt plays on a knight’s honour in serving his lord at table.

66  3127 the son of King Frode fiz Frode le rei: Holden notes that this identifies the boy as Frode’s son, thus a younger brother of Frodelin, who mortally wounded Florenz’s father, Dereman (v. 481). (Holden says incorrectly that Bramis gives the boy as Frodelin’s son; see Bramis, 59–60, where Florenz is told that Frode is the boy’s father.) Though the author does not say so, the boy could possibly be Waldef’s half-brother and only sibling.



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Soon it was reported throughout the city that Florenz had arrived, bringing Waldef, the son of their lord, and that Frode was cut down, which gladdened many in the city. The lady who had raised Florenz long ago was lying very ill. When she heard the news she sent for him right away, and he went to her at once. She wept for joy when she saw him standing before her. “Sir,” she said, “now listen. I’m well aware that you don’t know who your father or mother were, your sister or your brother. I want you to know that, and to be assured that you were born of a noble lineage.” And she gave him the ring. “When you were found in the woods and brought to me, you were young and small, wrapped in samite. I had you baptized and called Florenz. With you I found this ring, which I’ve kept safely until now. I had you carefully raised and well looked after for more than seven years, until you could speak properly and go to the king’s court, where you were greatly loved and honoured. As far as I was able, I provided all that you needed, until you went off and took the king’s son with you. Take this ring from me, and always keep it with you. Be careful about one thing: don’t couple with any woman or ever take a wife without showing her the ring. When the lady who owned it sees it on your finger, I know for sure she’ll ask who gave you this ring, and you must also ask her about the people you come from. She will be able to inform you.” (3165–218) Florenz took the ring, put it on his finger straightaway, and gave the lady many thanks for it. After placing his possessions at her disposal, he quickly left. Waldef summoned all his people to come to speak to him: earls and barons, minor nobles, anyone who held land from him. When he had assembled them all, he showed them great honour, gave them presents, and promised them much more. No one was overlooked. Afterwards he had himself crowned king and gave everyone cause to love him greatly. Then he journeyed through his lands, and he was told that King Rut of Thetford, King Cnut of Cambridge, and the old king of Colchester, now long dead, had often come with their fierce men to raid the land that was his father’s, laying it waste and driving him out. Wishing to avenge his father, he summoned his country’s army and went straight to Suffolk.67 He laid waste to the whole countryside, captured castles and strong towers,68 and damaged many of them. They destroyed some towns and took others, putting the land in great danger. They seized goods in woods and on highways, looted the land, and returned to their country with the booty they had won. King Waldef granted his men everything they had seized and carried off. After that they loved him and cherished him, for he was a good and just king. (3219–62) At the feast of the Ascension one year,69 the noble lord Waldef was in his city of Attleborough. He sent for all his lords, and held a most sumptuous feast, attended by many mothers’ sons. The feast was a great celebration, and the court stayed there for three days before the barons went away. Then King Waldef was joined by the earls Harding and Gimund, lord Brun and lord Bern, who had remained behind. They urged and 67  3249 Suffolk Suffolche: Waldef lays Suffolk waste because Rut of Thetford, the first of the three kings mentioned in vv. 3237–39, comes from there; see note to vv. 299–300. 68  3251 captured: MS has prist.

69  3263 Ascension ascensiun: a major feast in the Christian liturgical year, the day when Jesus was taken up into heaven after his crucifixion is celebrated forty days after Easter.

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beseeched him repeatedly, as men who loved him dearly, to take a wife. They would not feel secure until he had an heir to hold his lands and his great domain after his death. The king replied that in this matter he would willingly do as they wished. “Make sure she comes from a background that will give us honour and advantage.” (3263–84) “Sire,” said Brun, “I’ll tell you about a girl I know, so beautiful she seems a fairy; never was a more beautiful woman born. This beauty, whose name is Ernild, is extremely courteous and well bred, the daughter of the good king Erkenwald, the wise and powerful king of Lincoln. He enjoys great authority and has extensive lands and large domains, but he’s old and in his final days. He has a daughter, a lovely girl, none so beautiful in the world; she’s extraordinarily good-looking, the king’s only child and sole heir.70 The king of London asked for her, but she told him frankly that nothing would induce her to take him, nor would she ever be his. King Osmund of Oxford loved her more than any woman in the world and was eager to take her to wife, but she wouldn’t do it for anything. But if you, sire, ask for her, I fully expect you’ll have her.” (3285–310) When the king heard about her beauty, he was all aflame with love. He made his ships ready right away, for he did not want any delay. With him he took a hundred knights with their armour and their warhorses, the most famous in the land, and very richly arrayed. There was not one who was not wearing silk clothing embroidered with gold. They boarded the ships and set off, with as much favourable weather and wind as they could wish for. But before they returned they would hear such news as to anger the wisest and most admirable of them. After the king had embarked, they sailed until they arrived at Lincoln,71 at which they rejoiced greatly. They poured out of their ships, and put up their pavilions and tents in the plain before the city. The king then called the valiant Gimund and lord Florenz, who had proven to be very sensible. He sent them to Erkenwald with six knights to accompany them. (3311–38) They found King Erkenwald in Lincoln, his great city. They announced to him plainly that their king had arrived in Erkenwald’s land to bring him great honour by asking that he grant him his daughter Ernild as wife, because he would gladly marry her. The king was courteous and wise, and when he heard their message, he received them splendidly and replied very politely. “My lords,” he said, “thank you for coming here to do me honour, and I thank your lord, King Waldef, who also seeks to do me great honour. Because I’ve heard him praised before, I’d like to speak with him. When I’ve seen and talked with him, and got to know him, I’ll answer based on what I observe in him. I’m eager to meet him. Go and bring him to me.” (3339–62) After speaking to the king, the messengers returned to their lord and gave him Erkenwald’s message. All of it pleased him greatly: that King Erkenwald wanted to see 70  3300 sole heir ne voleit se li nun: MS Li reis ne voleit se li nun; Holden emends to Li reis n’a nul heir se li nun and notes the emendation (296).

71  3329 Lincoln Nichole: though inland, Lincoln was accessible from the sea through two rivers, the Trent and the Witham. A widening of the Witham into a lake provided it with a deep-water port and made it an important hub of international trade, especially in wool. See Alan Vince, “The New Town: Lincoln in the High Medieval Era (c. 850-c. 1350),” in The City by the Pool: Assessing the Archaeology of the City of Lincoln, ed. David Stocker (Oxford: Oxbow, 2003), 159–296.



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him straightaway, that he had heard good things about him and would speak to him according to what he saw in him. King Waldef asked for horses and commanded his people to array themselves magnificently and come with him right away. The king, richly equipped, mounted his horse at once, and his companions quietly followed him two by two. Then they entered the city, where people kept staring at them, often saying to each other that they had never seen such attractive people. Their lord was so handsome, they said, that he seemed unearthly. They praised the pleasant country where such goodlooking people were born, and talked a lot about Norfolk, from which such handsome people came. King Waldef came to the palace, his Norfolk men with him; the citizens had plenty to say about them. (3363–93) King Erkenwald came to greet him. They embraced, walked up the stairs together, and were seated in the great hall. Now they spoke their minds and got to know each other well, talking of various things. “My lord Erkenwald,” Waldef said, “hear me for a moment. You’re a king of great worth; there’s no better in this land. Having heard you greatly praised and lauded by foreigners, I was eager to make your acquaintance, and now I’ve come to do so. You’re a rich and powerful king, much feared in this country, and you’ll be both king and lord to me. You have a daughter, so I’ve heard, a most excellent girl; I’ve come to ask you for her hand. If you would give her to me, I’d like to make her my wife.” (3394–416) King Erkenwald listened to him carefully and replied respectfully: “My lord king, many thanks! Since you’ve come to this country to ask me for my daughter, I certainly can’t refuse, for my heart greatly warms to you: you’re very valiant, courteous and wise. I don’t know any man whom I could praise so much. But Uther, the king of London, has come here with his Londoners. He’s often asked her to marry him, but she wouldn’t accept him. Several times he’s made war on me and often we’ve been reconciled. King Osmund of Oxford, a strong and valiant knight—we don’t know a better in the world, nor one we fear more—has also asked for my daughter and often comes to this country, but she can never love him or set her heart on him. Not three days ago he came here, very arrogantly, and set up his tents in the meadows below the city. Though he never stops entreating my daughter, he’ll never have her to wife. But since you’ve asked for her, you’ll have her if she agrees.” (3417–48) Then he sent for the girl. An earl went to escort her and brought her to the hall. She really was of unearthly beauty. When King Waldef saw her coming, he was so overcome by her great beauty and by love for her that he did not know what to do but laughed, and said to Florenz with a sigh: “Here’s beauty made by God’s hand.” He rose to meet her and, with her permission, kissed her. They sat down at the high table, and began to get acquainted. “My beautiful love,” Waldef said, “I’ll tell you the truth, so help me God: of all the women in the world, of all of them there are, I’ve heard you the most praised and the most lauded for your great beauty. That’s made me fall so much in love with you that I can’t hold back, and so I’ve come to this land specifically to ask for you. I can’t love anyone but you, nor do I seek ever to love another, as long as I live; I won’t marry anyone else. I’ve spoken of it to your father, and I’m grateful to him for his consent. Now tell me what you wish, for you have heard how I feel.” (3449–80)

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The girl replied: “Lord Waldef, thank you. Since you, fair sir, love me as much as you’ve told me, and want to do me such an honour, I won’t refuse you. You’re so handsome and well built, courteous and generous and renowned, there’s no woman in the world intent on love who wouldn’t hold you very dear. She’d be wrong indeed to refuse such a man. But I’ll tell you one thing: truly, I’ve never loved a man. I’ve been courted many times by dukes, princes and kings, but I could never love any of them, or set my heart on them. I grant you my love. From this time on, I’ll never love another in my life.” Since the moment he was born Waldef had never been so happy or joyful as when his sweetheart, whom he loved more than his life, gave him her love. (3481–504) In the great hall, knights rejoiced. They amused themselves at chess and backgammon, exchanging news and telling stories. Then ten knights came up the stairs, entered the great hall, and courteously greeted the kings. The eldest of them spoke first, most eloquently. “May that lord who dwells on high bless King Erkenwald. King,” he said, “listen to us. Our renowned king Osmund orders, through us, that you give him your daughter, whom you love so well, and if you don’t want to give her, he’ll despoil your fortified towns and burn your cities. You’ll never lack for war. This morning he heard that King Waldef had arrived, asking to marry your daughter and intent on having her. He’s very handsome and well built, but we don’t know about his valour. Truly, we say to you in the presence of earls and barons, before she’s given to him and taken from this country, you’ll see many heads cut off and many souls severed from bodies. Now, in my opinion, whoever wants her will have to conquer her in battle before she can leave this country.” (3505–40) The king heard their message, then sent for his barons. “My lords,” he said, “what do you advise me? You’ve heard this message. King Osmund is certainly fierce, and both are excellent knights. They are rich and powerful, and they want to have my daughter Ernild. My faithful vassals, give me good advice: to which of the two should I give her? I want to act by your counsel.” “Sire,” said Earl Ernis, a knight of great valour, “now listen, great king: I’ll tell you my opinion. These two kings who come seeking your daughter are very valiant. Now, inform them at once that you want to give her to them. In the morning they should be in the meadows below the city, armed. You’ll bring your daughter Ernild and place her there, and whoever is able to win the girl shall take her away unopposed. You’ll see them fight each other, and thereby you’ll satisfy them both.” (3541–68) “My lord earl,” said Waldef, “by the eyes in my head, you’re very wise! You’ll definitely have some of my wealth for having arranged this battle and not changing your decision: a mark of gold, full measure, for your plan.” “My lord king,” said the messengers, “we hereby notify you on behalf of our king Osmund that for his part he’ll accept the battle, which he has wanted a long time. He wants you to know that on the stroke of six, without fail, you’ll find him ready for battle.” The messengers went back to tell their king that they had agreed on a battle, if indeed this pleased him, against the noble King Waldef. Osmund swore by his head that he would not miss the battle for a thousand marks of gold but would fight King Waldef and win his beloved in combat. (3569–96) “Waldef, my love,” the girl said, “I’m frightened by the news that you’ll fight with King Osmund, for you ought to be very afraid of him. There’s no better fighter on earth, nor



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any more wicked or cruel, nor stronger or more ruthless, nor bolder or more resolute. Carry this ring with you. You should know that the stone has a special power: so long as you have it on you, you won’t be vanquished in battle, nor will you receive a mortal wound, or lose either flesh or blood.”72 “My love,” Waldef replied, “that’s a rich gift! I won’t refuse the ring, yet I don’t want to take it either, because if I had it on me when I went into battle, and fought with the king and vanquished him, I think you’d believe and soon say that the king was not beaten by me or my strength, but by the ring, so precious and beautiful, and by the power of the stone, so precious and costly. I know well you’d love and esteem me the less. I’ll fight without the ring and, God willing, I’ll certainly beat him.” Then they said goodbye, and went to their lodgings. (3597–632) Now the news came that the tyrannical King Uther had come to the city, with great pride and arrogance, a thousand knights in his company. They had occupied a wide plain where they set up pavilions and tents, watched by many people. King Uther took six of his best barons and sent word to Erkenwald that he had come to his land to ask for his daughter Ernild, because he wished to take her to wife. The barons went to Erkenwald and presented to him their lord’s entire message. But he responded, in a friendly manner, that, unable to deny her any longer, he had already given his daughter to the two kings who had come from far away to ask for her hand: King Waldef of Norfolk, who had come by sea, and King Osmund of Oxford. They had agreed to a battle, and whoever won would certainly have the girl. “I can’t give her to another. Go and explain this to your king.” The barons quickly returned and recounted it all to their lord: how the girl had been given, how the battle was arranged between the two kings, who had arrived and would do battle in the morning. King Uther swore repeatedly that he would watch the battle but would take the girl from whoever won. There matters rested until morning. (3633–73) Waldef had not forgotten the battle. He got up early to go and hear Mass. Next he armed himself finely and commended himself to God in heaven, mounted his good warhorse, and arrived first on the field. King Osmund appeared on his charger, well armed and acting very arrogantly; he considered all others not worth a bean. And Erkenwald, king of Lincoln and ruler of the city, brought his beautiful daughter, elegantly attired. He put her in the middle of the field and said to her lovingly: “My dear daughter, you’ll stay here. By evening, may God give you the man whom you most desire for, I tell you truly, you will have one of them.” Then he left. (3674–95) Many people and many barons were there. King Uther came with his Londoners. He brought a large body of men, armed under their cloaks, to lay claim to Ernild: he would not leave without her. Both kings were already on the field, ready to wreak havoc. They were so proud and fierce that neither would yield to the other. Then they attacked; there was no longer any question of holding back! They gave each other great blows with keen, sharp swords, which pierced the strong shields, making the splinters fly. (3696–712) 72  3605–10 Carry this ring with you … lose either flesh or blood Cest anel od vus porterez … Ne char ne sanc n’i perderez: in the Roman de Horn (ed. Pope, v. 2059) Rigmel offers Horn a ring with similar powers, which he accepts. See Helen Cooper, “Magic that Does Not Work,” Medievalia et Humanistica, n.s., 7 (1976), 131–46.

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King Waldef struck down Osmund and his horse in a heap. King Osmund jumped to his feet, and quickly drew his steel blade. He got angry at his warhorse, calling it a miserable packhorse, and would have cut it in two had he not been afraid of Waldef, which made him retreat. He was very ashamed and did not know what to do. When Waldef saw him get up, he decided that he would not attack him on horseback but would fight him on foot, so he dismounted, took up his shield, and drew his sword. He looked toward his sweetheart, whom he loved best in the world, and when he saw her there, his bravery grew even greater.73 He attacked King Osmund, striking fiercely. With his good sharp cutting blade he struck the helmet high up and cut off a quarter of it, so that it fell to the ground. The blade slid down to Osmund’s shoulder, cut the flesh to the bone, and severed a quarter of the shield, which flew into the field. All those who were in the field had much to say about that harsh blow. (3713–44) When the king felt himself thus wounded and saw that he was bleeding, he was extremely angry, his heart brimming with pain. He struck Waldef on the sturdy helmet he wore, knocking out the decorative flowers and precious stones, and hit Waldef’s shield with his sword, splitting it all the way to the boss. After that they fought fiercely, often looking at Ernild. No one could tell who was better and who was worse. They fought very vigorously, and gave hard blows with their sharp blades. King Osmund retreated, with proud visage and brave demeanour. He said to himself that he had been in many battles and won many great ones, but he had never found a man who could resist him so well or endure his blows. He glanced at the girl, then moved in to strike Waldef’s helmet with his sharp blade. The blow was extraordinarily forceful, cutting off one of the helmet’s quarters. He did not injure the bare flesh, for the blade fell on the shield, plunging down as far as the boss. He pulled out the blade so fiercely that Waldef sank to his knees and his hands hit the ground, but he got up at once. (3745–80) The girl was dismayed. “Holy Mary!” she cried, “Protect my love, lady, so that he isn’t injured today.” The others prayed for him, and so did all the city folk. They were sure that he was maimed or mortally wounded. Waldef got up at once, his heart full of rage, so ashamed that he blushed. At once he attacked King Osmund: he would return the blow he had received. He struck him fiercely on the strong pointed helmet, breaking and splitting it, and the ventail too,74 so it wasn’t worth a halfpenny. With no intention of feeding Osmund,75 he cut off a large part of his face between the ear and the right eye: from the temple to the chin, all the way to the bone, nothing was left except the right half of his moustache. His blood poured to the ground. (3781–805)

73  3732 his bravery grew even greater Mult li acrut sun hardement: a common trope in courtly romance is that the sight (or even thought) of the beloved spurs the lover to greater acts of bravery, as in Chrétien’s Le Chevalier de la Charette, ed. and trans. Alfred Foulet and Karl D. Uitti, Classiques Garnier (Paris: Bordas, 1989), vv. 3659–65, 3766–73, or in Partonopeu de Blois, ed. and trans. Olivier Collet and Pierre-Marie Joris (Paris: Livre de poche, 2005), vv. 9507–26.

74  3796 the ventail la ventaille: the ventail is a flap of mail attached to the coif, or cap, underneath the helmet, which can be drawn across the mouth to protect it. 75  3800 With no intention of feeding Osmund Ne fet nul semblant de li pestre: Holden explains (296) that this ironic understatement is meant to show Waldef’s eagerness to kill Osmund as quickly as possible. See also vv. 11690, 16892.



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Osmund was then at a loss. He struck Waldef at once, giving great blows with his sword. They started a mortal fight, unlike any you have ever heard of. Never were so many heavy blows dealt, and never was there so much fear for both duellists. Osmund retreated after his assault. He looked at the girl and walked over to her. “Lady,” he said, “look at me. You ought to love and cherish me. Today I’ve fought for you and lost much blood. I’ve taken many great blows today. I have all my force and my strength, I still have all my power, but now I want to know from you which of us two you love most, King Waldef, over there, or me, who have loved you. Tell me the truth.” She answered: “I will. Since you entreat me so, I won’t conceal any of it from you: I love King Waldef much more.” The king replied: “I’m a great fool to have taken so many blows for you, when you love another more than me. If you’d told me so before, I wouldn’t have received these wounds nor would I have started this fight. Since you love Waldef more than me, you can have him freely, as far as I’m concerned. My lord Waldef,” Osmund said, “by Him who created us all, you ought to have the fair Ernild, for you certainly deserve her. Go on, take her. I relinquish all claim to her” (3806–45) “Sir, may God reward you!” replied King Waldef. King Osmund left, disarmed himself in his tent, and had his wounds treated, which he badly needed. King Waldef stepped forward and embraced the beautiful Ernild. Someone brought him a good warhorse, spirited as well as valuable. The girl mounted it, and King Waldef led her away. They went joyfully to the city, surrounded by a large crowd. As they were about to enter the city, the bold King Uther approached them, fully armed on his charger, accompanied by a thousand fully armed knights on their warhorses. “King Erkenwald,” Uther said, “you’re very foolish, by God, not to have given me Ernild when I wanted to marry her. I’ll carry her off in spite of you. I’ll take my pleasure with her, but I won’t marry her! I’ll lie with her, then my knights will have her, then the squires, and then the kennel-boys and the servants will have her entirely at their will. I won’t leave you a single foot of your fief but will conquer it all by force. I’ll take you by your beard and drag you to Winchester, where I’ll put you in prison, so that you’ll never have another good day.” He would not wait any longer but had the girl seized and brought to him by force. (3846–87) Waldef could not oppose him. He was too angry and upset to talk. Having ordered his knights to arm at once, he said to King Erkenwald “Uther holds us in great contempt. Have your people arm immediately and send them to me. I’ll fight with the traitor. I won’t eat a bite until we’re avenged on him for dishonouring us all so much.” King Erkenwald had his retinue arm and assembled his troops, giving them over to King Waldef, who led them very well. Waldef left the city, unhappy and angry. In addition to foot soldiers and archers, he had three hundred knights with him, all from the king’s household, besides a hundred of his own, valiant, hardy, and strong, who came with him on their fine chargers. (3888–910) “Lords,” said King Waldef, “now listen to me for a moment. You’ve seen how your lord was dishonoured today, how that villain, King Uther, wrongfully and most violently seized his daughter, whom he had already given to me, and how he insulted your lord and humiliated him in front of you all. If we don’t avenge him of this shame we’ll be dishonoured forever. I’ll be on your side. I’ll never be parted from you.” They all responded as one: “May Almighty God never help the man who lets you down in this while he can

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still defend himself.” Waldef said: “Now let’s go, we’ll catch them very soon.” They hurried after them, and caught up with them on the slope of a large hill. (3911–33) King Osmund decided to help King Waldef. He quickly called his constable and ordered him to arm himself at once,76 take with him a hundred knights, well armed and on chargers, and go to Waldef’s aid, for he badly needed help. The constable left and armed himself quickly and well. His knights, who came willingly, did the same. They followed Waldef fast, keen on doing a good job. Then Waldef stopped; he was eager for battle. He saw them coming toward him, and spoke to lord Florenz, saying: “I see some men coming this way. Lord Florenz, go there and ask them quickly who they are and whether they wish us good or ill.” Florenz went right away. When he met the constable, he asked at once: “Who are these men coming here?” The constable answered that King Osmund had sent them to his lord, to help him in case of need. (3934–64) Florenz was much cheered by their arrival. He went straight back to King Waldef and told him of King Osmund’s help, and Waldef thanked him greatly for it. After both sides organized their troops, they clashed with each other. Accompanied by up to a hundred knights, Florenz struck the first blow. He had knocked down and captured many men when lord Brun came spurring up and killed one of their earls, very dear to King Uther. Bern rode up fiercely, striking a sheriff.77 This was the sheriff of Winchester, whom the king loved and deferred to. Bern severed his soul from his body, which he threw at Uther’s feet. Lord Gimund then arrived, with King Osmund’s retinue. They carried out an assault in which many men lost their lives. Since there was no reason to hold back, each one struck his man. King Waldef rode up, shield round his neck, sword in hand, his large retinue with him, ready to attack. He struck a knight and split his heart in half. From then on they all fought, and many warriors were killed. They fought hard, and many were struck dead. You could see many people dying there, many pursued, many fleeing, many attacking, fighting, falling, many cut down.78 King Waldef was not idle. That day he severely wounded many men and maimed all those he caught up with, because he would not stop till he had won the fight. And lord Florenz and lord Gimund, and the others with them, struck so hard with their good, gleaming swords that there were many killed. Then King Uther appeared, with a huge blade in his hand, and killed a relative of Bern’s. Bern saw this clearly and was distressed. He would avenge it if he could. He attacked Uther furiously, knocked him off his fine horse, and quickly turned on him. He would have crushed and killed him if a hundred excellent knights had not come to his aid, raising up their lord and rushing at Bern from all directions, striking him with swords and spears. They gave him a very hard time and he barely escaped them. King 76  3936 his constable sun cunestable: with broader duties than the modern English “constable,” the conestable was a military commander or “one of the chief functionaries in the … royal household and supreme judge of military offences and of questions of chivalry” (AND, s.v. conestable). This is the first time in the text that a former enemy becomes a friend. See further Introduction, p. 12.

77  3980 a sheriff un vesconte: on sheriffs in Waldef, see Judith Weiss, “‘History’ in Anglo-Norman Romance: The Presentation of the Pre-Conquest Past,” in The Long Twelfth-Century View of the Anglo-Saxon Past, ed. Martin Brett and David A. Woodman (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015), 275–87.

78  4004 cut down combatre: we follow Holden’s suggestion that combatre in this line should probably read abatre (297).



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Uther advanced, his men … to him;79 he caused Waldef great losses and killed many of his men. When King Waldef saw this, he and his troops went there at once and struck many harsh blows. Next they attacked the Londoners, this time doing great damage for they killed many of them. On this occasion the Londoners were defeated. (3965–4040) When Uther saw his men being killed, he fled as fast as he could. He had no intention of staying any longer or of saying goodbye to the girl. As he fled, the girl said to him: “Do wait, good King Uther! Take me with you. I don’t think you’ll leave me like this, because I know for sure that you love me. If you lose me through cowardice you’ll never get me back. It’s true what you said to me when you seized me by force: that you’d be generous with me. And I think you have been, leaving me to anyone who wanted me. You tired of me quickly! From now on, a curse on my head if for your sake I leave Waldef, who’s fought so hard for me and defeated two kings in the fray.” (4041–62) The king went off at full speed, not wishing to argue with her any longer. His two nephews were with him, and soon they got under way, heading to Winchester: they would rather be there! King Waldef was well aware that Uther was fleeing swiftly, having recognized him by his coat of arms. He would think himself very disappointed if Uther got away from him before he could attack him. He followed him at a great rate, chasing him through valleys and over hills. For a good seven leagues he pursued him, until Uther looked round and saw King Waldef all alone. He spoke to his nephews and said: “Why are we fleeing this way? No one is chasing us except King Waldef alone, who killed all our Londoners. Let’s turn round and kill him, which we can easily do.” “Gladly,” they replied, and Eldret was the first to turn round. (4063–88) Eldret, the king’s famous nephew, turned around first and struck King Waldef with his sword on top of his head. Had it not been for his helmet, the king would certainly have died. But he was strong and skilled, and gave Eldret such a blow, hitting him on top of his helmet, that he cut through it and the ventail, and his sword slid down to Eldret’s teeth. He threw him down dead to the ground. When his brother saw him die a painful death, he struck Waldef angrily high up on his shield, and Waldef hit him back, making his head fly from his body and his legs kick convulsively on the ground. King Uther was furious when he saw his nephews killed. He struck at King Waldef, and Waldef struck him back. They fought for a long time, striking many great blows. Waldef was very angry and gave Uther a blow with his good, sharp sword. Uther’s hauberk was not of much use to him. His shoulder felt the great blow that pierced it a half foot deep. When Uther felt himself hit in this way, he said: “Waldef, I surrender. Don’t kill me, noble knight. You’ve inflicted great losses on me by killing my two nephews and defeating all my men. I offer you my word and promise, as long as I’m alive, that you’ll never have any trouble from me for whatever wrong you’ve done me. I give you my word on this.” Waldef replied: “And I agree to that.” Uther assured him that he would never harm him or his father-inlaw, King Erkenwald; then he rode away. (4089–134) King Uther fled to Winchester, very sad and angry at the blow he had suffered. King Waldef turned back, returned to the battle, and saw many dead and wounded left on the field. He returned to the city, where he found his people most dejected because, after 79  4030 his men … to him ses hummes a li: the rest of the line is missing.

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seeking him throughout the entire army, they did not know what had become of him. Waldef told them everything: how he had pursued King Uther, how he had killed his nephews, and how he had received Uther’s word that wherever Waldef might be Uther would never trouble him. The citizens were delighted to have got Waldef back. Waldef told Erkenwald in detail how he had fared against Uther. Not wanting to delay any longer, Erkenwald quickly prepared everything: “Waldef shall wait no longer. Tomorrow he’ll marry my daughter.” He had them married with all honour and made Waldef lord of his land. They held a most splendid wedding feast, and all those who came hoping for handsome gifts, no matter who they were, received whatever they wished. Now Waldef was joyful and glad, having fulfilled his desire by marrying his love. (Lovelier, more courteous, and better spoken than any woman ever born, she was later made queen.) Then Waldef had his ships made ready. Wishing to return to his country, he took leave of Erkenwald and of all those in the city who had given him very rich gifts, and who most joyfully saw him off. When they embarked they had fine weather and a good breeze, so they swiftly raised anchor and hoisted the sails to catch the wind. The wind was as favourable as they could have wished for. May almighty God guide them! Before the evening of the third day they would certainly hear bad news. (4135–86) Now King Waldef was on board his ship with his beloved queen, sailing speedily and smoothly. The music from fiddlers and singers, harpers and rote-players and many other instruments, was very charming. The king was in high spirits, full of great joy and delight. He lay down in his bed and fell quietly asleep, as did the queen beside him. In a dream he found himself in the castle keep of Attleborough, his great city, in full armour, helmet laced on, shield round his neck, his sword drawn, looking eastwards. He saw many large boars coming toward him—a hundred, two hundred, thousands—until the whole country was covered with them, and he was terrified. The boars forced their way into his city and drove out all his men, killing and slaying many, tearing down houses and destroying storerooms. He ran toward them at once, holding his sharp blade in his hand. Though he thought to drive them out by force, he was quite unable to harm them. A huge boar approached, very ugly, large, and fierce; he had never heard of any like it, nor of one that was more terrifying. It attacked him fiercely, ripping up his gold shield. It broke his sturdy hauberk, destroying its two flaps entirely, and tore his helmet off his head. It chased Waldef as far as the sea, and he defended himself as he went along, dealing many blows with his good sword. The boar attacked him and the sea covered him,80 huge waves coming up to his mouth. When he looked to one side, he saw the treacherous Earl Okenard, and Earl Urri with him. He kept begging them to come and help him, and save him from such a peril. They did nothing and went away, leaving him alone in this danger. Then he looked to the right, like someone entirely forsaken, and saw a wave coming from afar, large and deep and frightening. It raised up the great boar and threw him far into the sea, so that he himself was quite submerged, and believed for certain that he had drowned in the sea. Terror woke him up. He called all those closest to him and told them the whole of his dream. “Sire,” said Gimund, “don’t be afraid! You’ll defeat 80  4229 The boar attacked him Le sengler le veit assallant: see also Horn, ed. Pope, v. 4652, in which a boar attack in a dream portends trouble.



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all your enemies. You’re not loved by everyone, nor can you be. Be aware that a foreign people will come from the east. They’ll arrive in your land and want to take it by force. You will indeed fight them and drive them from the land.” They were frightened by the dream and afterwards spoke about it among themselves. They continued sailing until they arrived directly in Attleborough. The fishermen, out at sea with their nets, were familiar with the king’s ships and came with all haste, greeting him at once. The king asked them how they were doing in the city and if they were all hale and hearty. “Sire,” said a seaman, “haven’t you heard about the trouble which came to this country after you left?” The king replied: “I don’t know about it. Tell me and I shall listen.” “Gladly, “the man replied, with your permission. My dear good lord, it concerns Urvein, the powerful king of Scania;81 there’s never been a man like him. I believe there’s no one so bold or valiant in the world that he wouldn’t shudder all over if Urvein looked at him angrily. He’s much too big and strong and he’s so powerful that no one can endure his blows without soon dying. He seeks no pleasure nor amusement except bitter and harsh battle. He’s conquered your land so thoroughly that he has it entirely at his disposal. He and his men arrived late one evening and slipped into the city, so that those guarding it at the time didn’t notice them. Every night they did this, bringing people in, until they had taken the castles and spread throughout the land. They are Saracens,82 very valiant, bold, brave, and they are conquerors.” (4187–306) When Waldef heard the news he bowed his head, so wretched that he did not know what to do. He called Gimund and lord Florenz. “My lords,” he said, “what’s your advice about the news you’ve heard?” Florenz replied: “Truly, by God, it’s no wonder you’re upset. Let us quickly return to Lincoln and ask your father-in-law for help and assistance, and you’ll find plenty of friends who’ll gladly help you and bring you much aid. Summon mercenaries from all around, whom you’ll have in plenty. Return to your country and ask your neighbours next: King Swein of Colchester, who knows the news about Urvein, King Cnut of Cambridge, and Rut, the good king of Thetford. None of them hates you so much as not to help you destroy the wicked invaders who want to wipe them out, along with their families. That’s the reason they’ve entered the country. You’ll fight the pagans and, God willing, you will utterly defeat them.” The king said: “My lord Florenz, it would take too much time and delay if I waited till I returned from Lincoln. Our enemies would think we’d fled in fear. They’d forever despise us more and be more secure in the country. I mean to go to Narborough and talk to Earl Okenard. I’ll summon my barons there and gather my land’s army. We’ll be near our enemies and know all their secrets at all times. They’ll never have a single day of peace: we’ll give them many a hard battle.” They left immediately and sailed the sea until they arrived at Narborough,83 believing they would 81  4283 Scania Eskanie: Scania, the richest of the Danish provinces, was conquered by Harald Blue­ tooth in the tenth century, acquired for a time by the Swedes in 1026, and made part of Sweden in 1658. 82  4305 Saracens Saracins: often a generic term for pagans, especially outside the Iberian peninsula (see further notes to vv. 7417–18, 11712). 83  4355 Narborough Nereburc: Narborough, not a seaport, is on the river Nar, a tributary of the Ouse. On the cultural geography of Waldef and the perception of many inland towns as seaports, see Introduction, p. 4.

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find safe haven there. The king sent word to Okenard that he had arrived in his land and that Okenard should shelter him in his city until he had summoned his army. The earl at once sent word back to him that he would not receive him in his land, nor should Waldef enter the city nor spend even one night there. When the king heard the reply, he called for his barons. “My lords,” he said, “you’ve heard from this base enemy of God how he has let us down in this hour of need.84 But, by Him who created us, before the year is past this deed will be dearly bought. I’ll summon my land’s army and besiege him. Nothing will ever make me leave until I’ve captured him and hanged him from a lofty gallows. Through his example I’ll teach others not to let down their lord when his need is greatest.” “Sire,” said Gimund, “don’t do that. God forbid that you should! If you besiege the earl, you know well he’s very treacherous: he’ll go over to the Saracens at once and then he’ll be worse than now. Let’s embark and go to Earl Urri at Brancaster. He’ll rejoice at your coming and receive you in his city. He’s a powerful man with great possessions. In this need he may be of use to you, and that’s what he’ll do, truly I’m sure of it. He’s a wise man.” So they embarked, sailed away, and came to Brancaster. (4307–96) The king sent a message to Earl Urri to say that he had come to him, asking for shelter in Urri’s land and for the help Urri owed to him as his lord, so that he might thank him and later reward him. Waldef’s troubles and the loss of his land were not news to Urri. When he heard the messenger, Earl Urri replied that he knew well Waldef was not his true friend. He would not receive them in his city, nor should Waldef put a foot inside it. Instead he should busy himself elsewhere. He would get no help from him, for he had heard earlier that Okenard had refused him. When King Waldef knew for sure that the earl had refused him, he grinned in fury and then said to his barons: “God, who will ever befriend me when my own vassals have failed me?” “Sire,” said Brun,85 “don’t be afraid. Good sir, don’t grieve. In this need you’ll discover whom to trust in future. I’m sure those who’ve failed you now will yet pay for it. Board the ships, let’s go away. There’s no point in staying here. Let’s go straight to Earl Harding. We’ll be given a joyful welcome at Tasburgh, his strong castle which is so secure and good and fine. There’s no stronger anywhere, nor does it fear attack in any war. There’s a great strong tower, and another above the gate, and high turrets along the wall, which are so tall and fine that no king or emperor in the world, no matter how long he besieged the castle all around, could take it by force or damage it by trickery. The fortified town is powerful and well stocked and splendidly built, with noble halls and palaces, and the citizens are so brave, so rich and powerful, and of such prowess and valour, that should the earl have need of them, a proclamation will quickly raise five hundred well armed men, renowned for their good qualities, newly bearded young men on fine warhorses and fine steeds. The town that lies below the castle is surrounded by a good new wall, strong and well banked with earth, very thick and well built, with strong turrets around it. The people inside the wall must be secure, never fearing an attack from anyone. On one side are the riverbanks

84  4369 he has let us down Cum en cest busuing nus …: the end of the line is missing; Holden (297) suggests that it was probably fausa.

85  4421 “Sire,” said Brun “Sire,” fet …: the name is missing in the MS; we follow Holden (297) in giving “Brun,” as in Bramis, 76.



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and the large and dense forests and the wide cultivated fields beside the meadows. On the other side is the sea,86 where ships can land, coming from all directions: light craft, transport vessels, and ships,87 carrying grey and white squirrel fur, in which this country abounds, and pepper and cumin and silken cloth from Alexandria. Between the fortified town and the shore there’s a very rich city, splendid and large and well stocked, built with noble halls. Wealthy merchants are there, and fishermen and seamen who live by their craft. The fair and the market are there too, full of all good things. There are well laid-out streets, overflowing with merchandise. In one of them are tableware sellers and money-changers who deal in gold and silver, in another sellers of squirrel fur, silken cloth, and samite. Whatever one asks for can always be found. The sea yields huge revenues—if one were to count them—which belong to the lord of the castle and were ordained long ago: each day without fail, a fixed rent of twenty-five silver marks, not counting gold, goes to enrich the lord’s large treasury, and she who becomes his lady will have a bezant every day.88 (4397–502) The king said: “Let’s go there, since we must. It will be a good place to stay if Harding is willing to welcome us.” They embarked and departed, sailing so far that day that they saw and recognized Tasburgh’s large tower, and saw the castle from afar, because Tasburgh is on a hill.89 They saw the towers, the turrets, and the fine halls. It certainly seemed a proud town, and they kept looking at it. (The embankments that had been built around the town are still visible.) The king sent word to the earl and in a most friendly way begged him to receive him in his castle, provided he sincerely wanted to. He would always cherish him all the more. Harding would be a closer friend to him, he would increase his wealth with rich fiefs, and he wished to do him great honour. When Earl Harding heard that King Waldef had come to him, he was gladder than he had ever been, and he thanked God in heaven for it. He quickly mounted a horse and went to meet Waldef, greeting him most courteously and addressing him in proper fashion as his lord. “Sire,” said Harding, “welcome! Now I know for certain that you love me since you’ve come to me here: you do me great honour. My lord, this very day I give you this castle and this tower, to do what you like with them. Be lord of all I have.” And the king thanked him heartily and kissed him most affectionately. Then they disembarked, mounted their horses, and rode up to the castle. The king told him everything: how he had gone to Lincoln, how he had married his beloved and taken her with him, how he had gone to Earl 86  4467 On the other side is the sea D’altre part i vient la mer: though Tasburgh is inland (twelve miles south of Norwich) and not, as the text claims, on the sea, it would have been accessible to small coastal vessels through the river Tas, a tributary of the Yare. 87  4470 light craft, transport vessels, and ships Esnecches, dromunz e kanarz: the word kanarz is missing but is supplied by Holden. Anglo-Norman narratives, including Wace’s Brut and several saints’ lives, often have a rich nautical vocabulary; see Delbert Russell, “Appendix,” in Verse Saints’ Lives Written in the French of England, FRETS 5 (Tempe: ACMRS, 2012), 199–205.

88  4502 a bezant un besant: a small gold coin, originally struck in Byzantium; besant is derived from its Latin name, byzantius; see OED, s.v. bezant | byzant. The word can also be used for coins in general; see AND, s.v. besant. See also vv. 10330, 11965, and 16698. 89  4512 on a hill en un mont: to the north-west of Tasburgh is a large Iron Age or possibly ninthcentury Danish hill-fort.

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Okenard and found him hostile, unwilling to receive him or lodge him in his castle, and how the elderly Earl Urri had completely let him down. (4503–56) “Sire,” said Harding, “don’t worry about that. I’ll tell you truly, as God is my saviour, I’m a rich man with many possessions and I’ll serve you as best I can. I’ll summon relatives and friends to join me here and give them so much of my wealth that I’ll keep them at your service.90 And you’ll ask for help from your neighbours who know what the Saracens are like. Surely they’ll all help you, and anyone who’d let you down or has already done so will, I believe, regret it.” (4557–70) Now the king was inside the castle, served well and handsomely. Everything they wished to ask for was supplied in abundance by the earl. They quickly had their letters written and well sealed with wax. Harding sent word to the king of Colchester, saying that he wished to serve him and would make amends if he had wronged him in any way, and asking him to come and help him, now that his need was greater than ever, “to get rid of the wicked Saracens, who want to destroy us and dispossess you and me if they can hold out for long.” The messengers quickly went on their way, making straight for Colchester, and delivered their message to the king in proper fashion, but he insulted them shockingly. He had them beaten and abused, their horses’ tails were cut off,91 they were shorn as if they were fools,92 rags were hung around their necks,93 and they were whipped through the city. Then he sent word to their lord that he would get no other help or assistance from him. Indeed, if Harding considered Waldef to be their king, he would humiliate him further. (4571–600) The messengers returned to Tasburgh, and showed King Waldef how the king of Colchester had shamed them. The king was very angry, often swearing by God and the saints that those who had shamed him in this way would pay for it dearly. Nevertheless, this did not make him give up. On the contrary, he still wanted to try someone else on whom he could rely. He had his letters sealed and sent word to King Rut of Thetford that he meant to become and remain his friend, and also to the king of Cambridge that he would readily serve him, begging and entreating them not to be ill-disposed to him. If he had wronged them in any way he would most willingly set that right, according to 90  4561 and friends: MS has e, not a.

91  4592 their horses’ tails were cut off lur chevals fist escurter: the practice of mutilating a knight’s horse was a humiliating punishment; see The Anglo-Norman Alexander (“Le Roman de Toute Chevalerie”), ed. Brian Foster, 2 vols, Anglo-Norman Texts 29–33 (London: ANTS, 1976–77), v. 3760. 92  4593 shorn as if they were fools tundre les fist come fols: in the Folie Tristan the hero shaves his head, so as to appear a fool; see “La Folie Tristan d’Oxford,” in “Le roman de Tristan,” suivi de la “Folie Tristan” de Berne et la “Folie Tristan” d’Oxford, ed. Félix Lecoy, trans. Emmanuèle Baumgartner and Ian Short, Champion Classiques (Paris: Champion, 2003), vv. 209–10.

93  4594 rags were hung around their necks torchaz lur fist pendre as cols: see Holden (298), citing Tobler-Lommatzsch, for examples of rags, possibly dipped in a revolting substance, flung at an enemy in the chanson de geste Aliscans. Torchaz can also mean “wisps of straw,” suggesting that the messengers were bedecked with straw like the holy fool in the Miracle d’un paroissian esconmenié; see Sylvia Huot, Madness in Medieval French Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 78–79.



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what they wished and decided between them. He beseeched them warmly, and said to them clearly that between friends great displeasure and anger often occur, as they occur between father and son, who often separate in anger and later become good friends when previously they were enemies. The deadlier their enmity, the closer their friendship, from the moment they are reconciled and the anger is forgiven. If the one has lost anything through the other, the loss should be enumerated and recognized. Down to the last penny mentioned, everything should be made known and accounted for. “I shall pay them back. For one penny I shall give them two.” If they now sided with him, they should come to help him in this hour of need, against the pagan people who were going to dispossess them, who had taken his land and would take all of theirs. Before the year was out, not an inch of land would be left them. If other measures were not taken, they would have to give up the whole land. (4601–50) The messengers speedily departed, and found King Rut at Thetford, where he was holding a parliament, attended by many of his barons, and King Cnut was there too. The messengers came forward and delivered the letters to the two kings, who took them, broke the wax, and swiftly had them read out. When the two kings had heard what Waldef’s letters were telling them, it seemed to them arrogant and scornful that he was sending to them for help, because he was their enemy and had harassed them many times. They had the messengers seized and beaten by hirelings. One had an eye put out and the other an ear sliced off. They humiliated and shamed them, and cut off their horses’ tails. Then they sent word to Waldef that the messengers had received this honour instead of him. Rut and Cnut owed him no other help beyond such shame and dishonour, and if they could lay their hands on him they would humiliate him much more. Between them they all reviled him very much. They insultingly told him he should turn the one-eyed into fletchers,94 and look for other messengers. He should use the mutilated as sentinels: having been relieved of their ears, they would indeed hear all the better when keeping watch in his army. They had cut off the horses’ tails so the messengers could come and go speedily, in order to report to their liege lord how successful they had been. (4651–90) The messengers went back, having been greatly humiliated. They returned to Tasburgh and showed their lord the king how they had been dishonoured. When the king saw them in such a state, his heart was much aggrieved by it and he wept bitterly with anger, often lamenting the disgrace. The great humiliation grieved him more …95 than the loss of his land. Then he called Earl Harding. “Look at how things stand, my lord earl, look at how I’ve been shamed. I’m feared very little and respected even less. God, let me live to regain my power and revenge myself on those who have humiliated my men to spite me! I’m right to feel hugely disgraced. I wouldn’t want to live a day longer unless I could be honourably avenged.” “Sire,” Harding said, “let this be! What’s the use of giving way to grief? Concentrate instead on avenging yourself and defeating your enemies. 94  4680–81 They insultingly told him he should turn the one-eyed into fletchers Puis li ont par eschar mandé / Que des bornes face flechiers: fletchers, who make arrows, presumably have excellent sight, leading Holden to conclude (298) that this is an ironic insult. 95  4701 the great humiliation La grant hunte …: the end of the verse is missing.

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All those who’ve let you down, humiliated you, and refused to help you will certainly pay most dearly for it: the greater the crime, the greater the revenge. We’ve sought and mustered so hard that we have a thousand highly regarded knights, besides archers and foot-soldiers, for a total of two thousand fighters. Let’s go and attack the Saracens, those neighbours far too close to us, let’s attack them with all speed and spare them no longer. They’re in the wrong, we’re in the right,96 and God, who sees the whole world, will always support the right and give us strength and victory.” The king replied: “Well said! You shouldn’t delay.” (4691–738) Thereupon they made ready and departed, setting out at dawn. They had not travelled long when they saw the city of Attleborough. They all quickly armed themselves and prepared their troops. When King Urvein heard that King Waldef was going to attack him, right away he had it proclaimed throughout the city that everyone should arm. He and his men armed themselves and came out with a large and powerful army. When they saw King Waldef and his men approaching so arrogantly and proudly, Urvein marvelled at them. He summoned a citizen and immediately asked to whom that large company belonged, the one approaching ahead of the others. “That’s Florenz,” the man answered, “an extremely capable knight, valiant and brave. There’s no better fighter in the world and none more worthy of esteem. Soon you’ll see him breaking lances.” “The second company, coming next, which keeps together so well, a proud group of men— they certainly seem very skilled—tell me, to whom does it belong?” “Sire,” he said, “I’ll tell you. That’s lord Gimund. There’s none better in the world, nor braver or bolder, for he never fled from a battle. And with him there’s Earl Harding, a brave, bold, and true knight.” King Urvein replied: “They’re all brave and bold. To whom does the third company belong?” “Sire,” he said, “indeed it belongs to the king, Waldef, the noble warrior, the flower of chivalry, most brave and renowned. A handsomer man was never born, nor a bolder or more enterprising one, nor one who makes better use of his sword. It’s not yet seven months since he fought against two kings. They all fought in single combat and surrendered to him, otherwise he would have killed them: they certainly wouldn’t have left the field alive. He’s strong, handsome and tall, and only twenty. If he lives long enough, no one in the world will be his equal.” (4739–98) King Urvein then said to him: “If only it would please our Creator to have the two of us joined in battle now down in that meadow! I’d fight with such pleasure that I wouldn’t fail to capture him. I’d make him become a Saracen and serve and believe in Mahomet. He’s hardly got any troops, but if he wanted the two of us to fight in single combat until we truly knew which of us would be defeated, whoever conquered the city would have made a great acquisition without further opposition. It would be a shame to harm all these brave men, who wouldn’t hold out against me for long and would all be cut to pieces by mid-afternoon.” (4799–820) 96  4733 They’re in the wrong, we’re in the right Il ont le tort, nus avom dreit: see La Chanson de Roland, ed. Frederick Whitehead., rev. T. D. Hemming (London: Bristol Classical Press, 1993), v. 1015: Paien unt tort e chrestiens unt dreit (“pagans are wrong and Christians are right”). God is assumed always to be on the side of the Christians and/or the hero.



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“Sire,” said the citizen, “you don’t know the English. They’d think it beneath them to flee from the field. Whether they live or die, they’ll never let their lord down but will let themselves all be killed instead. Before they were defeated in the field you would have lost many of your men.” “My friend,” said King Urvein, “Waldef is filled with valour. Take this message and tell him this from me: why should we have our people killed in pain and torment? He has come here to fight and I’m all ready to fight. I want to fight him and defend this land, and if I can’t defend it, I certainly don’t wish to keep it. If he can defeat me in battle, I give up all the land to him. If I can defeat him, I want to hold the land freely.”97 The citizen left him and went off to King Waldef, to whom he related from beginning to end what King Urvein had told him: that he wanted to fight with him, and the one who could defeat the other would have the entire land freely and be considered its lord. (4821–52) When Waldef heard that King Urvein wanted to fight him in single combat—being tall and strong, he thought he would easily defeat Waldef—he did not refuse him but rejoiced, and had the citizen tell him that indeed he would fight him, and would never fail to do so. They agreed on the terms and guaranteed them. (4853–64) Florenz came spurring through the ranks at great speed. This is what he said to King Waldef: “My dear lord, grant me the fight against King Urvein tomorrow. He is so tall and so big, so strong and so powerful, and you are so young—a boy—that I fear for you very much.” “Florenz,” he said, “enough of that now. Your wanting to fight on my behalf now makes it clear that you care little for me and, deep down, think little of me. I’ll defend this country, and if I can’t, I’ll lose it. I can never possess land if I don’t defend it as best I can.” Then Florenz left, angry and upset. He kept praying to God to be kind to Waldef and help him. (4865–86) The two kings, in a rage, entered the field together. They were bold and brave, and eager to fight. Waldef prostrated himself and prayed to God. “God, omnipotent father,” he said, “Lord who exists forever, and who made this world, and was then born of a virgin, and suffered death on the cross, and rose again the third day, and entered hell, and brought out the souls with you and sent them to their rest, you who ascended to your Father in heaven, and brought Lazarus back to life, and protected St Daniel from the evil lion in prison, protect me, Lord, from this villain, by your redemptive and holy passion, so that he may not harm or destroy or kill me. And, if it should please you, let me leave the fight with honour, return to my men unharmed, and live to protect holy church.”98 97  4844 I want to hold the land freely La terre quite avoir voldrai: a similar tactic is used in the Lai d’Haveloc when Haveloc fights the Danish usurper Odulf in single combat: “Le Lai d’Haveloc” and Gaimar’s Haveloc Episode, ed. Alexander Bell (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1925), vv. 932–70; it is also mentioned in Walter Map’s De Nugis Curialium as part of the encounter between Cnut and Edmund: De Nugis Curialium, ed. and trans. M. R. James, rev. C. N. L. Brooke and R. A. B. Mynors (Oxford: Clarendon, 1983), Distinction V, chap. iv. On the meaning of quite see AND, s.v. quite1.

98  4893–914 “God, omnipotent father … protect holy church” “Deu,” fet il, “pere omnipotent … E seint’ eglise meintenir”: a common motif in chansons de geste, the “epic prayer,” also known as the “epic creed,” is uttered when a Christian hero in great danger appeals for divine help by listing instances in which God has helped others before him. It is found in other Anglo-Norman romances,

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Having finished his prayer, he jumped to his feet like a lion, next crossed himself, then mounted his fine horse and gave it free rein to gallop at full speed. Everyone watching him said: “Waldef wants to fight and wouldn’t stop even were he to lose his head.” The two kings struck each other fiercely. They broke saddle-girths and breast-plates, and knocked each other down, far from their horses. However hard the blow, they never fell without at once jumping up. Straightaway they drew their swords and dealt each other great blows, making sparks fly from the helmets, unable to hold back. With good, sharp, keen swords they cut through helmets and shields, and hauberks so tough they had never been damaged. They drew blood on both sides; once white, they were now crimson. They fought so hard that those who saw the battle could not tell who was better, stronger, or tougher. They fought each other until daylight was quite gone. Neither ever said a word nor spoke to the other. Then, with proud and fierce looks, they drew back. King Waldef was very brave and looked fierce. Urvein was courageous, tall and strong, valiant in a fray. At the time he was taller than King Waldef by a foot and a half. (4887–954) “King Waldef,” Urvein said to him, “you’re full of valour, prowess and strength; I don’t believe there’s a single man today who could have held out against me for so long without being killed or maimed, or without doing my will. But you’re so handsome and well favoured that it would be a great pity if I’d hurt you just now. You’d do well to believe in Mahomet. He’s so good and so powerful, as are Apollo and Tervagant,99 that you’ll lack for nothing. Whoever wants to love and serve them will never lack for anything. I have served and honoured them and they have rewarded me, for I was the son of a minor nobleman and later they brought me such good fortune that I conquered seven kingdoms, which made me rich and powerful, and so I shall be forever. Now give up your gods and worship ours, and you’ll have whatever you wish.”100 (4955–80) “My dear lord Urvein,” said Waldef, “by Him who created us all, I don’t care a fig for your gods nor a jot for their help. They can neither help nor harm: why then should one serve them? I didn’t come here to jest, nor to worship your false gods, nor to pay you homage: I came to defend my land. I would very much like your company, your friendship, and your favour, were you to become a Christian and relinquish your false gods, which are evil and odious—so say those who know about religions—for the false gods such as Boeve de Haumtone (Der anglonormannische Boeve de Haumtone, ed. Albert Stimming [Halle: Bibliotheca Normannica, 1899]), vv. 1243–54. See Guy Raynaud de Lage, “L’inspiration de la prière ‘du plus grand péril’,” Romania 93 (1972): 568–70. See also vv. 11661–74 for a second epic prayer.

99  4968 Apollo and Tervagant Apolin e Tervagant: names of heathen gods. Tervagant’s origins, unlike the Greek Apollo’s, remain mysterious; see Paul Bancourt, Les Musulmans dans les chansons de geste du Cycle du roi, 2 vols (Aix en Provence: Université de Provence, 1982), 2: 378–83, and note 36 in our Introduction.

100  4965–80 “You’d do well to believe in Mahomet … and you’ll have whatever you wish” “Croi en Mahun, si ferez bien ... Puis averez ço que vus voldrez”: the motif of a pagan champion offering the hero a chance to convert and change sides before combat is common in both chanson de geste and romance; see, e.g., Le Couronnement de Louis, ed. Ernest Langlois, CFMA 22, 2nd ed. (Paris: Champion, 1966), vv. 806–10, and Gui de Warewic, ed. Ewert, vv. 11211–22.



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in whom you believe were devoured by pigs.101 But now believe in Him who was born of the holy Virgin, and before that had created the whole world, forming us in His image— our Lord, Jesus Christ.” (4981–5004) King Urvein was incensed when Waldef spoke to him in this manner, pouring such scorn on his gods. If he could, he would make him pay for that dearly. He attacked him very forcefully, and Waldef angrily hit back. What a bitter fight that was! You will never see a crueller or more violent one, with so many blows dealt by good sharp steel blades. Helmets were crushed, strong shields cut to pieces, which flew all over the field, and strong hauberks ripped apart. Each strove to protect himself, each strove to smite and hurt the other, for there was no chance of reconciliation between them. I cannot count all the blows for you, nor give you an account of all the attacks by the two knights, for that would take too long. The combat was extremely harsh, and neither trusted the other. They fought until evening, never once separating. (5005–30) The weather began to change. Fog drew in from the sea and daylight became murky and dark. Everyone marvelled at this. You could hardly see your companion right next to you. Harding then had an idea: he looked toward the city and noticed that all the Saracens, who believe in Apollo,102 had come out to watch the combat. He called the brave Bern and explained to him that if they could get in without those inside realizing it, they would be safe. They quickly chose one hundred best knights from among them all, fully armed on their chargers. They entered the forest at once, without the other side being aware of this, and loudly shouted their war-cry. They cut down all the Saracens they found there, taking no other ransom. (5031–56) When the pagans heard that our Christians had forced their way into the city, they raised the alarm, so that King Urvein heard them on the battlefield where he was fighting. When King Urvein knew that the city had already been taken, he took three steps forward, distressed and angry. “My lord Waldef,” said Urvein, “so help me Mahomet, you’ve broken your word by capturing the city before our combat had decided which of us would have it. Your knights have entered the city and have already been killing my men.” (5057–74) King Waldef answered: “By God, who made the world, this wasn’t my doing at all. I’ll give you my word of honour that I didn’t capture the city nor kill your men.” Urvein then decided that, having lost the city, he would come to an agreement with Waldef and no longer quarrel with him. “Waldef,” he said, “listen to what I say. By Mahomet, in whom I believe, you’re exceedingly brave and valiant. It would be a huge pity if either of us were to come to grief. I’ll renounce this combat and surrender the entire land to you, on condition that there should henceforth be friendship and peace between us. Thus if I need you, you’ll come to my aid and assistance, and if you need me I’ll come to you with 101  4997 were devoured by pigs de poirs ierent demangiez: in medieval Christian propaganda, a drunken Mahomet was eaten by pigs, a charge often appearing in chansons de geste and romances; see, for example, Horn, ed. Pope, v. 3022, and Bancourt, Musulmans, 367–70. The story also appears in the work of the greatest thirteenth-century chronicler, Matthew Paris; see his Chronica majora, ed. H. R. Luard, Rolls Series 57, 7 vols (London, 1872–83), 1: 269–72. 102  5040 who believe in Apollo Qui croient la loi Apolin: see note to v. 4968.

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a large force.” Waldef replied: “I agree to that. It won’t be because of me that our friendship will fail or that either of us will neglect to come to the other’s aid.” They kissed each other and committed themselves to friendship. Afterwards they mounted their horses and joyfully rode into the city. There was no man, great or small, who did not rejoice at their amity. Having been reconciled, the kings spent some time together. (5075–110) When Urvein no longer wished to stay there, he quickly had his ships readied. Waldef supplied him plentifully with bread, wine, meat, grain, and abundant provisions. Urvein then boarded his ships. Now that he is sailing away, let us speak no more of him, as I would like to talk about King Waldef. Having summoned the army of his land, he went straight toward Narborough, laying siege to Earl Okenard. When Okenard heard that Waldef was marching against him, he had his fortifications strengthened and his men summoned from all over, for he had one hundred prized knights in the area who were his vassals. Okenard was very bold and brave. He often attacked the king and won land from him, sometimes gaining ground and sometimes losing it. The king besieged him seven years, never drawing back.103 When the king’s forces were asleep, the earl attacked them, killing and seizing many, and doing the king great harm. Florenz was wounded there, to the king’s great distress. Many others were also wounded, for Okenard was in no way sluggish or indolent when it came to harassing his enemies. He sent many heads flying. But things turned out badly for him when he ran out of provisions. When the provisions were gone, his men told him that they could no longer put up resistance and did not know what to do. Earl Okenard was greatly saddened to see his men starving, for Waldef had taken him by surprise, entering his country before he was aware of it and could lie in wait for him.104 Weeping, he said to his men: “My lords, go away. I can no longer protect you. Go at once and save your lives. I’ll stay in this tower and defend it as best I can. Before I’m captured or slain I will have sold my life dearly.” “Sire,” said the seneschal, a bold and loyal knight, “my dear lord, you must leave. Think of saving your own life. For the king bears you mortal hatred: if he could hold you captive now he would have you killed or slaughtered. It’s not good for you to stay. We greatly fear King Waldef and his ferocity. If we were to be captured fleeing, we’d be lost forthwith. We’d much rather be besieged with you and honourably killed with you than captured in flight, to be dishonoured forever. We’ll defend the castle, sire, and before we surrender the castle to the king we’ll negotiate with him until he guarantees us life and limb.” The earl turned to go, distressed and angry. As soon as night fell he fled, after he threatened the king by saying that he would not fail to go to war against him as long as he lived. He went to the king of London and told him from beginning to end how Waldef had dispossessed him. The king retained him, treating him with great affection. (5111–94) When King Waldef heard that Okenard had gone away, he had the castle attacked, but it was defended bravely and well. When he could not capture it by assault, he let the defenders know that they should surrender the tower and leave his land. The knights

103  5133 seven years set anz: in Bramis’s Latin translation the siege lasts seven months, not years; see Bramis, 84. 104  5156 And could lie in wait for him Ne que il dunques l’asegast: this verse’s meaning is not clear. We translate aseger as “to await, lie in wait for,” a meaning given in AND, s.v. asseger.



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conferred among themselves and delivered the castle to the king. They left safe and sound, with all their belongings, and the king took possession of the castle. He would have knocked it down and demolished it had Gimund not intervened to stop him. The king departed and went to lay siege to Brancaster. But Earl Urri had already heard that Waldef would march against him, and he had prepared himself well. He had so many good knights, foot-soldiers, and archers, and he was so wise and experienced, that he provisioned his castle and his city so well that he lacked for nothing. Even were he to be besieged for seven years, he would be neither starved nor captured. (5195–5224) Earl Urri had a son called Urri, named after his father and known as Young Urri. He was a very brave knight, fierce and bold. He carried out an attack against the king, in which many men perished. One day he went out of the castle with a hundred knights and they attacked King Waldef’s army. When Waldef’s soldiers saw them coming, they clashed with them, starting a bitter battle in which many knights were killed and many captured and taken prisoner. The men from the city came off worse. When they took flight they rode fast toward the city, like men who have been routed. The brave Bern arrived, very angry, and in the press he struck Urri, piercing him right through the body, and felled him dead to the ground. And when the earl heard that his son Urri was dead he was so grief-stricken he did not know what to do. Now that he had lost his son, who had carried on his war for him, the war was over. He sent for Earl Harding, and told him, all in tears, how he had lost his son, and how he had come to grief. He said that he would come to terms with the king and give him as many of his possessions as the king wished, and that he had a daughter whom he would gladly give to Harding, making her his heir, provided that Harding would reconcile him with the king and forgive him his offence. Earl Harding replied, saying: “Earl Urri, my dear lord, King Waldef hates you very much and bears ill will to anyone who would ever speak of you and reconcile you to him. Nevertheless, I’ll go to him and discuss a settlement.” (5225–74) Earl Harding left, went to the king, and gave him Urri’s message from beginning to end: that he wanted to be reconciled to the king and would give him many of his possessions. The king replied: “He’ll never do that. He’ll never give me what is his, nor will he ever hold land from me, no matter what he may do. For I’ve said and strongly sworn that he won’t hold from me a single foot of the land he now has nor ever come to an agreement with me.” Harding replied: “God forbid you should ever go back on an oath you’ve sworn. If, my dear lord, you don’t want him to hold land from you or ever to appear before you, give the land to me. That way you’ll have dispossessed him, for his dear son Urri is dead, having been killed yesterday morning. He has a daughter and no other heirs. If it’s your wish to give me the girl and grant me the land, you’ll have kept your word and I’ll be grateful to you.”105 The king replied: “You’ll have her, and lands and castles and cities too. Guard the traitor for me and place him in a house of religion. Make him a monk, so that he can atone properly for his sins.” The earl then departed, having thanked the king very much. He quickly went to Brancaster and married his lady the next day. The king went from there to his city of Caister. He summoned the army of his

105  5303 You’ll have kept averois salvé: although the MS reads averois (“I would have”), averïez (“you would have”) fits the context better (Holden, 299); we have translated accordingly.

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land and the levies, and whoever would not come was to bear the name of coward forever. With the army he had gathered, he turned toward Suffolk. (5275–322) When King Rut heard that King Waldef was marching against him, he summoned the army of his land and sought to recruit foreign troops as well. The king of Cambridge was there with a large force. The king of Hertford, a relative of the king of Thetford, had also come. By the time they were ready to attack they had assembled a large army. When they had ordered their troops, the kings decided to march against King Waldef and attack him with great violence. Then they left Thetford, with great pomp and splendour. The kings joined battle on a plain beside a marsh three leagues outside Thetford, where many a man was killed. In the fierce clash, many good knights perished. They struck with spears and falchions,106 threw large stakes and sharp darts. King Rut fought well, and so did King Cnut of Cambridge and King Howard of Hertford, who was as cruel as a leopard. He struck well with his steel sword, sending many a man’s head flying. Earl Merlin, King Rut’s nephew, fought well, for he was a bold and excellent knight. No knight in the world could match him for prowess, audacity, and valour. The people of that country, who knew him well, used to say that he never felt fear, so great was his courage. He did not merely pretend to do his best: many men bemoaned his blows. He inflicted great losses on Waldef, killing his men before his very eyes. Lord Florenz was wounded in the body with a steel sword, Brun was captured and imprisoned, and Gimund was knocked down. King Waldef was distressed to see his men killed. He exhorted them loudly: “Barons of noble lineage,” he said, “what have you come to now? Where are now your great valour, your strength and might, of which you used to have so much, and your prowess and courage? You have lost them today, when you flee from battle, abandoning me. You’ve let me down and want to forsake me here on the battlefield. I’ll never leave this field defeated but stay here alive or dead. Now we’ll see who’ll follow me!” He struck a knight and cut his heart in two, throwing him dead to the ground. Florenz advanced, furiously angry and enraged, and attacked the powerful King Rut, whom neither his shield nor his hauberk could protect. He stabbed him in the heart with his blade and knocked him down dead from his charger. (5323–96) Then Earl Harding came, grieved at heart. He attacked King Cnut, whose strong hauberk proved useless: Harding pierced Cnut’s heart with his lance, and knocked him down dead without further ado. Gimund came spurring forward, his sharp sword in his hand. He attacked Earl Edriz, lord of Ipswich.107 He split him down to his teeth and knocked him down dead from his horse. Each of them hit the man he had pursued, and many lay there dead. Such blows of polished swords against helmets could be seen, so many riderless horses, so many knights crying out and wailing, so many noblemen dismembered, lying hacked to pieces in the field. (5397–416) 106  5345 falchions falsarz: the context suggests that falsarz are likely to be falchions, swords with a somewhat curved blade ultimately descended from the peasant’s sickle. (The French and English terms both derive from the Latin falx, “sickle,” AND, s.v. fauchun, OED, s.v. falchion.)

107  5406 Ipswich Gipewiz: Ipswich is a town in Suffolk, situated where the river Orwell opens out into an estuary. Closer to its source, the Orwell is known as the Gipping.



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Now that the two kings were dead the others lost heart. Much weakened, they took flight. Earl Merlin and King Howard drew to one side and gathered their men around them. They attacked King Waldef, and some hundred men who fought there soon lost their lives. Earl Merlin advanced to fight King Waldef, to whom he gave such a blow on top of his gem-studded helmet that he stunned him. When he felt this mighty blow, the king was so greatly angered that in his rage he struck back at Merlin, hitting him on his gleaming helmet and cutting off a quarter of it. Merlin was dazed by the blow and quickly made his escape. He attacked Florenz, who was among his own men, and struck his helmet so hard with his good sword that he quite stunned him. The sword slid down the helmet and damaged his strong hauberk, but did not touch the flesh: on this occasion God protected him. Merlin spoke to Florenz, saying: “By that God who made us all, I’ll never be happy until I’ve cut off your head, for you’ve killed my uncle. You came to this land in an evil hour!” And lord Florenz struck him back with his good, keen sword. Merlin turned back, having seen his defeated men riding away at full speed, pursued by the enemy. (5417–58) King Howard fled and, spurring his horse, came up to Merlin. “Merlin,” he said, “let’s go away. We’re the only ones left of our men. All the others have been killed or captured, and there’s no point in staying. This King Waldef is far too fierce. One can’t withstand him, for he strikes too hard with his steel sword. He has wounded me so severely that I won’t easily be healed.” They spurred their horses, which flew faster than merlins.108 Waldef’s men pursued them, but Merlin was exceptionally courageous and often turned toward them, striking many blows with his steel sword. He repeatedly turned to face them, killing their men. Waldef’s company rode across the plains of Thetford, vigorously pursuing their enemies. King Howard and Earl Merlin reached the road and took their way toward Hertford, leaving the dead behind them, and King Waldef turned back. Gimund and Bern had entreated him to return and seize the city, which he agreed to do, abandoning his pursuit. He then took possession of the city, taking his prisoners with him, having the wounded brought out and the dead quickly buried. The citizens came out to meet him and received him with great joy, acknowledging him as their lord. Waldef had the bodies of King Rut and King Cnut collected and buried together in the field where they were killed. Afterwards the local people had a handsome chapel of whitewashed stone built in honour of the two kings. And because King Rut had died and was buried there, the local people later named the village after him, calling it Roudham.109 (5459–514) The king entered Thetford and took hostages from among the townspeople and those of the country’s barons who were still alive, as guarantee that the people of Thetford would remain with him and serve him as their lord. Then he left and went to Cambridge. Its citizens all assembled; after a debate they resolved among themselves that they dared not defend the city against him, nor go into battle. They quickly gave the city up to him and all paid him homage. King Waldef spent a long time in the city of Cambridge. He summoned all the barons and received their fealty. One day King Waldef 108  5472 merlins esmerilluns: small birds of prey of the falcon family.

109  5514 Roudham Rudham: village in Norfolk, some eight miles north of Thetford; see note to v. 205.

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called lord Florenz, whom he loved so much. “Florenz,” he said, “come forward. You’ve served me very well indeed and I intend to repay your service. You’ve loved me faithfully. Florenz, this day I give you the prosperous city of Thetford and the fleet with all its income,110 along with the entire territory of Suffolk all the way to the Norfolk border.” “Thank you, sire!” said Florenz. “That’s a magnificent gift and I’m grateful to you, sire, but I won’t take either the territory of Suffolk or the fief: it won’t be mine for even a single day. Suffolk goes very well indeed with your territory of Norfolk. Keep them together and you’ll be greatly strengthened.” (5515–54) The king heeded what Florenz had said—that he would not accept Suffolk, nor would it ever be his—and held it together with Norfolk, to his own profit. Thus at that time he became the first lord ever to hold both counties at the same time.111 He was their first lord, and those who came after him likewise held them together. When Florenz refused Suffolk, Waldef gave him Cambridgeshire with all its territory and the fief, considerably larger than when King Cnut had held it. And Florenz received it, thanking him many times for the wonderful gift; he was raised to kingship and placed on the throne in the city. And so lord Florenz was now proclaimed king. He stayed there long enough to secure his position. He summoned his barons and received their fealty, so as to be certain of the city. King Waldef returned to Thetford, often thanking God that he had avenged himself on those traitors. Then he remembered King Swein, who had once greatly humiliated him by shaming his messengers when he had sent to him for help. He summoned the army of his land and immediately invaded Essex, ravaging the land and laying it waste before he besieged Colchester. King Swein was in the city, with the army he had gathered. “My lords,” he said, “arm and get ready for battle. We’ll fight King Waldef and, God willing, we’ll roundly defeat him.” (5555–600) The city’s sheriff jumped up at once. “Sire,” he said, “I want you to know that we won’t fight King Waldef nor ride out against him, for we aren’t strong enough to withstand him. We’re all your faithful subjects and you should trust our advice. Go to King Waldef and throw yourself on his mercy. Give him many rich gifts and become his vassal, for you’re not strong enough to fight against him. If you don’t want to do so, leave the city. You shouldn’t stay with us any longer if you won’t trust us. We’ll go to King Waldef and surrender the city to him. My dear lord, we don’t want to be slaughtered for your sake. Has he not killed other kings, who were more powerful than you are or ever will be? And you, how will you fight? He’s so bold and so fierce that he can subdue anyone.” (5601–30) When King Swein heard that they had all let him down, he said: “Lords, you’ve disappointed me. You’ve all shown yourselves to be traitors and will be considered traitors wherever you go. You were quick to send me packing from the city, and I’ll gladly leave. 110  5540 the fleet la navire: Thetford is on the Little Ouse, which was navigable in the Middle Ages. 111  5561–63 he became the first lord ever to hold both counties at the same time il iert le primer seingnur / Q’unques primes tint a nul jur / Ensemblë iceuls dous contez: Norfolk and Suffolk were incorporated into the same administrative unit in the sixth century, when they became part of the kingdom of East Anglia.



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Since I can’t stand on my own against the entire community, I give up Colchester to you. I’ll go and fight King Waldef and will never hold land from him or be his vassal. I’d rather be killed in battle, and in that way forget my grief. I’ll never be King Waldef’s friend because his father was never my father’s friend, and he’ll never be my friend either. Not long ago I shamed and insulted him. He’ll now take his revenge on me as he has on those other kings, but before I’m killed or captured I will have killed some of their men. Truly, I’d rather die honourably than live dishonoured.” King Swein armed himself, mounted his good horse, and quickly rode out of the city all alone. There was not a single man, whether earl or baron or burgess, friendly enough to walk with him even a short distance or to commend him to God. The king then turned away and wept bitterly. He went out of the city, commending himself to God, and they closed the gates behind him. No wonder he was distressed. He often called himself wretched and miserable, wishing he were dead rather than alive. He spurred his charger, never stopping, and struck a knight whose heart he cleft in two. And he struck another so that he knocked him down from his horse. Then he drew his steel sword and with it shed many men’s blood. The knights attacked him, giving him many heavy blows. They fought him from all sides, chasing him all the way to the gate, but the gate was tightly shut. He did not linger there at all but turned his charger toward them and attacked them with vigour. (5631–90) King Waldef stopped, greatly marvelling at him. His knights who came with him were all amazed at Swein.112 They said to each other that he was quite insane and deliberately sought to die when he rushed at the army in this way, wreaking havoc with the good sword he held. The king then called Bern and ordered him to go fetch the man and bring him to him; and that if the man was of sound mind he would be the best knight ever. Sir Bern quickly went on his way and found Swein right at the gate, where he was in serious trouble. Bern addressed him courteously, greeted him on Waldef’s behalf, and conveyed to him Waldef’s message in full: that Waldef would gladly take him into his service if he were willing to stay with him. (5691–716) King Swein answered that he would not stay with Waldef, but if Bern wished to take him to the king he would gladly go. “I’ll lead you,” Bern said. And Swein replied: “I’ll follow you.” Bern led him off at once, escorting him through the army until they saw the king surrounded by earls and barons. “Sir knight,” said Swein, “tell me, so help you God, which of them is King Waldef, whom the English fear so much?” And he replied: “You can see him standing over there, the tall and imposing man, big and handsome, dressed in dark samite. That, indeed, is the mighty King Waldef.” When King Swein recognized him, he was shaken to the core to see his mortal enemy. He spurred his horse, wishing to take his revenge on him there where he saw him standing at ease. He meant to run him through, but God would not allow that. Swein’s strong lance passed between Waldef’s arm and his ribs, protruding by more than a span and a half. King Waldef dodged to the other side, and King Swein rode past, intending to get away. The others swiftly captured him; more than a hundred men held him tightly. They would have cut him to pieces at once, mangled and mutilated him, but King Waldef forbade it: no man should be so inso112  5693 who came with him qu’entre li vindrent: entre may be a variant of entier, “together” (AND, s.v. enter) or “as a group.”

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lent as to harm him or strike him again. “Sir knight,” said the king, “I entreat you by your faith to tell me the whole truth about why you want to kill me.” “Sire,” he replied, “since you’ve adjured me you’ll hear it. Kill me after that, for if you let me get away you can be sure I’ll kill you if I have enough strength and power. I don’t want to leave this place alive, because I came here to die.” (5717–72) The king said: “Hold him firmly! He’s completely mad, you can be sure. Take away his weapons and bind his hands securely.” Then King Waldef ordered them to take off his head armour. “That way I’ll see whether his face is that of a fool or of a sane man.” They quickly removed Swein’s helmet and unlaced his ventail, and when they uncovered his face they found him to be the most handsome man they had ever seen, the most attractive and well shaped. He was no older than twenty. The king felt great compassion for him and spoke to him kindly. “My friend,” said the king, “why have you come here? Why do you want to kill me? You’re exceedingly angry with me. Did you know what you were doing or were you misled by folly?” “Sire,” he replied, “I’ll tell you, for I won’t lie to you. This morning I was lord and king of this city. I had summoned all my men and was ready to fight. My men all refused, not daring to fight you. Instead they told me to go away and talk you into accepting me as a vassal who holds his land from you. And if I didn’t want to do that I should leave the city, never to enter it again or be considered its king. They would surrender the city to you and all become your men. When they had abandoned me in this way I went out of the city. I didn’t find a single man, among all those whom I’d loved most, who’d be willing to go with me or grieve for me at least a little. I felt such huge pain and anger that I wanted to kill myself deliberately. And if I’d killed you I wouldn’t have been able to make my escape before I was severely battered and hacked to pieces. But I would have acquired lasting renown for this act of prowess.” “My lord king,” Waldef said to him, “by the eyes in my head, when you shamed my men you valued me very little. Now I can take my revenge. Give up your folly and become my man, and hold your lands from me, your castles and your cities, and whatever you’ve lost I’ll restore it all to you. Nor will I ever leave this place, even if I have to spend seven years here; I don’t mean to go away until I’ve captured the city and safely reinstated you in it. Then you’ll arrest your traitors and hang them high on a gallows. Others will learn from their example not to wrong their lord. We’ll remain good friends and good companions forever, and everyone in these kingdoms will respect us and fear us even more.” “Lord Swein,” Florenz said to him, “the king has spoken to you wisely. He’s offering you great honour and great friendship. Curb your temper now. Go and pay homage to the king. Let such an agreement be made that from now on you and I will forever be both companions and good friends. You have a well brought-up sister renowned for her beauty. Give her to me. I’ll take her and marry her if you agree.” King Swein thought hard. He got up in tears and threw himself at the king’s feet, often begging him for mercy. “Sire,” he said, “mercy, by God! I beg you to forgive me. I’ll become your vassal and hold my lands from you, provided that you, sire, keep the promise you’ve given me.” King Waldef accepted his homage, kissed him, and said: “My lord Swein, from now on I wish and order that whatever belongs to me should be at your command.” King Swein thanked him very much, then took off his armour. (5773–882)



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Two citizens arrived, riding their palfreys at a walking pace. They were dressed in silk clothes and carried branches of peace in their hands. They stopped before the kings and greeted King Waldef. “Sire,” they said, “listen to us. May He who created us bless you. The inhabitants of the city send you greetings by us and ask you to come to the city and take it over. They will yield the wealthy city to you and all will become your men, holding their lands from you and serving you as their lord. They conceived great hatred for their former lord, King Swein, when he refused to trust them, being utterly bereft of good sense.” King Waldef replied: “By my head, I’ll never trust those who’ve betrayed their lord and let him down in battle, because I’m convinced they’ll treat me the same way. Since they’ve let down their rightful and legitimate lord, to whom they owe loyalty and honour, I’ll never be on good terms with them. I’ll never leave this place until I’ve arrested the traitors. Then I’ll give them up to their king, who is now in my service, and he’ll hang the traitors. Not one will escape!” The citizens left and went back to their city. They told the others how they had fared with King Waldef and how the king had responded. There was no one in the city, no matter how clever and brave, who was not dismayed at this. “My lords,” the sheriff said to them, “the walls are strong and solid, the city is strongly fortified, and we have plenty of men and sufficient provisions. We’ll be able to defend ourselves very well. We’ll receive help and assistance and will never be taken by force.” They banked the gates with earth, so that no army could get in, but the citizens would not bank up the seaward gate. The king attacked them and brought in siege engines. (5883–940) The sheriff had a son named Fern, a bold and valiant warrior but treacherous and deceitful. He boarded a ship at Colchester and sailed straight to London, where he found the two earls who were with the city’s king, Earl Okenard and Earl Merlin, with a number of their relatives. He told them all about the siege, and promised and gave them so much that they went to Colchester with him. Now the earls were in the city, acting proudly and arrogantly. They removed the earth banks from all the gates and had all the bolts cut. They had all the gates open, to be able to come and go. Then they went out of the city in great strength and in great numbers, and attacked the besieging army. The clash was fierce; many men could be seen dying and many lying dead on the ground. When Merlin saw Florenz he was not slow to attack him. “You wicked, foolish king!” he said, “I’ve said and sworn, truly, that I’ll never be glad until I’ve cut off your head.” When Okenard saw King Waldef he lifted his head high, called him a cowardly king, and attacked him ferociously. He threatened him loudly, saying he would cut off his head to stop him from ever dispossessing anyone. Each side fought hard but the besiegers were very strong and pushed the defenders back to the city gates. Earls Merlin and Okenard drew aside with Fern. They did not deign to go in through the gates but stood their ground against them all. Before they were forced to go in they killed or captured thirty men. And the citizens were much encouraged by the strong support they had received, and each held a great feast. (5941–94) The king withdrew, but in the morning he launched another assault, attacking the city violently. And both within and without, many were killed, injured or hurt. They drew swords, hurled spears, and rushed forward, and those inside defended themselves well. The attackers brought down the towers and walls with catapults and mangonels, but

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whatever they destroyed during the day, the workmen rebuilt at night. They took part in many incursions and frays, performed many chivalrous acts, and displayed much valour. Many men died there painfully. So many assaults and ambushes were made in that year that it would take me too long to tell you about all of them. The king was enraged that he had been there so long without achieving anything, so he called for all his barons. “Lords,” he said, “what do you advise? What counsel can you now give me? What shall we do about this city since we can’t take it?” (5995–6021) “Sire,” said Earl Gimund, “the citizens are valorous and good fighters, and clever as well as valiant. The city is exceedingly strong and they are well provisioned. Stay here in your tent, never leaving it. Have it announced throughout the army that you have been taken ill and wish to depart, that you want to return to your country immediately, without delay, and can’t stay here any longer. We’ll make a litter for you and carry you with us until we’re far off and have come into the forest. In the thicket there in the valley we’ll leave some of our men with King Swein and King Florenz, and you, dear lord, will go on with the men you have here. And those bold men in the city will hear of this and will pursue you with a great army. When they come between you and us, we’ll attack them. Let each man take pains to strike, so not one of them flees even a foot but is taken or cut down before they can get to the city. That way you’ll have tricked them.” (6023–56) The king replied: “You’ve spoken well. Quickly and without delay, have it announced throughout the army that I want to leave right away, that I’ve been taken ill, and am dying here.” Then you could see packhorses being laden, tents and pavilions packed up, and squires and sergeants running around, happy to be leaving. They set fire to their encampment, and it was seen throughout the countryside. Carried in a litter, King Waldef left with all his barons. There were displays of grief in the army, as those who did not know this was a trick greatly lamented his illness. Waldef and his men entered the great forest, where they hid themselves completely. When the defenders of the city saw this, they quickly armed themselves, happier than ever. They all mounted their horses, and went in pursuit at full gallop, saying to each other, “The cowardly king is taking off now, he’s had enough of the city.” (6057–84) Five leagues from the city, King Waldef stopped in an open area. When he saw all his men followed at full gallop by others coming from the city, the king quickly leaped up; he did not appear frightened! He called for his arms and armed himself, then mounted his good horse. Now you could see Earl Merlin spurring ahead of his companions, rushing toward the king and striking down a knight. After him Okenard rode furiously across the field. He hit a knight and knocked him off his horse. Fern could be seen riding fast, eager to strike well. He struck a knight, and threw him far from his saddle. At this, the king shouted loudly. “Lords,” he said, “now we’ll see who will really hammer the traitors. They’ll never get away by so much as a foot.” Then they clashed with each other, exchanging great blows. When King Florenz, waiting in ambush, knew that those from the city had now passed by, he and his men quickly left their positions and rode to the edge of the forest until they came upon them and attacked them fiercely. They surrounded their foes on all sides, hurling their spears and their darts. They made them die in agony, shrieking and crying out all over the field. You should have seen Earl Merlin, how he struck with his steel sword! When he saw King Florenz coming, he was not slow to strike him.



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They attacked each other fiercely, filled with hate for each other. And you should have seen Fern and Okenard, who did not seem afraid to strike. Whoever saw them strike in battle would think them remarkable. But after this things went very badly for them and they sustained great losses. Fern came spurring forward and said to Merlin in front of everyone: “Sir Merlin, let’s go, for we’re losing too many of our people. By now death awaits us all. Before we get to the city everyone will be dead or dismembered.” The earls Merlin and Okenard gathered their people to one side to go to the city. They thought they could bypass King Florenz, but he intercepted them and cut off many heads. They fled toward the city, but the pursuers killed their men as they fled, causing them enormous losses. Some fled this way, others dodged that way. The earls Okenard and Merlin, with a cousin of Merlin’s, rushed into the great forest, but immediately turned back. Fern galloped off, confident in his good horse. King Waldef and his men spurred strongly after him. Fern was a very brave knight: as long he sat on a good horse, he feared neither king nor emperor who might strike better in battle. At the gates before the city Fern turned upon them. He cut down a knight, but his luck turned in the press inside the city, which King Waldef had entered with all his men. They secured the city at once, so no one could go out without being caught right away. When the sheriff who was in charge of the city heard that his men were all either killed or taken prisoner, both he and lord Fern, his son, boarded a ship. Not daring to remain there any longer, they went straight to London. Afterwards they stayed with King Uther and told him everything about how they were chased away and lost their city. (6085–190) Now the townsmen were defeated. King Waldef stayed there all that day and night. The next day, he got up early. He called King Swein to him, and said he was going to leave. “My lord king,” said Waldef, “I shall depart. I’ve returned your city to you. Take all your traitors and judge them as you wish. If you need money, let me know right away. Whatever I have in my land I’ll give it all to you.”113 King Swein thanked him heartily for it. Then Waldef left and went straight back to his country, and the whole army split up. King Florenz went to Cambridge, his city, and King Swein stayed in Colchester. Right away he imprisoned all the citizens who were against him and refused to be loyal to him. He had a high gallows built on the seashore and had exactly forty-three of the townsmen hanged there, so that anyone who travelled by sea and saw that punishment would speak of it when they landed; thanks to them, others would take care not to betray their lord. (6191–224) King Waldef was noble and brave. He knew well how to avenge himself on those who shamed and disdained him. He was also happy that his conquests had made him so wealthy and powerful. With his wife he had two sons, whose names I can certainly tell you: the elder one was named Guiac,114 the younger was called Gudlac. Later I will tell 113  6201 If you need money Si vus mestier avez d’avoir: Medieval England was not rich in cash; people often paid rents in kind, and it could be difficult to raise enough coin when it was wanted. See Medieval Money Matters, ed. Diana Wood (Oxford: Oxbow, 2004), especially Richard Britnell, “Uses of Money in Medieval England,” 16–30, and N. J. Mayhew, “Coinage and Money in England, 1086–c. 1500,” 72–86.

114  6233 Guiac Giac: though most often spelled Guiac, the elder son’s name here appears in

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you more about what happened to them, but now I will leave King Waldef, to speak of King Uther, who was in London, holding a great feast.115 There were many kings there, all the mightiest of the realm: the king of Canterbury was there, who was then lord of Kent; Hereward, king of Chichester; Howard, king of Hertford; Gimund, king of Warwick; Osmund, king of Oxford;116 Erkenwald, king of Lincoln; Ruald, king of Gecestre;117 Hemming, king of York; Harding, king of Carlisle; Herlaf, king of Gloucester; Henelaf, king of Chester; Edwin, king of Portchester (king of the sea-coast);118 Elstan, king of Cornwall; Herman, king of Salisbury; Felix, king of Huntingdon; Herviz, king of Winchester; Toli, king of Dorchester; Tovi, king of Loeneis;119 Hoel, king of Cardigan, more loyal than anyone under heaven. With them were other kings, Welsh by birth, and plenty of other people, bishops, priors, and abbots (not to be named here), who had been invited to the feast. They were all seated at dinner, richly served, when King Uther looked all around the great hall. Seeing neither King Waldef nor King Swein, he said to Levenot, his seneschal: “Now then, good sir, why isn’t King Waldef here, or King Swein, whom I brought up myself?” “Sire,” he said, “I’ll tell you: I wrote on your behalf to both Waldef and Swein, telling them to come here and not stay away for anything. King Waldef responded that he was no friend to you, and wouldn’t come to your feast, for he didn’t have to, and no king who owed him loyalty would go a step without him. But when he himself decides to come, he’ll bring with him a thousand men who have all sworn to cut off your head if they can reach you.” When the king heard this threat, he flushed with shame. “Lords,” he said, “what do you who are assembled here advise me? Now that you’ve heard these threats, give me advice so I can avenge myself on that man, who threatens to cut off my head.” (6225–304) “Sire,” said Earl Merlin, “it’s certain that if Waldef lives long enough he’ll dispossess us all. He has already conquered three kings, killing two in the field. The third became his man, which has greatly increased his power. Truly, his might stretches right up to this city. He exerts power over four realms. He has greatly dishonoured you in valuing you the MS as Giac. The name recurs in the family, as is common in aristocratic genealogies: Waldef’s grandfather was also called Giac (see above, vv. 384–401).

115  6240–392 holding a great feast … was satisfied Une grant feste ... fu asazé: Uther’s feast, with its lengthy catalogue of illustrious guests (vv. 6240–70), is derived from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s account of King Arthur’s Whitsun feast (Historia IX.156), which the Waldef poet probably knew from its adaptation in Wace’s Brut (vv. 10199–336). 116  6248 Osmund Osmund: a former rival for Ernild’s hand, Osmund is now Waldef’s friend and ally. He is, however, still bound to acknowledge the overlordship of the king of London (see vv. 275–98), not just by attending Uther’s feast but also by fighting against Waldef on Uther’s side, as in v. 6785.

117  6250 Gecestre Gecestre: this could be a syncopated spelling of Worcester (Guirecestre, v. 10258), or a version of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Kaicestria (IX.156, Caistor), or, as Holden suggests (301), an error for Lecestre (Leicester).

118  6255 Portchester Porecestre: the location, at the entrance to Portsmouth harbour, was recognized as strategically important by the Romans, who built there an important fortress, Portus Adurni; its well-preserved remains became part of the later Norman castle. 119  6262 Loeneis Loeneis: Holden speculates (371) that this might be Lothian.



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so little that he didn’t deign to come to you. Send for your great army and plan to attack him. Graciously ask the kings you have assembled for help. Give them so much of your wealth that you can be sure they’ll be on your side and join your army. When this rich and sumptuous feast is over, you’ll go and attack King Waldef wherever you find him. He won’t be able to defend himself against you but will give himself up to you, dead or alive. Put him in your prison and keep him in prison forever.” (6305–34) “Sire,” said King Howard,120 “I’ll speak truly, so help me God. Earl Merlin is very loyal and gives you good advice. Each of us ought to take pains to destroy this enemy.” He went on: “Sire, so help me God, I will go with you in this army, bringing a hundred knights. If I meet Waldef in battle, I’m sure I’ll cut his head off.” “Sire,” said King Hereward, “King Howard speaks well. King Waldef has greatly transgressed against your authority, which has long been established, for more than a hundred years: whoever is to be king of London should have such authority there that all the kings of the land should bow before him, whether in peace or in war, and keep the peace with him. Now Waldef, through his pride and great savagery, has violated this custom and stirred up the whole land, and on top of that has threatened to cut off your head. We must defeat and destroy this man, who wishes so much to rise above you. I’ll tell you, speaking for myself, I’ll go with you in this army. I mean to bring the army of my own land to aid you as much as I can, and if I find Waldef, I certainly intend to cut off his head.” At this the other kings said: “Lord Uther, we’ll go with you on this occasion, for we mustn’t fail you. Know that if we can find Waldef we mean to attack him.” Uther thanked them all, and then they celebrated joyfully. They were served splendidly with wine, clary, and piment.121 They had plenty of game, and after that the poultry course, cranes and swans and peacocks, ducks and wild geese and herons. There was so much meat that even the lowliest servant in the palace that day,122 whether lowborn or noble, had plenty of it; even the poorest was satisfied. They were served magnificently. On the fourth day they left for their own countries, where they assembled their great armies and all came back to London, as they had agreed among themselves. But the king of Lincoln did not come, for he was not loyal to Uther. The armies left London and went straight to Suffolk. The companies made camp in the great plain before Thetford. Between Elveden and Thetford you could not see a house or cottage, only shelters, tents, and pavilions for kings, earls, and barons. (6335–408) When King Waldef heard that King Uther was coming against him with such an army and such forces, he at once had cities and castles well provisioned throughout his land, and summoned his country’s army to Thetford. He provisioned the city very well, had the moats repaired and the walls reinforced. Soon he sent for his friends and assembled 120  6335, 6341 King Howard li rois Hoard, He went on Sur ço parole rois Hoard: the repetition of the king’s name does not imply two kings named Howard (Hereward’s words in v. 6348 make clear there is only one); we follow Bramis’s Latin translation (98–99) in treating vv. 6335–46 as a single speech. 121  6382 clary, and piment de claré e de piment: wines sweetened with honey and flavoured with spices. Because spices were expensive, such wines were a luxury. See Peter Brears, Cooking and Dining in Medieval England (Totnes: Prospect, 2012), 387.

122  6389 palace paleis: Holden supplies the word (119), to fill the blank which follows the initial p in the MS.

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all his men. The king of Colchester, who controlled Essex, came with a great force of knights, men at arms, and good archers. King Florenz of Cambridge brought an impressive army. The city was well garrisoned with excellent knights. When those who were in the city went up on the walls and saw the attackers advancing so ferociously, Waldef armed himself straightaway, along with all the men of the city. They came forth with their troops and attacked fiercely, clashing hard with one another. Many were struck down. If only you could have seen Waldef and his men, how brave and good they were, how they attacked with polished swords, like well trained men! King Uther and his forces attacked fiercely, emptying many saddles and knocking down many knights. You could have seen so many horses running loose, so many brave men crying out and wailing. King Hemming of York and King Harding of Carlisle quickly assembled their men, and attacked King Florenz.123 They would have killed or captured him if he had not been so valiant, but he fought them strongly, bloodying many men’s faces. King Waldef rode up, spurring his horse, and so did King Swein, his ally. They helped King Florenz, then struck down King Hemming, took him prisoner, held him, and led him away forcibly. But before they carried him off, many heavy blows were dealt. (6409–64) Earl Merlin appeared, spurring through the great press, a gleaming sword in his hand. Two kings came with him: one may well have been Hereward, king of Chichester,124 and the other was Felix, king of Huntingdon, a valiant relative of King Uther. “Lords,” he said, “look at Florenz over there! Would that he were hanging in the wind!125 May the lord God never help that shield with the leopard!126 For he killed good King Rut, mortally wounding him. King Rut was my uncle, who had given me much land. Through Florenz I lost my whole county. Yet I very much hope and believe that I’ll take his life, and that way be avenged. Now let’s go and strike him forcefully.” They moved toward him, but Florenz countered them well. He gave Hereward a blow on top of his pointed helmet that sliced and split it, and sliced the flesh down to the bone. If Hereward had been bold enough to receive another blow, he never would have left that field. Fern, who preferred war to peace, came up in great haste. He met a knight from Essex, one of King Swein’s men. Hitting him hard, Fern sliced into his lung and liver, and left him dead by the roadside. When King Swein saw that Fern had killed his man, he recognized Fern right away, and struck him forcefully, calling him a wicked traitor. They exchanged great blows. Okenard

123  6449 York Everwic: emended by Holden from the MS’s Warewic, to avoid inconsistency with vv. 6247, 6251, and 10085; the same change is made in v. 6549. See Holden, 301.

124  6470 Chichester Cicestre: Holden’s emendation of the MS’s Cestre, based on vv. 6245, 10063, 10113, and 11348, where Hereward is king of Chichester; see Holden, 301. 125  6476 hanging in the wind! en … as venz! Holden proposes encroez (301), to fill a blank following en in the MS.

126  6477 that shield with the leopard A cel escu, a cel lepard: knights were identified by emblems on their shields. “Leopard” was a heraldic term for the lion passant guardant, i.e. a lion walking, with right front foot raised, depicted with the body sideways and the face toward the viewer. Three lions passant guardant have represented England since Richard I used them on his Great Seal in 1198, and his brother John earlier used a shield with two lions passant guardant (1177). Florenz’s leopard thus associates him with the English royal family. See Thomas Woodcock and John Martin Robinson, The Oxford Guide to Heraldry (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), 187–88, 203.



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came up, impatient for battle, and struck at King Waldef like someone who did not love him at all. “Waldef,” he said, “now listen. You wrongfully dispossessed me, and now I’ll reward you as one ought to reward a wicked king. You’ll be destroyed! I’m the one who brought this army here, and I’ll never be happy until you’re dispossessed, imprisoned, killed, or maimed.” When Okenard spoke like this, Waldef got very angry. At once, and fiercely, he gave him what looked like a massive blow with his good sharp, keen sword. If the sword that gave the great blow had not narrowly missed Okenard, he would have been dead or maimed. (6465–532) The battle raged. No one showed mercy to another but instead everyone hastened to do harm if he could. King Waldef then retreated from the onslaught he had made. He had both gained and lost there, but it worked out well for him, for he gained more than he lost, and so did all of his men. Having assembled all his men, King Waldef returned to the city, with all his followers. He did well that day, and brought back all his prisoners. He had captured the king of York and two earls from another country,127 as well as many knights from other realms. (6533–52) King Uther also returned, taking his wounded with him. He was upset and angered by the wounding of King Hereward, the capture of King Hemming, and the deaths of his men. He kept saying and swearing that the city would be destroyed, and that he would not leave that place until he had taken King Waldef. For three months he besieged the great city, with his army of Londoners whom you have heard me mention: they were greatly to be praised. Not a day went by without a fierce battle outside the city gates. Many men proved themselves there, many an onslaught was made, and many brave deeds were performed. No knight was prized who had not been at that siege. Whoever had not won praise for feats of arms there would ever after be despised. Knights from far-off lands bettered themselves there, acquiring great prestige. (6553–80) King Waldef was very unhappy that these foreigners wasted his land like this and stayed there so long. He called King Swein and Florenz, whom he loved so much. “My lords,” he said, “what shall we do with these people, who have besieged us and laid waste all of this land?” Each of the king’s friends gave his advice. Many wished to fight, but what one wanted, others opposed. “Sire,” said King Gimund, “your barons around you have given you their advice, that the safest thing is to fight. Each man ought to prepare himself, make proper inquiries and plan well, and push himself as hard as possible to attack his enemies. These people have besieged us and want to destroy us completely. Let’s now figure out among ourselves how we can destroy them. Now I’ll tell you my opinion and how I see this. Have a letter written and entrust it to one of your men, as if he had come from London seeking King Uther. Let him be wise and well spoken, and let the letter say that all the Londoners send many greetings to their king, as to their proper lord whom they owe faith and love, and he should know that the Norsemen have arrived and are besieging the city. Danes from Denmark have besieged the city of London and conquered the whole land. If Londoners don’t get considerable help, they won’t be able to defend the city, for it will be completely unprotected. When King Uther believes that his Londoners are besieged, he’ll retreat right away. He won’t dare to remain any longer, 127  6549 York Ewrewic: see note to v. 6449.

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but will go to help his city, departing within an hour. We’ll stay here quietly, without leaving the city. Then at first they’ll feel secure and consider us all cowards. They’ll no longer fear you in any way but will believe they can depart peacefully, and hope to go in peace. We’ll follow them at nightfall and vigorously assault them: that’s how we’ll kill them. “You’ve spoken well,” said Waldef. (6581–645) Right away they had the letter drawn up and soon entrusted it to a young man. They taught him carefully what he ought to say when he came before the king. Having heard his message, the young man, who was brave and wise, mounted a courser and left the city. Spurring his horse until its sides were bloody, he joined the road that comes from the city of London, and rode toward the army as fast as his horse could carry him. Many men saw him. He rode so fast that he really looked like a frightened man who carried bad news. Dismounting at the royal tent, he came before the king, knelt before him, then delivered the letter, and told him his message. The king received the letter, quickly broke the wax, and had it read to him at once. In the letter he found just what the young man had said. He called to him all his kings and told them everything: that he had received news of his loss and harm, that the Danes had come with a large and powerful army, taken London by surprise, and besieged it on all sides. The people of the city had sent for him in great haste, asking him to come and rescue them right away if he cared about the city, or they would surrender it, because they could not defend it for long. “My lords,” he said, “what do you advise me? What counsel will you now give me?” “Go,” they replied, “there’s no point in staying here. Go and rescue your city, don’t put it in jeopardy. You’ll have many opportunities to besiege this town again.” (6646–96) King Uther ordered it announced throughout the army that he planned to withdraw. Pack horses were loaded and the king mounted, leaving like a man in a great hurry, with all his men, who went in full armour, in a great display of military strength. The citizens—those who could bear arms and meant to win spoils—went up on the walls and watched them carefully from afar. After King Uther left, he came to a plain seven leagues from the city, and spent the night there. Having put up their pavilions and set up shelters all around, they stayed there that night, often saying to each other that everyone in the city would be dishonoured forever for failing to attack them as they were about to leave. They kept saying to each other that the townsmen would find it hard to pursue them a day’s journey away from the city, exhausted as they were from the great battles they had endured: they could sleep in safety. “My lords,” said Fern, “be careful now! Never trust Waldef. There’s no one wilier in the world, nor anyone more wicked or more devious. He won’t leave off for anything in the world but will attack us again tonight.” (6697–734) When King Waldef heard that King Uther had gone away, he inquired where the king was encamped. Then he assembled his own men, all the men of Thetford, and those who could bear arms and who wanted to win spoils. “My lords,” he said, “now arm yourselves and think about vengeance. We’re going to attack King Uther, so plan to hit hard.” At once they all armed, as the king had commanded. As soon as night fell they all left the city. That night they rode until they spotted Uther’s army. The whole army was at rest. Unaware of Waldef’s men, they were very incautious and foolishly overconfident. (6735–56)



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When King Waldef saw the army, he said: “My lords, take up your arms at once. Now we’ll see who’s worthy and valiant. Spare neither great nor small.” And they acted like valiant men, swooping on the army right away and killing everyone they reached. There was nothing half-hearted about their blows. They ripped apart tents and pavilions, and killed earls and barons. Each one struck well, sparing neither earl nor king. Before the army could gather its weapons and mount their horses, most of them were badly treated, dead and hacked to pieces. King Uther quickly armed and mounted his good horse, intending to flee. King Waldef pursued him, and smote him so hard through the body that he felled him dead to the ground. When King Uther was killed the others fled, routed. They all took flight because they wanted to save their lives. Five kings were captured there, the others having all fled. King Florenz took King Osmund,128 and Swein took King Gimund,129 and Harding took King Herman, and Gimund took King Elstan, and Sir Brun took King Edwin, who was king of the sea-coast. So many were either taken or killed there that no man in the country knew the number of the dead that filled the fields. (6757–94) Earl Merlin fled, shield slung around his neck, sword in hand. King Florenz followed him, threatening to cut his head off. When Merlin saw him coming alone, he did not deign to flee a single step further but turned around to strike him. He did not want to spare him at all. They exchanged great blows, making sparks fly from each other’s helmets. Earl Merlin looked around. To one side he saw a hundred of King Florenz’s valiant knights, coming fast to the scene of Uther’s defeat. When Earl Merlin saw them approaching, he spoke to King Florenz: “Florenz,” he said, “I’ll go away and concede this battle to you, not because I’m in the least afraid of you, but because I see your men over there, coming here fast. They’re in a hurry to help you. As long as I’m on my good horse and have my steel sword in my hand, I fear no man in the world who might ever harm me. I’m sure I’ll cut your head off within a month.” He spurred his good horse, and fled away along the side of a valley. King Florenz and his men followed after at a great pace. They hoped to take him prisoner or kill him, but he repeatedly turned to face them, striking down many good men and killing several. He relied strongly on his good horse as he put distance between himself and Florenz, and on that occasion he escaped. King Florenz returned, upset and downcast because Merlin had evaded him. Now King Uther was dead—he would never mount a charger again—and his men were utterly defeated, some dead and some captured. Once King Waldef had won the battle, he stopped. Then the Londoners who were still alive assembled, and when they saw King Waldef, they ran quickly to throw themselves at his feet. Each man offered him his unsheathed sword. “Mercy!” they said, “good lord king. We are the men of London, your Londoners, have mercy, Waldef, noble lord. Protect us from danger, lord, so that we don’t die here. We’ll all become your men, we’ll always regard you as our lord, remain loyal, and keep our word. Do as you will with us, either let us live or have us put to death.” (6795–860) 128  6785 Osmund Osmund: see note to v. 6248.

129  6786 King Gimund le roi Gimund: the king of Warwick (see v. 6247), not Waldef’s vassal Gimund, mentioned in v. 6788.

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Having come out on top, the king was generous and merciful. “My lords,” he said, “get up. No one will touch you from now on.” “Sire,” they said, “we beg you to let us have Uther’s body, so he may be buried in church.” The king replied, “I grant you that. Now take him with you, and tell your men that I send them Uther, their lord and their king. And when you have a new king among you, you’ll tell him on my behalf that if ever,130 in my lands, he demands something he ought not to look for, or if anyone ever comes here again with evil intent, whether on foot or on horseback, I’ll cut the head from his body and send the body back with you. I owe the same service to the future king of London; such service is attached to my fief. This year I’ve acquitted myself well, and you’ll get the same service from all those who succeed me.” The king ordered someone to announce throughout the army, right away, that no one should be so bold as to harm any of the Londoners. At that the Londoners stood up, thanked King Waldef profusely, then left and went right back to London, taking the body of their king with them, to bury it with great honour. (6861–96) King Uther had a brother called Fergus, earl of Guildford, a good and brave knight. When Fergus learned that King Uther was dead, he sent for his men and set out for London, spurring on his horse night and day. He sent for all his barons, assembling all his men and all those he could get hold of. He had himself crowned immediately, and quickly fortified the city, expecting that King Waldef would come, and want to besiege them. King Waldef returned happily to his splendid city of Thetford with his men, carrying everything he had won. They brought in their prisoners and their wounded, and buried all the dead whose bodies had filled the fields. (6897–920) The brave and noble King Waldef had his prisoners well guarded, looked after, and honoured.131 One day, as he sat at dinner, a knight in full armour arrived on a warhorse. His hauberk’s strong links were broken and his helmet cut to pieces, his face all bloody; he was unsightly and disfigured. In his hand he held a sharp sword, but he had lost his shield. He had been pierced through the body with a sharp, keen spear, and blood flowed to his feet both before and behind. Clinging to his saddlebow, he came before the king. (6921–38) “King Waldef,” he said, “listen and you’ll hear harsh news.” The king did not recognize him. “Goodness,” he said, “who are you?” And the knight replied, “You’ll soon know. You certainly ought to recognize me, for I’m your vassal Odard, one of your barons from Norfolk. When you left Norfolk, you entrusted the queen to me, along with your land, but disaster struck, and a thousand men were killed. Disaster came at night to the splendid city of Caister, where we felt completely safe. Our watchmen, who guarded the city at the time, were asleep. We weren’t worried about anyone coming. Early in the night a company of Saracens from Spain landed below the city, unnoticed by the guards, who should have been watching. Straightaway, without making any noise, they scattered through the streets and attacked us at once, shouting loudly, and killed whomever they encountered. They broke into houses and cellars, laid waste to the whole city, and took the queen 130  6870 tell: MS has reconterez.

131  6923 looked after, and honoured Cherir les fist e honurer: prisoners are treated well because they are meant to be ransomed; see note to v. 1006.



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and your two sons with them. All three were taken by force. When I heard the noise I leaped out of bed immediately. My two sons and I armed ourselves, and we gathered the people with us. Though we attacked the Saracens, starting a fierce battle, we were soon overcome, and my two sons were killed there. I saw the Saracens carry the queen far out to sea. I beheaded the man who had put her on the ship, and there I was wounded through the body and took many grievous blows as I cut off many scoundrels’ heads. I relied on my good horse to bring me here to you. I’m sure I’ve been mortally wounded.” (6939–90) When the king heard that he had lost so many of his men and that the queen had been abducted, his splendid city laid waste, and his two sons taken away to a foreign country, he was so grief-stricken that he did not know what to do. He fell to the ground in a faint. Tables were overturned, cups and goblets hurled aside, as everyone began to lament, to wring their hands and pull out their hair. King Waldef rose. “My lords,” he said, “now listen to me. A great calamity has struck me: I’ve lost everything I loved. How quickly great misfortune comes upon a man! In my heart I feel such grief and anger, I don’t know what to do or say. My lord Florenz, my lord Gimund, and my barons here, I intend to entrust my land to you. Make ready a ship with twenty-four brave and skilful sailors, and I’ll seek my wife and my two sons in foreign lands. Truly, I’ll never return until I’ve found them.” From Thetford the king went straight to Attleborough, where he had his large ship equipped and furnished with a good sail and good canvas. (6991–7024) Let me now leave King Waldef, to speak about the Saracens, who were fleeing over the sea. May almighty God destroy them! A tempest came upon them and I believe many were lost. The tempest separated them, so that they never saw each other again. One of the ships, with Guiac on it among that odious race, was driven toward Cologne and arrived in its harbour. The Saracens left the ship and sold young Guiac to the king of the city for a large sum—a large sum indeed. The king had the child well brought up, well looked after, and well cared for. As you shall hear, Guiac was later very useful to him. So young Guiac was sold. The ship carrying Gudlac, the wrongfully taken son of the brave King Waldef,132 arrived one day in Africa, before Morocco,133 at the city of King Evroc. The ship entered the harbour under full sail, and the Saracens quickly brought the child on shore and sold him to King Evroc. Such a beautiful creature had never been seen. (7025–56) The queen, who never stopped lamenting, was on a ship so wildly shaken by the waves and driven so hard across the sea that everyone thought they would drown. They did not know to which land they were going. “My lords,” said a Saracen, who believed in Apollo,134 “quickly throw this lady into the sea. She’s not of our religion and I’m certain we did wrong to take her on board. We sinned gravely against our gods.” She would certainly have been thrown overboard, and quickly drowned in the sea, had a sailor at

132  7048 wrongfully taken Qui de ceuz iert a beslei: emended by Holden from abelslei, but even with the emendation vv. 7046–48 remain hard to construe; see Holden, 302.

133  7049 before Morocco devant Maroc: though here it appears to be a country, Morocco is later (vv. 11821–24, 12200) referred to as a city. 134  7064 who believed in Apollo Qui iert de la loi Apollin: see note to v. 4968.

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that moment not begun to shout: “Don’t do it, don’t do it! Soon we’ll get fine and clear weather. As soon as we see land, we’ll set her down. There we’ll leave her to her fate. If her god wants to protect her, let him save her if he’s powerful or let her die at once.” So they held off. The weather began to brighten and they had not sailed for much longer when they saw a wilderness. With much joy and gladness they got out their boat at once, put the lady in it courteously and respectfully, and rowed her to land. When she arrived there she did not know what to do. Then the ship turned about and they commended her to God. (7057–94) The lady was now on the seashore, constantly bewailing her misfortune. Extremely terrified, she kept looking around her, and saw cliffs, mountains, valleys, rocks, and plains. She fell fainting to the earth. Never did a woman grieve so much. “Alas!” she cried, “how harshly you treat me now, lady Fortune! You make a wretch powerful and give him great wealth, and you give wisdom to the fool and great strength to the weak, and when you please you are perfectly capable of stripping them of everything before nightfall. You’ve always been changeable, never stable for a single day. Less than a week ago I was queen of two kingdoms, and now I’m poor and miserable. I’ll die in pain on this shore. By this evening I’ll be dead, devoured by wild beasts.” She often wished for her lord, whom she loved so much. There she swooned, there she lamented, often calling herself wretched and unhappy. (7095–122) I shall now leave the lady, commending her to God, and speak of King Waldef, who had had his ship prepared. When the ship was quite ready and fully equipped, he spoke to his barons, who were distressed for him. He entrusted his whole kingdom to them, then stayed with them just until the wind blew from the north. One evening he left port, commending his people to God. Dukes, earls, and barons, who had no other king but him, wept bitterly for him, their grief for their good lord greater than has ever been seen. (7123–140) Now the king sailed off over the sea, but I will not, cannot, and dare not talk about him any more because my lady wants me to stop. When it pleases her to hear more, I shall relate to her how King Waldef sailed over the sea and what harsh and pitiless adventures befell him many times: how he was captured in Africa and his men all killed, and how he was imprisoned, and how he was beaten, and how he was often distressed, and how he later fought and escaped, and how he found his queen, and how he immediately lost her again, to his great distress, and how he searched for her so long, how he risked his life, how he was later wrongfully imprisoned in London, how Okenard freed him, how Okenard, whom he had previously disinherited and expelled from his land, offered his life for him, and how when Waldef was in Canterbury, of which he was both king and lord, he was surprised one night by his three mortal enemies, how his men were killed and he so badly wounded and injured that he was left for dead and his body thrown into the sea, but two of his men found him, put him in a boat, and took to the sea, thus rescuing him from death, how he escaped death that time, and how he was thoroughly revenged.135 Then I shall tell you about his children, how brave they became,

135  7169–82 how when Waldef was … thoroughly revenged E cum il iert … bien se venga: the promised events at Canterbury never happen; see Holden, 302–3.



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how they went looking for their father, how they met each other at sea, how fiercely they fought each other, and how they were then separated and fought their father, and how their mother reconciled them. And I shall tell you about King Florenz, the noble, good and true king, and about Merlin, the good earl, and how their great warfare ended, how Florenz married his mother, and how he conquered his father’s land. (7141–96) Let me now continue the story of Waldef, the good king who was so brave. He sailed so long over the sea, visited so many lands, endured so many hardships and escaped so many dangers, and plied the seas so long that he arrived at Valencia, where his light craft landed in the port. When the Valencians saw it, they could easily tell there were Christians on board and, not knowing what the Christians sought, they ran toward them at once, in great strength and in great numbers. Seeing this, King Waldef told the men on board to arm themselves quickly and, like true fighters, they armed rapidly. The others attacked them ferociously. (7197–216) King Waldef and his men defended themselves most fiercely, and the pagans attacked them, striking them just as fiercely. So many were wounded and killed that the beach was filled with bodies. Not a single man of Waldef’s was left; all were dead and slain. It was a great misfortune for King Waldef that he was left all alone in his ship with no companion, but he defended himself like a valiant man. Everyone he hit with his steel sword, no matter how strong or tall, brave or doughty, was struck down dead. (7217–32) Now Waldef was in great danger, as almost a thousand Saracens rushed at him with great force and violence. They threw stakes and sharp darts, and struck him with axes and falchion swords, cutting his shield to pieces and shattering his hauberk. He was wounded in so many places that blood streamed down to his feet both in front and behind. But he was so brave and tough, and had such great strength, that whatever blow he received he never seemed ready to retreat but continued to face them. Then the king’s seneschal, a very good man, arrived, well armed on his horse. When he saw good King Waldef defending himself in his ship, he was amazed and approached more closely. Seeing Waldef’s strength, he murmured quietly to himself: “This man who has endured so much fighting isn’t mortal but has truly supernatural powers. Indeed there’s no such man in the world. Now it would be a great pity if he were killed on this shore. I’ll help him escape, for he has no equal in the world.” He shouted: “Stand back, stand back! Stop the attack! Let no one touch him from now on. On behalf of the king, I grant him peace.” The Saracens all retreated, but, hoping for spoils, they all held fast to the ship so that it could go no further. The seneschal approached and called out to King Waldef. “Now then!” he said, “who are you, who’ve arrived in this country? You’ve killed so many of our people! Why did you come to this country? Are you a knight, a merchant, or a sailor? Come here,” he said, “surrender to me. I give you my word you’ll suffer neither loss nor shame. You’ll lose neither life nor limb.” Waldef replied: “I’ll tell you. All of us came here as merchants, and all were killed except me. I’ll surrender myself to your mercy now, but you’d better not kill me.” He gave his sword to the seneschal, who led him away and brought him before the king, telling the king from beginning to end how well Waldef had defended himself and how he had surrendered himself to his mercy. (7233–98) The king lay in bed, very weak, for he was an old and broken man. He ordered the seneschal to throw Waldef in prison, and the seneschal speedily did so, putting him in

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one of his own prisons. Supplied with plenty of clothing, food, and drink, he lay there for a year or more. Meanwhile a powerful man from Spain, bringing with him a large army, entered the land of Valencia and claimed it as his own.136 He wished to conquer it by force, because the king of the land was old and had long been feeble. He captured the cities and the castles, and did whatever he liked in the land. When the king of Valencia heard the news, he was distressed that the king of Spain had come with his large army. He summoned his emirs and his men whom he trusted.137 Next he called for his seneschal, and ordered him to gather his country’s army and go and fight the invaders. (7298–328) “My lord,” said the seneschal, “it will be hard for us to fight them because we don’t have the forces to do so. For that reason, my lord, give thought to the best you can do. You have in your prison a man of great ability, who’s been there over a year. Such a man has never been seen, as was clear on the shore, where you suffered great damage. You lost over a thousand men there. You yourself never inflicted such a loss. When his men were all killed and he was the only one left in the ship, something like ten thousand attacked him, assailing him on every side. Then I was seized by great pity for him, because of the efforts he was making; I told him to surrender to me, and he did so at once. On your behalf I granted and promised him life and limb, otherwise he wouldn’t have surrendered until he had done us more harm. If he’d like to serve you and loyally follow you now, I have such confidence in his valour, I venture to claim with certainty that with his help we’ll defeat our enemies, whom we fear so much.” (7329–60) “My good friend,” the king replied, “go quickly, don’t delay, and have the fellow brought to me. I’m eager to see him.” The seneschal left and went straight to the prison. He quickly had Waldef taken out and brought him before the king. When the king looked at Waldef, he saw he was tall and powerfully built. From his privations his beard had grown very long and his clothes were in tatters. The king spoke to him. “My good friend,” the king said, “now tell me, upon your word, who are you and where were you born?” “My lord,” he said, “you’ll hear that at once. Truly, I’m from England, where I was born and brought up. I was called Waldef in the land of my birth.” “My friend Waldef,” said the king, “I ought to hate you, so help me God. You killed so many of my men that it makes my heart sore.” “My good lord,” replied Waldef, “by Him who created this world, I killed your men entirely in self-defence.” In turn, the king said to Waldef: “By Mahomet who created me, if you’re willing to serve me now and steadfastly follow me, I’ll hand over to you whatever you may ask, because men from Spain are advancing on us in large numbers in order to ruin and kill us all.” Waldef replied: “My dear lord, I’ll stay with you for now and serve you faithfully, provided that afterwards I may leave and return to my country.” The king replied: “I agree. I pledge you my word that if you win the battle, you’ll have whatever you ask.” Immediately the king commanded that Waldef should be richly dressed. He had him bathed and washed, and most richly equipped. When they had made Waldef quite ready, they brought him before the king. He looked so powerful 136  7309, 7311 Spain … Valencia Espaingne … Valence: “Spain” refers to the Christian kingdom in present-day northern Spain; Valencia was at the time part of a Moorish realm; see Holden, 303. 137  7323 emirs amirals: derived from Arabic, the word is used of Saracen princes.



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that they marvelled at him. “This man,” said the Saracens, “will bring our war to an end.”138 (7361–418) The king immediately called all his barons before him. “My lords,” he said, “I command you to serve Waldef, so that from now on you do everything he orders you.” Well and truly free now, Waldef wielded power in the kingdom. He gathered the land’s army and they rapidly went off to attack their enemies, riding hard until they came close to them. “My lords,” said the fierce Waldef, “no more delay now: go and defend your land from those who want to conquer it. If you don’t defend it now, you’ll certainly lose it all. You and your heirs will certainly never again be able to take any part of it back. Your king lies very ill, and you’ll get no more help from him. If we fight our enemies and can defeat them, it’ll bring us great fame and you’ll always be acclaimed for it. They have more men than we do, but I’m certain we can beat them. Stand fast as long as I stand fast, and leave when I leave. As for me, I assure you, and indeed I promise and swear to you, that I’ll never leave you as long as the soul is in my body. I’ll die with you here, or defeat our enemies.” They all shouted with one voice: “From now on, may whoever lets you down, lord Waldef, feel Mahomet’s anger as long as his soul is in his body.” Waldef replied: “Now let’s strike, now let’s get on with attacking them.” When the two armies clashed, you could see many men die and many brains spilled. Since King Alexander’s time you have never heard of a battle where so many died in agony. Waldef and his men did well, striking many fierce blows. Waldef was always to the fore, making a path for them with his sharp sword. The two sides exchanged blows until Waldef saw the king of Spain, recognizing him from his coat of arms, and attacked him fiercely. Those who watched the two men’s combat never saw a more violent fight. They fought until Waldef cut off the king of Spain’s head. (7419–78) Once Waldef had killed the king, the rest were soon defeated. King Waldef and his men fiercely pursued them, seizing many and slaying many, who were left dead on the plains. They killed so many before nightfall that no one could count them. Waldef had been most successful. He had taken revenge on his opponents, who were all crushed, killed or captured. Then Waldef and his men returned, taking many rich prisoners, for whom they would get great ransoms. They buried their dead there and had their wounded carried with them. Returning jubilant to the noble city of Valencia, they told the king how well they had succeeded, and how well Waldef had done, and how many men he had put to death, and how he had killed the mighty king of Spain on the battlefield. Joyful and happy, the king called Waldef to him. “My friend Waldef,” said the king, “now tell me, upon your word, what you would like to have of mine. Let me know at once. Strong castles and wealthy cities and great lands and wealthy fiefs—be sure you’ll have it all indeed. As far as I can, I’ll do whatever you wish.” Waldef replied: “Thank you. My lord, if I’ve served you well, I’m pleased and don’t regret it. I’m still ready to serve

138  7417–18 “This man,” said the Saracens, “will bring our war to an end” “Par cestui,” font li Sarazin, / “Prendra la nostre gerre fin”: in Continental chansons de geste a Christian hero fighting for a pagan king is first encountered in Mainet (soon after 1150); in insular romance the earliest instance is Boeve de Haumtone (ca. 1190). History offers similar examples of Christian fighters engaged by Muslim rulers; see Bancourt, Les Musulmans, 2: 902–5.

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you. I desire no part of your land, but I want to ask you one thing: that you release to me those prisoners of yours who are called Christian, and have my ship returned to me, so that I may go back to my country—that, my lord, I want to ask of you.” (7479–524) The king replied: “You will indeed have it, and whatever else you can ask for.” He had it announced throughout the city and the castles of the kingdom that all the Christian prisoners should be freed and handed over to Waldef, to do what he wished with them. This is the noble thing Waldef did: he had a total of one thousand five hundred released from prison and taken to safety, except for twenty-four of the strongest, who were bold and brave, and these Waldef retained with him. Then he took his leave of the king, for he did not want to stay any longer. The king handed over his ship and gave him gold and silver, as much as he wanted, and abundant provisions. Waldef took his leave and went straight to his ship with his men. Everyone joyfully saw him off and escorted him to the ship, commending him to God. Now Waldef put to sea, in fine, clear weather. The good ship ran fast and travelled well under full sail until they arrived in Poitou. But a storm gave them trouble, and they landed, with some difficulty, in a port by a cliff. (7525–58) Waldef stayed all night in this unfamiliar country, until day dawned and he spoke kindly to his men. “My lords,” he said, “what shall we do? We don’t know this land. Give me my armour, and I’ll arm myself and go into the country to find out who is lord over it. Someone will surely be able to tell me.” He put on his armour and speedily mounted his good horse. He had not travelled far when he entered a forest, where he followed a path until he came out of the forest and climbed a hill. He looked all over the countryside and saw, between the mountains, fine rivers and fine plains. After riding on a little, he saw a splendid city. Hundreds and thousands of people were coming out of it, grieving bitterly, swooning, and tearing out their hair. King Waldef was astonished and closely observed these people. He moved a little apart and to the right. “My God,” he said, “what can this be?” When he looked a little to one side, he saw an exceedingly large fire. People were there, lamenting and swooning for sorrow. King Waldef made for the place and greeted them in God’s name. “My lords,” he said, “tell me, what is the meaning of this great commotion, and who are those people lamenting over there and that lady they are leading? What is this land and who is its lord? Why are they grieving? For whom is this fire, which is so huge?” A man said to him, weeping: “You must be a foreigner. This land is called Poitou and King Ode, an irascible man, is its lord. In this fire here you’ll soon see the lady burn. She is queen of this land and this great grief you see is for her. She’s a most excellent lady, but the king wants to put her to death because of what his seneschal has said— may God pile evil and shame upon him! She’s a most celebrated lady, with no equal in the world. Her sentence will be a great sin, but her soul will be saved.”139 (7559–618) “Tell me, my good friend,” said Waldef, “if she is queen of this country and is so loved by its people and is of proven virtue, why does she not find one of her men—for there are many good ones in the land—to defend her in battle, if anyone dares undertake it against the seneschal?” “My lord,” he said, “I’ll tell you, and not a single word will be a

139  7607–18 In this fire … will be saved En cest fu … iert salvee: this is the earliest recorded example of the rescue of an innocent, calumniated queen, a recurring motif in medieval romance (Holden, 26, 303).



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lie. The seneschal is so wicked that he never did anything but evil. He’s a most mighty knight, feared throughout the land, so that there’s no knight in all the land who dares to anger him, afraid of harm; none can resist him in battle or endure his blows. And the king loves and trusts him so much that he can’t see or hear for himself.” Waldef said: “For what reason, then, does the king want to condemn the queen in this way? Could any man help her?” “My lord,” he said, “I’ll tell you. The king is cruel and proud. Less than a year ago he went to war, ordering the seneschal, whom he loved so much, to guard his land and the queen likewise, but the seneschal acted wickedly toward her. When the king had left, the seneschal didn’t neglect her but soon begged her to love him, telling her he loved her as his life and wanted her to be his mistress. He’d love her with all his might and give her all he had. She said she wouldn’t love him but would rather be burned in a fire, since she had a good husband, whom she loved very much. She had no desire to love the seneschal, and told him to let her be. He kept begging her, and she finally told him she wouldn’t give in to him nor do anything he wished. (7619–68) “When the evil seneschal saw that she cared nothing for his words, he was most mortified and angry. He thought up some wicked act so that he would embroil her in a quarrel with the king, who would put her to death. The king soon returned from the wars. When the seneschal knew that the king was coming back, he quickly went to meet him. The king at once asked about the queen, how she was and how she had behaved. ‘Sire,’ said he, ‘you’ll certainly find out when you come to her, my good lord. You’ll hear plenty about her actions, which give me much sorrow and grief. Others, who are more privy to her secrets, will tell you about them. She’s my lady and you my lord. I don’t dare speak evil about her to you and I don’t want to make her quarrel with you. Nevertheless, I owe you loyalty and I shouldn’t conceal your shame or allow you to be dishonoured. Were I to do so, I’d do wrong and I’d be disgraced everywhere.’ (7669–96) “‘Seneschal,’ said the king, ‘now I entreat you, upon your word, to tell me what you’ve heard about the queen, and if you hide anything from me, truly, you’ll lose my love.’ ‘My lord,’ said the seneschal, ‘don’t resent this, sire. I’ll tell you the whole truth about what I saw and what I know. When you, my dear lord, went off to war, you ordered me, sire, to guard the queen as I loved your honour. I meant to guard her with great respect, like the wife of my lord, but she wouldn’t heed me. She did whatever she wanted, and gave herself up to debauchery so that the whole country talked of it. In court she was at the disposal of every servant, however high or low, every squire, scullion or groom. She had her pleasure with everyone, whenever she felt like it. And she did something still worse with that wretch, that cripple you feed at your court; they say he has lain with her.’ (7697–726) “When the king heard what the seneschal was saying to him, he was roused to such fury as he had never felt before. ‘My lord,’ the seneschal said to him, ‘now be patient a little, and don’t reveal that you know anything about her until you’ve found her at it. Then you can catch her in the act. Indeed, I tell you truly that before four days have passed you’ll discover her at her sinful deed, so that you’ll certainly see her with your own eyes. I don’t want you to tell her, nor do I want you to think in your own heart that I’ve wrongly accused her. I’ll show that she is clearly guilty.’ The king said: ‘I’ll be patient, but I’ll never feel joy until I’m revenged.’ With that they entered the city. The queen was

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most joyful and went to meet the king; she ran up to him, showing how happy she was at his return. The king did not address a word to her but looked at her fiercely. Amazed that the king did not speak to her, the queen knew for certain that he was angry with her. She went to her rooms, grieving, and stayed there. The king had in his court a poor cripple whom he fed. The seneschal lost no time but approached the cripple and called to him. ‘Come here,’ he said, ‘good, sweet friend. You’ll be rich and powerful if you’re willing to do something. You’ll meet with great good fortune.’ The cripple said: ‘My dear lord, I’ll gladly do what you want.’ And he replied: ‘Well said! By God, you’ll profit greatly from it. Know that our lord the king is very angry with the queen, and would gladly leave her if he had a pretext. Between us we’ve agreed that as soon as night falls you’ll enter the queen’s chambers. You’ll go in quietly, so that no one will know or pay attention, and you’ll conceal yourself secretly at the head of the queen’s bed, between the wall and the curtain. Take care you don’t move until we come: we’ll go looking through the room until we find you. You’ll be asked how you entered the room and how you dared to lie there, and at once you’ll say, calling the queen to witness, that she made you come, and she made you lie there, and you’ve lain there many a night to take your pleasure with her. We’ll say no more, but the king will have a pretext to leave her when he wishes, and he’ll be very grateful to you. Now do what I’ve said. Above all, hide it well, so that no one alive notices anything.’ ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I will.’ (7727–806) “The seneschal then left, and waited till nightfall. When everyone was asleep, the scoundrel didn’t forget but took a handful of candles and came to the king, saying: ‘My lord, get up at once! You should sleep no longer; go into the queen’s chamber. Late tonight I saw a servant girl going around talking to people; I don’t know what she was looking for.’ The king quickly jumped up, went to the chambers and opened the door. The queen was terrified when she saw the king, and realized from his face that he was in a fury. So she donned her cloak and rose to meet him, speaking to him gently. ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘come in. Now what is your wish? Would it please you to lie in this bed?’ (7807–30) “The king didn’t utter a word but looked up and down. The seneschal went searching and looking in every nook and cranny, behind chests, behind curtains, until he reached the queen’s bed, and there he found the cripple, just as he’d plotted earlier. At once he dragged him out by his feet. ‘My king,’ he said, ‘look what I’ve found!’ The king, swollen with anger and fury, looked savagely at the cripple, completely certain that he had disgraced him in every way. ‘For shame!’ said the king, ‘who are you to be lying in my bedroom? You’ve dishonoured me with the queen!’ (7831–47) “‘My lord,” he said, ‘have mercy! I’ll tell you how I came here. The queen here made me come to her chamber. I didn’t dare deny her wishes. She made me do her will or else I’d be thrown out of the court. Indeed, my lord, it grieved me because I was doing you wrong. Do what you want with me, for I’ve told you the truth.’ The king kicked him so hard that he knocked him dead to the ground. He drew his sharp sword and would have killed the queen forthwith, had it not been for the villain, who came running up and said to him: ‘My lord, let be, until the morning and daylight.’ In the morning the king summoned his people and condemned the queen to death. She was then sentenced to be burned. Nothing could avail her, and now they’ve brought her here. She’ll be thrown into that fire with all speed.’” (7848–72)



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When Waldef had heard everything the good man told him, he left at once and went toward the people bringing the queen, who were lamenting bitterly. The weather was clear and hot. Dressed in a tunic and bareheaded, the lady was very beautiful and graceful. First Waldef greeted them and spoke to them courteously. “My lords,” he said, “go no further: I bid you stop. I wish to ask the lady, and you who mean to condemn her, if she’s been sentenced to death rightly or wrongly, for I’ve found out the truth from someone in the city.” The lady replied, weeping: “By almighty God, I’ll tell you the truth. Whatever our lord the king has accused me of in his fury, because of what his seneschal has said, I’m innocent, so God keep my soul from sin. I never thought of doing what they’ve accused me of, as my soul shall be saved!” (7873–902) “My lady,” said King Waldef, “I see you’re in great distress. If it please God, our Lord, this very day I shall maintain against the seneschal, or anyone else, whoever wants to fight, that you’re most wrongly condemned and haven’t deserved to die. I shall go off to the king’s court and there, truly, I shall defend you.” The lady fell at his feet and kissed them over a hundred times, as did knights and citizens. There were so many peasants and courtiers, so many ladies, so many girls, so many serving men and women, so many thousands and so many hundreds, that I could not tell you the number of people. Those who could not reach him threw themselves down before him. Many wept for joy, and you could hear loud cries from people great and small, who shouted at him as one: “Ah, my lord, noble knight, save the lady from danger!” (7903–29) “My lords,” Waldef said, “now get up. I don’t mean to linger here. Let me go to the court, so as to free this lady.” While many prayed for him, King Waldef went straight to the city, where he was much stared at. He dismounted in front of the hall, where people ran to meet him. Then he entered the palace and step by step arrived at the dais, where the king, who burned with anger, sat with his barons. (7929–42) Waldef was courteous and wise, and greeted the king in his own language.140 “May that Lord who sits on high, creator of the heat and the cold, keep our lord the king and those who loyally love him.” The king replied: “My dear friend, bless you if you say so in good faith.” “My lord,” said Waldef, “listen to me: you’ve been much censured for condemning the queen. You’ve wrongly handed her over to die because of the assertion of your seneschal, a wicked, disloyal traitor. You should rather hang him on a gallows, or burn him to ashes in a fire, and I’ll tell you the case against that wicked traitor, that scoundrel. When you’d gone off to war, the wicked traitor quickly returned, begged the queen to love him, and undertook to disgrace you. When she wouldn’t consent or hear his plea, the traitor left her, reflecting that if she could talk to you she’d reveal his treachery: that he’d begged his lord’s wife for wanton love. Then the traitor, more wicked than any man alive, thought of something else: if he could talk to you first, he would embroil her with you so that you’d put her to death, as you’re doing, my lord. You don’t yet know of the wrong that the villain did to the cripple. He made him go to the chamber, for the reward he promised him, as if the queen had arranged it, but she knew nothing of their

140  7944 in his own language en sun language: Ode’s language is French. Waldef’s use of it here is consistent with its status as the diplomatic and mercantile lingua franca at the time when the romance was written.

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connivance. When the wicked traitor knew the cripple was in the chamber, he brought you in and showed him to you there, having made him enter the room in order to shame your queen. If he wants to deny what I’ve said to you here, and maintain that he didn’t want to shame you, with my own body I shall now prove it on his body. I shall make him say all this himself.” (7943–96) “Seneschal,” said the king, “this matter speaks strongly against you. Unless you defend yourself now, you’ll be forever dishonoured.” When the seneschal heard what Waldef had said against him, he grew ashamed and angry. He jumped to his feet at once. “And who are you, fellow,” he said, “who have come before the king? You’ve accused me of treachery and will indeed pay dearly for it. If you want to fight me and defend the queen, the recompense you can expect is to be burned with her.” He asked for his arms and armed himself as well as he could. Then they agreed to fight in a meadow below the city. Without delaying any further, each mounted his horse, and they rode there together at top speed. When they reached the meadow, they held back no longer but rushed at each other at full gallop. The seneschal was strong and greatly angered. He struck Waldef with such force that neither his shield nor his hauberk was of any use to him. The spear passed between his arm and his side: God protected him on this occasion, so that he did not receive a flesh wound. Waldef gave the seneschal an almighty blow, which hurt him badly. He struck him through the body so hard that he knocked him down to the ground some distance away. The traitor lay there pierced through, and before he could get up Waldef descended upon him and drew his sharp sword. Enraged, King Waldef was about to cut off the seneschal’s head when the man pleaded for mercy. “My lord,” he cried, “for God’s sake, mercy! Don’t kill me, noble knight!” Waldef replied: “Out of the question! You’ll lose your head at once if you don’t confess the truth about your treacherous plan to dishonour the king.” “My lord,” he said, “I’ll tell you. I have wronged the queen.” Waldef sent for the king so that he could hear about this crime. The man confessed everything, knowing well that things had turned out badly for him because of the sinful offence that he had so wickedly committed. Not one word did he conceal but related to them the full extent of his crime. He told them from beginning to end how he had wronged the queen. When the king had heard the traitor’s story and his account of his crime, he exclaimed: “Help, Saint Mary! What has happened to the queen? Has she been burned or is she safe?141 If I have lost her through this, I’ll never be happy again.” (7997–8068) Waldef replied: “My lord, you haven’t. You’ll soon see her safe and sound. But from now on be careful never to trust any man who accuses your wife of wrongdoing unless you can properly ascertain that she’s in any way guilty. Only then should you punish her. Of all the women in this world there’s not one who could please all men without ever making a mistake through trying to please everyone.142 But should a man come to you, 141  8066 safe retenue: retenir in the meaning “preserve, keep safe” fits the context even though it is not attested elsewhere (Holden, 304).

142  8080–82 who could please all men … please everyone. Ne a tuz fere sun pleisir, / Qu’aucune foiz ne mesprendroit, / Que a tuz pleisir deveroit: Waldef acknowledges the social pressure exerted on women to be amiable and compliant to men, which makes it hard for them to escape suspicion for simply being pleasant to every man by social necessity.



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whether loyal or not, servant or squire, foot soldier or knight,143 but in any case a liar to whom she refused favour, he’ll sow discord between you and her because she hasn’t granted him his wish. You shouldn’t bear her ill will for that, but should rather delight in her all the more. If she’s polite and well brought-up, or if she’s young and vivacious, when she’s cheerful and friendly with people some men who see this could probably think that she acts that way out of wantonness. Don’t trust her any the less if you see her cheerful: she’ll act like that though she doesn’t really care for someone. Go and fetch your queen, and cherish her for her loyalty. And arrest this traitor, whom we’ll judge in your court. The sentence that she was to receive should be given to him without appeal.” The king immediately ordered that the seneschal be thrown in the fire. (8069–110) “Sir knight,” the king said, “you’re brave and courteous. Where were you born, in which land? What are you seeking in this country? If you want to stay with me, I’ll give you many of my possessions: rich lands and rich fiefs, which will make you very wealthy.” King Waldef replied: “I was raised in England. I won’t take any of your possessions, thank you, for I myself have much. My true name, my good sir, is Waldef. I have a ship here on the shore, to which I now mean to go, as I can no longer stay here.” Word quickly spread through the city that the seneschal had been defeated and thrown in the fire. When the citizens heard this, they praised God and organized a procession. The king was the first to go to the queen, on foot, accompanied by all the citizens, who were joyful and happy at this. The king took her back with great joy, often kissing her as his beloved. There they were reconciled, and they returned amid great rejoicing. King Waldef took his leave, commending them all to God. Many worthy men prayed for him. He quickly went back to his ship, where his men were struck with great wonder, for he had been away so long that they thought he would never return. Waldef then told them the whole story of how well he had fared in defeating the seneschal. (8111–50) You have now heard, my lords, how Waldef acquired great renown: how he escaped from prison thanks to his great prowess and valour, and how he delivered the queen from the great peril in which he had found her. When he left Poitou, he went from land to land, sailing up and down, asking and inquiring constantly, and enduring great hardship and distress for the sake of his wife and his children, but he was unable to find anyone with any information whatsoever. He sailed the seas until he landed in Denmark. They dropped anchor safely near the shore, where they saw neither house nor cottage, nothing but woods and forests and high mountains. (8151–70) “My lords,” Waldef said to them, “I have a slight headache. I’ll go to into the forest to amuse and refresh myself while you stay here and likewise rest.” With that he got off the ship, taking his sword with him. He went into the forest and looked all around him, observing the land and the region, encircled by the sea. Next to him he saw a spring with fresh, wholesome water, where he sat down and washed. As he looked ahead, he saw a woman who seemed to be walking toward him with a pitcher in her hand, going to fetch water, as was her custom. When she saw Waldef, she quickly ran away. Waldef stood up and called out: “Wait,” he said, “fair lady! Have no fear of me. Speak to me, for the love

143  8085–86 servant … foot soldier sergant … sergant: though the repetition of sergant may be due to a scribal error (Holden, 304), the word has a range of meanings that fit the context.

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of God!” When she heard that he was a Christian,144 and could tell by the language he spoke that they were from the same people and the same land, she turned toward him and came up to him at the fountain, where they both sat down. Waldef addressed her at once. “Fair lady,” he said, “where were you born?” “My lord,” she answered, “I’ll tell you, for I have no wish to hide that from you. I was born in England, truth to say. That’s where I was born and raised. But Saracens abducted me, causing me great wrong and great harm, for they brought me away with them, and took my two children too. To my misfortune, they abandoned me on this shore and left. Then I came into this wood, to the hermitage there below, where I found a holy hermit. Truly, I’ve served him ever since, bringing him water and preparing his meals. Three-and-a-half years have I already served him in this way, often enduring great hardship. Now that I’ve told you who I am, please tell me who you are and where you’re from.” “Lady,” he said, “since you wish to know it, you shall. I am indeed from England and was once a very powerful man. I was wealthy too, with many possessions, and hope to be so again.” “My dear, sweet lord,” she said, “over which land did you have such power?” “My lady,” said he, “over Norfolk and the land of Suffolk.” “My lord,” she said, “I entreat you, by that faith you owe to the Lord God, don’t conceal your name from me.” “My lady,” he said, “I won’t. They call me King Waldef.” When she heard Waldef’s name, she was unable to say a word but struck her hands together, cried out loudly, and fell down in a faint. Waldef raised her up, quite startled and rather distressed. When she opened her eyes, she said: “Alas, my fair love, I see your lovely face, once so rosy and now so pale, and your body, so comely.” At that she fainted again, at Waldef’s great astonishment. He wondered who this could be, for he did not know her at all. He held her in his arms tenderly. When she came to, she said: “Alas! Lord Waldef, you’ve held me so tenderly but won’t recognize me. You used to love me so much. I’m Ernild, your wife, daughter of Queen Emma and the king of Lincoln. And now you don’t recognize my voice.” (8171–270) When King Waldef realized that it was his wife speaking to him, he said: “Alas, my sweet love, I’ve endured such hardship for your sake. I care for no other thing now, not even my children’s fate. Now that I’ve found you, my suffering will be ended.” With that they kissed each other, and fainted there in each other’s arms, partly from joy at having found each other, and partly from past sorrow. They embraced for a long time, often fainting and coming to. Anyone nearby would have felt great compassion for the two of them. But then they comforted each other and told each other what had befallen them. Waldef related to her in detail how he had journeyed for her sake since he had left England, right up to the moment that he met her there. For her part, she told him about the great hardship and humiliation she had endured in that land since her arrival. She told him in detail how the good hermit had found her on the shore and taken her to his house. She served him at the hermitage, and every day went to the fountain with that pitcher to fetch water. “My fair love,” said Waldef, “my ship is on the shore; together we’ll go there, where we’ll enjoy every comfort. But first I want to rest here, for I’ve been unwell since yesterday.” “My fair lord, you can sleep here to your heart’s content.” Waldef fell asleep at once, and the lady sat beside him. Then she looked toward the sea, where she had heard 144  8196 a Christian de la part Deu: literally “on God’s side” or “from God’s party.”



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people talking loudly. She stood up, went to them, and spoke to them courteously: “Good gentlemen, please be quiet, stop this noise. Your lord has fallen asleep: he wishes to rest here a bit.” Having heard her, they came up to her without saying a word, grabbed her silently, and told her not to make a sound if she valued her life. (8271–330) At that the lady realized that they were from another land, that the men who were taking her away were all Saracens. Nevertheless, she would not give up, and cried out loudly: “Alas, my lord, help me! You’ve lost me now. Saracens are taking me away. This will be my end!” Waldef heard none of this, for he was fast asleep. The Saracens led her away. They reached their ship, boarded it, and departed, taking with them the lady, who often fainted and lamented, calling herself wretched and miserable. She would have drowned herself in the sea, but they restrained her as if she were mad. The Saracens were courteous, and comforted her very kindly.145 “Lady,” they said, “for the love of God! You’ll encounter no ill treatment here. None of us will ever offend you in any way; instead you’ll have whatever you wish, all to your liking. We’re foreign merchants and we travel in pursuit of trade. You’ll suffer no harm from us here. At the end of our sea crossing, yesterday morning we arrived at that spot and went for a walk in the wood. When we found you there alone, we brought you away with us. Fair lady, take comfort now, for you’ll have here everything you desire.” Thus they distracted the lady from her distress until she stretched out on a bed and they restrained her until she fell asleep. They greatly praised her figure, her shapeliness, and her lovely face. But she was pale and drained of colour, like one who has suffered much. And they said that if she were well dressed she would be more beautiful than any woman ever seen, and they could certainly sell her for a high price. They had her bathed and tended, clothing her most splendidly in very rich Tyrian brocade. When she was dressed and adorned, they admired her. Afterwards they sailed the sea until they reached the city of Dublin in Ireland, where they found King Urvein.146 The merchants conferred among themselves. Now that they were in a foreign place, they said, they would offer the lady to the king, then ask him for leave to travel around his land and buy and sell undisturbed. (8331–96) They led the lady away with them and presented her to King Urvein. The king received her gratefully, thanking them many times. He looked the lady over and asked her who she was and where she was from, from which land she had come. “My lord,” she said sadly, “my father lived in England, and I was born and raised in Lincolnshire.” “Tell me, fair lady,” said the king, “tell me whether you’ve heard speak of King Waldef in the land that you come from.” When she heard Waldef’s name she started to cry, and answered the king through tears. “My lord,” she said, “I’ve seen much of him.” “Fair lady,” he said, “calm down. Stop crying and be happy and of good cheer, for I’ll make you my wife. Believe in Mahomet, in whom I believe, and I’ll promise to marry you honourably

145  8351–52 The Saracens were courteous, and comforted her very kindly Li Sarazin mult curtois ierent, / Qui mult beel la reconforterent: as here, Saracens in Anglo-Norman romance are not always unqualified villains. Examples of mutual toleration, even co-operation, between Christian and Saracen complicate the stereotype (see Bancourt, Les Musulmans, 1: 326–34, 339–40).

146  8389 Dublin Develin: Holden supplies the name to fill a blank in the MS, taking his cue from v. 8470 (Holden, 304).

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and make you queen.” “My lord,” she said, “be patient now and don’t talk about renouncing God. Indeed, I’ll never do that, even if I were to lose my life right now. But listen to me, my dear lord: grant me a year’s respite. In the meantime you can honour me and court me, so that when the year is over I’ll do whatever you please.” When the king heard her speak so amicably and ask for a respite in such a friendly manner, he granted it to her without hesitation and had her looked after with great honour. But let us leave her now. (8397–440) I will now tell you of King Waldef, who was peacefully asleep in the forest. When he had slept enough, he woke up and looked around, expecting to find his wife there. Not seeing her, he got up and called her everywhere. And when he still could not find her, he was very surprised. In the end he decided that some fairy creature must have appeared to him in her shape. He raised his hand and crossed himself, then went straight to his ship and related to his men in detail how he had thought he had his wife with him. They hoisted sail and set off, commending themselves to God. They caught a good wind, which drove them to Norway. Having sailed around the whole country, they turned away and sailed from land to land until they reached Scotland. There they remained for a short time, while they refitted their ship. (8441–66) When they turned away from Scotland, they sailed that sea until they landed in Ireland, by the city of Dublin. With a favourable north wind, they safely put into harbour. King Urvein was there at the time, holding a magnificent feast. He had gathered his barons and all the high-ranking men of his kingdom, for a year had passed since his agreement with the lady. Now he wished to marry her and would no longer wait. He wanted her to make her intentions clear, in the presence of his entire baronage. King Waldef made ready and went straight to the court, with his barons and many proudhearted men. He entered the court, where there was no one who could recognize him. King Urvein sat down to his meal, and with him his seven vassal kings whom he had overcome by force. Many people from foreign lands were there. It was a great gathering of people, who were served magnificently. Then Urvein sent for the lady, and had her sit next to him at the table. “Lady,” he said, “now rejoice. The delay I had granted you is over: tomorrow I’ll marry you.” “My lord,” she said, sighing, “may it be as almighty God intends.” (8467–502) The lady sat at the table, greatly preoccupied, unable to taste any of the food that everyone was offering her. In her mind she vowed something else altogether, often swearing to God in heaven that she would rather let herself be killed than take Urvein as her husband. She spoke softly to herself: “Alas my dear lord King Waldef, alas my dear lord and sweet love, why are we now separated? Indeed, I’ll never see you again. Tomorrow I’ll have died a painful death. I requested a postponement for your sake, hoping that Fortune would send you here to rescue me during that time, but that didn’t happen.” She cried softly and looked around the hall until she noticed a knight who was eating among the other people. He was big and tall and handsome, and appeared to be a strong man indeed. As she stared at his face, it seemed to her that he looked a lot like Waldef, except that his head was too shaggy. The more she looked at him, the more her heart told her that this was Waldef, her lord, yet she found that impossible to believe. (8503–34)



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King Waldef sat and ate, and never noticed any of this. He looked at her several times, without paying attention to her. The lady then remembered a ring she had given him when they were newly married. He had promised and sworn many times that he would always keep it, never parting from it. If he had the ring on his finger, that would identify him. She summoned a serving lad, and quietly ordered him to go to that knight, look at his fingers to see whether he had a ring and, if he did, to describe it to her. The young man went away and looked at the knight’s hand. On his finger he saw a ring of extremely fine workmanship. Having taken a good look at it, he went back to the lady and told her about it. Only when she heard about the ring, and that it was of such fine workmanship as the young man had said, describing it to her in detail, did she know for sure that the man was Waldef, her beloved.147 Happy and overjoyed, she raised her head. “My lord king,” she said, “listen. If King Waldef were here now, what would you do with him, my lord? Please tell me now.” “Fair lady,” the king replied, “by Him who made the entire world, if I had King Waldef here and could keep him with me, by this evening I’d give him half of my land and my possessions, as he’s the best knight who has ever mounted a charger, the most loyal and the most courageous who ever wore a lover’s glove.”148 (8535–80) Delighted to hear this, the lady exclaimed: “King,” she said, “I thank you, by God! Waldef is already in this hall. Look, he’s eating there on the dais. I’ll tell you the truth, for certain: I’m his wife and he’s my lord.” King Waldef was astonished to hear what the lady was saying about him. He said to himself that he had never seen her before. When King Urvein heard that Waldef was in the palace, he was greatly surprised that he had come. He summoned his servants and quickly ordered them to remove the tables at once, without any delay. Then he had Waldef brought forward, eager to see him. Waldef stood before the king, who observed him keenly. He had not recognized him because he had become so shaggy. He kissed him and welcomed him joyfully, and had him seated next to himself. “Waldef,” he said, “my dear, good friend, welcome to this land! Whatever I have in this world I’ll hand over to you this very day, so that you can dispose of my land and my possessions as you wish.” “My lord,” Waldef replied, “thank you. That is a magnificent gift indeed.” When the queen saw her lord, she kissed him lovingly. “My lord Waldef, speak to me. I’ve never so offended you that you shouldn’t speak to me. I’m your wife Ernild, whom you lost in the forest as you slept next to me. Merchants snatched me away from you and gave me to the king as a present.” Waldef listened to her in silence. Only then did he realize that this was Ernild who spoke to him. He kissed her fervently, overjoyed to see her. He said to the king: “My dear lord, I now ask you to grant me my wife, whom I’ve sought so long by sea, so that I can take her away with me. I’ve suffered great hardship for her sake, and toiled so hard. I can’t begin to tell you how much pain 147  8539–64 The lady … her beloved La dame … sun ami: rings are frequent recognition tokens in romance. An episode with a similar setting, a feast at which the protagonist’s beloved is to marry another, occurs in Horn, ed. Pope, vv. 4215–356. 148  8580 wore a lover’s glove chauçast d’amur gant: Holden explains “a lover’s glove” as one given by a lady to a knight as love token (Holden, 305).

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and anguish I’ve endured.” He told him in great detail how he had roamed the seas, and related to him all his misadventures. (8581–644) King Urvein was noble, generous, and courteous. When Waldef had explained to him in detail how he had suffered, how he had lost his children, and how long he had endured pain and affliction, Urvein felt great pity for him. “Waldef,” he said, “hear me now. Take the lady, free of any claims. Ask for anything you wish, and you’ll have it.” King Waldef thanked him very much, weeping from overwhelming joy. He would have fallen at the king’s feet if the king had not stopped him. Waldef was now happier and more joyful than he had ever been. Now that he had secured his beloved, he forgot all his misery. King Urvein was very fond of them, and greatly cherished and honoured them. Waldef stayed with him as long as he desired, and when he no longer wished to stay there, he had his ship made ready. He took his leave of King Urvein, who granted it to him and gave him gold and silver and great wealth, even more than Waldef could have asked for. Urvein acted nobly, loading Waldef’s ship with fine gold and bright silver, silk and plate, and plentiful provisions. Waldef and the queen now sailed away. Feeling perfect bliss, the two of them greatly rejoiced and delighted in each other. They sailed day and night until they arrived at Attleborough, where a great display of joy greeted them. The citizens were overjoyed to see their lord. When they learned of his arrival, they all went out of the city to meet him in a procession, for they had not seen him in a long time. (8645–92) Now that the king was in his city, he summoned all his men to a great and magnificent feast: his earls, his royal vassals, his followers, King Florenz of Cambridge, and King Swein of Essex, a worthy and reliable knight. To make the feast more splendid, Waldef invited everyone who wanted to come to it, whether he held a large property or a small one. A great many people were there, many noblemen and many men of high mettle, glad and happy that the king had returned. They all sat eating, magnificently served, when a knight appeared, fully armed on a charger. He came before the king on his horse and planted himself in front of him. “King,” he said, “hear me now. I neither greet you nor should do so, for you wrongfully disinherited my uncle, the good king Rut, the mighty and famous king of Thetford, who held all Suffolk, and banished me from the land. I ought to detest you and your men, especially King Florenz, whom I see there sitting and eating. May God give him much distress, for he wrongfully killed my uncle on the great plains below Thetford. I am Earl Merlin and I want to avenge my uncle’s death. I won’t postpone that any further. The conflict between you and me will be over today, for I can’t allow it to go on any longer. King Florenz, stand up at once. Today I’ll cut off your head if you don’t defend it well. Let the combat between us take place down there in those meadows, and let no one be there save you and me. By this evening you’ll have seen clearly who is stronger. When I’ve cut off your head I’ll have avenged my uncle’s death. I’ve planned to do the same to you, Waldef, before this year is out. I certainly intend to cut off your head.” “Earl,” said the king, “give up your duel with Florenz, which you’ve undertaken very arrogantly. I’ll restore to you your inheritance, your castles and your fortified towns. “King Waldef,” he replied, “don’t say such things! Even if you were now to give me Norfolk, I wouldn’t give up the duel, but would fight without fail. There will never be peace between us. I’ll go ahead; let him follow.” (8693–760)



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Earl Merlin departed without further ceremony. He went out of the city at once, and did not stop until he reached the meadow below the forest. He looked like a mighty man indeed. When King Florenz heard how Merlin had spoken of him, he was angry and aggrieved. He jumped up from the table, the boldest man in the world. When he heard Merlin’s threats, he asked at once for his arms, and had himself most splendidly armed. Then he mounted his charger, and had it proclaimed throughout the city that no one should be so bold as to dare follow him. Now King Florenz went off, in no way slow to fight, while everyone prayed for him. His men were anxious for him, for they greatly feared the famous Earl Merlin’s ferocity. The two men reached the meadow, well armed on their horses. Neither would yield to the other, so proud and fierce were they. They spurred their horses, which flew faster than merlins. They exchanged mighty blows, which scarred their shields. With their sharp, keen swords they struck great blows on the shields. They slashed through saddle-girths and broke breast-plates, knocking each other down from their horses. But they stood up at once and attacked each other fiercely. They gave each other vicious blows with their steel swords, and fought so hard that they lost their shields, which lay on the ground all broken; they would not help them any more, nor could the hauberks, once so strong, protect their bodies. They slashed sections off each other’s pointed helmets, and hit each other so violently that nothing could protect them. Thus they fought, like men of great valour, and the links of the chain-mail hauberks, so strong that they had never been broken, now lay shattered on the ground in large handfuls. Blood flowed down to their feet both in front and behind. It was a most deadly fight; you have never heard of another such. They did not bring their duel to an end that day, nor did they stop fighting until late in the evening, so strong were they. When the darkness of night spread over that place, they withdrew a little, in great pain and looking grim. They leaned on their swords, hardly able to stand on their feet. (8761–830) “My lord Florenz,” said Merlin, “the day is drawing to its end. What I said this morning was true: our conflict is going to be over today. As far as I’m concerned it’ll indeed be so, for I’ll never regain my health. No doubt you’ve wounded me to death, but everything shall be forgiven you today. Have my body buried, though, as soon as I lie here dead. If I’d been sure yesterday that you were such a knight and of such prowess, I’d never have fought you. If God in heaven loved me so much that he’d let me live instead of being killed in this field, we could still be friends. But I realize that I must die; there’s nothing that could heal me.” With that his strength failed him, and he fell prostrate to the ground. (8831–52) “My lord Merlin,” Florenz replied, “There’s no better man in the world than you, none wiser, more worthy, or more courageous in fighting. I wish we’d never witnessed your pride. Alas that I ever saw you! I’ve killed you, and you’ve killed me. I wish I’d never witnessed your audacity. Now I see you lying on the ground. Alas, that you have to die this way! Alas, that I can’t help you! What a pity for such a knight! If we were delivered from death and could live together, we’d be such good friends that we wouldn’t part for anything. In evil hour I saw you, my lord Merlin. We’ll both die. May God have pity on us!” With that he fell to the ground. Now they both lay there, their lives in jeopardy. When the inhabitants of the city heard that the two had indeed killed each other and were left

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lying in the field, dead, King Waldef went there, grief-stricken, and the high nobles and all the citizens went with him too. They found the bodies stretched out on the ground, and carried them on their shields. There was much grief there, people mourning and lamenting their excellence. They were taken to the palace and disarmed. The king sent for his physicians and had them examine the wounds carefully, clean and probe them well.149 Since nothing they saw suggested death, they realized that the two men had not been mortally wounded, and said that they could be healed. Neither would have to die. The king was overjoyed when the physicians said that they would heal the men without fail, restoring them to perfect health. He had each man carried to a different room. King Florenz was in one with his physicians and his followers, and in the other was Earl Merlin, who had no kinsmen or relatives, no knights, servants or townsmen. However, the king had provided him with many excellent physicians, and had him looked after affectionately. When King Florenz was able to speak, he questioned his followers. “My lords,” he said, “please tell me where my friend Merlin is. Is he dead or is he healed? If he’s alive, I too will live, and if he’s dead, I’ll die too. “My lord,” the physicians answered, “don’t let your heart feel anguish on his account. Earl Merlin has recovered: you’ll see him healed before long.” (8853–922) King Florenz rejoiced very much, and tearfully thanked God for the health of Earl Merlin, for whom he felt so much sincere affection. Lying there, Merlin began to inquire about Florenz as soon as he was strong enough to speak at all. “My God,” he said, “who will tell me how King Florenz is doing? Is he alive or is he dead, and what state is he in? If he’s dead, I know for certain that I must die by this evening. If he’s alive, I too can live, but otherwise I won’t be cured.” The physicians told him the truth: that Florenz had fully recovered and that before a month had gone by he would see him walking. At that he praised God and wept for joy. There was great joy in the land now that both King Florenz and Earl Merlin were cured. All those who dwelled in their lands were glad, for the conflict between them had been deadly, and many men had lost their lives to their knightly deeds. As much as they had hated each other before, so sincerely did they love each other now. The moment they rose they sought each other’s company. They slept and ate together, they took their recreation together and their fun. (8923–58) When King Florenz was fully recovered, he went to his land, and Earl Merlin went with him, the two of them travelling together. You’ve never seen such affection between two knights! King Florenz was now in Cambridge, much loved by his people. Clever, pleasure-loving, brave, generous, and renowned, he fell in love with an admirable lady, unmatched in any kingdom for either beauty or virtue. She was the wife of King Felix, who held Huntingdon, and King Waldef’s aunt, a most honourable lady. King Florenz loved her very much and desired her above all else. He often sent her messengers, but never accomplished anything. When King Florenz realized that his love met with no success at all, he began to attack her husband, destroying his land and laying it waste. (8959–84) 149  8891 probe tenter: to examine a wound with the help of a blunt surgical instrument, in order to establish how deep and extensive it is and how best to treat it.



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King Felix summoned his followers, gathering and engaging a great many men. For as long as he fought, he defended himself well against Florenz. Florenz then captured him, defeated and killed his men, and laid siege to the lady in Huntingdon until he overcame her. He returned to Cambridge and held Felix in his prison, ordering that he be kept under close guard and given little to drink and less to eat, for he wished to hound him to death and marry the queen. King Florenz was overjoyed to have captured the woman he loved so much. At once he sent to King Waldef and recounted from start to finish how he had taken King Felix and put him in his prison. He wished to marry the queen if Waldef would give him permission. King Waldef was very happy about this and gladly granted it to him, for now he would be related by marriage to him and his kin. Because she was his aunt, Waldef was happy that Florenz should marry her. On the chosen day, with a great assembly of nobles present, King Florenz married the lady, who had such a good reputation. The feast was rich and sumptuous, attended by many. When they were seated at the table they were splendidly served. King Florenz took up a goblet, drank to the lady, and said to her: “Lady, now be glad! I’ll make you very happy. No matter what you see, don’t despair.” And he held out the goblet to her. “My lord,” she said, “thank you!” As she received the cup, a ring on King Florenz’s hand caught her attention and she kept staring at it. From the moment that she saw it, she didn’t taste another morsel. She thought that the ring she saw truly was her own, from when she gave birth to the baby in the chamber of Bede, her brother, as you heard a while ago, and that this was the same precious, beautiful ring that she had anxiously hung around the child’s neck when she gave him to the maiden on the night of her delivery. She became preoccupied, and immediately after the meal she said: “My lord, tell me: that ring on your finger, where did it come from? Who gave it to you? I’ve never seen such a magnificent ring. Please, will you lend it to me? You can have it back whenever you like.” (8985–9054) “Lady,” he said, “I grant it you.” He took the ring off his finger, and gave it to the queen, who took it and looked at it, then left the table quickly and went to her chambers. She called one of her maidens. “My dear, come here,” she said. “I want to know if you recognize this ring. King Florenz, who married me, gave this magnificent ring to me. I think I recognize it, for it used to be my own.” The girl took it, looked at it, and said: “By the God who created me, I know this ring well. I have no doubt about that. You can be sure that this is the ring I hung around the neck of the child you had at Attleborough, my lady. You ought to remember it well. I saw you endure great suffering when I took the child from you and abandoned it in the forest. We never heard tell of it again. Go and find out! Ask the one who gave you this ring, for he’ll be able to inform you.” The lady said, “I will find out. I’ll ask for the whole truth. Go, right away,” she said, “and tell the king to come here and speak with me.” (9055–88) The girl left and brought the king back with her. When he entered the chamber, the queen called to him. Both sat upon her bed, and the queen said, affectionately: “My good lord, I ask you, in the name of Him who never lied, that you now conceal nothing from me but tell me the whole truth about this ring: if you acquired it recently, how long you’ve had it, and how it came to you.” “Lady,” he said, “I’ll tell you, since you want to know so badly. A good seven years ago I was in the city of Attleborough, where a lady who had been very good to me lay sick. When the lady was about to die, she asked me to

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come to her bedside. She showed me this ring and told me the whole story of how I was found in the woods, and brought to her wrapped in dark samite. She unswaddled me and found the ring with me. The hunter who had found me in the woods had gone away, having given her what he had found and asked her several times to look after me well and raise me properly. She did so, for which I’m grateful. After that she looked after me for a long time. She had me baptized and called Florenz, brought me up, and eventually gave me this ring, begging me repeatedly always to keep it with me and never to lie with a woman, however much I loved her, until I’d shown it to her. No one except the woman who recognized the ring would ever be able to tell me about my lineage. Now, good lady, I’ve told you all I know about the ring.” (9089–140) “Holy Mary,” the lady said, “it’s all true about the samite you were wrapped in, and all true about the ring. See the maiden who’s sitting there? She carried you into the forest. She knows the whole truth about how you were begotten and born. You’re my son, I your mother. Your father was Dereman, son of the king of Hertford.150 He was wrongfully killed after serving good king Bede a long time, for my sake. We loved each other more than anything, and for a long time we concealed our love, until the son of Frode, Frodelin (may his soul come to no good end!), became envious of your father because of his great valour. Having found out about our love, one night he waited under the tower your father used to climb when he came to talk to me, and as he was climbing down the wall, the villain ran him through with a sharp javelin that he had brought and quickly ran away. But Dereman attacked him with his steel blade, and cut his head off. The next morning Dereman died. They buried his body, and the people of that country mourned him greatly. His death weakened the king, who had been greatly feared thanks to Dereman. Never was a more valiant man born; many a lament was made for him. I was pregnant with you at the time and would willingly have killed myself. Certainly, my dear lord, I often thought that I ought to drown myself in the sea. I was so afraid of the king my brother that I didn’t dare reveal my secret to anyone except this maid, who is very loyal and faithful. If not for her, I’d be dead. I wouldn’t have lived a day after the death of your father. Using both entreaty and force, she kept me safe at that time, so that the king never suspected a thing. (9141–92) “The time came when you were born, secretly, in my chamber. We washed and bathed you, and wrapped you in samite. Then we took this gold ring and hung it round your neck so that whoever found you would keep you, with the ring. At night, when it got dark, this sharp-witted maiden took you gently in her arms and left the castle so quietly that no one noticed her. She went through the whole city and was about to carry you to the ships by the seaside. I knew that whoever found you would bring you up. But as she left the city there were men coming toward her from the seaside, and when she heard them speak she hid in the woods. She didn’t want to wait for them, fearful that when they arrived they’d notice her. She placed you in the woods and returned, not speaking a word. This is how we arranged things, and after that we never heard anything about you.” (9193–222) 150  9151 Hertford Hereford: see note to v. 425.



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When lord Florenz heard that the queen was his mother and he her son, and that the brave and noble Dereman was truly his father, he was happier than he had ever been. He kissed his mother many times, and repeatedly broke into tears of joy, for he now knew which family he came from. He sent a message to King Waldef right away, telling him everything: that the queen was his mother and that Dereman was his father. King Waldef was happy that they were related. Florenz was the nephew of the good king Bede, who had fought so many battles. Bede was the brother of the queen, who was so good and true, and King Florenz was her son. King Waldef and King Florenz had to be close friends because they were closely related. As soon as they entered the palace, Waldef told everyone the whole story about King Florenz: how he was of noble birth, found in the woods, and how they were from the same family, and how Florenz had wed his mother, and how brave, noble Dereman, who was killed at Attleborough, had begotten him. He recounted his whole life, without holding anything back. All the earls, barons, princes, and kings assembled in the palace talked among themselves about how King Florenz had never known who he really was, saying that Florenz and Waldef would now be more feared by their mortal enemies, and more loved by everyone else, since they were not just friends but family.151 (9223–68) Florenz did a noble thing, and sent for his jailers. “My lords,” he said, “how is Felix? Is he dead or alive?” “Sire,” said the jailers, “we saw him alive yesterday.” “Then go quickly and have him brought here.” “Sire,” they said, “as you please.” They ran to the prison and at once they brought out King Felix. “My lords,” he said, “what will become of me? Is King Florenz going to kill me?” King Felix believed that he would surely be killed. “My lord,” they said, “don’t be afraid! Truly, nothing bad will happen to you. On the contrary: he’ll honour you this very day, we assure you.” They removed his irons and brought him before the king. King Waldef, King Florenz, and many others with them met King Felix, and they all conducted him to the dais. Florenz said: “Lord Felix, I captured you in battle and threw you in my prison; now you sit among us. Then I married your wife because I thought I could have her, but now I don’t seek to have her, nor can I keep her any longer. I made inquiries so far as to find out that she was my mother and I her son. Now I return her to you, my dear lord, so that we may be friends from now on.” There they embraced one another. Felix was very joyous and happy to be reconciled with them, because he would grow much stronger thanks to them. “My lord,” Waldef said to Felix, “Now listen to me. I want you to do me homage now, and become my man. I’ll help you in every way and look after you as my liege man. You owe allegiance to King Fergus, whom I hate most in the world, and I don’t want you to be his man any longer, or to do him any service.” Felix replied: “My good lord, I’ll gladly do you homage.” Then he readily did him homage before that great assembly of nobles. (9269–322) “My lords,” said King Florenz, “listen here, my good men. You’ve heard how matters stand, what lineage I come from, that I’m the son of Dereman, who died painfully at Attleborough. He was the son of the king of Hertford, and after the king died there was no heir except me. But a wicked man came, claiming to be a close cousin, and took all

151  9265–67 more feared … everyone else E que plus … morteus enemis: we follow Holden’s suggestion (306) in reversing the order of vv. 9266 and 9267 to improve logic.

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the land for himself. Wrongfully and outrageously he deprived me of my heritage. If he doesn’t want to return it to me, it’ll have to be taken by force. I tell you this: anyone who would take this message to him would gain much by doing that.” “Sire,” said Earl Merlin, “I know the way to Hertford well. I’ll take the message to the king, nor will fear deter me. No matter how fierce he may be, I’ll take the message and explain your rights to him. If I see that it’s necessary, I’ll prove with a sharp blade that he has no rights at all. I don’t care if he gets angry about it, for I prefer war with him to peace.” Florenz replied: “You’ve spoken well. Today we’ll celebrate.” They made merry in the palace, and were joyous and cheerful both that day and the next. Many revellers were there, who were splendidly served. There was no shortage of grey and white furs.152 On the third day, they left, to return to their countries. Earl Merlin lost no time. He got up early, armed himself well, and took the high road. He took no man with him, nor did he stop until he saw the city and the great time-worn walls. According to the ancients, Hertford was then rich and noble, very proud. Later the city was destroyed by a great act of treason carried out by the wicked city-dwellers, who killed their lord, a man of great valour. But then a king avenged him, laying the city waste completely. It was destroyed with much suffering, and remained desolate for a long time, uninhabited by any man. Afterwards it was repopulated, but it never again had the standing that it had in olden times. (9323–86) Earl Merlin went in, for he knew the city well, having been there often. Without speaking to anyone, he went up toward the palace. King Howard was in the courtyard, resting uder a great olive tree. A hundred knights were with him, noble and lively and valiant. They were baiting a huge bear, and the king was there to watch. Merlin presented himself before him without any greeting. Proud and fearless, he delivered his message from horseback. “King,” he said, “listen to me. Hear King Florenz’s messenger. The king orders you to return to him his rights and his inheritance, which you wrongfully took from him when his father died, and that you come to his court to render account of what you’ve received, or else set a date to do so. And if you can’t return it to him, he wants to take hostages from you. If he’s not confident of them, he’ll have your head instead. And if you don’t want to do what you’ve heard me say, truly, before this month is over he’ll put such fear into you as you’ve never known. You’ll be taken dead or alive and will never be able to escape.” When the king heard what Merlin said to him, and how arrogantly he said it, he was very angry. He did not want to say or show anything, or to speak angrily to Merlin, for he thought that if he could make him stay he could trick him in some other way, by putting something in his food or drink. But Merlin knew him inside out. “Merlin,” said King Howard, “by God, I’m amazed at you. You’ve changed so much. You used to be noble and praiseworthy, you always loved me so much, and now you’re my mortal enemy, having taken up with those who killed your family. You’ve gone over to King Florenz, who killed so many of your relatives, including your uncle, King Rut. I was there when he died. We were together in the battle, and killed many men that day. I never thought I’d see the day when you could love Florenz, but now I know what sort of 152  9360 grey and white furs ver e gris: like rich fabrics (see note to v. 12860), furs were a conventional sign of luxury.



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person you are. I’ve heard enough already. Whoever dishonours you will win you over, that’s the truth.” (9387–454) “King,” said Merlin, “let me be. I’ve no desire to argue with you. Just tell me what response we can give King Florenz.” “Lord Merlin,” said the king, “stay here with me today. Tomorrow morning I’ll tell you what I’ve decided.” “King,” said Merlin, “I won’t do that. I won’t stay with you today. When I left him, King Florenz forbade me to remain with you or eat or drink while I’m here.” “Lord Merlin,” the king replied, “by Him who made the world, I’ll drink some piment with you.153 It came to me as a present yesterday; you’ve never tasted better nor will you ever.” “Lord King,” said Merlin, “I tell you, and this is final, that I don’t want to eat or drink with you, or stay with you here, for you know well how to deceive men with your food and drink. I’m going back to King Florenz; I’ll tell him what I’ve heard.” “Lord Merlin,” said Howard, “you’re behaving badly in refusing to stay with me or eat or drink with me. You’ve given your message, and you want to know what I think. Now you’ll know it without delay. Make King Florenz understand that I don’t care about his rights nor will I hold anything from him. But if he demands my land and wants to conquer it by force, let him come when he wants. He’ll never have it without a battle. At the gates of the city he’ll find me, well armed. But tell him this, truly: if I can get him in my power I’ll have him burned or flayed. He’ll never need a ransom.” (9455–502) When Merlin heard Howard’s arrogant message to the noble and valiant Florenz, he left, his head held high, and undertook the return journey without saying a word to Howard. The king thought hard: if Merlin left him like that, he would consider himself outmanoeuvred, for he greatly feared Merlin’s strength. He sent for Hildebert, one of his brothers, a man wicked and full of iniquity, but brave and bold, and whom he trusted greatly. Hildebert thought the day was ill-spent if he did not commit some crime, for that is how he lived. “Brother,” said the king, “now arm yourself. Take ten knights with you, and go capture Earl Merlin. I’ll have him hanged from a high gallows, for if he escapes you, he’ll do us much harm. He’s gone over to our enemies, who want to take this country from us.” Hildebert scarcely hesitated. He armed himself at once, took with him ten knights, well armed on their warhorses, and they all went after Earl Merlin. If almighty God had not cared about Merlin, his life would have been in jeopardy, for they pursued him fast. When Earl Merlin saw them coming he did not deign to flee even a step. He struck a knight who had ridden ahead of the others, and knocked him dead from his horse. He encountered another, struck him dead from his horse, and treated a third one the same way. Then the others attacked him, eager to kill him. As they ran at him from all sides, he drew his sharp sword and used it for many great blows. He cut the heads off most of his attackers, while others lost arms or hands, which would never again help them in need. Through great efforts he saved himself, trusting in his good horse. He struck and injured so many that he was able to break away from them, riding fast, but he turned on them again and again, though he was badly wounded through the body. He encountered them repeatedly until all except Hildebert were wounded or killed. Hildebert was very brave, and kept chasing Earl Merlin. “Merlin,” he said, “stop there! Your horse is too swift for me 153  9471 piment un piment: see note to v. 6382.

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to catch up with. It weighs on me that I can’t keep up, because I promised King Howard to hang you from a rope. If I can’t keep my vow, I’ll be miserable.” (9503–72) When Merlin heard him raving, he turned his horse at once. “Fellow,” Merlin said, “by my faith, I hear foolish promises from a fool. I’m not a thief to be hanged.154 I’ll teach you something quite different: before you have the rope woven, you’ll consider yourself a stupid fool. I don’t know of any man of my lineage who died in such shame, but may you be cursed five hundred times for insulting me so far as to want to hang me from a gallows! You’ll pay for it dearly, I swear.” Then they attacked each other fiercely with their sharp swords. They exchanged many blows, for they were strong and hardened, and they fought each other until Earl Merlin had beaten Hildebert and cut off his head, commending the body to the Devil. Merlin was badly wounded in several places, but he pricked and spurred his horse until he came to Cambridge, where he dismounted before the hall. When King Florenz saw him, he went to meet him immediately, deeply troubled. He could tell by his weapons that he had been in a battle and barely escaped with his life. “Merlin,” he said, “can you recover from those wounds?” “My king,” he said, “don’t worry. I don’t feel any pain or distress from the wounds I’ve received. I’ll heal well, truly. This is what King Howard says to you, with great arrogance and insolence: he has nothing of yours, nor is he willing to hold anything from you, and if you set foot on his lands, you’ll find a fierce battle there.” Then he told him everything about his errand. Finally he disarmed and had his wounds washed and probed. (9573–620) King Florenz lost no time in sending for his friends: King Waldef and King Swein, who were good, steadfast friends to him, King Felix from Huntingdon, and many others. Once Earl Merlin was healed, the army would go to Hertford. King Howard did the same, sending for his own men. He sent for the king of London, in whom he greatly trusted, for the king was a relative and ought not to fail him. So the king of London came there along with the king of Kent, who was his ally. With a great force that they had raised they came straight to Hertford to King Howard, who was very arrogant and much to be feared. When King Florenz knew that Earl Merlin had recovered, he went straight into Hertfordshire with his great army. King Howard knew well that King Florenz was marching against him. He went right to his borders to attack his enemies in turn. Many died in the plains below Hertford that day. The two armies faced each other in a great display of military might, then struck each other without holding back. Both sides attacked each other hard and neither had any use for cowards. They struck with spears and falchions, and the archers shot with their bows. King Waldef did well, striking hard in the first wave, with King Swein and King Florenz and their good men. So many were killed or taken prisoner, so many wounded and slaughtered, and so many died in agony, that no one could count them. (9621–66) King Howard did very well, like everyone on his side. The two sides fought each other fiercely, and many good men died there. Earl Merlin went forward to attack King Howard. They gave each other great blows, knocking one another off their horses. Then they fought at close quarters until Merlin cut off Howard’s head. When King Howard was killed, his men were dismayed. King Fergus was sorrowful, for they were related, and 154  9577 not a thief: MS has pas larrun.



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he said to the king of Kent: “Now they despise us. Let’s gather our people and sally out quickly, then retreat to this nearby forest, for King Waldef and King Florenz, together with the armies of their other allies, are so cruel and ferocious that nothing can withstand them. The longer we stay here, the more men we’ll lose.” “That’s true,” the king said to him. Quickly, without delay, they assembled their armies and went hurriedly into the forest. The others followed them apace, capturing many of their men. They killed many, took many prisoners, and destroyed them utterly. After escaping into the forest, Fergus’s army went straight to London. King Fergus was very unhappy, and often swore to God and his saints that before the year was out he would not have left a single foot of land to Waldef, who was so arrogant. Waldef would have no reason to be proud, nor could he ever be watchful enough if Fergus marched to defeat and destroy him. (9667–710) King Waldef headed straight for the city of Hertford with the booty they had taken, which made them happy and joyful. The townspeople went to meet the kings. They received King Florenz and did homage to him as their lord. The kings remained in the city as long as it pleased them. “Sir Merlin,” said Florenz, “here, before all these people, and before Waldef, our lord, I grant you this fief today: I give you Hertford and its lands. Were it even greater, I’d certainly give it to you. I couldn’t do anything better with it. This is my rightful property and my inheritance. I give it to you, free of all rights and claims. Here, take the keys, I grant them to you, to be both king and lord here.” Everyone in the palace, duke and earl, prince and king, thanked him for this, for Merlin was loved by all. Merlin then sat on the royal throne and took pledges of fealty from his barons. After this, the others departed, each to his own country. From that time on, Merlin was called king, greatly respected and feared. The Londoners often came, with great forces and many troops, to lay his land waste in revenge for Howard’s death. And Merlin defended himself so well that he gained more than he lost, and often defeated them and took their men prisoner. Now let us leave him, in order to talk about King Fergus, king and lord of London, who was so angry at Waldef that he wanted to take revenge on him as soon as possible, however he could manage it. (9711–56) King Fergus was in London, with his Londoners and many barons from his land. “Lords,” he said, “what should I do about King Waldef, the terrible tyrant who’s done us so much harm, who goes around defeating and threatening us? You’ve already heard how he killed the king my brother and our relatives and our friends, greatly weakening us. Bede, his noble and valiant father, never owned so much, never held anything but Norfolk, and this man has conquered Suffolk, which, together with the four kings he has defeated, has made him very powerful. If we don’t take care, I know that we’ll lose our lands. If he can keep this up for long, he’ll dispossess us all.” (9757–78) “Sire,” said Okenard, “I’ll tell you the truth, so help me God. If you want to harm King Waldef and burn and destroy his land, prepare your ships and send for all your friends. Raise and assemble your army, and seek Waldef by sea. I’ll go with you, for I know the country’s coasts. If we can arrive in his land at dusk, or perhaps at dawn, we can pillage and burn it. Before he realizes it or can assemble any troops, we’ll have laid waste to the country. There won’t be a city or town that’ll help him and stop us from capturing him wherever we may find him. If you don’t defeat him this way, you’ll never beat him, for if you assault him by land, before you’re a day’s journey from the city he’ll know about

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it. He’ll gather his men at once and attack you fiercely. If you don’t do as I’ve suggested, you’ll never defeat him.” (9779–808) “It’s true,” the king replied. “You’ve given me good advice.” He assembled his men, quickly made his ships ready, and gathered many nobles there. He embarked at London and, with good weather and a good wind, he sailed over the sea until he was close to Norfolk. Now let me leave King Fergus and tell you about King Waldef, who was becoming overly confident and proud. The king was spending most of his time by the sea in Attleborough, because the countryside was so delightful there. It happened that one summer day, in good health and spirits, he asked for a boat, saying that he wanted to go to sea for the fun of it. He had no fear of any harm. The boat was soon ready for him, just as he had commanded. The king embarked, taking with him only four brave and skilful soldiers but not a single retainer except lord Bern, a courageous and worthy knight of his. They left the port, commending themselves to God. Before they returned, each would be terrified for his life, unless God, the son of Mary, remembered them. They sailed fast, this way and that, enjoying themselves. When they were ready to go ashore, before they could get to harbour near Dunwich, a storm hit them, such a terrible one that they could not get near the shore. It blew them far out to sea, which greatly frightened the king. The storm lasted until nightfall, then a great fogbank surrounded them all night, until broad daylight the next day. When the fog lifted, the weather became clear and beautiful, and they were heartened. King Waldef got up and looked far out to sea. He saw a great fleet of ships sailing toward them. “God help us!” exclaimed Waldef. “My lord Bern,” he said, “look up! See how many ships are coming. We must flee to save our lives. I know for sure they’re coming on a raid and mean to land in my country.” Bern jumped up right away. “Sire,” he said, “let’s flee from here! That’s King Fergus. He’s coming with his army to attack us.” They fled as quickly as they could. When the men on the ships saw them, they cried out loudly: “Wait! Go no further!” But the more they shouted, the faster the others sought to escape them. As soon as King Fergus saw this, he said to his men: “Get in the boats at once and seize those men for me. They’re King Waldef’s men and will tell him I’m coming.” Many sailors and many valiant helmsmen could be seen getting quickly into the boats, more than a hundred in a single line. They sailed as fast as they could, and did not give up until they had reached Waldef. No one hesitated to lay hands on him. They captured them all, brought them back, and led them before King Fergus. “My lords,” said King Fergus, “Tell me who you are.” Waldef stood up and answered. “Sire,” he said, “listen. We were all born and brought up in the town of Dunwich. We’re some of the town’s many fishermen. Yesterday we went to sea intending to fish, but the violent storm caused us great losses. We had the misfortune of losing both nets and fish.” (9809–912) “Tell me,” Fergus said, “where is Waldef, your king?” “Sire,” said Waldef, “I’ll tell you truly, upon my life. Yesterday, when I was at Dunwich, he was in the countryside. He travels through his lands to amuse himself, because he fears war from no man.” “Would to God I had him in my power!” said Fergus, “I’d hang him from the highest mast. I wouldn’t let him go for anything in the world. Before the month is out I’ll leave him neither town nor city without burning it to ashes first, and if I can capture him, I’ll have him burned or hanged. I’ll accept no other ransom.” “I’m sure you’ll do that,” Waldef said, “but you



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promise him a lot of trouble. He’ll be wise to be careful, since you promise him such harm.” King Waldef would have got out of there without a scratch, but then Earl Okenard, who had always hated him very much, arrived. He was not at all amused when he recognized Waldef. He cried aloud: “King Fergus, how lucky for you that your war is now over! You needn’t look any further! Now you can have your way with him, for this, truly, is Waldef you’ve been talking to; now do whatever you wish!” (9913–48) When he heard this, King Fergus rejoiced greatly. At once he commanded that Waldef be taken and bound strongly. When King Waldef heard this, he jumped to his feet at once, and grabbed an oar. “By God,” he said, “who never lied, whoever first attacks me will surely die.” Then they attacked him, and he defended himself valiantly, killing fifteen of their men before they captured him. All four of his sailors were killed with steel blades, while Bern received two very bad sword wounds. At that point they seized Waldef, and King Fergus commanded that he be hanged at once from the highest mast. Okenard said: “Don’t do it! May God not let you do that! Now that you’ve taken your enemy, return at once to London, your city. Send for all the kings of the realm, all your barons and your earls. Tell them how he insulted and injured you by killing your brother. Judge him accordingly, and you’ll be more feared by all. When they see your justice, they’ll fear you much more.” (9949–84) “You’ve spoken well,” Fergus replied, and they got underway with much pleasure. When King Fergus arrived in the great city of London, he had King Waldef well guarded, thrown in his prison, and laden with more iron than a packhorse could carry. Now, my lords, you have heard how Waldef met with misfortune. Fergus had no intention of forgetting about him but summoned his barons, as well as all the kings of the land, Scots, Norse, and Welsh. Next the king ordered Waldef brought before him. They had him taken out of the prison and manhandled him shamefully, abusing him as if he were a thief, striking, beating, and hitting him. Now Waldef stood before the king, who treated him most cruelly. “My lords,” said King Fergus, “now listen, all of you. This is my deadly enemy, the man I hate most in the world. He has wronged me greatly, depriving me of my men and my friends whom he has killed in battle—truly, I shall always mourn them. And you ought to hate him too, for I certainly want you to know that if he lives much longer he’ll dispossess us all. There isn’t a single one of you here who shouldn’t hate him outright, for he has killed some of your kin and many of your dearest friends. Now you can be avenged on him, on this scoundrel, this devil. Your judgment will now determine whether he’ll be torn to pieces by horses, burned, hanged, or dismembered. Let him be treated according to your judgment.” Many opinions could be heard there, and much cruel talk. Some wanted to let him be killed, some to help and free him, and some wanted to exile him, for they greatly pitied him. The king of Canterbury, ruler and lord of Kent, said this: “My lord king, now wait: delay this decision. Meanwhile we’ll deliberate about the way to judge him, and in the morning we’ll notify you of our sentence.” The king replied: “I agree.” (9985–10043) They led King Waldef away and put him back in prison, throwing him down into the deepest part of it. In great distress now, Waldef saw nothing to comfort him, for the prison was extremely foul, harbouring nothing but vermin: gadflies, toads, and snakes that feed on humans. The next morning, on the stroke of six, they led out King Waldef

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into the presence of King Fergus as if he were a chained bear. Then they again began to talk, each keen to speak his own mind. In the hall there was a great dispute among dukes, earls, and kings. “My lord king,” said Hereward—an irascible man and cruel king, ruler and lord of Chichester—“my lord king, listen to me. Why do you put up with this dispute? Take your traitor and hang him high on a gallows, for he has deserved death. Don’t you remember Thetford, where he treacherously killed your brother?155 We lost ten thousand men there the day we fled, and were all close to being captured or killed. We lost so many of our friends that the great loss will never be made good in our lifetime. Now take your revenge on this man who has caused you such great trouble, and if you don’t do this, you’ll never again be respected. He’s always done you great harm, and will do worse if he goes free.” (10044–84) King Hemming of York arose. “King Hereward,” he said angrily, “you’re wrong, God help me, for King Waldef was never considered a traitor nor disloyal. If he did Fergus wrong in killing his men, he killed them in self-defence. You were there, and so was I. I suffered great losses then. We all know the truth about how all that happened. It was wrong of King Uther to be in that land. He destroyed and laid waste to it and besieged Thetford. King Waldef, who stands here, behaved like a brave man. He avenged himself on his enemies and drove them from the land. As the saying goes, harm your enemy and trick your foe, and you will escape death. Now as regards you, I’ll say here, in front of King Fergus, that if you were at Chichester—whose lord and master you are—and your father, were he alive, attacked you in battle and wanted to take your land, by force and through warfare, I’m sure you’d defend it as long as you could, and would fight him rather than lose it. You’d rather kill him than let him kill you, my dear lord. As for King Waldef doing wrong when he injured Fergus, he’s here, all ready to make himself legally available to Fergus and immediately make whatever reparations Fergus demands. We should entreat, request, and exhort Fergus to do Waldef nothing but good, and take ransom from him, so that Waldef should now become his vassal and hold his land from him. Waldef will find a good hostage, who will serve Fergus loyally.” (10085–138) King Herman of Salisbury, incensed, spoke next. “King Hemming, it’s wrong of you to misadvise the king to release this traitor, this devil. Whether we stand to gain or to lose, none of us should advise this, for Waldef has done him, and all those in the land, such wrong that everyone without exception should pass a severe sentence upon him. Since he first arrived in the land he has never stopped acting wickedly. Did he not most wrongfully kill good King Rut outside Thetford, and King Cnut of Cambridge, a man of great renown, and many others, mourned by the whole country? There isn’t a powerful man in the land whom he hasn’t wronged and harmed. He’ll do much worse if he’s freed and if he can live long. If he were now your neighbour, before three days had passed you’d want him hanged high on a gallows, like a wolf.156 Now you’ve been bribed in order to help 155  10072 treacherously Par la traïsun que il fist: refers to vv. 6735–78.

156  10166 high on a gallows, like a wolf En haltes furches, cum un leu: the phrase, which recurs in v. 10690, may echo the deceitful wolf’s fate in a number of popular fables, e.g. Odo of Cheriton’s “The Complaint of the Sheep” and “The Wolf ‘Takes Care of ’ the Sheep” (The Fables of Odo of Cheriton, trans. John C. Jacobs [Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1985], 93–95).



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and free him, but indeed that won’t help him, because he won’t be freed. I’m kin to King Fergus and love him very much, more than any other man. Truly I won’t give him bad advice, whatever in the world I might earn for it. I certainly venture to advise him—this would be a just sentence—that he should raise a gallows on a tall rock above the sea, and have Waldef hanged at once. There’s no point at all in waiting.” (10139–80) King Osmund of Oxford jumped up in fury and spoke loudly so that everyone heard him and paid attention. “King Herman,” said Osmund to him, “by Him who created the whole world, you’ve spoken evilly about Waldef, the famous king whom you’ve condemned to death. That’s sinful and wrong, because Waldef is the bravest from here to the East, and the best and most courteous: those in this hall know that. Wouldn’t it be wrong if such a man were to die for his prowess and courage, which he showed by killing two mighty kings in a single hour? He did so as a bold and brave man, because formerly they had waged violent war on the king his father, driving him out of his land by great force and warfare. After Bede died, his son, King Waldef, came forward and fought the two kings so hard that he thoroughly avenged his father on them by killing them both. He thought little of it since they were his enemies, who had laid his land waste. Now you’re looking for a reason to condemn him and you say he treacherously killed the kings like a villain, but he did it through his great bravery and his knightly qualities. May God, son of Mary, not let him die in this way! But if you want to fight him, either because of what you’ve said or because of anyone else’s words, and show the false judgment you’ve pronounced in public to be true and lawful, you’ll be believed all the more. You’ll be greatly esteemed if you dare to defend your claim by fighting. You’re not brave enough ever to attack him, nor would you endure a blow from King Waldef, whom I see standing here, and his good, keen sword, even if you were offered this city filled with gold. In a most evil hour you decided that King Waldef should be hanged from a rope. It isn’t right to hang a king, who can be imprisoned or ransomed instead. May God never protect you, evil, cowardly king, when you took that decision and wrongly accused me of letting myself be bribed to free King Waldef. I tell you truly, everything you said here was a lie.” He rushed forward in a fury and would certainly have punched him if the other kings had not jumped up and separated them. (10181–252) King Fergus was angry that Osmund had spoken in this way. “King Osmund,” Fergus said to him, “you’re too proud and arrogant, insulting the bold and brave King Herman in this fashion. By my head, that was an evil day when you thought of threatening to strike him because of Waldef, that most wicked king. If God lets me live, your friendship will make it worse for him, because he’ll die a shameful death this very day. Indeed, you’ll never help him but will see him quite cut to pieces. Now you want to save him from death, but you’d do well to remember both the disgrace and the damage he heaped on you at Lincoln, when he fought you and defeated you in battle, taking your mistress from you, for which you’ll always be shamed.” King Osmund replied, deeply upset: “King Fergus, what you’ve said is a lie, so help me God! I was never defeated by Waldef or by anyone else. I fought King Waldef, received many blows, and struck many too. You never ever saw a harder fight. Your brother, King Uther, saw that the battle there was fierce, and you too were there and saw how tough it was. During the battle we were reconciled, and parted as good friends. And on that occasion King Uther, your brother, arrived with a

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large army and many men, but he left shamefully, having abducted the girl. This grieved Waldef very much. He fought King Uther, defeated him in battle, and won the girl, whom he took to wife. And you were there, King Fergus, behaving very arrogantly in the battle until I saw you fleeing before your men like a coward. In the fray you were close to defeat, death, or capture; and likewise before Thetford, where your brother was killed, you fled at top speed, giving neither pledge nor surety. Such humiliations befell you and all your followers. You have no right to argue with me or reproach me about my conduct in battle.” King Fergus was furious. He quickly jumped to his feet and would certainly have struck King Osmund if others had not restrained him. The tumult was great and the quarrel heated. There was not a single king, no matter how powerful, who did not shout loudly and make violent threats. (10253–322) Then Okenard appeared, took up a position in the hall, and spoke loudly in front of the king, so that everyone gave him a hearing. “Listen to me, King Fergus. I’ve served you seven years or more and have never received so much as a single bezant’s worth from you.157 You’ve promised me great domains: lands, castles, and strong towers. Do what I ask today, or I’ll have to leave you.” The king replied: “My lord Okenard, as God may now protect me, tell me your request; you won’t be kept waiting any longer.” Earl Okenard replied: “My good lord, thank you very much for the gift you’ve made me: it’s this scoundrel Waldef. Since you’ve sentenced him to death, allow me now to kill him. You know well that I have reason to hate him. I was known as a noble earl, and I was indeed his man, but he treated me badly when he knocked down my castle. How good, strong, and fine it was! He drove me and my men out, most wrongfully dispossessed me, he ruined, killed, and captured my family and friends, causing me heavy grief. But now that I see him here before me, I can be avenged on him. Therefore I beg and entreat you to hand him over to me, so that I may condemn him to death, and henceforth I’ll serve you all my life.” (10323–62) Fergus replied: “You may have him, since you’ve asked me so earnestly, but let me hear no more talk of him; put him to death tonight.” “My lord,” he said, “many thanks! I’ll be your man forever.” He fell at his feet, which he kissed three times or more. The king at once raised him, then the earl left and went straight to Waldef. He acted as if he were very angry with him, grabbing his sides and violently pulling him toward him, making him fall to his knees. But Waldef began to get angry. If his hands had not been tied, he would certainly have been avenged on him. (10363–80) “Ah, Waldef!” said Okenard, “today I’ll hang you from a rope, or cut off your limbs to draw out your suffering. Now I’ll take vengeance on you. Don’t you remember, wicked king, the great wrongs you’ve done me? This very day you’ll pay for them dearly. You’re not at Thetford now, or at Attleborough, which is so strong, nor in your splendid city of Caister, where you used to behave so proudly. Where is King Florenz now, who killed so many good men, or Harding, Bern, and lord Gimund? They’ll be no help to you from now on because I have you in my power. Truly, today I’ll take your life.” He had him dragged away and thrown into prison, and said that in the morning he would prepare a device such as no one could imagine, to torture his body to the utmost. Waldef was 157  10330 a single bezant’s worth A la munte d’un sul besant: see note to v. 4502.



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now mourned and lamented by many in the city, who were sure that he would indeed be strung up high by the following evening now that Okenard had him in his power, for they were afraid of the earl’s great violence. As soon as night fell, Okenard resolved to go to the prison and talk to his lord. When he got there, he had Waldef and Bern taken out, and they truly believed they were to be dismembered. But Okenard behaved nobly: he quickly had them freed from the chains that bound them, which weighed more than a packhorse could carry, and prostrated himself before Waldef. “My lord,” he said, “for Christ’s sake have mercy on this unhappy, miserable wretch, this traitor, this scoundrel! I’ve treated you so badly that you should hang me like a thief. Have mercy, my sweet lord, noble king! Do what you like with me, whether you have me live or die.” (10381–432) When King Waldef heard this, he answered Earl Okenard: “Get up, my lord, noble earl. You are most honourable, gentle, and good.” He said to him through tears: “Oh earl, how brave you are, how true and loyal! No one on earth is more true. I’ve treated you wickedly and dishonourably, and you treat me with kindness and honour. In return for evil you do me good. You never did me any harm, but I drove you from my kingdom wrongfully and unjustly, taking all your castles from you. Now on top of that you ask me for mercy. You’re doing what I should do: I should ask you for mercy, since you’ve saved me from death. May God, who never lies, not let me die before I can reward you.” He raised him in his arms and they kissed each other. But Okenard at once gave King Waldef a swift charger of his, and handed over another to Bern. He brought them quietly outside the city, so that nobody noticed them. “My lord king,” he said, “now go, may God keep you, and I’ll stay here; I intend to suffer death for you. Whether I live or die, I won’t break my pledge of loyalty. Because I made Fergus a promise, I ought to serve him faithfully. I’ll stay with him in this land until the period of time he set me is up. In fact, I know well I’ll never see that time: in the morning, when the king is fully informed and knows how you’ve escaped thanks to me, he’ll quickly have me killed. I’ll have to die the death that you, my lord king, would suffer were you to be sent back among them. But, my good and kind lord, now think about helping my family and my friends, whom you drove from the land, and for love of me, my lord, help them and do them some good.” (10433–86) “My lord Okenard,” said the king, “do come away! It’s not a great crime to break a promise now. If you do any wrong by that you can amply set it right. In honour of almighty God, I’ll turn a convent into an abbey especially for you, my lord. To horse, to horse, come away! One can do a bad thing to prevent a worse one,158 for if Fergus can convict you, you know well, truly, that you’ll be condemned to a cruel death.” “My lord king,” said Okenard, “go, and God protect you. You have no time to linger. Quickly, go and save your life, while I return. I’ll never see you again, for there’s no question of my leaving. Come what may, bad or good, I’d rather die loyal than live in shame and ignominy and be considered a perjurer. May God never let me see that day!” Then the king

158  10497 One can do a bad thing to prevent a worse one Mal fet hume pur pis remaindre: This has the ring of a proverb although it is not exactly the same as De deux maux prendre le moins pire (James Woodrow Hassell Jr, Middle French Proverbs, Sentences, and Proverbial Phrases [Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1982], M57) or De deus maus le meyndre (Joseph Morawski, Proverbes antérieurs au xve siècle, CFMA 47 [Paris: Champion, 1925], no. 486).

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left, dejected and distressed for Okenard, who stayed behind. He did not think he would escape alive. That night the king travelled so far that he reached the city of Hertford before dawn. He recognized the land and the region. King Merlin was delighted that King Waldef had been rescued, and received him with great joy; never had he been so glad. He told him all about how he and the excellent Florenz and the good, brave King Swein, had gathered a huge army. They intended to besiege London in order to help and free him. None of them would leave without getting him back, alive or dead. King Waldef told him how he had escaped from prison: how Okenard freed him and took him out of the dungeon. That day he lodged there, greatly enjoying himself in the city. In the morning he left with King Merlin, and returned to Attleborough, where he summoned all his barons and told them from beginning to end how God rescued him from death and how Okenard saved him, putting himself in danger for his sake. Now let us leave him be, for I want to return to Okenard, who was frightened because he greatly feared King Fergus. The next day, on the stroke of six, Earl Okenard entered the great hall, to face the princes and kings. As soon as Fergus saw him, he called him to his side and said to him quietly and softly: “Where is King Waldef? Why don’t you punish him so that people can see it?” (10487–560) Okenard replied: “I’ll tell you the truth, so God help me, of what I’ve done with King Waldef, and not a single word will be a lie. I am his man and he is my lord. Because of my arrogance, my fury, and my pride I did him wrong, and he drove me out of the country. He took from me all my land and my strong and fine castles by force, because I had completely deserved it. After that I came to this land, to the powerful king Uther, who retained me most honourably and I served him well, night and day, until he was killed before Thetford. Then you inherited the kingdom, and in peace and in war I have since served you, my lord king, seven years or more, I believe. The other day you captured King Waldef and made these kings assemble to sentence him to death, whether rightly or wrongly. When I saw my lord bound, beaten, humiliated, so greatly tormented, and so dishonoured—he who was such a noble lord led along like a thief, his hands tied behind him—I felt such anger and such pity that I couldn’t bear to see him die. Seeing you so inflamed with anger to kill or maim him, I would have suffered death for him if I could have freed him that way. I didn’t dare to plead for him, but I thought hard how I could help him and save him from such a death. We were enemies who hated each other keenly. For this reason I asked you if I could have him in my power so I could kill him as I pleased. You gave him to me, my lord, to do as I liked with him, whether to have him live or die. You gave him to me, my lord, and willingly granted him to me, in front of these kings, who will vouch for the truth of it. I thanked you many times, I kissed your foot three times, and then, my lord, I took him away. In the evening I released him. He has gone back to his country, and I, my good lord, have stayed here. I didn’t want to flee, however much I feared death, before the period of time you set when you, my lord, retained me.” (10561–626) When King Fergus heard that Waldef was gone, he was angry and quite mortified, and burned with fury. “Oh villain,” he said, “what have you done? You shall be pulled apart by horses or hanged high on a gallows. Then I’ll have you burned at the stake and your ashes scattered to the winds. May almighty God curse you! You’ve completely



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betrayed me with my deadliest enemy. Why did you let him go? You must die a painful death. Oh wicked traitor and wicked scum! Oh wicked coward and evildoer!” He ordered his men to hang him straight away. “Ah, my lord king,” Okenard said, “have mercy, for God’s sake! You shall not hang me in this way. I ask for judgment by your court, whether it turns out well or badly for me. If there’s any brave man, whether king, earl or baron, who accuses me in any way of having betrayed you, whether there are five or four or three or two of them I’m willing to fight them all, here and now before these kings. If I can’t defend myself, have me hanged high on a gallows and have my body reduced to ashes. And if I should now die for saving my lord from death and danger and harm, have me judged for that here. If I were in a situation where my lord would suffer and I didn’t help him as best I could,159 I’d sentence myself to burning.” (10627–66) The king of Oxford said: “My lord Okenard, after what you’ve said, it would be wrong to have you executed.” A great dispute erupted, with some men accusing others and explaining why Okenard should be freed. Fergus said: “No more arguments; be quiet! Your foolish chatter is useless: no one can save his life. You argued in the same way for King Waldef and kept him alive long enough to allow him to escape from prison with the help of that traitor over there. By almighty God, he’ll suffer the sentence Waldef would have suffered had he stayed, and I’d even like it to be worse. I have pronounced sentence on him: to be pulled apart by horses and then quickly hanged high on a gallows, like a wolf.” He angrily ordered that they should take Okenard out of the hall and carry out his judgment. They led Okenard away and called for swift, strong, and speedy horses to put him to death. There was great lamentation that he had to die because he was loyal, and he was greatly mourned in the city. At that point the city’s sheriff Edward appeared,160 a dignified and noble man, very old and very learned in the laws and customs of kings. Without saying a single word, he calmly listened to their dispute, speaking only when he saw the earl brought out. “My lord king,” he said, “listen to me. Don’t rush, in your anger, to act so far against reason as to condemn a man. It’s not the custom in this city for a man to be condemned to death in anger or by arbitrary will but only by the decision of the kingdom. I want to speak to you about Okenard, whom I’ve now heard you order to be pulled apart or hanged. We have not made this judgment. Let me inform you that it’s in no way your prerogative to make a judgment: your court should do it instead. This concerns our rights. I’m from the city, and I’ll tell you my opinion about Okenard, whom you’ve sentenced; no one can make me desist. You have condemned him quite wrongly. You’ve accused him of treason but you have neither established it nor proved him guilty. The truth is that he never swore you loyalty nor homage, nor did he ever become your man. He held neither land nor fief from you but is an outsider, a mercenary who served 159  10665 as best I could: MS has a mun poer, not a mur poer.

160  10703 sheriff Vesquons: men of baronial rank and substance, sheriffs were administrative and judicial officers, local representatives of royal authority. They were chosen by the crown or by the burgesses of towns like London; in the latter case this choice was a sign of a town’s growing independence and could be accompanied by an assertion of its own customs, especially in the execution of justice. See Borough Customs, vol. 1, ed. Mary Bateson for the Selden Society (London: 1865–1906), 38, 47, 65–66. See further note to v. 3980.

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you for your money. If he leaves you tomorrow, he owes you neither oath nor loyalty. Therefore we should praise him all the more and applaud his fidelity, since his lord Waldef drove him out and dispossessed him of his land, but then Okenard saw Waldef in a dire predicament, condemned to death. It wasn’t surprising that he was distressed when he saw his lord held captive, whose liegeman he was and to whom he had done homage. He thought how he could save him from this torment. He kneeled before you and begged you, in front of us, to deliver Waldef up to him, so that he could be avenged. In front of us, my lord, you allowed it, ordering him to take such revenge as he liked on Waldef. Then he took Waldef away with him, and I don’t know what he’s done with him since. If he saved him from death, he acted most loyally. He stayed here, he wouldn’t flee but rather wanted to know your pleasure. If there’s anyone who says otherwise, that he has committed a crime, he’ll defend himself before you as the court decides, and if no one wants to show that he’s guilty or prove anything against him, I venture to pass judgment that he should get off scot-free.” King Osmund then spoke in front of everyone. “Upon my word, my dear lord Edward, you’ve made a most lawful decision, and whoever likes to contest it will not lack a fight, where it will be proved, by God in heaven, that the decision is just.” Not a single person in the hall wanted to contest this decision, but without exception they said that the judgment was correct. (10667–786) Then King Fergus spoke. “My lords,” he said, “this is now in your hands. If, among you, you’ve judged that he should be released, I don’t want to oppose your decision, but for my part completely accede to it.” They brought back Okenard, who was terrified he would die. His hands were already bound and the horses all prepared. Edward, the sheriff, said to him: “Now listen to me, lord Okenard. The court here has judged that you should be released and go scot-free, but first we want you to swear that henceforth you’ll be loyal to Fergus, our king, and never be where he might be physically harmed.” (10787–806) Okenard said: “My dear lord, I’ll willingly swear the oath.” They asked for the relics, and Okenard swore upon them to what Edward required. Next he asked for leave to go and they all granted it. After he commended them to God and gave them many thanks for thus freeing him, he left and quickly made his way out of the city. He rode so long that day that he lodged in Hertford, where he was received with great honour. He stayed there all that day, and left next morning, to go straight to King Waldef. Waldef was then in Thetford, holding a great feast. King Merlin and King Florenz and King Swein, with large retinues, King Felix of Huntingdon with his family and his friends, and dukes, earls, and barons from other parts, had all come to the feast and were most joyful at the return of King Waldef, who had escaped from prison. Then a traveller appeared, spurring into King Waldef’s presence. “Sire,” he said, “listen to me and you’ll hear news of Okenard. He is quite free now; you’ll soon see him in the city.” When King Waldef heard him, he rejoiced greatly. “My lords,” he said, “now quickly mount your horses and all together come with me. We’ll go and greet Okenard. We should show him great honour, for he’s saved me from death and God sends him here to us. I’ll reward him as soon as ever I can.” King Waldef mounted his horse, accompanied by his magnificent assembly of barons. Bells rang in the city and a Te Deum was sung.161 Everyone went to meet Okenard and 161  10856 Te Deum Deum Laudamus: the early Christian hymn of praise Te Deum laudamus (Latin



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greeted him with great joy. Having received him courteously, they all went back together. Whoever serves a worthy man prospers mightily, but whoever serves a bad man comes off the worse. He who serves the worthy man will in the end profit by it, and he who serves the bad one, as we have heard many times, will never get anything good from him; on the contrary, he who has served him the most will, in the end, seek to trick his master into dismissing him. According to a proverb I have often heard, he who serves a bad man wastes his time. (10807–74) King Waldef was in Thetford.162 Remembering how King Fergus had humiliated him while he kept him in prison, he had his country’s army summoned, all those who could bear arms and could be useful to him. Burning for revenge, he summoned his friends and all favourably disposed neighbours, and made it known throughout his land that whoever sought wealth should come to him and he would get it, considering himself well satisfied. Hundreds and thousands willingly flocked to him. When the king had gathered all these noble barons, he called King Swein, King Florenz, whom he loved very much, King Felix of Huntingdon and many more of his friends, King Merlin of Hertford and others of his family, his barons, his dukes, and his earls. Then he told them of the humiliations King Fergus had inflicted on him as long as he had the upper hand. (10875–902) “My lords,” he said, “now listen to me. You’ve heard much about the great shame and ignominy inflicted on me in the city of London by King Fergus when he put me in his prison. He kept me captive like a thief, like one accused of treason. No king, duke, or earl was ever thus humiliated. Now I want to take revenge, which is why I’ve had you all summoned. I want to entreat and beg you, and offer you much of my wealth, to come along with me and help me in this great time of need.” They all shouted together: “Sire, thank you, in God’s name! Go, we’ll follow you! Truly, we’ll never let you down.” “My lords,” he said, “thank you! I’ll always rely on you.” (10903–24) It was at the midsummer festival of Trinity Sunday that King Waldef left Thetford with much joy and delight,163 greatly strengthened by the army he had gathered and making a display of great power. Day by day they travelled so fast that they reached London, where they posed a great threat to King Fergus. Their entire army was encamped on the plains before the city, where they pitched tents and pavilions and canvases edged with gold.164 When King Fergus heard this, he climbed up a tower to survey brave Waldef’s army, and saw so many pitched tents he was very … and angry.165 He ran down in a fury, swearing by God’s might that they would all be put to death, King Waldef would be hanged, and the rest utterly defeated. Then he called his two nephews, who were for “we praise thee, O God”) is still sung in churches in thanksgiving for a special blessing.

162  10875–1022 King Waldef was in Thetford … be completely ready En Tiefford rois Waldef estoit … tut prest seuns: miscopied at some point in the textual transmission, this section should follow the episode in which Waldef inherits Lincoln and gives it to Okenard (vv. 11023–84). See Introduction, p. 21–22, and, for a reordered text, Appendix II. 163  10925 Trinity Sunday la Trinité: see note to v. 2653.

164  10938 canvases avenlies: a word unattested elsewhere, probably designating a kind of tent; see Holden, 308. 165  10943 He was very … and Mult estoit … e: there is a blank in the MS.

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most brave and bold. The elder was called Brand and the younger Hildebrand. Recently knighted, they were valiant and proud. He had sent for them earlier and they wisely came with a large army, which greatly strengthened Fergus. But one thing made him furious: some of the kings he had summoned did not deign to come but sent word back that they would not help him or defy Waldef. Some of King Fergus’s allies stayed away, while others came to him: the king of Canterbury, King Herman of Salisbury, King Hereward of Chichester,166 King Herlaf of Gloucester, and King Bede of Bedford, who subsequently died there. Two kings came from Wales, with a large force of Welshmen. No more arrived on that occasion, and before the month was out some would regret they had come. (10925–78) King Fergus was distressed that his people, from whom he had expected plenty of help, had let him down and would be of no use to him now. He assembled his men and addressed them in a friendly manner. “My lords,” he said, “what do you advise me? You can see how King Waldef has besieged us here. Alas that I didn’t kill him when I held him in my prison! A curse on wicked Okenard, who let him escape! Much more trouble will yet come of it. When he escaped alive from us, I told you repeatedly that he wouldn’t keep the peace and would never cease making trouble. Now he has arrived here with many men. It’s never happened in our days that any man dared to think of besieging this city. He’ll crush and kill us if he can give vent to his anger. Now I ask you, my lords, for advice.” (10979–11003) Then King Fergus’s nephew Hildebrand rose. “My lord,” he said, “listen to me. King Waldef has come here with a large and powerful army, and besieged us in this city. We’ll be shamed and greatly disgraced if you’re so afraid of death that you allow this. You have a great many good men. Together with your forces from the city, we’ll fight tomorrow morning and, God willing, we’ll easily defeat them. And if we have to retreat to the city, we’ll do so.” “You’ve spoken well,” said Fergus. “We won’t tarry a single day longer but make our preparations today, so that tomorrow we’ll be completely ready.” (11004–22) King Waldef was in excellent spirits, and so were the men from the city.167 They all sat down to eat and were served splendidly. When Waldef had finished his meal and the men in the hall were all in a good mood, a young man arrived and stood before him. “King Waldef,” he said, “listen to the news I bring. Erkenwald is dead, the good king of Lincoln whose daughter is your wife, and the inheritance falls to you. The citizens have sent me, my lord, to ask you to come in haste and take power, and not to delay much if you wish to have the city.” The king appeared saddened by the news, and kept his head bowed for a long time. Then he spoke. “My lords,” he said, “you who are gathered here, listen to me. You know well that I owe a debt of affection to Okenard, whom you see here, for if it hadn’t been for him I’d be dead. He saved me from harm by setting me completely 166  10969 Hereward Hereward: Holden’s emendation of the MS’s Edward; see Holden, 308.

167  11023–24 King Waldef … the men from the city Li rois Waldef ... cil de la cité: the city referred to here is Thetford, not London. This verse introduces the episode in which Waldef learns of Erkenwald’s death. Vv. 11023–184 were transposed due to miscopying at some point in the textual transmission: they should precede vv. 10875–1022. See note to vv. 10875–1022. 



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free when I was sentenced to a cruel death and awaited execution.168 He surrendered himself to death for my sake, but God delivered him indeed and he escaped grave danger. I had wronged him greatly when I disinherited him and exiled him from my land, and now wish to reward him in the following manner. I could return the land I had taken away from him, but this would not be a proper reward for his offering his own life to save me from a harsh death, unless I could die for him. Today, before you, I give him Lincolnshire and the entire domain as a heritable fief. Let him hold it from me from now on,169 and if he wishes to have more, I’ll please him in every way.” (11023–74) Earl Okenard replied: “May God, who created the world, reward you for it, for you’ve given me a splendid gift.” He quickly got up and kissed first Waldef’s hand and then his foot, and so did all those in the great hall. Earls, princes, dukes, and kings, all thanked him profusely for having given Okenard such a gift. “My lords,” said mighty Waldef, “this isn’t the time to delay. Early tomorrow morning you must all be ready and on your way. We’ll go straight to Lincoln.” “Sire,” they replied, “we’ll all be ready.” All that day and all night they rested and amused themselves, and in the morning they set out, with a large and powerful army. They travelled in daily stages until they entered the city of Lincoln. The citizens and aldermen, as well as men from the surrounding country, came to meet them and welcomed them with great rejoicing. They went into the city, where the king stayed as long as it pleased him. Then he summoned all his men, earls, barons, and minor nobles, most of those in the land and all men from the domain itself, ordering them to be there on a given day. (11075–108) When they were all assembled, the king addressed them. “My lords,” he said, “you who ought to be my men, listen! I thank you gratefully for having honoured me so much in receiving me as your lord; you are excellent people. Here is Earl Okenard, who saved me from death in London. You’ve heard much about my harsh imprisonment in the city of London, how I was sentenced to death, and how I was bound in chains heavier than a packhorse could carry. But the brave Earl Okenard delivered me from all that and saved me from death. Afterwards he disdained to flee, unafraid of dying, because of the faith he had pledged King Fergus, may God curse him! But God protected Okenard well and I’ve brought him here with me. Now I want to reward him for the service he has done me. I grant to him this city with the entire domain, as a sign of loyalty and affection, for he has indeed deserved it by saving me from death. You know well how much I used to hate him and how I took away his land, and yet he saved me. One should indeed cherish a vassal who returns good for evil. I’d never done him anything but evil, and yet he repaid me with much good and great honour: all the more reason for me to love him. Now, my lords, I ask you to do as I entreat you and become his men, holding your lands

168  11054 awaited execution delaié: though Holden (308) believes the MS reading an error, several meanings suggested by AND, s.v. delaier (“delay,” “postpone,” “keep waiting for”) are possible in the context.

169  11069–72 I give him Lincolnshire … as a heritable fief / Let him hold it from me … Nicholesire e tut l’onur / … / En heritage en feu li grant / Que il en soit mes mun tenant: Okenard will have full possession of Lincolnshire, while owing certain kinds of service, typically military, to Waldef, who remains his feudal overlord. Both the possession and the feudal relationship will descend to the two men’s heirs.

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from him. He’ll do you such great honour and be such a good lord to you that you’ll never have had a better one, nor one better able to keep peace among you. He’s so worthy and courageous that you won’t find a living man who could harm you in any way; you’ll be safe everywhere.” They replied as one: “We’ll become his men willingly and hold our lands from him. We won’t deny your wish but will do as you please, our good lord.” Then all the barons of the land did homage to Okenard and proclaimed him king, amid great rejoicing in the city. Having been a poor earl before, Okenard was now a wealthy king. Wise and open-handed, he was a good ruler in his land. No man was so brave as to dare offend him. (11109–78) King Waldef left and returned to his country. He was greatly loved and much praised for the rich gifts he gave, and knew how best to reward those who served him willingly. On this occasion they did no more, but all returned to their lodgings and rested until the next morning, when they prepared to fight and arranged their troops in battle order.170 (11179–90) Being very brave, the good King Waldef and his men were delighted to learn that the men in the city were ready to fight. They sounded their trumpets, had their forces arm quickly, and arranged their troops, led by barons, earls, and kings. King Fergus and his men rode vigorously out of the city and came up to King Waldef, threatening to cut off his head. King Waldef and his bold and loyal followers bravely fought back. They exchanged harsh blows with their keen, sharp swords, splitting hauberks and piercing shields. So many men lay on the ground, so many were mortally wounded! (11191–212) King Fergus fought well and eagerly, and so did all his men. King Bede of Bedford, a very strong man, came spurring his horse, with all his men in tow. He wrought havoc among Waldef’s men, killing many and capturing some of his knights. They unhorsed Gimund and dealt him many heavy blows. They wanted to capture and kill him, but Gimund was enraged and defended himself well in the field, his sharp sword in his hand. None of those he struck with it would have any need of a physician. Bern arrived at great speed, holding a sharp-edged sword in his hand. Brun came with him, the two of them close together, with Earl Harding as third. They had a hundred knights with them and rescued Gimund, mortally wounding many men. By the time Gimund was on horseback again, men had been killed on both sides. So many had been wounded that even the most level-headed were incensed, for Sir Bern was wounded and sought revenge. When he spotted King Bede he rode straight at him in the middle of his company. He struck the top of his shield so hard that neither shield nor hauberk were any use to him. He ran him through with his steel and knocked him down dead from his charger. The Welsh and their troops, of whom a good three hundred were there, then attacked Gimund, wishing to avenge Bede’s death. They exchanged heavy blows and many were unhorsed, but Sir Brun lost no time and struck one of those kings, splitting his heart in two; his hauberk could not protect him. Though Brun thought he could easily retreat, before he could ride away they killed his good horse and he would have been captured or killed had not Sir

170  11185 On this occasion they did no more A cele foiz n’i ont plus fet: “they” are Fergus’s men, not Waldef’s. The story of Waldef’s campaign against London continues, as narrative order is restored following the miscopied section. See note to vv. 10875–1022.



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Harding and Gimund, along with their men, rescued him with great difficulty, so that he was not mortally wounded. To see King Waldef, cutting off many men’s heads, and King Florenz with him, thinning out the ranks with his sword, and King Swein and Sir Merlin, striking hard in the field with their steel swords, was to be reminded of what excellent fighters they were. (11213–76) King Herman of Salisbury came spurring his horse furiously. With him were a hundred well armed knights on their chargers. They wounded King Felix, knocked him off his horse, and killed some of his men before they captured him. When King Waldef saw this, he called out to Florenz, saying: “Look at King Herman! You’ll see no one more vicious all this year. He’s already taken King Felix prisoner and killed many of his men. I’ll never be fond of him, for when I was imprisoned he sentenced me to hanging. Today I’ll pay him back. Let’s strike him boldly and get on with rescuing Felix.” They spurred their horses, which flew faster than merlins,171 and quickly reached King Herman. None of their blows were half-hearted. King Waldef spoke to him: “King Herman,” he said, “listen. Remember now the sentence you passed on me, when you condemned me to be hanged. In an evil hour you thought of that!” He struck him with his sword, severing his head from his body. They rescued King Felix, and the others ran away, defeated. (11277–310) When King Fergus saw that he had lost three kings and so many other men that no one could tell their number, he was angry and distressed. He rallied his men around him. “My lords,” he said, “by God’s mercy, look at Waldef! He’s killed three of our kings today, leaving us much weakened. Let’s move to avenge their loss at once, with no delay. May evil befall anyone who retreats in fear today. Whoever strikes fiercely will get enough from me to make him wealthy and prosperous for the rest of his life.” They attacked King Waldef, and in this attack he lost many of his men, but he did not forget where he was and shouted his battle-cry and gathered his men around him. Then they attacked King Fergus, eager to harm him. Many died in pain in the fighting that ensued. King Florenz, fully armed, spurred his warhorse and struck King Fergus so hard that his shield was no use to him at all. He split his sturdy hauberk, pierced him through the shoulder, and knocked him down to the ground. He was about to cut off his head when the king of Gloucester arrived, with King Hereward of Chichester, and Fern, and Brand, and Hildebrand, all spurring their horses. Together with their troops, they rescued King Fergus with great difficulty and at great cost, and brought him out of the fray, but before they got him to safety many worthy men were gravely injured. “My lords,” said King Fergus, “there’s no point in lingering here. I’ve been too badly wounded. Let’s withdraw toward our city. You can be sure that the longer we stay here the more we’ll lose.” They followed his advice at once, gathered their men and turned toward the city, pursued by the besiegers. Before they could get in, so many were killed and captured and slaughtered that no one could tell their number. King Waldef turned back; he brought along his wounded and had the dead buried. Now he could rejoice at having taken revenge on Fergus. He distributed all the spoils they had won to his knights and his poor mercenaries, then laid siege to the city, treating it with great ferocity. (11311–80) 171  11298 merlins esmerilluns: see note to v. 5472.

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King Fergus was furious at the loss he had sustained. He had his city well defended, for he was greatly afraid of the valiant Waldef. King Waldef ordered all his siege engines brought over to the city. He had good catapults and mangonels made, battering rams and towers. He intended to destroy the city and had set his heart on that. Those found inside would all be killed or maimed. (11381–92) The king of Gloucester and Brand, Sir Fern and Sir Hildebrand, led their large armies against the besiegers. They often won but even more often lost. Whatever they could seize they kept, but it was unfortunate for them that the defenders were fewer and fewer every day while the besiegers grew more and more numerous. In less than three months those in the city would need help and assistance, for Waldef attacked them every day. He knocked down the high walls with catapults and mangonels, and he demolished the beautiful tall towers and turrets, destroying more than thirty in a single month. (11393–412) Let me take leave of Waldef now, and tell you about his sons, who were far away in foreign lands. I want to relate their feats and will begin with Guiac, who was praised by many. Guiac was in Cologne, serving the good King Conrad, who loved and cherished him, for Guiac had made everyone love him. He had been there for nearly fifteen years and was so handsome and well proportioned that all the citizens marvelled at him, so tall and brawny and strong was he. No young man at court was so bold and so valiant that Guiac would not quickly throw him down to the ground if he got cross with him. And if anyone quarrelled with Guiac and caused him trouble, he would bind him hand and foot and throw him a good distance from himself. (11413–36) Around that time a rich and powerful king, mighty King Eron of Saxony, approached Cologne with a large fleet. He came from the high seas to conquer the entire land and place it under his control. No one in the realm had ever heard of an army such as the one he brought, or one more to be feared. Eron had seven powerful kings with him, fourteen courageous dukes, and untold numbers of infantrymen. He laid the land waste, captured fortified towns, burned castles, killed men, and laid siege to Cologne. He ordered King Conrad to surrender the city at once, without delay, and either become his man and pay him annual tribute or fight him. And if he would not do so, let him pick his best man to fight Eron and defend Conrad’s land on the appointed day. (11437–64) When King Conrad heard Eron’s message, he was angry and upset by his command. He quickly had letters sealed and sent to powerful princes, ordering them to send help and assistance, and explaining how the Saxons had come and laid waste to his land. People came to him from many regions—Germans, Frenchmen, Lombards—and a large army was assembled in the mighty city of Cologne. The king gathered the army commanders and addressed them in a friendly manner: “My lords,” he said, “listen. You’ve heard about the great insolence of King Eron’s message: that I should yield the city to him or at once become his man, holding my land from him and paying him annual tribute, as he has decreed. I should either fight for the city or cede it to him completely. Now if there’s one among you who considers himself bold and strong enough to win the fight, right now before everyone I’ll make him lord of one-third of my land, which shall be his and his heirs’ forever. Because I’m old and can no longer fight, I must find someone else. If I were as young as I once was, truly I’d fight him myself and defend my land well. My



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dear lords, advise me now. If you don’t give me good advice but fail me in my need, you’ll have abandoned me to great misery.” Not one man in the great hall said a single word. (11465–510) The seneschal was the first to speak. “My lord king,” he said, “listen to me. King Eron is more feared than any living man. Who’d be so bold now as to fight him? You’ve never heard of him striking a knight with his naked steel sword without throwing him down dead. Has he not defeated seven kings, besides those he has killed? I advise you, and urge you before these barons, to let him know at once that you’ll give him as much as he wants provided he gives up the fight and leaves the land to you. I’m urging you now to come to the best agreement. Since these men have clearly let you down, fighting is out of the question.” When the king heard that his men had thus let him down, and when he could not find a knight who dared fight, he was angry and distressed. He said loudly, so that everyone could hear: “By God, who never lies, I tell you now that no matter what happens I’ll never become his man or hold land from him or give him anything of mine or negotiate with him at all, but I’ll defend myself here as long as I can. I’d rather die honourably than live here in shame. I’ll never be accused of such ignominy and such disgrace, nor will my heirs ever be shamed or reproached because I had to pay pollmoney on account of my great age,172 any more than my ancestors did: they never had to pay tribute. Alas that I’ve lived long enough to have lost my strength! I’m so weary and wretched, I’m now so despised because I can no longer defend myself, and I’ll have to surrender shamefully.” Shedding tears, he pulled at his beard. “Alas!” he said, “Jesus, dear lord, don’t let me live so long that Eron may do with me as he pleases. I’d much rather die than have to hold land from him.” (11511–68) Guiac was in the hall and, seeing his lord the king so angry and distressed, he immediately went and stood before him. “My lord king,” he said, “listen to me. I’m grateful to you for bringing me up and owe you more love than to any other man, for you’ve always cherished me. I want to ask you something: don’t forbid me to fight for you, my lord, since you have no one else.” The king replied: “My dear friend, this handsome face of yours is far too young. You’re not as strong as he, and it really troubles me that you might assume such a great burden, even though you’re very fierce. Eron is far too big and strong and vigorous for you to endure the blows of his hard sword.” (11569–90) “My lord, please!” Guiac replied. “My dear lord, I entreat you to grant me this fight. My dear lord, don’t refuse it. I’ve never yet asked you for anything: you’ll do well to allow me. Thanks to our lord Jesus, I’ll have the strength and the power to fight for you. If God wishes, I’ll surely win.” All those in the hall repeatedly said to the king: “Sire, sire, let him. You can be sure he has the strength to fight. If God wishes, he’ll surely win.” So the king granted him the fight, and there was great joy in the city. They sent a message back to King Eron, saying that they had found a man who would fight with him on the day he had appointed. (11591–612) 172  11553 poll-money chevage: poll-money or capitation was assessed per head (“poll”) and paid to a lord or superior. More specifically, it was an annual payment paid by villeins to their feudal lord. In using this particular term for the tribute that Eron requires, Conrad is likely trying to emphasize its demeaning nature. See OED, s.v. chevage.

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On the day of the combat there was a large crowd. King Eron arrived on a warhorse, fully armed in the manner of his people, and behaved very arrogantly in the field, afraid of no living man. King Conrad hastened to knight Guiac splendidly. Out of affection for him, he knighted thirty noble young men alongside him in a magnificent ceremony.173 Guiac was well armed. He did not lack for good weapons but had the best ones in the land, as the king had had them sought out everywhere. He had a good and swift-running horse, better than any from here to the Orient. Having commended himself to God in heaven, Guiac mounted his good horse and rode out of the city, followed by the people, who earnestly prayed God to help him that day. In the plain outside the city they met King Eron and the huge army he was leading. Everyone stared in amazement: for five leagues all around they could see nothing but Eron’s men. King Eron threatened Conrad harshly, saying, indeed, that by nightfall he would capture the city and sentence King Conrad to death. He would drag him out by the beard and lead him to Saxony, to throw him in his prison, from which no one could rescue him. Conrad would die painfully and shamefully, and no one would ever be able to help him, while the man who had come to fight would be hanged from a gallows. Guiac now entered the field and was very much afraid when he saw King Eron, battle-hardened and so exceedingly strong. “God,” he said, “almighty and eternal king, as you raised Lazarus from the dead and protected Daniel, so, Lord, protect me from Eron, the cruel and vicious king, so that he does not hurt me with his hard and sharp steel sword. And just as you pardoned Longinus,174 who had wounded you with his lance, so, dear Lord, I entreat you, be merciful to me and let me leave this field honourably today.”175 (11613–74) King Eron stepped forward and at once spoke to Guiac: “Tell me,” he said, “my good friend, are you from this land? Were you born and brought up here or are you a foreigner from elsewhere? How were you so daring as to wait for me here to fight me? Don’t you know who I am? If you don’t know, you’ll find out today. I see that you’re very handsome and attractive, and finely armed. The man who kills or maims you will have done badly. You could become a valiant man, but he who sent you here to me doesn’t wish to feed you long.176 I don’t think he’ll ever see you again, unless you do as I order. Dismount immediately and kiss my foot at once, and beg me in God’s name to spare you. Then I’ll spare you and keep you with me, and you’ll be able to serve me so well that you’ll soon rise to great eminence. “King,” Guiac said, “don’t say such things: your efforts are in vain. I haven’t come here to plead, nor to babble or wrangle. I haven’t come to reach a settlement but to defend the land of my good lord King Conrad, and I’ll defend it well today.” King Eron was enraged by Guiac’s proud words, and said to him angrily: “By Mahomet, our lord,177 your God won’t be able to save you from a shameful death. Defend yourself 173  11623–24 thirty noble young men trente vaslez; see note to vv. 2657–58.

174  11667 Longinus Lungi: though the soldier who pierces Christ’s side (John 19:34) is unnamed, the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus names him as Longeus, from Greek lonkhe, “lance.” In some versions of the legend he is blind before Christ’s blood restores his eyesight. 175  11661–74 “God … today” “Deu … a honur”: see note to vv. 4893–914.

176  11690 doesn’t wish to feed you long ne te volt lunges pestre: see note to v. 3800.

177  11712 By Mahomet, our lord Par Mahun qui est nostre sire: describing Eron and his Saxons



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now! When I strike you I’ll kill you with my first blow.” They gave each other mighty blows with their sharp swords, like worthy fighters. Eron was very strong and hit Guiac first, striking the top of his shield, which he pierced and split, shattering and breaking his strong hauberk of fine chain mail and cutting his flesh through to the bone. The blow was almost Guiac’s undoing. If God had not protected him, with this blow Eron would have struck him dead. Angered, Guiac in his turn struck him a great blow, leaving a mark high on his shield. Neither shield nor hauberk were of any use to him as he thrust his steel through Eron’s heart, and knocked him dead far from his horse. When the Saracens, Apollo’s filthy people, saw that their lord had been killed, they all took flight and made straight for their ships, pursued by Conrad’s men. No one could tell how many were killed or taken prisoner before they reached the safety of the ships, so great was the slaughter. King Conrad’s men went straight back to Cologne. With the spoils they had taken they would be rich as long as they lived. Guiac went back happy, and everyone rejoiced for him. He took with him Eron’s head, which he gave to King Conrad. No gift Conrad had ever received or could possibly receive gladdened him as much as the head of that devil, Eron. (11675–756) “My friend Guiac,” the king said, “I ought to love you more than any other man. I’m old and aged, and you’ve defended me from great peril and servitude, like a worthy man. Ask for anything you want and you’ll have it at once, just as you wish.” Guiac replied: “My good lord, may Jesus Christ recompense you!” He thought about what he should request. It occurred to him that he was among strangers and had no true knowledge of who his people were, but he had often heard tell that he was born in England and brought over from there. Thus he first decided to ask the king to grant him leave and the service of some young men of his region,178 for he wished to go and win land. If he succeeded in his conquest, he would never abandon him but always be eager to serve him in any manner. And he would go to England to make inquiries here and there, to try to find someone who could tell him all about who his father and mother were. He would return whenever it pleased Conrad, whom he would consider his lord as long as he lived. “My dear friend,” the king replied, “by Him who made the entire world, may what you’ve just asked for never be denied you. I’ll hand over my army to you, and along with it all my silver and gold. I also wish you to do just as you please with my great treasury and take plenty of men into your service. I’ll have my ships furnished as if I were to sail in them myself. “My lord,” he said, “many thanks! You’ve granted me much more than I’ve asked for: thank you. May that God who never lied reward you, for you’ve given me a very rich gift.” Let us now leave Guiac, who equipped his ships well, summoned many men from everywhere, and gathered a great army. (11757–816) as Muslims is meant as an insult. Saxons may also be called Saracens, as Eron’s men are in vv. 11735–36. The ambiguous spelling Seine (Sesne, Sedne) may be a contributing factor: most often used to mean “Saxon,” it could also mean “Saracen” (see Ivana Djordjević, “Saracens and Other Saxons: Using, Misusing, and Confusing Names in Gui de Warewic and Guy of Warwick,” in The Exploitations of Medieval Romance, ed. Laura Ashe, Ivana Djordjević, and Judith Weiss [Cambridge: Brewer, 2010], 28–42). See further notes to vv. 4305, 7417–18. 178  11780 service: MS has servise, not servist.

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I will now turn to Gudlac, brother of the Guiac I have been telling you about, highly praised in Cologne. Gudlac was then in Morocco, in the service of King Evroc. Morocco was a city in Africa, going back to ancient times. Fourteen kings were subject to it and owed it feudal duty, as the king of Morocco claimed. At that point Gudlac had served this king for a long time. The king loved and cherished him very much, because he had brought him up himself for many years. Greatly loved at court, Gudlac was handsome and attractive. No one in the city was more highly regarded for his strength, while for prowess and courage no one knew of his equal. No one in the land was so tall and brawny and forceful that, if he offended him, Gudlac would not punch him so hard that he fell down, not to rise again in good health. The king held a feast, attended by many kings, several powerful emirs, and minor nobles. One day worthy men set up a quintain.179 Those who wanted to be renowned for their strength and skill would be tested there. Great was the arrogance of mighty kings’ sons! Gudlac struck such good blows that he defeated everyone else and won the prize as the best jouster in all the land. King Evroc had a nephew, son of a powerful king, who was envious of Gudlac and determined to kill him. When they had had enough of tilting and did not wish to fight any more, they left the place and returned to their lodgings. The king’s nephew lost no time in asking all sorts of questions about Gudlac: who he was, where he was staying, and when he would come back from the palace. A man told him everything truthfully, and for the moment he left it at that. But soon after that the king’s nephew unhesitatingly decided to commit a great crime and kill Gudlac. One evening, as it grew dark, he left his lodgings alone, without saying a word to anyone, a sharp javelin in his hand. He waited patiently until he met Gudlac, whom he recognized as soon as he saw him. He spoke to him arrogantly, addressing him as you will hear and calling him a whore’s son: “You’ll die of this javelin presently; you’ll never leave this place alive. You tilted at the quintain in an evil hour, humiliating so many noble men! You took away the prize for jousting well—so much the worse for you now! Truly, it would have been better for you if you’d never been born.” He threw the javelin fiercely, and the sharp weapon passed between Gudlac’s arm and his side, wounding him grievously in the arm. God watched over him on that occasion, and he was not mortally wounded. The young man turned and fled, but Gudlac quickly reached him and struck him so hard on the spine that he felled him to the ground dead. (11817–906) Gudlac turned round at once, picked up the javelin, and left. He realized that he had greatly erred in killing the young man. Should he be found out and arrested, he would have to die soon: nothing could save him. So he decided to go straight to the shore, and if he could find a ship to take him away he might well save his life. Unwilling to linger, he left at once, and when he came to the sea he found a ship getting ready there. He stopped before it and asked the sailors to tell him truthfully where the ship was from and which land it was bound for. A sailor, who wished to hide nothing from him, said: “We come from Ireland, my good friend, that’s where we were born and raised. We’re merchants, to tell you the truth. A good three months ago we came to this land with wine, salt, grain, and squirrel fur. We’ve sold it all, God be thanked, and the king has given us leave to

179  11851 quintain quinteine: a post or other object set up as target for jousting practice.



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come and go and stay as we please.” “My dear friends,” Gudlac said to them, “tell me, so help you God, have you ever heard tell of a place called England beyond the sea?” A sailor answered him most politely: “I’ll tell you truly, my good friend. A good six months ago we were in England, and we intend to go there if God loves us enough to give us favourable winds and good weather.” (11907–52) Hearing this, Gudlac was overjoyed at what the sailor said, that they were to go to England. “Gentlemen,” he said, “please take pity on me and let me come with you. I’ll give you a belt of pure gold that came to me from the rich treasury of this city’s wealthy king. The gold itself is worth more than a hundred bezants,180 not counting the costly precious stones.” And the sailors said to him: “Dear friend, come along, come on board without delay: we’re about to have an excellent wind.” Gudlac boarded the ship, thanking them profusely in God’s name. They hoisted sail and sailed away, commending themselves to God. They travelled over the sea until they arrived in Denmark, where a powerful gust of wind threw the ship on a rock, wrecking it. All perished: not one escaped except Gudlac, who threw himself in the sea and made his way to the windward side,181 imploring Jesus Christ for mercy. He prayed and beseeched Him so earnestly that He brought him to land. (11953–86) Having reached land, Gudlac did not know what to do. He was quite bewildered and looked in all directions, not knowing which way to go. On one side he saw the sea, on the other forests and mountains close by. “God,” he said, “almighty Lord, how enormous is your power! How you’ve delivered me from great peril! But I wish I had drowned at sea rather than being eaten by wild beasts, which I can’t avoid.182 Now I don’t know which way to turn and where to rest. If I go into the forest to lie there, I’ll never be able to protect myself from wild animals, which will devour me as soon as they find me.” (11987–12008) Thus he lamented as night fell. Then he left the big rock and went into the great forest. He crossed valleys and mountains, great forests and plains, until he found a path, which he followed to a big road, and was reassured for the first time. He turned off the track and took the road, following it until he saw a pilgrim coming toward him slowly, as though very tired. Gudlac promptly spoke to him and greeted him in the name of God. “Tell me, good friend,” he said, “what this country is called and who is the lord and king here. Good, kind friend, please tell me. I’m a foreigner from another country, that’s why I ask.” The pilgrim, his head bowed, answered: “This country is called Denmark. It has a powerful king, who lives not far from here—just five and a half leagues—so you could get there while it’s still day, I think. The king is noble and courteous. He’s holding a feast for the Danes. Many earls and barons have been summoned to the feast, bishops, priors, 180  11965 bezants besanz: see note to v. 4502.

181  11983 to the windward side a lof: Holden remarks (308) that Gudlac would have been better off keeping to the leeward side, where the ship itself would have protected him from the storm.

182  11999–12000 [But] I wish I had drowned at sea Mielz volsisse estre en mer née / E de la mort fusse eschapé: some of Gudlac’s exclamations make little sense in the context. In Bramis’s Latin translation (157), Gudlac asks God to protect him from wild beasts just as he had protected him from drowning in the sea.

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and abbots, and plenty of other people. There’s a great gathering of nobles in a city near here. If you want to go there, you should be able to do so before nightfall.” When the boy heard this, he rejoiced greatly at the pilgrim’s information, and commended him to Jesus Christ. (12009–54) Gudlac walked quickly and before long came to the city where the king was holding his great feast. He was fortunate to find lodging. In the morning he went to the court and waited there all day until the king had eaten and all were joyous and happy. Then the king commanded that everyone in the palace should mount his horse right away, because he wanted to amuse himself. When they heard his command, all the rich barons, and everyone from the city went out at once and mounted their horses, as they always did. For at the time the custom was, and still is and always will be, that when the king held a feast everyone with a horse had to accompany him in his amusements. No one could stay behind. The king himself went, taking the queen with him, along with ladies and maidens, and all the pretty girls. With great joy and delight, with great display and fanfare, they went to entertain and enjoy themselves along the cliffs by the sea. (12055–86) The king had a twenty-year-old son,183 who rode before him, which gave him great joy. The boy was amusing himself with the other children, when suddenly a white bear appeared, swimming in the sea. It came to land and shook itself. No matter whether they had drunk new, old, or spiced wine, they were all frightened, for the bear was so large and massive that they had never seen anything like it. The beast was so fierce that they all turned tail and ran fast when they saw it coming. The bear, having seen a group of children, went toward them, making straight for the king’s son, who wailed and cried. When the king saw his beloved child threatened by the bear, he shouted loudly: “My lords, help! The child is about to be devoured!” You should have seen the queen, who kept crying: “Oh, my lords, noble barons, please help my dear son! The bear’s about to snatch him! Oh, we’ll all be killed and ruined!” There was no one bold enough to go near it, except for Gudlac, who did not fail to act but dashed out of the crowd toward the noise when he heard the cries. Seeing a man with a spear, he ran quickly to him and grabbed the spear, saying, “God bless you, my good friend; now lend me this spear!” “You’ll never have it!” said the man, pulling the sharp spear to him, but Gudlac angrily snatched it back. He gave the man such a blow with his fist that he broke his jaw, and the man fell to the ground. Gudlac took the sharp spear again, ran with it swiftly, and rushed at the bear without holding back. (12087–140) When the child saw him coming, he cried out: “Sir, please, help, help!” Gudlac replied, “Don’t be afraid!” The child hurried toward him, followed closely by the bear, but Gudlac came running and thrust himself between them, while the child ran on. The bear swiftly turned on Gudlac, with gaping maw, looking very much like a maddened animal. Like a brave and noble man, Gudlac waited for it with his sharp spear, pulled back his arm, and let the spear fly. He struck the bear right in the heart, smiting it through the body so that it fell full-length on the ground. Gudlac leaped forward, grabbing the bear with his two hands, and held on until he had killed it. All the onlookers considered it an act of great 183  12088 twenty vint: In Bramis (157) the boy is eight years old (annorum octo).



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valour, and praised his great strength. When the king saw that his son had been saved from death, he looked up to heaven, and, weeping, he praised God for giving him back his son, whom he thought he had lost. He asked everyone nearby who that young man was who had saved his son. They said that he was a foreigner, for they had not recognized him at all. The king went to Gudlac and spoke to him. “Hullo there!” he said, “you who were strong enough to save my son, who are you? Where were you born, and where were you raised?” (12141–82) “Sir,” he said, “I’ll tell you the whole truth. I was born in England, but I don’t know who I am, who my father or mother might be, or my sister or brother. To tell the truth, I can’t tell you anything about my relations. But I’ve heard several people say that when I was little, Saracens from overseas came ashore in England and kidnapped me and a brother of mine. I can’t tell you anything else about my brother, but for myself I’ll tell you, good sir, that I was taken to the mighty city of Morocco, in Africa. They sold me to the good King Evroc, doing with me as they pleased, and King Evroc bought me for a large sum. The king looked after me for a long time, until I left because of an offence I’d committed: I killed one of his nephews, who very wrongly wished to kill me because of his great arrogance and anger. Having killed him accidentally, I left in a hurry. I boarded a ship that I found on the shore, which was going to Ireland, on its usual run. Then a huge storm hit us, with such violent winds that we didn’t know what to do. Our ship went aground and broke apart, and we suffered terrible losses. No one escaped but me, and I barely got to shore. I arrived at your court yesterday and came out here for the fun of it. When I saw that the fierce bear wanted to eat the child, I felt I had to help him in his great need, since no one else went to his aid. As you saw, I slew the bear, and so the child was saved.” (12183–234) The king replied: “Dear friend, both by your words and by your deeds I can tell that you come from a noble line. Now, upon your honour, ask me for anything you’d like, town or castle, estate or city, great lands or rich fief. Would you like to have arms? You can, if you wish.” Gudlac responded, “Thank you! Good sir, I request that you give me the arms that you’ve promised me, my lord.” The king replied, “You shall have them. You’ll lack for nothing I can provide.” He commanded that Gudlac be given a horse, and a charger was brought. He mounted it without using the stirrups. When Gudlac leaped into the saddle, everyone gazed at him and praised him greatly for his bearing and his good looks. Gudlac was now the king’s man. He had magnificent equipment. The king, who greatly respected and esteemed him, made sure that he had everything he asked for. At a feast, the king gave him arms, with great honour, and also knighted twenty other youths, for his sake. (12235–66) Now lord Gudlac was a knight, and greatly loved throughout the land. At that time it happened that the man who ruled Norway, a vile and loathsome king, used to come to Denmark to lay waste and sack it, bringing his entire Norwegian army with him. Every year he did this, causing a lot of damage in the land, and after he had grabbed his booty he would return home. He often fought the Danes, and often bested them in the field. So the Norwegians came ashore with a great army of three kings and set fire to the countryside, laying it waste. They took what they could carry and besieged the strong castles. When King Swein heard about their coming he was terrified, for they had arrived with

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a great force and were laying waste to his land. Never in his life had so many wicked people come there. He sent for his Danes and assembled his country’s army. When the army was equipped, the king and all his Danes set out, and rode until they saw the Norwegian army. (12267–98) The Norwegians immediately made ready and proceeded to attack. The armies met in battle, all ready to fight. They struck each other so vigorously that many men were knocked down, many died or were captured, and men were killed on both sides. Gudlac, all in armour, spurred his warhorse and encountered the powerful king of Gutland.184 He put his steel through the king’s heart and struck him dead from his horse, then threw himself into the battle. He attacked a mighty earl, who was very powerful in Norway, and struck him dead right away. When the Norwegians saw that their luck was against them,185 having lost both a powerful king and a noble earl, as well as many other men, they quickly assembled and attacked the Danes. They killed many men and took two powerful earls prisoner, and King Swein was unhorsed. But Gudlac came along with thirty mounted knights in armour who had been dubbed with him and who were greatly acclaimed that day. If not for him, King Swein would have been taken prisoner and the Danes completely discomfited. (12299–334) Gudlac hit a Norwegian who had killed many Danes and unhorsed King Swein, giving him such a blow that he sliced his heart in two. “My lords,” he said, “strike! Concentrate on helping the king!” Each man struck his opponent so that he fell to the ground. They helped King Swein to remount, then attacked the Norwegians with their keen Saracen blades. That day they killed many men, and the Danes performed well. Gudlac was always out in front, with a sharp sword in his hand. No one he struck could defend himself from death. “So help me God!” said King Swein, “Gudlac strikes so well that if he survives there’ll never be such a knight in all the world.” Gudlac was in the middle of the fray, slashing without respite. He killed so many men with his keen blade that he cleared a wide space in front of him. When Gudlac saw the king of Norway, he hit him so hard that he knocked him to the ground. That blow stunned him, and he could not speak a single word. The Norwegians ran up in great numbers, wanting to help their king, but Gudlac harried them with a hundred knights who eagerly attacked, either killing or capturing so many men that they put the Norwegians to flight. The valiant Gudlac remained, having taken the king of Norway prisoner and delivered him to King Swein, who thanked him heartily. All the Norwegians fled, into the hills, valleys, and passes, and the Danes followed them, killing those they caught. Gudlac followed them closely and sent many Norwegians to a bloody death. He saw a king fleeing, followed him until he had taken him prisoner, and quickly returned with him. The Norwegians were beaten, all of them either killed or captured before they could reach their ships. The Danes returned with the booty they had won, and frequently praised God because they had avenged themselves on the Norwegians. They greatly praised valiant Gudlac’s strength and valour, saying that his courage had allowed them to win the day. (12335–400)

184  12310 Gutland Gutlande: present-day Gotland, Götaland (both in Sweden), or Jutland (Denmark). 185  12318 their luck was against them lur dez ... lur meschaïrent: literally, “their dice fell badly.”



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Gudlac left the field, taking with him the captured king, whom he delivered to King Swein. He ordered the army to bury the dead and carry the wounded to the city to be tended properly. Happy that he had bested the Norwegians, King Swein ordered that the two kings who had been captured should be well guarded. Gudlac was greatly praised for capturing two kings and killing the third. He was greatly esteemed in the land. King Swein was noble, generous and bountiful. As he sat one day he thought of how he should reward Gudlac, who had served him so well. That day, Swein called Gudlac to him. “Gudlac,” he said, “come forward. You’re very noble and valiant, you’ve served me much to my liking, and because of you I’ll be the more respected and feared all the days of my life. Today this service you’ve done me will be rewarded. Now I want you to tell me how much land you require to become my vassal. I’ll give you so many rich cities that you’ll be wealthy, powerful, and influential. This very day, I’ll give you a quarter of my land, both in length and in breadth.” (12401–38) Gudlac replied, “Thank you, my lord! I haven’t served you long enough to receive land from you. But I will ask you for something. You have many men in this land, both hired soldiers and your young knights.186 Would you grant me some of them, those who’d like to come and win lands? I want to go to England, where I was born, my lord, and seek out my family. I’ve heard it said and recounted that several kings in that land are fighting fiercely among themselves, so they are seeking foreign soldiers. If God gave me such fortune that I could be allied to a man in possession of a castle or fortified city, my position would be stronger. I could take refuge there and be more secure, I’d be able to conquer so much that I’d be rich and powerful, and I’d never find a man who could hold out against me. It would be a great honour for you if by force and strength, and with your help, I might conquer land that I’d hold from you. The Danes’ deeds would always be remembered, so you’d be more respected, more feared, and more loved. But I say to you truthfully that I don’t want either lands or conquests to come between us in such a way that I wouldn’t be ready to serve you when you have need of me. I’d never be so far away that I wouldn’t come to you, my lord, and serve you to the limits of my ability.” The king replied, “My good friend, what you’ve asked of me I grant you completely. Nothing at all will be refused you.” The king at once commanded that the whole army be summoned, as well as everyone in the land who was seeking a soldier’s reward. As the king commanded, the host was quickly assembled, and the king, acting nobly, began by personally choosing ten thousand good knights with good arms and warhorses, the best of the land, the bravest in battle on whom he could rely the most, and gave them to Gudlac. (12439–98) “My lords,” said King Swein, “Listen to me. I’ve assigned you to Gudlac, who is going into a foreign land. I want you to go with him and serve him loyally, for he’s going to England, where he wants to regain his possessions. If God grants him success, whether peacefully or by battle, you can all be sure that he’ll be a good lord to you.” They responded, “We’ll go with him and never fail him, no matter what.” The king had ships 186  12445–46 hired soldiers … knights soldeers … bachelers: while knights owed their feudal lords service in battle for a certain number of days in the year, professional soldiers could be hired for extended periods.

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readied at the shore, supplied with plenty of grain, meat, and fine wine, and gave Gudlac a great deal of gold and silver, as much as he wanted. Gudlac waited there for a good wind, then took his leave of the king, and embarked on his ships, with his noble, valiant, proud knights. They went to sea one evening, and sailed all night until sunrise the next day, enjoying a favourable wind. Then they saw more than sixty ships sailing on the sea, store-ships, skiffs, and warships, which sailed straight toward them. “God help us!” said Gudlac, “I certainly believe, so help me God, that those ships are going to conquer some distant foreign land. How boldly they come on! They seem to be hardy people. How well armed and ready for battle their ships are!” Now the ships came so close that people on them could talk to each other. Gudlac was the first to stand up and speak to them. “My lords,” he said, “who are you? You come so boldly toward us that you look like people who are going to war. Which do you want, peace or war? As far as we’re concerned, you can have either from us, right away! Now I want you to tell me who you are and where you come from.” (12499–552) A proud knight from one of the warships jumped to his feet. He was handsome, tall and well built, the leader of the ships, and he spoke first to Gudlac, like a man who feared nothing. “Fellow,” he said, “I’ll tell you. We’re natives of the great city of Cologne who are bent on conquest. Since we left, we haven’t seen anyone else but you. Who are you? What are you seeking? From what land do you come sailing?” Gudlac replied, “I’ll tell you. I’m the lord of these ships, I come sailing from Denmark, and I’m going to conquer foreign lands.” “Come with me,” said Guiac. “Become my men right now if you want to save your lives, and you can serve me to your great advantage, for I’ll give you lands and great fiefs. And if you don’t want to do that, you’ll never part from me alive.” (12553–78) When Gudlac heard Guiac speak like that, he was so angry and enraged that he nearly went out of his mind. “Damn you, fellow!” he said. “There was never anyone so well born that he could give me that advice! So help me God, I’ll never do that. So long as there’s life in this body, I’ll never become your man.” He commanded his people to arm themselves at once, and they did so, like brave men, running for their arms right away. And Guiac said the same to his good, valiant, brave men: that they should arm themselves quickly and attack at once. They were ready to attack each other and kill many men, when a Danish earl, wise in their customs, intervened and spoke. “My lords,” he said, “listen here. It’s not knightly to do battle at sea. That’s the way of sailors, who have no other profession. If you will take my advice, you’ll put off this battle until you come to land, where you can fight.” Guiac responded at once: “By God,” he said, “I certainly agree to that.” Gudlac replied, “As do I. I agree to it on behalf of my men.” Once they had both agreed, they sailed together until they arrived in Flanders, where they prepared for battle. The nobles from Cologne saw how much harm would be done if they fought with the Danes. Before they left the field, so many from both sides would be killed that they would be harmed forever. Then they talked to the Danes and agreed among themselves that their lords should engage in single combat on behalf of all the others there. Once the two had fought and tested their great strength, it would be easier to reconcile them than to reconcile two great armies that have already exchanged blows, and whoever won would be lord of the whole. The men of Cologne told Guiac, their leader, what they had decided, and he agreed to it all. He was happy and joyful, thinking that his opponent



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could not endure the blows of his sword. The Danes did the same. They spoke to Gudlac about the decision they had taken, and he agreed to it, joyful and happy, for, being strong and valiant, he desired nothing more than to fight man to man. He armed himself well, as he knew how to do, and mounted his good warhorse. He did not want to delay the battle. Guiac, who was very brave, did the same. (12579–658) When both brothers were armed, they rode onto the field, proud and fierce. They ran their horses at each other and struck with such violence that nothing could hold them back, breaking saddle-girths and breast-plates and unhorsing each other. They quickly jumped to their feet, enraged, and drew their sharp swords, exchanging great blows and striking each other so violently that neither strong hauberk nor sturdy shield could protect them,. They struck each other with such force that on both sides blood flowed, running down their sides. All that day they fought so fiercely that those watching could not decide who was better. Alas! How terrible! How wrong! What a great loss and what a heavy blow if one of them were to come to grief or perish in the battle. For if Guiac had known for certain that this was his brother Gudlac, they would have been reconciled at once and felt great love for each other. The battle was very fierce, neither sparing the other. Instead they would willingly have killed each other if they could. (12659–92) The men of Cologne and the Danes spoke together earnestly, saying it would be a great pity if the two fought so long that one of them killed the other before they could be reconciled. Both sides said that in all their lives they had never heard of such a fierce battle, nor had they ever seen two such valiant knights who could last so long in battle. They said that it would truly be a great pity if one of them were killed, for they were so handsome and well made, and they seemed to be the same age, as if they had been born in the same country. It really seemed that they were from the same family. There was no obvious reason for them to fight when they had never seen each other before. They were not disputing land that one wanted to conquer from the other. On the contrary, there was really no reason, except their stubbornness, and their downright foolish challenge. Both sides agreed to stop the battle to make Guiac and Gudlac exchange the kiss of peace and always be friends,187 joining forces in the lands where they were going. They would never find men who could defend themselves against them, nor would they ever see a land that could find anyone to defend it or stand up to them in battle, should they want to conquer it. The men rushed in from both sides in large numbers, and separated the two knights, who parted unwillingly. Then they reconciled them and disarmed them in the field, and made them exchange kisses as a pledge of mutual friendship. (12693–740) When the brothers had disarmed and looked each other over, they began to feel great affection for one another, and started to get acquainted. They commanded throughout the army that everyone should disarm right away, and all quickly did so, rejoicing greatly at this. They ran to the ships, put up tents and pavilions, and stayed in that country long enough to recover from the wounds they had inflicted on one another. When the lord of Flanders heard that men had arrived who did not lay waste to his land, he had handsome presents delivered to their ships: silk cloths, tableware, handsome weapons, beau-

187  12723 exchange the kiss of peace entrebaiser lé ferunt: a ritual drawn from the exchange of peace in religious services, derived from references in the New Testament, e.g. Romans 16:16.

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tiful horses, dogs, birds, and food in great plenty. They received them graciously and politely thanked him. They stayed there until they decided to go to England, unwilling to wait any longer. Since the weather was good, both Guiac’s men of Cologne and Gudlac’s Danes completely dismantled their tents, and at night they embarked, joyful and in high spirits. (12741–76) They sailed over the sea until they saw England and the land of Lindsey.188 They expected to land at Grimsby, but the wind suddenly changed and a storm forced them back out to sea, separating them. They drifted so much that everyone, no matter how brave, believed that they would sink and come to grief. But Gudlac and his men sailed before the wind. They sailed so long and were blown so far off course that they entered the Thames estuary safely and without losses, which turned out well for Gudlac, for he did not lose a single ship. They sailed proudly as far as the town of Gravesend. When they wished to go no further they lowered their sails and headed for land, to hear news and find out whether there was peace or war in the kingdom. They did not want to do anything wrong before they found out about Guiac’s whereabouts and whether he had perished in the sea or had safely come to land. Gudlac acted wisely in forbidding his men to do any damage on shore, or to take anything from anyone, until he knew for sure how things would go. Then they landed, in the meadows below Gravesend. (12777–816) When King Fergus learned that the Danes had arrived in his land but were not doing any harm he sent messengers, three sensible men of the country, to inquire and ask if they wanted to remain in peace. If they were warriors, they should leave his land. If they wished to be peaceful and remain with him, they should come to him and he would make them his retainers, giving them so much of his wealth that they would be rich and prosperous as long as they lived. The messengers set off right away and did not rest until they reached the place where the Danes were peacefully encamped. They saw many tents and pavilions ornamented with silk, many hauberks being polished, many fine horses spurred, and many knights, all of them young. When they asked who was the lord and leader of this army and these people, the knights said at once that it was Gudlac. They showed them where he dwelled, in a royal pavilion with a golden eagle at the peak. The messengers headed there, going through the camp until they came to the pavilion where Gudlac and his men were. With him were many knights, young men with their first beards, playing backgammon and chess and amusing themselves with other games. Gudlac was reclining on a cloth of rich, roundel-patterned silk near where the knights were playing,189 but he did not say a word. The weather was hot as it is in summer. Gudlac had taken off his cloak and was in his shirt and surcoat.190 He gave no advice 188  12779 Lindsey Lindesi: area in Lincolnshire.

189  12860 a cloth of rich roundel-patterned silk un riche paille roé: a fabric representing the epitome of luxury in the twelfth century. Sharon Kinoshita explains that human figures or animals could appear inside the roundels, frequently separated by a tree of life (“Almeria Silk and the French Feudal Imaginary: Toward a ‘Material’ History of the Medieval Mediterranean,” in Medieval Fabrications: Dress, Textiles, Clothwork, and Other Cultural Imaginings, ed. E. Jane Burns [New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004], 165–76 at 168). 190  12865 surcoat surcot: loose robe or tunic usually worn over armour.



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to the young men, hoping they would reveal how much money they had, for he was very shrewd.191 (12817–68) When the messengers arrived, they greeted Gudlac first and he invited them to speak. One of them began. “My lord,” he said, “listen to us. We’ve been sent to you here on behalf of Fergus, our king, to ask why you’ve come to our land. If you’ve come to make trouble, it will be well for you to retreat: he commands you to go away and not stay here any longer. If you’ve come in peace, King Fergus wishes you to come to him at once. If you want to be in his pay, he’ll give you rich rewards that no one will ever be able to criticize. Don’t doubt for a moment that he’ll give you as much silver and gold, my lord, and as much of his treasure as you might wish to take, for he’s besieged in London by his deadliest enemies, who are destroying this whole land and greatly weakening him.” (12868–96) When Gudlac heard the message, he was much heartened that king Fergus had sent for him, that he was besieged in London, and that the country was at war. So he replied to the messenger, “My dear friend, I believe that no one of any station should be able to complain that I did anything bad in this country, or wrongfully seized another’s possessions. I’ll gladly go to King Fergus and serve him in his need, but for today I’ll remain here. I’ll go to him early tomorrow.” He acted nobly by giving the messengers three excellent horses and showing them great honour. The messengers left, went straight to London, and told King Fergus of Gudlac’s reply. They showed him the horses, and praised Gudlac’s nobility and great dignity. The king was delighted to get help from the Danes, for he had been so harried and mercilessly attacked that he could not defend himself any longer. The truth was, he was going to have to yield the city within the month, even though he and his men had fought so hard. (12897–932) Losing no time, Gudlac called all his companions and told them that the king had sent for him, which they were happy to hear. They celebrated that night, and in the morning they embarked. It was a fine day. They sailed fast toward London, with shields hanging at the prows, and they raised their banners so the ships bristled with them. They sailed up the Thames until they came under the city walls. The people all ran to the bridge, from which they could see the proud Danish ships that had arrived. Gudlac’s men landed by the bridge. The king and the citizens said that they had never seen such people, who made such a proud entrance. (12933–54) When the Danes landed, everyone stared at them. Gudlac came first, dressed in dark samite. He was very handsome and elegant, and everyone gazed at him. He had a broad forehead and face, large, well set eyes, a handsome mouth, and a well shaped nose. He looked imposing, with a long neck and well modelled chin, the gaze of a lion, broad shoulders, and a thick chest. Exceptionally robust and well built, Gudlac had big arms, square hands, shapely hips, broad loins, and long legs. Everyone admired him, and the citizens said that God had favoured them when he sent them this man to crush

191  12866–68 He gave no advice … very shrewd Mais il ne lur enseingnot mot … de mult grant savoir: we follow Holden’s suggestion (309) for these difficult verses that Gudlac does not give the young men advice about their game because he hopes to make them reveal the amount of money they have to bet.

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Waldef’s pride. They often blessed the ship that had brought him to their land; everyone rejoiced. The king himself, with the city’s dignitaries, went to meet Gudlac and received him joyfully. He immediately commanded that the best lodgings in the city be given to the Danes, and that nothing be denied them. Then they mounted their palfreys and rode together to the palace. The king explained to them how badly he had been treated, how the city had been besieged, his land destroyed and laid waste, and how the powerful Waldef had arrived in the land. (12955–96) Gudlac replied: “We’ll strike him hard. Tomorrow we’ll see him, God willing, and drive him away from the city. We won’t be neighbours for much longer.” When they had conferred sufficiently, Gudlac took leave of the king, quickly mounted his palfrey, and went to his lodging. He acted most courteously in that he forbade any Dane to take anything from King Fergus, instead making use of Gudlac’s own possessions, for he would, for the whole forty days, serve the king out of friendship. King Fergus was delighted that Gudlac had come to him, and all night the city rejoiced and made merry. (12997–13014) In the morning Gudlac arose, attired himself splendidly, and heard mass at the great church of St Mary with his men. But when he returned from church, as he was about to enter his lodging, he heard a great noise and commotion from the direction of the city walls. “My lords,” he said, “what can this be?” “My lord,” said a priest, “the people in there say that Florenz, king of Cambridge, has arrived before the gates, with him at least five hundred armed men. A month or more has passed without anyone being hurt, because the gates are firmly shut and well banked with earth, so that no one can reach anyone else, either going in or coming out.” Then Gudlac ordered the citizens to remove the earth from the gates without delay,192 so that all those who wanted to enter could do so, as they used to do before. He firmly ordered them to make sure the gates were opened so that everybody could both come in and go out as they pleased. He put on his armour, as did a thousand of his followers with him. They mounted their long-maned horses,193 hung their strong shields round their necks, and at once went out of the city. When they saw King Florenz, they rushed toward his army. On both sides men struck each other violently against shields painted with lions, unhorsing each other onto the sand. The Danes did extremely well, and so did the English. Whoever could see Gudlac’s blows recognized him as a valiant man, and whoever could see how well Waldemer (a most admirable Dane) struck with his sharp sword was reminded that he too seemed the image of a valiant man. Whoever could see Earl Hardecunut (a most famous Dane) realized that anyone he struck would be close to death: no one recovered from his blows. When Gudlac saw Florenz, he attacked him in the midst of his men, striking him and his horse down to the ground in a heap. The strong horse jumped up again, along with its rider, who held on to the saddle, his naked sword in hand. At once he fiercely struck Gudlac on the top of his helmet, knocking out the precious stones and the multi-coloured flowers.194 They hit each other violently with their good, sharp and keen swords. But the 192  13036 the citizens citeeins: as per Holden’s emendation of the MS’s sarecins (“Saracens”). 193  13047 long-maned crenuz: Holden supplies the word to fill a gap in the MS.

194  13077 the precious stones and the … flowers Les pieres … e les flurs: it was common in chansons de geste and romances to depict warriors with helmets decorated with precious stones



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Danes were stronger, and when Florenz saw his men flee you can be sure he was greatly distressed. As the Danes pursued them, Florenz confronted them with his sharp sword, giving many of them a bloody face. (13015–88) Gudlac pursued Florenz’s men vigorously, and so did all the Danes, until Gudlac with his troops forced his way into King Waldef’s army. When King Waldef realized that Gudlac, leader of the Danes and victor over the English, had arrived, he was angry and distressed. He swore by God, who never lies, that he would reach the city within three days. If the Danes were so bold as to appear outside the city walls, he would most certainly capture all of them and put them in his prison. They would never leave it—all would die there in great pain. (13089–106) Meanwhile Gudlac proudly returned to the city, along with the prisoners he had captured. Not counting those who were slain, there were at least fifty-six, all knights of renown, and he profited greatly from them. In the city there was much rejoicing that Gudlac had returned safely after defeating Florenz and capturing so many of his men. Gudlac returned to his lodging and was quickly disarmed, as were his companions. His other men were glad. (13107–22) King Fergus sent for Gudlac and all the other Danes to come and have supper with him so they could enjoy themselves together. Gudlac dressed himself most finely in striped silk, all embroidered in gold; he was very well turned out. He mounted a mule and quietly went off to court, followed by his Danes, going in pairs. The Londoners kept saying he really ought to be a king, because he was so courteous and brave. When he arrived at the hall, two earls rushed to hold his stirrup. Gudlac to the …195 The king came to meet him and gently took his hand. They sat up on the dais and talked for a long time about their situation until supper was ready. Then they asked for water and it was soon at hand for them.196 The king’s only heir was his beautiful daughter, called Ykenild, lovelier than any girl you have ever heard of. The king made her come forward and, smiling, he said to Gudlac: “Now, my lord Gudlac, this girl is most noble and fair. I have no other heir to all this realm but her, and if you want to have her, I’ll give her to you, you can be sure of that. You can be lord of what I own and my heir after I die.” Gudlac answered: “Thank you! Now that is a magnificent gift. I welcome it most willingly and certainly won’t refuse it. I’m a mercenary with no land of my own. I possess nothing except my weapons and my warhorse. No matter what anyone told her, I don’t believe she’d have me, but if it pleases you and is to her liking, you can be sure I’ll willingly accept her and defend your land. However strong the man may be who wants to do you wrong and harm your land, I’ll take vengeance and defend your territory.” The king replied: “On that

and flowers. The stones were thought to have magical powers and the ability to protect warriors in battle; see Paul Studer and Joan Evans, Anglo-Norman Lapidaries (Paris: Champion, 1924), 100–101, 119, 145, 153, passim.

195  13141 Gudlac to the … Gudlac el …: the second half of the verse is expunged. The scribe may have written Gudlac el palois est venuz (“Gudlac came to the hall”), then changed his mind; see Holden, 309–10. 196  13147 asked for water l’eve demandé: the reference is to the washing of hands before meals; see, e.g., Horn, ed. Pope, v. 2383.

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condition, my lord Gudlac, I give her to you.” He took the girl by the hand and gave her to Gudlac, telling him: “Eat with your sweetheart, you will be all the more joyful.” They sat down to eat and were most nobly served, with plenty of splendid dishes, so many that everyone was happy, and plenty of excellent drink: wines, piment, and clary.197 All the vessels were of either solid gold or solid silver. (13123–96) Gudlac looked at the girl, who was very noble and fair. He gazed at her beautiful face, and said to himself that in his whole life he had truly never seen such a lovely creature, nor one he could love so much, nor could he set his heart on anyone else except her. He said to her softly: “My beautiful lady, you’re very wise, and renowned for your great beauty. If you wish to love me and give me your affection, I’ll love you above all women and never leave you for another. I’ve never known what love was, nor have I ever loved. I never expected to love a woman or that anything would encourage me to. Now I’m so captivated by you that I’ll stay with you forever. I can’t leave you, whether I live or die. Our love is entirely acceptable to King Fergus, your father, and the queen, your mother. Should I be of such worth that you would wish to love me, you’d alleviate my suffering.” The girl replied: “As God is my help, I believed that the man to whom I would ever give my love or surrender myself with affection hadn’t yet been born nor had my eyes seen him. But I won’t refuse you, my lord, who love me so much and intend to love me faithfully. A beautiful lady or a girl of high worth, even if she were an emperor’s daughter, certainly ought to love you. Since my father has agreed to it, I’ll never refuse. Indeed, were my father and my mother to forbid it, they certainly couldn’t prevent me from loving you with all my heart.” They continued to speak together until their love was firmly established. (13197–246) They were most splendidly served, and when the supper was over they talked at length, enjoying themselves very much. Gudlac took leave of the king and returned to his lodging; his men came out to greet him, to his great delight. Gudlac was now overwhelmed by love, so that the day seemed to him to have passed quickly and the time he spent with his sweetheart, whom he loved more than life itself, felt too short. Immediately he began to think about when he could talk to his sweetheart. In her rooms she secretly did likewise, and she too was now overwhelmed by love, so that she did not know how to contain herself. She could not bear to be apart from Gudlac, and was often pensive and sighed. “Oh,” she said, “my God, kind Lord, now where has Gudlac gone, whom I’ve chosen to be my lover? If I’ve now lost him, misfortune has befallen me. Soon a whole month will have passed since he spoke to me about anything, and I to him. Alas, what shall I do? And when shall I be able to speak? I didn’t fall in love only to be separated from him. My God, how short a time that meal lasted! We didn’t even have a whole course. The king has foreigners badly served: before they’ve had half their meal they’re driven away from the food. Now God’s curse on such a custom! No man of worth could have invented it.” The girl was most confused, for she was so overwhelmed by love that she cared for nothing except enjoying Gudlac. (13247–90) The Londoners were at peace for a night and a day. The next day, on the stroke of six, King Waldef appeared outside the city with many men and a large army, two thousand 197  13194 wines, piment, and clary de vins, de pimenz, de clarez: see note to v. 6382.



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knights expert in battle. When Gudlac heard this, he had it announced throughout the city that people should arm at once because the attackers had arrived. They did this quickly, like brave men: all those who owned weapons rushed to arm themselves. The valiant Gudlac soon armed himself, quickly mounting his fine horse, and his men made ready. Once they were all before him, Gudlac stopped outside the city gates. “My lords,” he said, “now listen to me. Those of you who were born in the city will stay inside and not go with me, for now I want to have only my Danes with me.” They replied: “It’s right for us to obey you in this.” (13291–320) Gudlac left the city with great and powerful forces. When he recognized King Waldef and saw his noble company, he said to his Danes: “My lords, look at the English over there, so bold and brave, and good at striking with their sharp swords. Now see that you do well. We’re in a foreign land, and if we do well we’ll be honoured for our success, but if we do badly, people will think we’re weaklings.” Everyone answered with one voice: “Let’s attack them bravely. May almighty God never help him who doesn’t follow you loyally!” Gudlac quickly arranged his ten thousand Danes into seven companies. (13321–40) Gudlac called for Waldemer, whom he loved and cherished, and for Earl Hardecunut, and both came before him. “My lords,” he said, “now listen. Take half your men with you and stay within the city precincts. Wait until you see that we’ve attacked and are battering them fiercely; then arrive like loyal men and strike them boldly.” And they replied: “We’ll do so. Go on ahead and we’ll follow you.” They attacked the English, who met them at close quarters. Many lances were broken, their splinters flying into the air, many good warriors were cut down, and many good horses let loose. When their lances broke, they drew their polished swords and struck each other great blows on helmets decorated with precious stones. Greatly alarmed, the king’s daughter Ykenild went high up in a tower in order to view the bitter fighting. She made many inquiries until a knight pointed out Gudlac, her sweetheart, recognizable by his armour and shield. She was so pleased to see him that she often said to herself: “Dear God, how good I feel when I see the man I desire above all others! Now I have everything I wish.” (13341–78) Like brave and valiant men, they struck each other hard. On both sides many fell, losing their lives on the battlefield. Gudlac was in the midst of the fray, making every effort that day to act like a valiant man for the sake of Ykenild, whom he loved so much. Each time he thought of her he would strive to carry out a great attack, in which many men lost their lives. Gudlac was in the heart of the fray, striking many blows. He went looking for King Waldef, asking about him from time to time.198 And Waldef did just the same, often asking his men which one was Gudlac, who had killed so many of his people. Indeed, they asked for each other so much that in the end they did meet. They attacked each other ferociously and with great violence, striking sparks from their helmets, so that all those watching from the walls easily saw it and the blows they struck each other. 198  13394 asking about him from time to time D’uns en altres demandant: Holden (310) offers several ways to make sense of this verse: as a version of D’un en altre (“at regular intervals”), analogous to v. 729; as a corruption of the common expression D’ures en altres (“from time to time”); and, assuming en is an error for e, as meaning “from this one and that one.”

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They knocked out the gold and the multi-coloured flowers, and they cut the hauberks and shields to pieces with their sharp swords. On both sides …199 This did not trouble them in the least since they hated each other bitterly. Neither had any idea what great friends they should be, for one was the father, the other the son. (13379–416) Had Waldef really known that he was Gudlac’s father, God, how joyful and happy he would have been! He would never have struck him another blow. Or if Gudlac had known for sure that King Waldef was his father, he would never have continued to strike or resist him. Hardecunut and lord Waldemer delayed no longer but spurred their horses, saying to their companions: “Now strike, my lords! We’ll soon capture all the English.” They attacked them boldly and did great damage to Waldef, killing and capturing his men and getting the better of them. Waldef could not endure the fray, having been too battered in it. They rode rapidly to their camp, where they would soon receive considerable help. The Danes pursued them, killing those they could reach, but Waldef was at the head of the English, holding his sharp sword in his hand. He helped his men greatly and saved them from the Danes, plenty of whom he killed as he turned to face them. (13417–46) Merlin and the brave King Florenz quickly had their men arm: King Swein, King Felix, and the men of their regions rapidly armed and prepared to help King Waldef. Numbering at least ten thousand men, they left their tents at once, attacked the Danes, and drove them all back to the gates of the city whether they liked it or not.200 But before the Danes could get inside, so many were captured and killed that even their most levelheaded people were angry, because the English were exerting themselves to the utmost. (13447–62) When King Fergus saw this, he and all his nephews at once armed, along with their army from the city, and all went to help Gudlac. In a short while many noble knights were knocked down, many horses disembowelled, and many men killed. The country folk said that the damage done to that kingdom would never be made good. I cannot tell you or describe or relate all the combats, attacks, or most noble deeds that the knights, so valiant and skilful, performed that day. The bitter battle lasted so long that daylight was already fading when they had to break off, for everyone had striven so hard to achieve glory and renown that they had no rest that day. King Fergus with his Englishmen and Gudlac with his Danes returned to the city with the loot they had gained. They had had both gains and losses; that was the way things had turned out for them. But Gudlac was most distressed because he had lost many of his men, for Waldemer had been taken by King Waldef, and Fergus’s nephew Hildebrand had been captured, along with many others, which made Fergus very angry. (13463–500) King Waldef returned to his lodging and ordered that the prisoners he had taken and captured be guarded. He quickly disarmed, but he was angry and grieved for Bern and Brun, who had been taken prisoner with many more from their region. When the king was disarmed and about to sit down to supper, a traveller appeared, spurring up at great

199  13411 On both sides … D’ambes dous parz …: the verse is incomplete in the MS. The missing second half might have read le sanc lur raie (“their blood streamed down”); see Holden, 310. 200  13456 or not: MS has u nun.



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speed. His horse had galloped so hard it was already exhausted. He dismounted at the king’s tent, showing no fear, approached the king, and greeted him. “My lord king,” he said, “now listen to this. You’re about to hear bad news. If you’re not careful now, you’ll be close to losing the land you have in England.” The king replied: “No! How?” “Sire,” he said, “foreigners have arrived in your land and have already besieged Attleborough. They’re destroying the land and laying it waste, in a rush to capture the city. They’re killing and expelling your people, and threatening to kill you.” The king answered: “And who are they who are driving my people out?” “Sire,” he said, “there are at least ten thousand who are causing this suffering and destruction. I’ve heard they come from Cologne. Their leader is very handsome and brave; you’ve never heard of anyone like him. I’ve heard he’s called Guiac. He’s a most impressive warrior, spoiling for a fight.” (13501–40) When the king heard the news, he at once said to his barons: “Now, my lords, what do you advise me to do about the news you’ve heard? We have to act quickly.” “My lord,” they said, “go, go and defend your land. It’s useless to go on waiting here. The longer you wait here, the more you’ll lose.” Straightaway the king ordered it to be announced throughout the army with all speed that he was going to depart, and quickly they went …201 You could soon see many men at arms running through the camp, packing up the tents and pavilions and rapidly taking to the road. They carried their wounded and led their prisoners with them. The Londoners clearly saw them setting fire to their quarters, and truly believed King Waldef had left out of fear of the city. They all said and swore they would follow him to Thetford and would never stop until they had captured him alive or dead and put him in Fergus’s dungeon. (13541–70) Now King Waldef departed, angry and distressed at the news he had heard, which grieved many. He journeyed until he came to Thetford, his city. He reinforced it as much as he could and gathered men from all quarters, because he felt that Fergus would attack him, and moreover he was afraid of Guiac with his army, who had besieged his city. Waldef decided to summon Okenard, at that time king of Lincoln. He sent word that foreigners from another kingdom had entered his land and besieged his city, and Fergus was attacking him with his Danes, so Okenard should quickly come to his aid because his need was great. Okenard behaved most nobly, and immediately summoned so many men that he gathered a great army. He delayed no longer but went straight to Thetford, to King Waldef, whom he loved so much, bringing with him as many as a thousand good knights with strong hauberks and good steeds, thirty-seven crossbowmen, at least seven hundred excellent archers, and three hundred brave and strong mounted men at arms. (13571–608) Okenard was in Thetford, longing to fight Gudlac and his Danes, the Londoners’ allies, so he said to King Waldef: “My lord, thank God we now have plenty of good men who’ll defend the city well. Or, if we really wanted, we could easily fight those people and those vicious Danes, even if they were as strong as the English.” (13609–20) When King Fergus and lord Gudlac heard that Guiac had arrived in Norfolk and besieged Atlleborough, they sent word to him at once that they too had entered the country, and when Guiac heard that Gudlac had summoned him, he was delighted and 201  13554 and quickly they went … E tost se voissent …: the end of the verse is missing in the MS.

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joyful. He quickly got ready, left Attleborough, and came straight to Thetford,202 with ten thousand men; his arrival was very impressive. (13621–34) Fergus’s army rejoiced greatly that Guiac had arrived. Gudlac and his Danes were also glad about Guiac, and King Fergus was especially happy, swearing by God and his miraculous powers that Waldef would be destroyed and slain, and his body strung up. Fergus was arrogant and proud of his noble knights, of the noble lord Gudlac and of his companion Guiac. But before a month passed, Fergus would have given his fine city of London to be reconciled with Waldef and to be far from him and his men in no matter what kingdom. Those outside the city were proud and arrogant and stubborn, sure they had the upper hand, but those within were also very brave. They all assembled and together decided that they would arm themselves well and attack those outside. King Florenz, King Felix, and King Swein, the good marcher lord,203 with their mighty followers much praised for their valour, and King Okenard with his men, at least seventeen hundred of them, came out of the city and all assembled outside. “My lord Florenz,” said Okenard, “in the name of God, let’s strike them! Look at our mortal enemies over there. May God be of little help to him who doesn’t strike bravely for as long as he has the strength.” Then they arranged their troops and lost no time in striking well. But those in the other army were well prepared. They quickly advanced to strike each other. You would have heard lances shattering and knights being unhorsed and thrown to the ground. After the lances, swords were drawn. They dealt each other mighty blows. (13635–82) Whoever could have seen the citizens proudly meeting the enemy with their sharp swords, and seen how they acted, had reason to remember them as brave people and often to relate their deeds. But Guiac with his Germans and Gudlac with his Danes hit fiercely at the English with sharp Saracen blades, maiming and killing many, who went howling and crying through the battlefield. With his good sword the brave Guiac caused many casualties and great losses among the English, because he had a fierce heart. But when Okenard saw that, he longed to strike him, and he attacked him with his steel sword, feeling nothing but rage. They fought each other hard, striking many mighty blows. Hitting each other most fiercely, they fought until Okenard lost his shield in the battle. It was quite split and cut to pieces, so that not even a foot of it remained intact. The golden hoop had fallen off his good helmet painted with gold, the helmet itself was damaged and broken and one of its quarters had dropped off, and the strong hauberk on his back was smashed and split open. His body was badly wounded so that blood ran down to his feet, his sharp steel sword was split in half and destroyed, and that is how, like a most valiant man, he left the fray. (13683–722) 202  13632 he came straight to Thetford A Tiefford tut droit …: the end of the verse is missing in the MS.

203  13662 King Swein, the good marcher lord li rois Swein, li bon marchis: Swein of Colchester, not Swein of Denmark. Marcher lords were nobles who held border territories and enjoyed greater autonomy than their peers elsewhere. In the British Isles, the term usually applied to territories along the English-Welsh border, far from Colchester. See Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 73–76.



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King Waldef and his men knew well what to do. They knew well how to spot an opportunity, when to join battle, when to stand their ground, when to flee, and when to leave the battlefield. They knew all there was to know about war, because they were well schooled in it and always ready to fight and to win. After they had been in the fray they could no longer resist the enemy and, having done their best, they retreated, intending to go to the city. So they all assembled, but before they could get into the city, men would be slain on both sides, causing great losses. Indeed, no one could protect himself since those outside were very brave and those inside very fierce. Many a mighty blow was struck before they could enter. There was a great clash between these good and bold knights, with many captured and killed before they separated. In spite of all their efforts, those outside could not get into the city. (13723–52) The besiegers turned back. If they had captured or won anything, they had lost just as much, for those inside were very valiant. They were brave and fierce, and did not give those outside, who were so near, much rest. They were keen to attack them, and not a single day went by without their meeting in the fray. King Waldef was sad when he saw his mortal enemies, who had besieged him in the city, destroying and laying waste the countryside. He went up a high tower, looked at the large army outside, and saw many pitched tents, King Fergus’s large army, Gudlac’s Danish army, and Guiac’s German army, and in many places he saw great fires on his land. You can be sure he was most distressed when he saw the towns burning. And he saw the large army and the men, thirty-two thousand of them, and seven hundred armed knights, not counting the men at arms, who were on foot. His heart was full of grief as he came down from the tower. (13753–82) “God almighty!” he said, “how badly I have fared when I see foreigners here, destroying my land, which I can’t defend any more, nor can I take up arms against them. Where’s my great might now? I’ve always been so feared. I certainly shouldn’t own land if I don’t have the strength to defend it. May God never again give me good fortune if, from this day on, I ever feel comfort or peace of mind until I’ve fought. I’d rather die with honour than flee the country in shame. I won’t be the best man to be killed in the fray. I’d rather be killed than have to flee the country.” He had all his men assembled and spoke to them. “My lords,” he said, “what do you advise me to do with our enemies here, who have come into this land? They’ve besieged us in the city, they destroy and lay waste to the countryside, and delight in doing evil. I can certainly bear it no longer. Whether I live or die, tomorrow I’ll surely fight. I wouldn’t postpone that by a single day, for everything I possess in this world, even were I to die in the fray. And now I want you to tell me what you mean to do, and whether you’ll help me, for I have great trust in you. I’ll live with you, I’ll die with you, I’ll never be parted from you.” They all answered him with a shout: “Oh, lord Waldef, thank you! Fight as much as you wish. We’re already all prepared and we’ll never ever let you down as long as we live. We’ll live with you, we’ll die with you, we’ll never be parted from you.” “My lords,” he said, “thank you!” They sent word to the enemy that they would fight the next day and not desist on any account. Having spent the day in this manner, they made it known throughout the city that they would fight the next day, and that all those who bore arms should be ready in the morning; battle would finally take place. (13783–840)

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In the morning King Waldef rose and heard mass at the church of St Martin, commending himself to Mary’s son. He came to the palace and armed himself well, then sent word to the citizens that they should all arm without delay, and they all quickly armed, preparing themselves as best they could. Now that King Waldef and all those in the city were armed, they came out of Thetford and ranged their companies in battle order. And those in the opposing army did exactly the same, arming themselves speedily. The two armies were now drawn up and ready to fight. (13841–58) Thereupon Guiac came spurring up and said to King Fergus: “My dear lord, now listen to me. You can see King Waldef, how proudly he now advances and how many good men he brings; they’re ready to fight. He has many fine armed men, and it’s the same with you, sire. You have many brave men here, and you can be sure that if the two sides meet and fight each other so many will be slain that it will always remain a terrible loss. It would be much better if one of us were to die in battle rather than many of those you see here, which would be a great loss to you.” The king answered: “That’s true. In all honesty, my lord Guiac, what advice would you give me?” “My lord,” he said, “you’ll hear it right away. King Waldef is most valiant, bold, brave, and aggressive. He is strong, he’s won many a hard fight and often done you much harm. He has killed many worthy men, he killed your brother by tricking him, and he has caused you endless trouble. Today you’ll be properly revenged on him.” (13859–90) The king replied at once: “I want nothing in this world so much as to be revenged on him, since he’s deceived me so often.” Guiac replied: “You shall be. Do what I’ll tell you: at once send word to King Waldef that you’ve found one of your men who’ll fight him, man to man, and never give up. If he is as people say, he’ll agree to that straight away, and I’ll fight him; I know I’ll defeat him. I’ll cut his head from his body or hand him over to you alive, but on condition, king, that you agree to what I’m asking you now: that you give me his land and all his towns and cities, and I’ll hold them all from you and serve you the best I can.” The king replied: “I grant it to you and will never refuse what you’ve asked for. You’ll have it all just as you wish.” (13891–916) Then they chose a bishop, very wise in the ways of the land, to take a message to King Waldef telling him what they had decided. The bishop left, went straight to King Waldef, and related their message from beginning to end. Waldef was brave, wise, and well spoken, and replied nobly to the envoys. “My lords,” he said, “here I am, entirely ready to fight. Make him come forward, wherever he is, who will now fight me. He’ll find me in the field immediately. Go, make him come here; I’m eager to see him.” The bishop returned to Fergus and reported what Waldef had told him: that he was fully armed and in the field. Guiac did not delay but went on his way after speaking to the king. Before he left, he said loudly in front of his men that he wanted it proclaimed throughout the army that no one should be so bold as to help him in any way,204 on pain of losing all his limbs. And King Fergus made all the arrangements, establishing peace between the

204  13943 wanted it proclaimed feïst crier los: Holden (310) finds the expression crier los (where los is superfluous, and crier in its sense of “to proclaim” [AND, s.v. crier 3] would suffice) puzzling and suggests that the verse may have been altered in transmission. Our translation is directed by what the context seems to require.



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armies. Guiac entered the field and found King Waldef there. Now father and son found themselves together in the field. Alas that they had not known this! They would never have started fighting.205 (13917–54) Both now entered the field, without exchanging a word. They were very proud and fierce, more than any boar. They gave their fast-running horses their heads, lowered their lances, raised their shields, and struck each other mighty blows with all their strength. When they knocked each other to the ground, they quickly jumped to their feet, quite amazed at being knocked down, being unused to falling at the hands of a knight. They speedily drew their good steel swords and gave each other mighty blows; there was no point in holding back. They struck so hard on the helmets that the hills resounded with their blows, and they hit each other so violently they made sparks fly from the helmets. King Waldef was well armed: he had two strong helmets on his head, one flat-topped and the other pointed,206 which had served him very well, and he wore two hauberks, which had held up in many a fight. He carried two good swords, very sharp and keen, one in his hand and the other strapped to his waist. With these he struck many mighty blows. And Guiac was also well armed, as he had arranged. (13955–88) They fought all that day, violently and well. With their sharp swords they cut helmets and tough shields to pieces, for the blows they struck were so fierce and deadly, their swords were so sharp, and they were so strong and hit with such violence, that nothing could hold them back. They broke the hauberks on their backs and pierced flesh to the bone. Blood ran down their bodies, staining red what had once been white. The battle was hard and bitter. No one could tell or decide who was the better and who the worse. They fought each other until daylight started to fade. King Waldef drew back and saw their shields on the ground, smashed to pieces. Blood flowed down to their feet. He wondered greatly at Guiac’s ability to withstand his blows. Never in his life had he met a man who could endure his blows so long without dying. He did not know who his opponent was and where he came from, but he could not think of any other knight as worthy of esteem in battle, so long as he held his sword unsheathed. He greatly admired his power and strength, and desired very much to know who he was and where he had been born. So he spoke to him courteously: “Sir knight,” he said, “upon your word, tell me the truth about you. Where were you born and raised? Who are you? Which land are you from?” Guiac replied with scorn, answering the king arrogantly: “Now I know for sure, King Waldef, that you’re afraid of losing your head. If you want information, you’ll get none from me. Even if you knew the truth, what would you do with it? Nothing at all could stop this combat from continuing. I now see well that your blows, at first so mighty, are getting weaker and weaker, and you’re retreating, looking for an excuse to come to terms with me. But your efforts are in vain. If you want to prolong your life, however, throw down your steel sword and beg me for mercy at once. If you do me homage right

205  13954 never: MS reads ja.

206  13979 one flat-topped and the other pointed Li un ert plat e l’altre agu: the conical helmet was in use throughout the twelfth century, but around 1189 cylindrical types with flat tops appeared. An almost identical verse in Gui de Warewic (v. 10092) describes Duke Berard, who, like Waldef, has both two helmets and two hauberks.

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away, here before all these nobles, I’ll have mercy on you because you’re called a king. I’ll let you live, reconcile you with King Fergus, and take you with me to lands where I mean to go, for you’re enormously strong and could be very useful to me. But if you won’t do this I’ll cut off your head with this sword of mine, for King Fergus has promised me all your strong and beautiful cities and castles once I’ve cut your head off. As soon as you’re dead I’ll take legal possession of them in the presence of the army.” (13989–14068) King Waldef was angry and vexed to hear Guiac’s harsh words, and shook with rage from top to toe. He thought it scornful and offensive of Guiac thus to address him, disparaging his mighty blows and his great strength, and boasting he would take his land away. Brimming with rage, he scolded Guiac angrily: “Fellow,” he said, “so help me God, you’re exceedingly scornful of my mighty blows and my great strength. I still have my sharp sword, with which I’ve struck many heavy blows, as your pointed helmet clearly shows. If I haven’t hit you enough, I’ll make up for that right away: so long as I have any strength I’ll strike you so hard with my naked sword that you yourself will admit you’ve had enough. As for your boast that King Fergus has granted you my cities and my good castles, you’ll never get them from him, for you have no right to them. You’re neither my son nor my heir, so why should they go to you? Never say that again! King Fergus may have promised them to you, but he can’t make good his promise. He’ll fare like his brother, who came here earlier with a great army and besieged me in this city but lost as many as a thousand of his best knights, though they were very brave and fierce. I couldn’t stand their arrogance but attacked them at once. His own valour couldn’t protect him. He was killed right here, and many of his friends came to a bad end too. I’ll be revenged on you just as I was revenged on them. Those who came to destroy me will meet a painful and shameful death here.” (14069–118) “King Waldef,” Guiac said, “things are quite different now, so help me God. Fergus has more good men than ever before and the best knights he’s had in his whole life. His brother King Uther never had such bold followers. Even if Fergus had no one but me and my own men out there, I think I could besiege you, ravage and devastate your land, take you prisoner and bind you, and do anything I want, even against all these men lined up here.” King Waldef was enraged at Guiac’s low opinion of him. “Fellow,” he said, “you’re very arrogant, thoughtless, reckless, and boastful. It was foolhardy of you to say to my face that you’d bind my hands. You’re far from that: before you bind my hands, yours will be in bad shape.” He leaped forward fiercely and dealt him an almighty blow, striking the top of his pointed helmet with such force that a quarter of it fell off, as well as the entire hoop of burnished gold. The ventail flew from his face and landed far away. But God protected Guiac, and Waldef did not wound him. King Waldef pulled back his sword and said just this: “If you’d received such blows more often, you’d have no desire to bind me.” When Guiac felt such a blow, he was very upset. The blow stunned him so badly that he could not but fall down, injuring a hand and a knee. He quickly jumped to his feet, his sharp sword in his hand. Putting the other hand to his face, he realized it was unprotected, and said: “Holy Mary, my lady, have mercy! I’ve never felt such a blow. I’m sure it wasn’t a man who struck me but a devil.” (14119–72) King Fergus was distressed, and so were all Guiac’s followers. When they saw him fall, they thought and said that the blow would surely kill him. They really believed he



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was either dead or grievously injured. “Holy Mary,” Gudlac said, “my lady, protect Guiac from injury or death or shame.” Guiac was greatly angered at the blow he had received and the humiliation of having fallen to the ground. Maddened as he was, he struck Waldef with his sword; he hit the top of his gem-encrusted helmet so hard that he knocked off a quarter of it, together with the flat part, which he cleaved and cut to pieces, and the ventail too; all were useless to him. But God took good care of Waldef, and Guiac did not wound him. When he struck him so hard, the sword went no further than the helmet, which deflected the blow and the sword broke a foot-and-a-half from its point. Guiac looked at his good sword, deeply troubled. “Sword,” he said, “may God, who created everything, curse the man who forged you! May God never let him make another sword again!” But then he said: “It doesn’t matter. As long as he’s willing to fight, a brave man can never have too short a weapon to protect himself with.” Waldef was stunned by the blow and almost sank to his knees, but this did not stop them exchanging more heavy blows, until they were so exhausted that they could hardly stand. (14173–218) Guiac drew back a bit, for they had fought so hard that they were quite weary. Waldef looked at him and saw his face now fully visible, exposed and unprotected. He saw that Guiac was young and handsome; moreover, the youth was so brave that Waldef repeatedly thanked God that he had not gravely injured him, and that the heavy blow he had dealt him had not injured his flesh. At that moment he remembered his children, who should now be tall and brave. If they were with him, handsome and fully grown, they could defend his land and fight on his behalf. He leaned on his good sword and, sighing, lamented bitterly. He spoke softly, under his breath, so that no one heard him: “Had it pleased almighty and eternal God that you were my son Guiac, I wouldn’t fear my enemies much.” The grief he felt for the loss of his sons, which distressed him so much, brought tears to his beautiful eyes. Guiac looked at Waldef, and could easily see from his countenance that he was pensive, dejected and upset. He could not refrain from asking him why he was so troubled. (14219–256) “King,” he said, “on your honour, tell me the truth about your mournful face and why you’ve sighed so profoundly and lamented so much since we drew back.” “I’ll tell you,” the king replied. “It’s no wonder I’m upset. More than fifteen years ago I was besieged in this city by the rich and powerful King Uther. One day I defeated him, to my great joy and delight. On that very day I received bad news and my fortune changed. Saracens had landed at my city of Caister, killed my men for no reason, and abducted from the city my wife and my two little sons. They led them away by force and took with them whatever they found in the city. On hearing this I was distressed and enraged. I immediately had a ship equipped and sailed across the sea to look for them. Though I sought them in many lands, I could find no news of them. I sailed from land to land until I found the queen, whom I brought back with me, but I have no hope of finding my sons. If they’d stayed with me they’d now be about your age, valiant and esteemed. I’d be greatly feared thanks to them, as they’d protect my land and fight for me. I’ve lost them forever, but you’ve now reminded me of them.” (14257–98) Guiac replied: “That’s no matter. When one can’t have something, one shouldn’t be too distressed or hope too much. If you’ve lost your children, you may well beget others. And if not, in God’s name, surrender now without regret, and make me your heir, for

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your strength is waning. Your hair is white, you’re old and frail, no longer able to fight or to protect your land for long.” Waldef replied: “By the true God, fellow, you’ve felt my strength and you’ll feel it again before you leave this field.” Nothing could stop him from attacking Guiac at once. They exchanged heavy blows and fought so long, like men who had lost all restraint, that the darkness of night overtook them and the bystanders could hardly see them. The men in charge of the two armies got together to confer, and decided to break up the combat and guard the two combatants well. In the morning they would be returned to the field in exactly the same positions as when they were led away. Both sides consented to this, and so they were taken away from the field. King Fergus and Sir Gudlac took Guiac away with them and guarded him well that night, as they had agreed. King Florenz and Okenard, along with the men on their side, took King Waldef with them to the city. (14299–342) When the queen saw her lord coming back from that fierce combat, his good hauberk damaged, his helmet all smashed, and his wounds running with blood, she was not pleased but cried out aloud: “Lord God,” she cried, “have mercy! If I’ve now lost my lord, I’ll have to die miserably.” Any man who saw her crying and showing her profound distress would have pitied her. Wishing to rest, the king ordered her to stop lamenting. He went to his private quarters and rested until morning. Let me tell you now about the queen, whose distress did not abate. When she saw the king as he returned from combat with his weapons all hacked to pieces and smeared with his blood, she really thought he had been mortally wounded. She did not tarry but went straight to the church of St Mary, which belonged at the time to an abbey of Black Monks.207 In the church, the queen knelt before the altar and read her psalter earnestly, entreating God not to let her lord, King Waldef, be killed in the combat. (14343–80) The queen was very afraid for her husband. During the night she prayed to God and mortified her body so much that at daybreak, distressed and exhausted, she fell asleep. Then an angel appeared before her and gave her this message from God: “My lady queen, wake up! Speak to me, in God’s name. Jesus Christ, our dear lord who created you, sends me to tell you not to grieve any more, for you’ll feel great joy this very day. Wait instead until the king and your son Guiac have been led to the field, ready to fight. And when they’re there together and about to strike each other, be ready to step between them at once. Don’t let them exchange blows for anything in the world, and you’ll find there your two sons, whom you lost a long time ago. There you’ll see your son Guiac and your younger son Gudlac. One of them has fought against his father, but our lord Jesus wants them reconciled now, and he wants you to have your sons back.” (14381–412) The lady woke up, having clearly heard what the angel had said: that she would find there her two sons, whom she had lost long ago. She was overjoyed to hear this. She opened her eyes and looked around, and at that the angel went away. The lady stood up and repeatedly gave thanks to God in heaven, then sank back to her knees in profound devotion and remained there before the altar until broad daylight. When day came, bright and clear, the king would not linger but got up at once and went to Mass. That day

207  14373 Black Monks Noirs muingnes: Benedictine monks were distinguished by their black robes.



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he went to every single church in the city, to pray to Our Lord to protect him from harm. Without waiting any longer, he gathered his men and went straight to the field. He found Guiac there, and Fergus had already arrived as well, bringing his men with him. Now they faced each other in the field, as they had agreed earlier. The lady did not forget what she had to do. She commended herself to Jesus Christ, came out of the church, and went straight to where the combat was about to begin. She did not delay but hurried, sometimes running and sometimes walking. Yet no matter how fast she walked, by the time she got there they had already exchanged many heavy blows with their sharp swords. As she rushed into the field, many men stared at her. She came running, all dishevelled, as if stunned and terrified, and shouted: “King Waldef,” she cried, “have pity!” Stepping in between them, she said to her lord, the king: “Have pity, for God’s sake, my dear, sweet lord! Will you kill your son, who has fought you here? Pity, for the love of Jesus! This is your son Guiac, and your son Gudlac is over there. These are your two sons, whom the Saracens abducted long ago. May God be thanked for sending them to you here! Last night an angel from heaven came to me on God’s behalf and ordered me to come here and show you your sons.” (14413–76) The king looked at the lady. He was quite convinced that she had lost her mind and gone mad, and he said so. He had no idea how this could be. The lady turned to the right and spoke kindly to her son Guiac. “Guiac,” she said, “my sweet son, my dear, fair, sweetest boy, know that this is your father the king, and I am indeed your mother, and there is your brother Gudlac. A long time ago, when you were small, you were snatched away from us. But God, who is both father and son, has now sent you to us. An angel of God assured me of what I have just told you. My fair son Guiac, please think about that and look at your mother. I carried you between my ribs; see how I fed you.” Speaking through tears, she showed him her breasts.208 Guiac considered his mother and her actions. He felt certain in his heart that she was truly his mother and that Waldef was his father. He turned to his father, threw his sword on the ground, and, running to him, prostrated himself on the ground and asked for pardon. “Father,” he said, “in God’s name, forgive me! By Him who never lied, please have mercy on your son, who has done you wrong. I didn’t do it knowingly. It often happens that even a wise man will greatly wrong a close relative.” (14477–520) Having heard and understood this well, Gudlac realized that the queen was his mother, King Waldef his father, and Guiac, who lay at his father’s feet, his brother. He ran up to them and stood right next to Guiac. Prostrating himself at the king’s feet beside Guiac, he repeatedly asked him for pardon. “Forgive me, Sire, by almighty God! I’ve often wronged you, when I killed your men and wounded you. Forgive me, my dear father, for Jesus’ sake!” The king looked at his two sons, who were tall and fully grown, and marvelled greatly at having found them. He looked earnestly toward heaven and thanked God in his heart for the joy he felt now that he had found his lost children. He had thought

208  14501 showed him her breasts Ses mameles dunc li mustra: the poet is indebted to an episode in Wace’s Brut (vv. 2711–816), in which a mother intervenes in the same way to stop a bloody combat between her two sons, Belin and Brennus. At v. 15001, Guiac will compare himself and Gudlac to the legendary brothers.

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there was no chance of seeing them again. Unable to say a word, he began to weep. Feeling both joy and sorrow, he fell on top of them in a faint. When he came to, he rose and spoke to his children. “Ah!” he said, “my fair, sweet sons, I’ve sought you in so many lands and suffered so much pain for your sake, both in settled lands and in wastelands! Now that I’ve found you here, I’ve been relieved of all my suffering. From now on I truly don’t care what happens to me, since I’ve regained the heir who’ll hold my castles and fortified towns, my lands and all my fiefs, when I’m gone.” Then they had their helmets unlaced and the ventails removed. You could see there the huge joy of the father and his two sons. When the news reached the army, everyone came running at once: kings, earls, and barons all ran up to them in a throng. Happy and delighted, they all kissed the king’s sons and thanked the Creator. They had never been so glad. (14521–76) When King Fergus saw that Waldef was victorious and that those were his sons, who now remained with him and strengthened him greatly because they were so highly esteemed, he truly believed that they had tricked him. Aggrieved and very much afraid, he withdrew with his men. “My lords,” he said, “listen to me. Noble barons, what’s your advice? What can I do to get out of this danger? I know well that if King Waldef can capture me I’ll be killed or maimed and humiliated. In an evil hour we saw this land, where we’ll all be killed or captured. We won’t be able to defend ourselves or take up arms against him: we’ve no choice but to die. We really ought to remember the time my brother, the powerful King Uther, was defeated and killed in this land; I think the same will happen to us. We really deserve to be punished now for coming to this land, where we’ve lost so many friends. The devil brought us here and persuaded us to clash with these men,209 who’ll surely destroy us all before nightfall. We know that Waldef is so vicious that he won’t readily accept ransom for me unless almighty God makes that happen.” (14577–616) “By God,” a Londoner said to him, “don’t be afraid, my lord king. Let King Waldef know that you wish to make peace with him, that you’ll pay him four times the value of everything he can show he has lost through you, and that if he wants more of your gold or your possessions you’ll give him whatever he wants so as to make sure you’re well and truly reconciled. Once he’s been told of your immense offer, he won’t be against it at all. Nor do I think that either Gudlac or his brother, the valiant Guiac, will allow him to do you anything but good.” The king replied: “Let’s try that now, and put ourselves in God’s hands.” They chose two bishops and sent them to King Waldef with a message exactly as they had decided. The bishops left and went straight to King Waldef, to whom they delivered their message as they had agreed. They offered him as much as King Fergus had said he’d offer, and for their part much more. “Sire,” Okenard said to him, “you shouldn’t refuse the great gift you’ve just heard about.” The king was silent. Without saying a word, he looked hard at the messengers. “My dear lord,” said Gudlac, “so help me God, Fergus is a valiant and powerful man who has greatly honoured me and my brother Guiac. I entreat you, on behalf of us both, to pardon him and be his friend from now on,

209  14610 clash with these men ceste gent nus fist tenir: to make better sense of tenir in this context, Holden suggests (311) correcting E ceste gent (“and these men”) to A ceste gent (“to/with these men”).



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so that from this day forward there’ll be no anger between you.” The king replied: “My dear sons, I’ll readily grant what you’ve asked for, and would have granted even more.” “Sire,” they said, “thank you very much!” At that King Florenz and lord Guiac, and King Swein and lord Gudlac, King Felix and Okenard, together with the nobles on their side, mounted their horses and rode to Fergus. When Fergus saw them coming, he was convinced he was about to die. He said to his men: “I knew for a fact that I’d have to die here and that nothing could help me. Look at those men riding this way, eager to take me prisoner. They’ll soon bring me before Waldef, and I know they’ll sentence me to death.” “Sire,” they said, “go away! Save yourself, for the love of almighty God, and we’ll stay here. Before we’re dead or captured, you’ll be far away from this land. That way you’ll escape and avoid being captured here.” (14617–92) The king replied: “I won’t leave but will be taken prisoner here with you. You can be sure that your fate will be my fate. I’d rather be captured with you here than let you be killed without me. I’ll go to meet them and I’ll throw myself on their mercy.” So he went toward them, humble and with downcast face, and prostrated himself before them. “My lords,” he said, “for God’s sake, have mercy! Don’t let me be maimed, killed, or humiliated.” When they saw him on the ground and heard him thus begging for mercy, they were all sorry for him. They all quickly dismounted, ran up to him, and lifted him up. “King,” they said, “don’t be afraid. We guarantee you all that. Let there never be any doubt that you’ve been reconciled with Waldef. The agreement has already been negotiated—provided you, Sire, are satisfied with it. Come and speak to King Waldef, in all safety and with no fear.” “My lords,” he said, “many thanks! In the name of God, who was crucified, protect me from shame and mistreatment.” “Don’t be afraid,” Gudlac replied. They put him on a horse and went back to King Waldef. There they negotiated an agreement and exchanged kisses, forgiving all anger. Then Gudlac said: “My dear, sweet father, I entreat you to be friends with King Fergus and thank him for the great honour of having welcomed me in his land and given me absolute power over his castles and fortified towns, his lands and all his fiefs, as well as gold and silver and all his possessions. Above all he gave me his beautiful daughter, a maiden unmatched in this world. She is his only heir and he gave her to me, so that after his death I should inherit his land and his possessions.” (14693–748) “That’s true,” Fergus replied. “ I’ve given you all that, and I’ll give you much more. Now that I know for sure that you’re Waldef’s son, I’ll place a crown on your head in my prosperous city of London, and you’ll be proclaimed its king.” Waldef said: “Many thanks, Fergus, my dear friend! From now on I want him to be well disposed to you. I want you to be his father and he your son, who will always serve you. I want genuine love and firm peace to be between you forever.210 We’ll be all the more feared, more respected, and more loved as a result. But I want to ask you something: that when you’re in my lands you do me the honour of staying with me here in my city of Thetford.” “I accept,” Fergus replied. With great joy and delight they made their way to Thetford. When King Fergus arrived there, he was received with great rejoicing, and so were all his men, who were all richly served. They stayed there three full days, greatly enjoying themselves, and parted 210  14764 and firm peace: MS has e ferme peis.

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on the fourth day. Those who witnessed the festivities will never again see a more opulent feast nor one better suited to such high rank. (14749–84) King Fergus went straight to his city of London, taking Gudlac with him, as well as Guiac, of whom he was very fond. He honoured them greatly, and placed his possessions at their disposal. Gudlac stayed there long enough to marry his sweetheart. The king gave him his daughter and made him heir of his land. He would have crowned him if Gudlac had wished that, but at the time Gudlac refused it because Guiac was the elder brother. He said that, indeed, he would never be proclaimed king until Guiac, the elder, became king of a realm. The two brothers loved each other very much. They amused themselves by hunting and water-fowling. Whatever they asked for they were given, just as they wished. Now Gudlac had everything he desired, having married his sweetheart whom he loved more than his life, just as she loved him; they loved each other faithfully. (14785–812) When the brothers had stayed there long enough, they took their leave of the king. They travelled through towns and cities all over the land. Greatly loved and respected, they were welcomed everywhere and received rich gifts. As powerful men in the country highly praised their feats of arms, they acquired great fame and renown. They travelled all over the land, amusing and entertaining themselves, then made their way back to Norfolk, talking about many things along the way. “My dear brother Gudlac,” said Guiac, “listen now. If you outlive Fergus you’ll be wealthy and have the upper hand. You’ll be a rich, powerful, and noble king, living a life of ease with your beloved wife, and you’ll never have to endure pain or suffering or to leave your land. From now on you should greatly thank our lord Jesus, who has provided for you so well. My dear brother, let me tell you what I’ve been thinking. Look at the king our father, how youthful his face still is, what a good soldier he is, young, strong, and nimble. I’m convinced he’ll outlive me by quite a bit. I, on the other hand, am a mercenary, who owns nothing beyond his arms and his warhorse. I receive no rents, have no estates or lands, and if others didn’t pay me I wouldn’t have enough to feed a single horse for one night. I don’t know how I could establish myself and provide for my men honourably. It’s hard and vexing always to depend on others. I don’t think any friend, no matter how good, intimate and close, could fail to end up feeling annoyed by daily requests. A poor man who goes begging will be disparaged, however courageous, strong, and bold he is, however distinguished, noble, and high-born. A man who is wealthy, powerful, and prosperous will be made much of, cherished, honoured, and loved for his possessions, however low-born he may be. That’s why I’m telling you, my dear brother, that I’ll no longer stay in this land under such conditions but seek out fame and renown by sea and by land. From now on I’ll go in search of conquests. Should God grant me the good fortune to find a place where I can dwell with my men, it will be a great honour for me. And you, my dear brother, will stay in this land with your friends. You’ll greatly help them all as long as you’re with them.” (14813–92) “My dear brother,” said Gudlac, “you scorn me if you won’t take me with you or let me come along. If you valued me at all you wouldn’t leave me behind but let me come too. Wherever you went, you would be more secure. I don’t know why you reject me. But by that God who created me, for all Fergus’s land and the realm of England, whose



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king he wished to make me, I wouldn’t leave you, my dear brother, but would go away with you. I’d like to go with you with whatever forces I’ll have. As long as we go together we’ll be more feared and more respected. Two are stronger than one, says the wise man in his proverb.” “Brother,” said Guiac, “thank you very much! I’ll tell you now why I said that. I really didn’t believe that you’d leave behind your beloved and the support of King Fergus in order to come with me. But since you, my brother, love me so much and wish to accompany me now, I tell you truly that I won’t abandon you for anything I could have in this world. Let’s go now to our father and one of these days we’ll explain to him what we’ve decided. Meanwhile let’s make sure that we have everything we need, so that everything is ready for our departure.” Then they went to their father, who received them with joy. He greatly loved and honoured them, often calling them his dear sons. He handed over to them his entire treasury, all his silver and all his gold, and they spent from it freely, drawing good men to their service. They gathered and engaged a large body of men, all those who had come to them, and stayed thus with their father for forty days without telling him anything about their plan or that they wished to go and look for conquests. They kept their secret so well that some wondered at the large army they had mustered, and truly believed that they meant to go to war against one of the local kings. (14893–950) Now, my lords, you have heard what happened to Waldef, how the children he had lost returned to him, how he found them, and how famous they were. One day they came to their father, with courteous and humble demeanour, and spoke to him affectionately. This is what they said to him. “Dear father,” said Guiac, “here I am before you with Gudlac. We are both your sons. I think you ought to care for us, our wellbeing, and our honour. Should God make us fortunate enough to rise to high status, you should rejoice very much, for you’d be greatly honoured if we rose high, and should thank God for that. We mean to tell you what we’ve been thinking and what we want. We’d like to travel, sir, with your help: we won’t hide that from you. We wish to seek conquests in distant foreign realms, and therefore ask that you give us leave and help us in this campaign, because we don’t know how to do anything else except conquer. If we stay with you, you’ll pay for that far too dearly, for we have large troops and many followers who require high wages. We could cost you so much as to cause you great trouble. No matter how much you can gather you wouldn’t be able to provide for our needs, as that would be beyond your means. And that’s why we want to go away, to win gold and possessions, so that we can provide for ourselves much better than by loafing around your house and draining you, dear lord, of your wealth. You shouldn’t have to endure that at all. Remember the example of our ancestors, and of Belin and Brennus,211 who were so brave and noble. They were powerful brothers, born in this country, who won territory through their valour and set themselves to conquering lands. They took France and Normandy, Burgundy and all Lombardy, Apulia, Sicily, and Byzantine domains as far as

211  15001 Belin and Brennus de Belin e de Brennus: the story of these brothers, enemies at first but mighty conquerors once reconciled, was first told by Geoffrey of Monmouth (History of the Kings of Britain, III.35–44), and then taken up by Wace (Brut, vv. 2313–3169).

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Russia,212 and held all these countries. They often put themselves in danger, risking their lives, for they wouldn’t have won those territories otherwise. Arthur, a most powerful king, came much later: you’ve never heard of a better one, for he conquered everything for himself. There was no land as far as Rome and beyond, no duke or prince or powerful man he didn’t conquer by force and who didn’t do his bidding. And why shouldn’t we do the same, since we certainly dare to try? We have the forces and the strength. Let’s take the risk, as those men of old did, when they put themselves in danger.” (14951–15028) “Dear sons,” said King Waldef, “don’t go! By my head, you’ll stay here with us. Whatever you need, we’ll provide it all for you, God willing, and we’ll never let you leave like this. It would look bad if it were known throughout the kingdom that you’d left your parents because they couldn’t support you. I don’t want you to leave us, for anything in the world, because that would be too great a blow to us, but if you want to conquer territory, there’s no need to leave this land. Nearby, close to us, where we can greatly help you, you’ll have plenty of opportunity for conquest without leaving us. There are ample lands, rich cities, great domains and rich fiefs. The men who are the lords of those lands, such as Herman of Salisbury, now king of Wiltshire, have often attacked me. When you’ve conquered him, you’ll be able to move on to Cornwall and Dorset, Devon and Somerset,213 all the land belonging to Warwick,214 as far as the town of Berwick. There’ll be no castle or city that won’t surrender to you. You can conquer all the lands from here to Scotland, if you like. And out of the conquests you make you’ll be able to live splendidly and provide richly for your barons and your earls, both those who’ve served you well and those who have yet to do so. Why would you forgo this to risk life and limb? Put aside this folly. If you trust us, dear sons, remain in this country. I’ll give you half of all my lands, half of all I have and will have.” (15029–80) “Dear father,” Guiac replied, “By Him who made the world, I’m not going to stay behind this year for the sake of King Herman’s land nor will I give up going overseas this year for all those lands put together. Anyway, aren’t they your neighbours? They’re neither serfs nor inferiors, but good kings, men of great worth, and you were all born in the same country and ought to stick together, supporting each other. If I wished to do them harm, you ought to keep me from doing so, for they’re good men, in my opinion. When I visited their countries recently, they honoured me greatly and they gave me gifts, beauti212  15009 Byzantine domains Rumanie: Rumanie was most often used of the Byzantine empire, especially of its European territories in present-day Greece. In his popular reference work De pro­prietatibus rerum, the thirteenth-century Franciscan encyclopedist Bartholomaeus Anglicus explains that after the imperial capital was transferred to Constantinople all of Greece became known as Romenie and the Greeks were no longer called Gregeis but Romeins (Barthélemy l’Anglais, Le livre des regions, ed. Brent A. Pitts, ANTS Plain Texts Series 15 [London: ANTS, 2006], 39). The Waldef poet uses the term loosely: in v. 18998, for example, it is likelier to refer to Romagna, a region in Italy.

213  15058 Somerset Somersete: as Holden points out in his conjectural addition (311), meant to fill a gap in the text, Somersete is plausible geographically and provides a rhyme for Dorsete. 214  15059 Warwick Werewic: this could also be York (Everwic), often confused with Warwick (Warewic) in Anglo-Norman texts. York is more plausible geographically, but both the MS and Bramis’s translation have Warwick here; see Holden, 312.



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ful horses and warhorses, the most valuable in the land, gold and silver. May almighty God never help me if I give them trouble when they haven’t deserved it.” (15080–104) “Dear son,” his father said, “have pity on your mother, who carried you in her womb. I’m sure she’ll die of grief for you when you’ve left us and we remain here, wretched. For the rest of our lives, we’ll be mournful, grieving, sad, and worried. We’ll never be joyful again but will die of sorrow for you. If one of you could remain here with us, it would be a great comfort to us, and ease our sorrows, for if you both want to go, that will likely kill us.” (15105–20) “Dear sweet sons,” said their mother, “take your father’s advice. Put aside this folly, and don’t cut our lives short. If there’s anything making you unhappy, or if you lack for anything at all, dear sons, tell us. We’ll gladly put that right. If you go away now, you’ll be doing a great wrong by leaving us in such sorrow. Then I’ll tell you truly that I loved you in an evil hour and that I regret bearing you. Nothing good will come to you nor will God ever be with you if you leave us this way, without our permission. Consider your father and his past deeds, how worthy and renowned he is, feared by all, and how highly esteemed he is now for his conquests. And though he never sought to conquer foreign lands he is wealthy and powerful, and always will be, so long as he lives. And you, dear son, do the same! Give up this journey that you want to undertake, for the love of God, and spare us this sorrow.” (15121–52) “Dear mother,” Guiac said, “no request or prayer, or anything anyone can give me, will make me put off this journey, for I’m so set on it that one day will feel like ten until I’m on my way. I’m so eager for conquest that I can’t bear to stay. I certainly won’t lie to you; I’d prefer a single kingdom I was able to conquer to two or three whose full possession I received as gifts. So let it be, mother, and try to take comfort. If now you feel love for us, and anger and sadness and pain, one of these days news will reach you that I’ve conquered Saxony and Germany as far as Cologne, and that I’m king and lord of two or three kingdoms. You’ll be joyous and happy when you hear such news. Instead of your present pain and sorrow and sadness you’ll feel joy and delight when people tell you that we’ve made such conquests in the rich lands where we’ll live. Truly, neither your prayers nor your sorrow can make me stay.” (15153–86) With that, Guiac left. He sent throughout the country for knights and mercenaries who wanted to earn money; if they came to him, they could have as much as they wanted. They came to him from all over to pledge their loyalty: every knight in the kingdom praised for his feats of arms and each young man of great worth who lived in the country. Sons of earls and barons from various regions came to him from everywhere, hoping to obtain arms. He dubbed them with great honour and showed them great affection. (15187–204) King Florenz had a son called Lioine, handsome, tall and well developed, and very strong, but very young, no older than fifteen. Guiac dubbed him with great honour and affection. As you will hear later, Lioine became valiant and renowned. His father, who loved him and held him dear, would not allow him to go with his cousin, but was unable to stop him. (15205–18) It took hardly any time for Guiac to collect his men, and Gudlac did the same. They assembled a huge army before the town of Thetford, some thirty thousand well armed

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men. Then they left Thetford and went straight to Attleborough, where so many men had gathered from so many regions that every powerful man in the country went there at the time to look for his son, nephew or relative. Such a great force had assembled there that on the roads outside the cities you could see nothing but people coming and going, covering the ground completely. Meanwhile they had their ships prepared, as there was no reason to delay, and went directly to Swangey Fen below Attleborough.215 Their ships were all ready, well rigged and equipped with everything they could possibly need. There Guiac and Gudlac put out to sea, their whole army with them. (15219–48) With good weather and favourable winds, they hoisted sail and set off. Those left behind were dejected, and cried and wept sorrowfully. You should have seen the fathers and mothers, how downcast they looked, what great sorrow they felt as their children were leaving. You should have seen King Waldef crying his eyes out, in such distress that he could not remain on his feet but had to sit down on the beach, gazing at the ships. “Alas,” he said, “my dear sons, how dejected I am, truly! In an evil hour you came to this land. You did us a bad turn; if you hadn’t come to us, we would have been spared this great sorrow. We’d hardly have remembered you. You won’t prosper long, for you’ll have so many curses from these people here, who lament so bitterly for their kin and their friends whom you’re taking to far-off countries. Alas!” he said, “my dear son Guiac and you, Gudlac, my other son! I’m sorry I ever saw your prowess, your bravery, your liberality! It’s thanks to them I’ve lost you, I am sure.” With that, he fainted away. You could have seen much grieving there. (15249–84) King Florenz raised him and comforted him as best he could. But that did no good; he returned to lamenting for his sons. “Alas, dear sons, you’re leaving, never to see me again; I’ll have to die in great sorrow. I wish we’d never seen you! I wish I’d never laid eyes on you! It’s no wonder if I grieve at losing such sons. Two such were never seen or begotten since the hour that God was born, nor ever will be, by king or emperor or any man living. Oh, God, why am I still alive? Why can’t I die now, when I see them leaving me?” He fainted again. Then his wife appeared, their mother, the noble queen, lamenting continually. She was so distressed and so full of grief and woe that she could have drowned herself in the sea, had it not been for the people there. She spoke to the king sweetly and without anger: “Dear lord, let this be. What use is it to grieve so much? I tell you, truly, that these men were from a foreign realm. They were never truly our sons, but foreigners who came to this country and took us in by their tricks in order to get your treasure and all your silver and gold. Now that they’ve got hold of your possessions, they don’t want to stay any longer. Let them go, the devil take them. May they never arrive safely in a haven or good port, since they’ll cause our death.” And she fell down in a faint, nearly dead. (15285–332) Anyone who had seen all the people there would remember their great sorrow, how terribly they complained and how they tore their clothing as they lamented for their loved ones, weeping and mourning, crying aloud, fainting into each other’s arms. There’s no one on earth so hard-hearted as not to be moved to pity by their sorrow on 215  15241 Swangey Swanegeie: a fictitious port for Attleborough, as Holden notes (312). Swangey Fen is in the Breckland area of Norfolk.



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hearing their laments: mothers weeping for their sons, ladies for their husbands, and girls for their sweethearts who had gone to sea. When they could no longer distinguish the ships, they returned to Attleborough, sorrowful and downcast. But on earth there is no sorrow, pain, anguish, or sadness so great that there is no alleviation or comfort for it. Thus it happened that these good people, who grieved so terribly at the time, afterwards comforted each other and forgot their great sorrow. King Waldef ruled peacefully and without war for a long time. He was much loved and greatly respected, and held dear on account of his sons. He and King Fergus were allies in good faith and kept the peace as long as they lived, until other news arrived. (15333–66) We will leave King Waldef now, and talk about his sons, who sailed over the sea until they came to Cologne, where they found safe harbour. They camped on the river bank, putting up tents and pavilions. When the people of the land learned that Guiac had come in peace with his great army, powerful counts and barons flocked to him, offering him great gifts. They loved him dearly, because he had kept them from being enslaved. They told him that Conrad, their king, had died, leaving no heir to inherit his land. All the counts and barons wanted to elect a king, but the candidate that one party wanted was opposed by the others, so they feared there would be war among the barons of the land. Nonetheless, a day was set and they all agreed among themselves that the bishops of this land, to prevent this war, would assemble in Cologne tomorrow morning, to proceed to this election by their collective decision, as was proper, based on the barons’ pledge that they would elect twelve men who would swear on the relics to choose the best man in this entire land, whom they could best make king, and that all the others would accept whomever those twelve select. (15367–408) Guiac replied: “May God, who made the whole world, now grant they choose a king who will be good for them and the country.” When they had talked with Guiac, the barons took their leave and returned to Cologne. On the appointed day the barons all arrived. When they had all assembled, as had been decided, they had the twelve men swear that nothing would keep them from choosing the best man they could find in the realm to be their king. When all twelve had sworn, “My lords,” said one of the barons, “now listen to what we’ll tell you. I’ll speak truly, according to the oath I’ve sworn. To my knowledge, the worthiest and most valiant man living in the world, who would make the best king and has the best right to the land, is brave, noble Guiac, who is now here. Through his prowess and valour he kept us from slavery at the hands of Eron, the powerful emir whom he conquered through his strength. For if it weren’t for Guiac, we’d all be enslaved forever. He certainly ought to be king if he he’s willing, for he defended us so well from our mortal foe. If he wants to be our king, we can be certain that we’ll never encounter a prince, king, or emperor who’ll wrong us in any way. We’ll be secure everywhere.” (15409–52) The others who listened to this speech were quiet for a while, then they said, “We agree with your judgment and your arguments.” Everyone in the hall, rich and poor, said as one, “You’ve made a good choice and spoken well; no one could disagree. Let’s all go and make him our king.” All the barons and the bishops from the city went straight to Guiac’s encampment. They gave him the royal sceptre and told him, in good faith, that they had chosen him to be king, and asked him to accept the crown, then and there. “My

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lords,” he said, “thank you very much! I didn’t come to this country for a crown or lands; I’m on my way to look for domains elsewhere. But since I killed King Eron it certainly seems to me that I ought to have the land and that there’s no other heir with as much right to it. Since you need a king, I’ll give you one, if you’ll take him. You see here Gudlac, my brother: we were born of the same father and mother. There’s no better knight in the world, nor one who could guard your land better. He’s much braver than I am. I suggest you make him your king and offer him the crown.” (15453–87) No one said a word except Gudlac, who replied: “Brother,” he said, “for the love of God! You’ve said an astonishing thing. You shouldn’t have said it, nor praised me so much over yourself. I’ll never be your equal in virtue, greatness, valour, and prowess. Now, you take the crown, and praise God greatly for showing you so much honour that they’ve chosen you as lord. You deserve the crown, so welcome it, as a gift from God.” The archbishop stood up. “Guiac,” he said, “listen. I’ll say the same of Gudlac: he’s brave and very valiant. Everyone can see clearly that there’s great good in him. He’s an impressive man, but the men of this land have spoken: they’ve elected you king. Each one has said to himself that you should have the crown, because you greatly deserve it. You fought for the crown and preserved its independence. Because of this, we ask in the name of God and the Holy Trinity that you accept the crown and let yourself be crowned.” They all fell at his feet, and begged and pleaded until Guiac gave in. Everyone sang “Te Deum.”216 They went straight to Cologne and crowned Guiac there. (15488–526) There was great joy in the land now they no longer feared war. Both young and old often praised the heavenly Father for sending them such a king to maintain peace in the realm. Alas, what a pity and what a shame that he did not live to be old!217 We have never heard of a king who won such renown except King Alexander, who spilled so much blood. After his coronation, Guiac, now called king, travelled through his lands. He commanded that hostile castles which had been destroyed and laid waste should immediately be restored and garrisoned. Then he had it announced throughout the realm, up and down the country, that if anyone had been wrongfully dispossessed, he should come to him and he would be provided for. Guiac assembled his army and said that he wanted to conquer the wealthy land of Saxony without any delay. He entrusted the realm to four barons of high standing and great wisdom, so that if discord arose among the people of his realm it could quickly be put right. (15527–60) When the barons arrived, Guiac addressed them. “My lords,” he said, “now listen. You already know how the powerful king Eron once came into this region to enslave you all. There’s no one, however high his lineage, who wouldn’t have had to pay a whole fourpence a head. You know well, God be praised, how I defended you then, how the Saxons were killed, crushed, slain, and slaughtered. What they wanted to do to you, we’ll do to them and their land: we’ll make serfs of them all, and keep them that way forever. We have the courage and strength for it. Now I want to know if you’re willing to support me for better or for worse.” They all responded with one voice: “Oh, noble king, our thanks! 216  15524 Te Deum te deum: see note to v. 10856.

217  15534 he did not live to be old! il ne vesquist par eage: neither the MS text nor Bramis’s Latin translation follows through on this sinister foreshadowing; see Holden, 312.



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There’s nowhere you could go, on land or sea, where we wouldn’t go with you. We won’t abandon you for anything.” “My lords,” he said, “many thanks! You answer like brave men. Now let’s go!” They set to sea immediately and sailed until they arrived in Saxony. King Guiac of Cologne disembarked right away and ordered his men to lay waste to the land, as is done in war. They did it at once, coming boldly out of the ships and making raids throughout the land with large and powerful forces. They took both castles and cities, and did plenty of damage in the land. (15561–606) With a great effort, a knight of that country who had been pierced through the body rode so vigorously that day that he reached Regensburg. He had lost so much blood that he was gravely weakened. He found the king playing chess and said to him: “My lord king, listen to me and you’ll hear news. Put aside your game and plan to avenge yourself on Guiac, king of Cologne, who has come here to Saxony with a large and powerful army. He’s already raided your land, destroyed and laid waste all your fortified castles and your cities, and since his arrival has killed more of your men than I can tell. I feel such pain and anguish from my wound that I know it’s mortal. I barely made it here to you, for all my strength is gone. If you don’t take action at once, you’ll lose all of Saxony.” When the king heard the news, he was much alarmed. “What!” he said, “upon your word, who’s this King Guiac? I’ve never heard of him. Does he come from overseas?” The man said: “Sire, I’ll tell you what I know of Guiac. He was born in England and taken to Cologne, where he was brought up from a young age until he eventually conquered King Eron. Then he left and returned to England. After the death of King Conrad,218 the barons were concerned because they had no king. So they elected Guiac, because they had known him before and knew how valiant he was. Now he’s come to this land and wants to conquer it by force. He’s handsome and well favoured, the most handsome man I’ve seen in my whole life. He has a brother, a young man; I don’t know which is more handsome. They’re both valiant and brave, and can’t be more than twenty years old. This king called Guiac killed the powerful King Eron, your uncle,219 outside Cologne, and he killed and slaughtered the best men of Saxony. Now the worst remains for you: in sum, he’ll destroy the land. Such a great loss will never be made good in your lifetime, because the damage is so great.” King Saluf swore by the god he worshipped that within a month not a single man would escape being hanged or burned on the seashore, and he’d hang their king seven feet higher than the others. He summoned his forces from every part of his land, so that he could quickly throw the invaders out of his country. (15607–86) King Guiac was feeling proud because he met no opposition from castle or city or fortified town but had his way with them all. One day, after he had dined, he called his men before him. “My lords,” he said, “what would you advise? I ask for your counsel; please advise me. I want to send a message to King Saluf, if I can find someone to take it, to say that he should give back my land and all the profits he’s had from it since the moment I killed Eron, the king of this country. He must also give up all the silver, gold,

218  15649 Conrad Eron: Guiac inherits Conrad’s throne, not Eron’s; we emend the MS reading to reflect this. 219  15667 your uncle Vostre uncle: henceforth Eron is referred to as Saluf’s brother, not his uncle; see Holden, 313. In Bramis’s translation, Eron and Saluf are always mentioned as brothers.

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and rich treasure that belonged to the powerful King Eron, which Saluf wrongfully took. And if he refuses to do that, he can either leave my land or defend it for me and pay tribute for it: fourpence a head of good silver, unclipped.220 There’s no child so small that he won’t be accounted at fourpence, and a mark or more for the carucate.221 I certainly won’t take less. If he refuses, tell him from me that I won’t rest until I’ve captured him. I’ll send him to Cologne and put him in my prison, from which he will never get out but will die there miserably. By God, whoever were to take this message and come straight back to me without getting into trouble would have to be both brave and prudent. I’d give him such great rewards that he’d prosper for the rest of his life.” (15687–728) “Sire,” said Salemon, a powerful baron of Cologne, “please listen to me. You don’t know King Saluf. He’s very bold and courageous. There’s no one stronger from here to the Orient. He’s a brave, warlike Saracen, and cunning in all kinds of evil. You’ve never heard of anyone so cruel: in the whole world there’s no crime, wicked trick, or great fraud that he’s not capable of, for sure. He’s really huge and hefty, hideous, ugly, and hairy, with a big shaggy head, a long overgrown beard, and red eyes like burning fire. There’s no one, no matter how brave, who doesn’t tremble from head to toe if Saluf looks at him in displeasure. You can be sure of this: should you send any man to him, if he had a hundred lives when he left, he’d have none on his return.” The king replied, “Oh, curse him and all his kin!” (15729–54) Lioine quickly stood up. “My lord king,” he said, “hear me out. I’m related to you, as you know; it’s not three months since you gave me arms. Since you dubbed me, I haven’t done any knightly act, or attempted anything worthwhile. Because of this I crave a boon, as reward and recompense: let me take this message to the fierce Saluf. Whatever the contents, know that I’ll tell him everything. I won’t hold back a word but will give him the whole message. And if he gets angry about it and curses or refuses you, I’ll give him such a blow with my sword that he won’t know anything at all.” “Lord Lioine,” said King Guiac, “by Him who made the world, you won’t take this message, nor even set out with it. I only said that to find out who is bold and strong enough to dare to take it. Now I’m sure of your mettle and that you would deliver the message, but you won’t go there without me. By the true God, Lioine, I wouldn’t have you go for all the gold or wealth in the world, nor for any of its riches, because you’d be killed. I’d never be joyful again if I lost you. Give up this journey. Before a month is out, I’ll seek out Saluf. If I find him in this country, I’ll capture him by force, and do whatever I want with him.” (15755–98) “My lord king,” said Lioine, “there’s no need for delay. Now I won’t forgo this journey for fear of either king or emperor, even if I were to die there.” With that he left the king, and

220  15709 good silver, unclipped De bon argent trestut pleniers: medieval coins came in different denominations, each meant to contain a certain weight of silver or other metal, but bits might be snipped from the edges, resulting in depreciation of the coins’ value. Gudlac will demand the full value of fourpence by weight, not face value. See Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 373.

221  15713 la charrue the carucate: as much land as could be plowed with one plow in a year (AND, s.v. carucate). A tax upon it (carucage) was first levied in 1194, helping to pay the ransom for Richard I’s release from captivity; John and Henry III continued the practice. See Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 165–66.



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armed himself to his liking with his fine weapons. He quickly mounted his good horse and took the road alone. May Mary’s son help him! King Guiac was sorrowful, as were all his men. They were all frightened for him, fearing that through the great cruelty of the harsh King Saluf Lioine might lose his life. Lioine followed the road alone until he saw that night was falling, so he entered a town and spent the night there. In the morning he left in great haste; before he returned he would face great danger. The brave Lioine was now dashing along when suddenly a knight appeared, well armed, shield at his neck, helmet laced on. “Sir knight,” Lioine said to him, “tell me, so help you God, who you are, where you come from, and where you’re going.” The other replied: “I’ll tell you, since you’ve so entreated me. I’m a Saracen and my name is Garsire. I’ll tell you the truth, by Mahomet: I’m the nephew of King Saluf, whom I left last night. I’m taking a message to the arrogant King Guiac. If I can talk to him and give him my message, I’ll give him such a piece of my mind that we’ll never be friends, for I’m convinced that before I leave him I’ll cut his head off, as I promised King Saluf. I’ve come to defend our land and fight Guiac. If he doesn’t dare take me on, he’d better leave this land. Now I ask you, sir knight, to tell me without hiding anything who you are and where you come from, and where your road takes you.” (15799–856) Lioine said, “I’ll tell you. I’ve no desire to hide it from you. I’m a Christian and believe in God, and I’m King Guiac’s man. My name is Lioine and I’m related to him. I’ll never keep that a secret from anyone.” “Lioine,” said the Saracen, “it’s too bad that you took this road. You’ve met with very bad fortune. Now you’re going to die. I’ll cut your head from your body and take it to your king. I expect that when he sees it, he’ll hate me all the more, but I’d rather have his hate than his love. May God always hate me, for I never liked Christians nor will I ever willingly fail to hurt them if I get the chance, anywhere and everywhere. But I see that you’re very young and handsome. If you want to renounce your false faith and believe in Mahomet, as I do, I’ll have mercy on you.” Lioine heard him out and laughed. He replied to the Saracen, saying, “Listen, my Saracen friend, you’ve had too much wine! You’re like a drunk. Am I not here at your service, ready to defend my head if you want to take it by force? If you manage to cut it off and present it to King Guiac he’ll be ungrateful, and he’ll hate you even more for what you’ve just said: that you don’t like Christians and don’t think you ought to like them. You can be sure that they neither like nor esteem you but utterly despise you and your gods. And it was extremely insolent of you to say, just now, that I should yield to you at once, renounce my religion, and believe in your stinking gods, who can’t do either good or evil, any more than a dead dog could.” (15857–906) When the Saracen heard Lioine so insult him, his gods and his people, he was angry and mortified. “Fellow,” he said, “so help me god, you certainly don’t think much of me and our gods and our people, but by almighty Mahomet, nothing can keep you from dying right here. I defy you. On guard, for now you’ll die here!” “Sir knight,” Lioine said, “let’s put off this battle just long enough for us to deliver our messages and return. When we come back to this spot, we’ll fight and we’ll see who’s stronger. And if you let me take this message unharmed, then if God allows me to return alive and unhurt, I’ll wait for you in this place, nor will I leave it until you return. You’ll find me right here.” (15907–34) “Fellow,” said the Saracen, “as I hope that God will give me a good death, not for all the lands the emperor now has in Germany, nor for all the gold in Spain will I today

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agree not to cut your head off and humble your arrogance. Whoever taught you to speak did a bad job, and now you’ll die here for your words, because you insulted our gods. You’ll be sorry you ever had such a thought. On guard now! I’m coming at you.” He struck at him at once. They exchanged great blows and knocked each other to the ground, then each drew his sword fiercely, and they gave each other terrible blows. Both were valiant warriors and made the valley ring with their sword-strokes. Lioine was brave and agile, deft with his weapons, and a skilled fencer, which was a help to him when he needed it. The Saracen was big and sturdy, with great strength of body. Lioine countered one of his slashing blows, and with his good, sharp steel blade he sent Garsire’s arm flying, along with his good steel sword. When the Saracen felt the blow, he withdrew from the spot, angry and in great pain from the loss of his arm. “Damn you, Mahomet!” he said, “you have no power at all. It’s too true, as the Christian said, that you’re worth less than a dog. People who have faith and trust in you are crazy. Now I believe and know it to be true that he who was tormented on the cross and who was born of the Holy Virgin and who suffered death for us, is the true and good God, and that he greatly helps his own. Sir knight,” he said, “please listen. I ask you for something, if you’ll grant it: cut off my head before you go away. I wish to reject Mahomet and suffer death for him who had earlier suffered death for us. Because he’s a powerful God, I now believe in him. May he have mercy on me.” He dropped his shield from his neck and his pointed helmet after it. Having prostrated himself on the ground in the shape of a cross, he stretched out his neck. “Come forward,” he said, “good sir. I’ll receive baptism in my blood and here I’ll become a Christian and accept my death for God’s sake.”222 (15935–16000) Lioine clearly saw and realized that Garsire believed in God, that he had prostrated himself on the ground and surrendered to Him. His heart was greatly moved by pity for him and he began to weep, repeatedly praising God in heaven. “Garsire,” he said, “good friend, by God, who was crucified, I won’t strike you any more, for anything in the world. If you’d told me earlier that you wanted to believe in God, I wouldn’t have wanted to lose you for all the gold Jesus made.223 But since it happened that you’ve lost your arm, come, mount your horse; I’ll turn back and have your wounds dressed. I’ll teach you to serve God and you will indeed be able to save your soul.” But Garsire replied: “Stop! Almighty God, who made heaven and the firmament, forbid that I be moved from here alive. Neither I nor my noble kin shall ever incur scorn because I’m maimed or mutilated; I prefer to die here. I’ll never leave here alive. But I want to ask you one thing: by God the Creator, have my body buried in the ground, so that it isn’t miserably torn to pieces by nearby 222  15998 baptism in my blood En mun sanc … batestire: a pagan enemy’s last-minute conversion following a defeat in battle is a popular motif. It draws on the doctrine that in exceptional circumstances one could be “baptized” by one’s blood instead of water and overlaps with the belief that ardent desire to be baptized, accompanied by perfect contrition, can be tantamount to baptism when conditions make baptism by water impossible. On “baptism of desire” and “baptism of blood” see William Fanning, “Baptism,” The Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. 2 (New York: Appleton, 1907): www.newadvent.org/cathen/02258b.htm.

223  16016 all the gold that Jesus made trestut l’or que fist Jesu: we have not been able to trace the origin of this expression.



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beasts, which will certainly come out of these forests wanting to tear, rend, and devour my corpse. (16001–40) “I also want to beg you to keep my horse, as well as my steel sword, once held dear by King Saluf. He gave it to me yesterday morning on condition that I use its sharp edge to cut off the head of King Guiac and bring it to him, as he entreated me by my faith. That was arrogance and great folly. I’ve taken many people’s lives. Through my huge efforts I’ve been victorious in thirty pitched battles against my cruel and bitter enemies, and I’ve done much more still, by defeating three crowned kings and killing many a good vassal. I’ve never found a knight who could resist me, except you, who are so strong. My God, if you die on this mission, what a waste of your exceptional valour! You can be quite sure of this: if you go to King Saluf, you’ll never return. But take great care that he knows nothing of my death or that you’ve killed me here. Were he to believe it or know of it, certainly nothing in the world could save you from having to die a shameful death. I advise you, indeed beg you, to consider returning. You can tell King Guiac that you slew me on this journey. You’ll win great fame and glory for having slain me, and you’ll have a good opportunity—there’s nothing wrong with that—to have your wounds dressed. I beg you above all to bury my body.” (16041–86) Lioine replied: “My dear friend, indeed I’ll willingly do whatever you’ve asked me. But I’ll never go back until I’ve spoken with King Saluf and observed his cruelty and arrogance.” Garsire died from his blood loss and his suffering, surrendering his soul to God and ending his life in God’s hands. When Garsire died, Lioine lamented him very much. What is more, he was completely lost. He looked carefully up and down but saw neither manor, town, nor castle, neither city, house, nor cottage. He saw forests, mountains, deep valleys and wide plains, and he saw the two horses straying away. Then he did not know what to do. He was badly wounded and had lost so much blood in the fight that he was quite weak. Wounded and weary, he walked slowly toward the horses, at times with determination, at times with difficulty. Suddenly he heard a horn being blown loudly and vigorously. Having heard it, Lioine waited, looking frequently in the direction of the sound. A long way off, he saw a man coming out of the forest. The man carried a spear in his hand, and two large, well built, and handsome hunting dogs followed after him.224 Lioine went toward him, calling out and beckoning until he came up to him. But Lioine did not recognize him. The man was handsome, tall and well proportioned, big, and youthful: his beard was just showing. The horse he sat on was large but very thin, his clothing old, much worn, and torn by branches. Lioine looked at him attentively and admired his physique very much,225 finding him handsome and well built. Had he been of noble birth, properly dressed and adorned, he would have looked like a man of great strength and prowess. (16087–142) Lioine said to him: “Good friend, I’m a stranger to this country. I want to entreat you to bury this body here. If you’re willing to help me now, you can do me a great service.” The young man said: “My dear good sir, I shall most willingly help you in whatever 224  16120 hunting dogs leveriers: hounds for hunting hares.

225  16138 his physique sun curage: we accept Holden’s emendation (313) of the MS curage (“heart, spirit, temper, courage”) to cursage (“body, physique”).

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pleases you. For my part I shall not stand in your way. “My good friend,” said Lioine, “now attend to the task: you can easily see my predicament. Go quickly and bring me those riderless horses over there; try to make haste.” The young man turned round and spurred so close to the horses that he caught both of them, then he returned to Lioine. Lioine had walked over to the knight’s body, to which the young man at once rode. When he saw the shield lying on the ground, he immediately recoiled. “My God,” he said, “what do I see here? My dear good sir, isn’t this Garsire’s shield? Is he alive or dead?” Lioine replied: “I killed him. God help me, I’m sorry for it, but it was on account of his great arrogance. I would have gone on a mission to King Saluf without a fight had he allowed me to, but he met and detained me in this wood today. It so happened that in fighting I killed him here, and may God have mercy on his soul!” The young man asked Lioine tactfully: “Sir, where are the others? You wouldn’t have killed him all by yourself.” Lioine replied: “Indeed I did; I killed him in self-defence. But before he died, he first acknowledged Christ on the cross; I’m sure and truly believe that his soul is saved.” (16143–92) The young man said: “As God is my salvation, sir, you’re exceedingly strong. Garsire was brave and fierce, and had struck many with his steel sword. No knight in the world was so hardy in combat, so daring in undertaking weighty deeds and arduous battles … 226 I don’t believe any man alive could kill Garsire or defeat him in battle.” Lioine replied: “God is good and always helps his own. What shall we do with this body? I don’t know how we’ll bury it.” The young man said: “We can easily do it: we’ll go into the forest here, so as not to be seen, for we could easily be killed. There’s a castle near here, five and a half leagues away, now held by Saracens. They come and go this way. Now if they knew you’d killed Garsire, my good lord, you’d quickly be dispatched to die, to be hanged, burned, or mutilated. The town is handsome and the castle too. There’s no finer in Saxony, nor any stronger or better situated. All this land belongs to it, and once upon a time my father ruled it. It happened that Saluf became angry with him, and besieged him with a large army. With him was Garsire, whom you’ve slain, my good lord. The siege was so long that they captured the town and the castle, expelled my father, and wrongfully dispossessed him. He was old, couldn’t defend himself, and had to surrender the castle, but he lost two of his sons, brave and bold knights. In Saxony there were none better for undertaking a great battle. This Garsire killed them—may Christ curse him! My father then fled into this forest behind us. We had neither castle nor town but we built a cottage and he lies there, gravely ill. One of my sisters and I have cared for him until now, enduring much hardship for his sake. We have looked after him here for five years and more. Once he was noble and powerful, and now he is a poor beggar. In these forests near here I procure plenty of meat. Friends give us bread and wine in exchange for the skins of animals I catch, since we usually have plenty of those.” (16193–260) Lioine replied: “It is indeed praiseworthy to love your father so much, and the more you care for him, the more God will thank you.” “My good lord,” said the young man, “give me the knight who’s lying there. I’ll carry him on my horse while you mount yours and bring the other horse with you. There’s a fountain further on, with fine, clear, and wholesome water. We can soon reach it. A hermit once used to live there. When he died, 226  16200 battles … batallie …: the end of the verse is missing.



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a long time ago, his body was put in a sarcophagus and has long since rotted away. I’ve often seen the tomb. We can put the knight’s body in it and quickly go away.” (16261–80) Lioine replied: “Well said.” He handed him the body without delay and mounted his horse, bringing the other one with him. They took their weapons and rode until they came to the forest, where they soon found the tomb, quickly dismounted, and, raising the lid, put the knight’s body inside. Having replaced the lid, they commended Garsire’s soul to God. Lioine stood thinking. Wherever he looked he saw mountains and wilderness, the home of bears and stags. He discerned no road or path, nowhere he could go. It was nearly evening already and his wounds began to hurt. He spoke to the young man: “My friend,” he said, “in God’s name, give me some advice. You’ve certainly helped me greatly, but I still need you. I’m on my way to speak to King Saluf, on a mission from King Guiac, but I don’t know or see a path, road or track, nor do I know which way to go. If you don’t show me, I’ll be hopelessly lost.” (16281–312) “My lord,” the young man said to him, “listen to me for a moment. Don’t go away now but come with me. I shall receive you, sir, in such lodging as I possess, and when you depart in the morning, I’ll put you on your way, until you’ve left the forest and entered the highway. Then I’ll tell you in which city you’ll find the great pomp of the wealthy and valiant King Saluf and be able to speak to him.” Lioine replied: “Good friend, may He who was crucified reward you and give you thanks and gratitude for the favour you’ve done me. You’ll profit from it greatly in the future. Now take this horse of mine, look after it well, and use it yourself. King Guiac gave it to me, paying a hundred pounds for it. And you’ll certainly find these weapons useful; Garsire held them dear.” “By God, my dear good lord, many thanks for giving me a splendid gift,” the young man replied, and quickly dismounted from his own horse. He thought they should not take the shield, lest it identify them, so they left it on the coffin. He loaded the hauberk, sword, and pointed helmet onto his packhorse and mounted the good horse that Lioine had given him. Lioine said to him: “My dear friend, tell me your true name in return.” (16313–54) “My lord,” he said, “I’m glad to. My name is Tierri.” “My dear friend Tierri,” Lioine said, “this countryside is very grim. Is your house at all nearby?” “My lord,” answered Tierri, “we’ll ride off quickly and be there soon.” They made their way through the forest until they arrived at their house, on a slope beside the river. There Tierri found his father. The house was a fine one and hospitable, and there they dismounted from their horses. The young woman came to meet them. She held Lioine’s horse, took his shield, and carried it inside the house. After their horses were properly stabled, the girl took off Lioine’s armour. Lioine kept looking at her and saw she was very shapely and beautiful. He had never seen a girl whose beauty he so esteemed nor whom he would more willingly love, were he so inclined, so great was her beauty; but she was shabbily dressed, though courteous and well educated. When Lioine was disarmed, the girl washed his wounds and did her best to care for him. The old man, Tierri’s father, lay there, unable to look after himself, but the girl cared for him as she ought, most willingly, whenever her brother was out. They treated Lioine with great respect, made him as comfortable as they could, and dressed him in a cloak. The lord asked him who he was and whence he came. Lioine, who was a courteous man, told him the whole truth, without concealing a single word of it. And Tierri lost no time but went speedily to the town, buying bread

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and wine for them and bringing back fodder so that the horses had enough. Meanwhile, the girl cooked plenty of tasty venison for them, both in broth and roasted, so that they could eat sooner. When supper was ready and they sat down to eat, they were happy to have so much food. After they had eaten all they wanted and the beds were prepared, they slept that night in perfect peace, until they rose in the morning. (16355–420) Lioine rose that morning, commended himself to God in heaven, quickly armed himself with his weapons and made quite ready to leave. Tierri came up to him. “My lord,” he said, “by almighty God, I want to ask something of you, should you wish to allow it: to knight me in return for my service. I certainly believe and hope I can be useful to you, and I’ll go with you to show you the way through the land.” Lioine replied: “My good friend, I’ll gladly grant what you have asked me, and I’ll knight you right away.” Then he girded him with the sword with which he had angrily dealt the huge blow that cut off Garsire’s arm when the two of them had fought. But when the old man saw this, he said to his son, weeping: “How unhappy and worried I am now! How wretched I’ll remain from now on! Alas that you’re knighted, dear son; henceforth you’ll scorn me. You want to leave me and let me die like a wretch while your sister and I sink into shame and grief.”227 (16421–52) “My dear father,” said Tierri, “don’t distress yourself so. Truly, I won’t leave you for any gold or wealth, but I’ll certainly tell you why I’m now a knight. The reason is this: I really wish everyone to know that the best of all knights who ever mounted a warhorse today gladly gave me arms, and I’ll be all the more respected for this. Now I’ll arm myself with my weapons, and I want to go with Lioine, to see what sort of knight I’ll make. I’ll soon return to you and not stay away too long.” He quickly armed himself with the weapons that had been Garsire’s, then took an old, ugly, dirty shield that had once been his father’s. He mounted a horse and took a lance, big and strong but dirty and somewhat bent.228 They took their leave and departed, travelling through the forest until they met the highway that went to the city of Regensburg. “My lord Lioine,” said Tierri, “this highway will take you to Regensburg. Once, sir, you’ve passed beyond that hill and see the noble city, its turrets and tall towers and its high walls, you’ll find King Saluf there. But take great care not to tell Saluf anything that will make him angry. No one is so wicked in all the world. On the slightest excuse he’d quickly have you killed, because he is wickedness personified.” (16453–98) Lioine replied: “Dear friend, may He who was crucified grant me success today and a return without trouble.” Having commended Tierri to God, Lioine turned away and followed the road while Tierri went back into the forest. Underneath a tree, among the broom, Tierri dismounted and put his shield on the ground, saying to himself he would wait there for Lioine and never leave until he knew how he had fared. And Lioine rode forward, commending himself to God in heaven. He passed the hill and the valley, with 227  16451 and I: MS has moi e.

228  16478 dirty and somewhat bent Enfumé e alques torte: the young, aspiring knight who begins his career with old and shabby equipment appears in romances both insular and Continental; see, e.g., Guillaume le Clerc, The Romance of Fergus, ed. Wilson Frescoln (Philadelphia: Allen, 1983), vv. 528–98.



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every confidence in the good horse. He pressed onwards hard until he came to the city. Looking at it and its riches, at the town’s great wealth, he went to the great palace, where he saw the cruel-hearted King Saluf, and with him his large troop of knights. And Lioine entered the palace, stopping his horse high up in front of the dais where the king was seated at his meal, with him four kings, all with Saracen names, not one of whom spoke to him. Lioine addressed the king. “King,” he said, “listen to me. I don’t greet you, nor should I, for you love neither God nor his law, nor is there any honesty in you. My lord, the mighty King Guiac, sends you an angry summons through me: come to him quickly and bring him the riches you’ve taken from his towns and his cities in Saxony after he killed King Eron, your brother, that wicked ruffian. If you refuse and intend to keep the land, then become his man and hold the land from him, provided you pay poll-money on it,229 so that there’d be no one, wise or foolish, great or small, needy or mighty, who didn’t give a whole fourpence per head. And if you won’t do that, be quite sure that you’ll never enter his land without him searching for you everywhere.” (16499–560) Having heard and understood him, the king was furious. He took great offence at his words. “Fellow,” he said, “you’re a total scoundrel, stupid, base, and extremely arrogant, and he who sent you on this mission was stupid and hardly wise. He instructed you badly on how to speak to a king and deliver your message. He who sent you here to me wanted to be rid of you. He’ll never see you again, for sure; he won’t hear news of you, unless from someone else. Truly, today you’ll lose your head, which I’ll send to your king. That’s all the poll-money he’ll get from me.230 And since you mentioned King Eron and recalled his death, truly you’ll pay for it most dearly, by losing your life for his sake, and so will Guiac and all his people with him. He’ll die a painful and violent death, if Mahomet lets me live.” He seized a great sharp knife, keen and well honed, raised his arm and shook it, and threatened to strike Lioine, saying to him angrily: “By Mahomet, who made me, now you’ll die here, son of a whore. Watch out for this knife!” Lioine replied: “Never fear! You aren’t brave enough to strike me with that knife. By God, should you do so, with this good, keen steel sword I’d send your head flying.” The king would surely soon have struck him with mighty force had it not been for a king who was eating there and of whom Saluf was fond. “Sire,” he said, “let be; there’s no need to strike him. He’s very young, let him have his say. Don’t be angry, my dear lord. It’s a common saying that no messenger at court should receive a good thing or hear a bad one, but should say whatever he wishes to say, though he should take care to say nothing that would be considered foolish. He’ll be left in peace in your court, no matter how he leaves afterwards, and no one should touch him within the city’s precincts.” The king replied: “I’ll allow that but, by Mahomet in whom I believe, if it hadn’t been for you, sir, he would have been dead and dismembered by now.” (16561–622) “My lord king,” said Lioine, “I wouldn’t give a fig for the threats I’ve heard, but I defy you and will take my head back with me. Now I see you in your cups, drunk on good 229  16551 poll-money chevage: see note to v. 11553.

230  16576–78 head … poll-money chief … chevage: Lioine’s pun is based on the fact that pollmoney is assessed per head (see note to v. 11553).

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piment and clary,231 you pour out threats easily. I’m well aware of your wickedness: you truly believe that all your enemies across the sea have died and perished, but when you rise tomorrow morning and have sobered up, they’ll all have returned to life, not a single one destroyed.” The king was furious at Lioine’s words. “Fellow,” he said, “may this day go ill for you for making me so angry! By my beard, I’m sure you won’t travel sixty yards from the city without being cut to pieces.”232 Lioine heard this and laughed at it. He answered King Saluf: “I’ve had a good look at your beard, which is long and shaggy, hideous, ugly, and overgrown. May hell’s awful fire burn it, and your long moustache too! Would that they were two firebrands, red-hot and blazing, to burn up your head, so swollen and so shaggy, hideous, ugly, and overgrown.” (16623–58) When Saluf heard him talk this way he was sure he would go out of his mind with anger and fury. He said: “My fine nephew Garsire, if you’d returned from the mission you went on, you’d have avenged me on this man! On no account would you have failed to do it.” “King,” said Lioine, “listen to me. Since you speak of Garsire, I’ll tell you now what news I know of him. We’re friends and reconciled. Even were he in this city, I’m sure I’d never suffer trouble, loss or vexation from him, for yesterday I got to know him and gave him so much that he gave me his horse and his good, sharp steel sword, which you, sire, had given him with great affection. And if you meet him, my lord king, take care not to kiss him, for I wish almighty and everlasting God would let me do to you and to those I see here what I’ve done to him. Then I’d leave without being harassed.” (16659–88) Beside himself with rage, the king jumped to his feet at once when he heard the news about his nephew, Garsire, and saw his sword and his horse. He shouted: “My lords, seize this man quickly and cut him to pieces, and whoever brings me his head shall have a thousand bezants233 of red gold. Now I’m sure he killed Garsire while he was resting in some spot, where he found him asleep. I’ll never leave here or eat anything until I’m avenged on this man who has so angered me.” Lioine turned his horse around, for there was no point in staying. “By God who made me,” he said, “I’ll give the first person who draws near me such a blow with my steel sword that his head will fly off.” He went out of the palace, but the doorkeeper ran up and seized his rein. “Fellow,” he said, “you won’t leave like this. Truly, you’ll stay with us and leave us your head as surety.” Lioine was angry that the fellow had addressed him in this way. He drew his sharp sword at once, severed his head from his body, and said to him: “Sir doorkeeper, now carry off your reward. I’m sure your head will stay here in place of mine; in spite of you, I’ll carry my head away, not leave it as surety. If you’d had it as surety you wouldn’t have returned it to me for a long time.” The knight struck spurs into his horse, turned around, and made his way through the city, fierce as a lion. Within the palace a loud cry and commotion could be heard, men could be seen angrily jumping up from tables, and whoever had a horse ran to his lodgings in the city, shouting “To horse, to horse! Saddle up, saddle up!” (16689–742) 231  16630 piment and clary piment e ... claré: see note to v. 6382.

232  16645 sixty yards un arpent: a pre-metric French measure of length, roughly equivalent to fifty-eight metres, or sixty yards. 233  16698 a thousand bezants mil besanz: see note to v. 4502.



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The king’s seneschal, a brave knight, was the first to be armed and the first to leave the city. He followed Lioine at high speed, with others following behind him. When he was close to overtaking Lioine, he shouted to him: “Sir knight, go no further! I order you to turn around at once. If you don’t look out, I’ll soon strike you from behind. Turn around and fight with me; I’ve promised the king your head.” Lioine turned round and, seeing the seneschal, said to him: “Fellow, upon my word, you’ve made the king a foolish promise. Your mind was full of folly when you gave the king what you never had or could ever have.” Then they struck each other high up on their shields. Lioine gave him a mighty blow, which pierced his body through his shield and knocked him off his horse to the ground. He said to him: “Fellow, what about the promise you made your king? I’m sure you’ll get no thanks from him if you break it. I’ll take with me the thing you promised him and he’ll never get it. Whoever promises what he doesn’t have will fall short when he means to take it. That’s what you did when you promised my head to your king. Since you can’t keep that promise, you’ll be held a stupid buffoon.” Then he rode off at great speed, confident of his good horse. The Saxons were hard on his heels, with up to a hundred Saracens, spurring forward at a great rate and yelling at Lioine: “Strike him, kill him, away with him! By God, fellow, you won’t get away.” A brave emir was far ahead of them all. “Fellow,” he said, “you’ll stay here and leave your head with us. I’ll get a thousand bezants of pure shining gold for it.” Lioine was angry to hear the emir ask for his head in this way, and was determined to strike him. He quickly turned toward him and hit him furiously. Hauberk and shield were no use to him as Lioine struck him so hard through the heart that he felled him to the ground a long way off. Then he said to him insultingly: “Now, fellow, you can amass your treasure of fine gold.” (16743–808) Before he could ride off, the wickedest of the Saracens came angrily spurring up and entirely surrounded him. They kept shouting at him loudly and ferociously, saying: “Fellow, you’ll stay put and pay dearly for the emir you killed. By this evening you’ll be hanged.” And they gave him many furious blows on his front and back. Had Mary’s Son not looked after him, his life would have been in doubt, but he was brave and strong. He did not hesitate to hit out with his sharp sword, striking dead everyone he reached. Many men who seized his bridle lost their arms and hands. He spurred his horse and made a path with his steel sword. With great effort and great trouble he escaped the Saracens, striking off many heads through his prowess and great strength. He went on his way at high speed, but did not stoop so low as to run away without turning to face them, and he killed many of them.234 (16809–38) From the top of the hill, the brave, bold, and valiant Tierri saw Lioine and was quite amazed that a single knight could physically endure such a tough fight. “Truly,” he said, “if he lives long enough, there won’t be anyone so brave in the whole world, not even Alexander the Great.” Then he said to himself: “Oh God! How little I count for, when I’ve waited so long without helping the man who gave me arms yesterday: he wasted them on me if I don’t go and help him now; he’ll never again be in such great need. Am I not

234  In a similar episode in Wace’s Brut (vv. 11709–880), Walwein, Bos, and Gerin of Chartres deliver a haughty message to Emperor Lucius, then gallop off, pursued by furious Romans, whom they kill while mocking them.

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big and tall? And I’m very strong. If I don’t join him in what he’s doing, may God never have mercy on me. I won’t wait another moment to go and help him.” At that he took off, riding down the hill at top speed. He spurred onward hard until he met Lioine, who was going straight toward him and recognized him. “Hey,” he said, “what are you doing here? Go away, run from this place! Do you think you’re hunting stags and boars with your dogs? You could readily be killed here. Go and look after your father; if you’re caught here, you could easily be cut to pieces.” (16839–76) “By God,” said Tierri, “I won’t go but instead help you as much as I can.” He raised his lance from his saddle and attacked a Saracen who was pressing Lioine hard,235 threatening to cut off his head. Tierri felled him dead to the hard ground, a full lance-length away. Next he knocked the second dead from his horse, and then a third. Acting most valiantly, he left many dead and bleeding. The Saracens did not hold back, for they caught up with Tierri and Lioine at the foot of the hill and attacked them harshly: they were not kind to them at all.236 But Lioine and the brave Tierri, both bold and valiant, joined battle with the Saracens, fought them fiercely, and struck them violently, overthrowing quite a few. The two knights were very courageous, holding their own against so many, and they defended themselves manfully, giving the Saracens a hard fight. “My lord Lioine,” said Tierri, “I beg you, let’s be off. Over there I see a host coming, leaving the city at speed and fully armed on their steeds, hundreds and thousands of them, and if we wait until they’ve overwhelmed us, we’ll quickly be seized or killed. We’ll never escape them alive. If we go beyond the hill, we’ll enter the forest and can easily ride through it, fearing no hindrance.” They spurred their horses and went toward the hills at high speed, but the cruel Saracens followed them at full gallop. They spurred their horses and galloped hard until they passed the high hill and entered the forest;237 Tierri, who knew the countryside well, easily brought Lioine to the path. Together they spurred onwards rapidly until they came to the rushing water of the ford, but they found neither boat nor bridge. The water was swift and deep, its waves swollen and terrifying. Lioine said: “What shall we do, since there’s no bridge? We’ll have to wait here. A curse on him who won’t defend himself! So long as we can resist, we won’t let ourselves be taken alive.” (16877–936) Tierri replied: “We’ll certainly do that and we’ll never fear anything. We have good horses, keen, strong, and swift. Since we really need to, let’s boldly enter the water. I’m sure we’ll manage to cross it if we take the risk.” Then four bold Saracens from among the wicked heathens came spurring up, with good polished swords in their hands. “God help us!” said Tierri, “now we can see our enemies. We’re two, they’re only four; we can easily fight them. If we kill them before we jump in the water, we’ll have accomplished much and harmed them all the more.” Each side struck the other heavy blows on their pointed helmets, and the two soon killed the four, when the others arrived, spurring 235  16878 He raised his lance from his saddle La lance atant a desfealtré: Tierri assumes the attacking position; see Holden, 314.

236  16892 they were not kind to them at all Nes vuelent pas lunges nurrir: literally, “did not wish to feed them for long,” a sarcastic way of saying they were determined to kill their opponents; see also vv. 3800, 11690. 237  16922 hill: MS has munt.



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from all sides. At that point Tierri said to Lioine: “My lord Lioine, let’s be off. There’s no point in staying.” “I agree,” Lioine replied. They commended themselves to God in heaven and rushed into the water. Great waves, a fathom higher than their helmets, surrounded them. The current swiftly carried them down under a cliff, but heavenly God, who had created them, brought them to firm ground so that neither was in the least harmed. When they escaped from the water, they earnestly thanked God in heaven. The Saracens came up and stopped on the other bank; they dared not follow any further. It seemed to them a miracle that Lioine and Tierri had crossed the water without being killed. The Saracens turned round and went back to the city sadly, telling King Saluf all about how the two men had escaped from them. The king was mortified and distressed by the death of his men. He swore by Mahomet, his creator, that he would yet take vengeance. (16937–90) “My lord Lioine,” said Tierri, “the Saracens have gone, and the day is well advanced. We’ve suffered much, we have many wounds, we’re in much pain, and we badly need a lodging, should God think fit to grant us one.” “That’s true,” said Lioine. “I’m concerned that we might not find a lodging where we could rest tonight.” “My lord Lioine,” said Tierri, “our house, which we left this morning, is close by. There’s still bread and wine there, and plenty of meat; let’s go there, for the love of God.” “Yes, of course,” said Lioine. “It’s unwise to stay here.” They left and rode in haste until they reached the house, where they were received with great joy. The young woman and her father welcomed them warmly. Having stabled their horses well, they disarmed the knights at once. The worthy man saw their shields and their strong pointed helmets in bad shape, cut and crushed all over, and their hauberks hacked by the great blows they had received. As he saw their wounds being bandaged, he started to weep. “My fair son,” said the father, “now I know that I’ve lost you utterly.” “Father,” Tierri replied, “don’t say that. You should rather praise God for having saved us from death and brought us here.” He told him everything about his time with Lioine, who had been on a mission to deliver a message, and about Lioine’s prowess and valour, and how they were pursued by the Saxons, and how they crossed the rushing water; he related to him their entire journey. Much reassured, the worthy man praised God for having protected them from such dangers. “Worthy sir,” Lioine said, “I’ll tell you the truth, so help me God. You have a son of great valour and courage. If he lives till he’s older, there won’t be such a knight in the entire realm of Saxony nor as far as the city of Cologne. He’ll come with me to court, where he’ll be greatly honoured. I’ll introduce him to King Guiac, whom I’ll tell about his valour. I tell you truly, before a week has gone by King Guiac will have given him so much that he’ll be wealthy and prosperous.” (16991–17058) “My lord Lioine,” the man replied, “by Him who made the whole world, whoever took my son away from me now might as well kill me. However, since you want him with you, you’ll have him completely at your disposal. But in God’s name, my lord, don’t keep him but send him back to me soon.” Lioine replied: “I’ll do that. I won’t keep him long with me.” They spent the night there, joyful and happy. In the morning Lioine got up, armed himself well, and took Tierri with him. They rode until they were back in the king’s camp, where they dismounted before his tent. When the king saw them, he recognized Lioine and ran up to him. “Lioine,” he said, “welcome! You’ve been in great danger. Your

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arms bear clear marks of many powerful blows.” He kissed him three times, and said to him affectionately: “Indeed, Lioine, my dear friend, I was greatly afraid for you, but praised be God that you’re now back. Did you see King Saluf, his cruelty and violence?” “Yes, sire,” he said, “by my faith. He sends you no greeting by me, but only angry and harsh words. But they’re worth nothing, sire, and I’d rather not convey them to you.” The king replied: “My lord, you shall! Tell me what they were, my dear lord.” “Willingly, sire,” he said. “Saluf tells you that, truly, before a month has gone by he’ll have you and all your men hanged on high for the wind to buffet.” (17059–102) The king heard him and smiled. He replied to Lioine: “For sure, my dear friend, I’m so impatient to see him in the field, with his great strength and might, that one day feels to me like ten.” “My lord,” Lioine said to him, “see here the Saxon paragon of knighthood, prowess, courage, and speed. If not for him, I’d be dead and you’d never see me again. My lord king,” he said, “take him into your service. You’ll never see a better man.” He told him the whole story of his mission and how he fared in it: how he killed the Saracens and how he delivered the message, how he went there and back, and how Tierri stood by him, and how his father, once such a brave man, now languished sick, suffering and dejected. (17103–26) Being liberal and generous, good at both acquiring property and giving it away, the king greatly honoured Tierri and thanked him for saving Lioine. He saw that Tierri was handsome, tall, and strong, with well proportioned limbs and a shapely body. By the time Tierri was disarmed the king had already given him rich gifts: two fortified towns and four castles, all very rich and attractive, so that he could take the best possible care of his father and have him attended to and honoured. Tierri thanked him very much for that, kissing his hand, then his foot. The king immediately ordered that the castles and the two towns be swiftly handed over to him, and that the two knights be disarmed and made comfortable. Once the order was heard, this was quickly done. Tierri was now happy and delighted. Many times he thanked God for this success, thanks to which he would be known as a wealthy man. Lioine honoured him greatly, and they stayed up together until daybreak. In the morning Tierri got up and went to take possession of the castles and the two towns in good faith, as the king had ordered. Like a valiant man, he wasted no time but went in all his glory to his father and his sister. He handed over to them the castles and the two towns, so that they could be provided for splendidly in any way they wished. He also acted like a worthy man in summoning his relatives, his friends, and his countrymen from all over. He was able to gather one hundred and fifty distinguished and renowned knights from his noble family, with whom he returned to King Guiac. “My lord king,” he said, “I’ve come back to serve you to the best of my ability, bringing one hundred and fifty armed men with me. There’s nothing left to do now but march forth. I know the land and the area where you’ll find your enemies. Fight them with confidence: God willing, you’ll defeat them utterly.” “Thank you very much, my lord Tierri, my dear friend,” replied the king. “We’ll march out tomorrow morning, without waiting one more day.” The king immediately ordered that all the soldiers be ready that evening, for he would march out in the morning. All that night they lay there, and in the morning they all set out. They passed through several countries and regions, journeying by daily stages until they arrived at Regensburg, with a large and powerful army. (17127–98)



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When King Saluf heard that they were so close to him, he quickly mustered his men. He assembled his army and ordered his troops, led by his emirs and kings. When the troops were all in battle order and ready to fight, the two armies clashed at once, striking stoutly. The Saxons fought well, and when their strong ash-tree lances had broken to pieces in their hands they drew their good polished swords and attacked our Englishmen with all speed, unwilling to spare them. The English were courageous and advanced aggressively, fighting the Saracens and killing and maiming many. Whoever could see Lioine and Tierri dealing blows with their burnished swords could marvel greatly, and say he has seen excellent fighters. They attacked a pagan king born in Spain. He had a thousand Saracens with him, who harassed our men mightily. Lioine rushed to attack him, wishing to pay him back for the wrong he had done Christians; now the pagans would be punished for it. He hit him hard on his pointed helmet, driving his sword down to his teeth and knocking him to the ground dead. Tierri, who had moved on, attacked an emir, whom he dealt such a mighty blow that he cut his head off. Having revenged themselves well on those two, they shouted their battle-cry: “Lords,” they cried, “help us now! Strike these hateful men! May God curse and destroy them!” Their men acted courageously, striking fiercely with their sharp swords. Ode and Odard could then be seen, excellent warriors, fiercer than leopards, impatient to strike hard. They and their companions attacked the vicious Saracens. Our men fought very well, and if the wicked Saracens had not fled they would have been utterly defeated. When King Saluf saw his men killed in front of him, his heart filled with grief and anger and he said to another king: “Let’s go and help our men at once. If Mahomet gives us good fortune, they’ll soon be either dead or captured, for we outnumber them.” They rode off at great speed, no longer caring to linger. There were fierce and tough Saracens in that large band of those vile and hateful people; more than twenty thousand Turks were there. Advancing, Saluf attacked the courageous Brun, whom he struck so hard with his sword that he threw him down to the ground dead. He would not stop there but struck Salemon, a native of Cologne, whom he knocked off his horse. Then he shouted to his men: “Strike bravely now! If our revered Mahomet wants it, they’ll be slaughtered now.” (17199–280) A wicked king from the great land of Africa appeared, spurring his horse, his large army with him. Having found Tierri in the fray, they set upon him violently. They killed his warhorse under him and knocked him down to the ground amid the battle, but Tierri quickly jumped to his feet, his good sharp sword in his hand. He defended himself like a good warrior, and sent many to a bloody death. The Saracens fought very well with their keen steel swords. They did our men much harm, killing them in a wild rage. When the worthy Gudlac saw that, he rode spurring to King Guiac. “My lord king,” he said, “don’t delay: go and help your men. Brun has already been mortally wounded, Salemon has been knocked off his horse, and so has Sir Tierri, who’s defending himself over there in the field. If you don’t help them as quickly as possible, you’ll suffer enormous losses.” Guiac replied: “Let’s go there and attack them bravely!” They rushed straight at the Saracens, and before these could defend themselves they struck them fiercely, raining heavy blows on their shields. If you could have seen King Guiac and his brother Gudlac with him, how they struck the Saracens with their sharp steel swords! Those whom they hit

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could in no way avoid death. Their blows were greatly feared: they killed and maimed so many that the Saracens fled, abandoning the field. (17281–322) Lioine rode ahead. Looking to his side, he saw that Tierri was on foot, having lost his horse, and that vicious Saracens were attacking him from all sides. He rushed at a pagan king and immediately struck the top of his shining helmet, but the sword slid down to the nose-piece and he struck him so hard that neither nose-piece nor ventail were worth halfpence to him. His nose and right cheek flew far off, and his lower lip and chin fell far away on the sand. Lioine said to the pagan king: “King, so help me God, you were foolish and impetuous. I’d never give you the kiss of peace, even if you were now my best friend, for your face is too ugly. Get out of here at once, and when you’re back in Africa many of your people won’t recognize you when they see you. You can tell them truly that you fought in this battle.” The king turned back, in great pain and very angry, and fled at great speed. Right then, though, a strong and tough knight called lord Urs arrived, spurring his horse. He never fought with a sword but struck powerful blows with a good steel battle-axe, separating many souls from their bodies. He spurred up to attack the king, whose head he made fly with the axe in his hand. Then he took the king’s good warhorse and quickly led it to Tierri, who mounted it immediately. (17323–68) Once he was on the good horse, Tierri acted like a good fighter. Lioine, Ode, lord Odard, Guntier, Tierri, and lord Urs drew to one side with many of their knights. They attacked the Saracens with great bravery, killing more than a hundred, who were left dead on the battlefield while the other villains turned away and fled. Saluf was very upset to see this and kept calling out to them: “My lords,” he cried, “go no further! By God, my lords, come back and avenge your kinsmen. If you flee from the battlefield like this, you’ll be disgraced forever! Better to die here honourably than flee from the field in shame!” Holding a long lance with a thick shaft and a sharp head, he caught up with King Guiac as Guiac was killing his men. He brandished his lance and struck him fiercely high up on his strong shield with a lion on it. The shield was no use at all to Guiac. Saluf hit him with such great force that he split his strong coat of mail. The lance passed between his arm and his side, but God protected him and it did not pierce his flesh. When Guiac saw that Saluf had hit him, he struck him on his helmet so that one of its quarters fell off and the ventail broke. He cut into his flesh right down to the bone, and on top of that he sliced off half his right ear. King Saluf marvelled at the almighty blow he had received. Stunned and distraught, he rode away at full gallop. He would not wait for further blows from Guiac but would take his revenge for this one eventually. He attacked a knight, whose heart he pierced with his steel, knocking him down dead from his horse. Full of torment and anguish to see his men fleeing and being killed miserably, he left the battle reluctantly. When he could no longer endure it, he had no choice but to flee. He fled at great speed, but not before causing great losses. First he killed many of our men, and then he took flight. He rode off at great speed, pursued by Lioine and more than a hundred knights who were with him, who chased him for all they were worth. (17369–432) Saluf now fled, his shield hanging from his neck and his sword in his hand. Lioine pursued him, often taunting him: “Hey, King Saluf, why don’t you turn back and avenge your nephew Garsire? I’m Lioine, who killed him and won his good warhorse and his good sharp steel sword, with which I intend to cut off your head.” When Saluf heard him



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say this and was reminded of the death of Garsire, he felt such grief he knew not what to say but turned on Lioine, quite enraged. They hit each other hard on those bright helmets studded with gems, smashing hauberks and shields. Saluf drew back a little and saw far off some men riding toward them, eager to kill him. “Vassal,” he said, “I’ll go off and abandon the field to you, for over there I see people coming who are intent on killing me. By Mahomet, if it weren’t for them you’d be in great peril now. I’d cut off your head before leaving this place. By Mahomet, I’ll avenge Garsire’s death as soon as I can.” He spurred his Arab steed and fled without hesitating. He rode across hills and through valleys, leaving behind his fortified towns and his castles, while Lioine pursued him at full tilt but could not catch up with him at all. When he could not overtake him, he had no choice but to stop, so he turned back, commending Saluf to the devil. (17433–72) Lioine turned back and rejoined the battle, where the pagans were routed, beaten, maimed, and killed. King Guiac rode straight to the city of Regensburg, bringing with him his wounded, to have them examined and treated. After he had the dead buried, he conquered the land with great violence. All castles and fortified towns were ceded to him, and if any man was bold enough to resist him Guiac would have him burned alive or torn to pieces. Everyone in the land feared him very much. Then he summoned Gudlac, to whom he gave all of Saxony. Gudlac received it gratefully, but would not hold it for long.238 (17473–92) Saluf was now more worried than ever before. He went away angry and much aggrieved to have lost all his men. Leaving Saxony to its fate, he concentrated entirely on fleeing, all alone, no living soul with him. Travelling day and night, he reached Germany all alone, without a single companion. He travelled in great distress until he arrived at Worms. There he found the emperor, who received him with great honour, as he was a very brave king. Saluf came before him and humbly fell at his feet. “Have mercy,” he said, “my lord emperor!” The emperor raised him and entreated him to tell him all his wishes, which he would gladly hear. “My lord,” he said, “for God’s sake have pity! Need has driven me here to you. Less than a week ago I was known as the powerful king of all the land of Saxony, but now, my lord, I need your help and advice, and I’ll become your vassal. I tell you truly that now I don’t have a single castle or fortified town to support me, nor a single foot of land. Apart from my arms and my warhorse I have no possessions worth a penny.” The emperor said: “Tell me, then, who was so bold as to dare to invade Saxony and think of fighting you?” “My lord,” he said, “since you wish to know, I’ll tell you. Those people are from England. They’re high-ranking Englishmen, and know better than anyone else how to wage war and hurt their enemies. They are two bold and strong brothers, tough and fierce conquerors. The elder is named Guiac and the younger Gudlac. Guiac is courageous and fierce; no other knight in the world can match him. Before the city of Cologne he killed my brother, the noble and worthy King Eron, who was so brave in battle. Now Guiac has been proclaimed king of the mighty city of Cologne. Devils must have raised him that high, so arrogant is he now! I tell you, he has with him such men as you’ve never heard of, much to be feared, for once they’re on the battlefield, armed, they won’t deign to flee no matter what. They’d all let themselves be killed in great pain and

238  17492 would not hold it for long ja lunges ne la tendra: see vv. 22191–98.

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torment rather than let their lord down in pitched battle or skirmish. But I tell you truly, in less than two months they’ll come to this realm and won’t leave you a single town or city. With their might they’ll want to conquer your empire with all your land. But you can be sure that if you, my lord, allow them so much as to enter your territory and win castles and cities, you’ll never throw them out with the forces you now have.” (17493–576) “My lord king,” said the emperor, “those people are fierce indeed, but I’ll make such preparations that I won’t fear them at all. I’ll have my castles well garrisoned and will muster my land’s army, so that were they thrice as bold and tough and strong they wouldn’t last against us even if they were three times as many. If they don’t come here I’ll look for them myself as far as Saxony, and even if I have to go as far as Cologne I won’t give up until I’ve found them. If I can fight them, know well that I’ll capture them and lead them to my land, where I’ll hold them without ransom; I’ll give Saxony back to you to hold freely.” Saluf replied: “Thank you! I’ll always be loyal to you and will consider you my liege lord as long as I live.” The emperor ordered that Saluf should be looked after well. The emperor was wise, wealthy, proud, and courageous. He had his letters written at once and sent throughout his empire. He wrote to the king of Sicily, whom he loved very much, asking him to bring strong reinforcements; he badly needed his help because a large army from England was about to attack and defeat him, intent on seizing his land. He also wrote graciously to the king of Apulia, asking him for help in his need, because fierce Englishmen had come to Saxony with a large Danish army, to seize all his land if they could. Then he sent to King Helye, lord of Lombardy, asking him to come quickly to his aid with his doughty men, for King Guiac of England, already king of Cologne and conqueror of all of Saxony, was advancing toward him with a large English fleet. His conquests already extended as far as the German lands, and he intended to conquer all of Spain.239 He likewise wrote to Duke Reinier of Lorraine, Duke Hermer of Swabia, the powerful duke of Maurienne, the courageous king of Sardinia, and the rich king of Hungary with his large army, that they should come quickly to his aid and not let him down now. They all did so willingly as soon as they read his letters. They got ready at once, came to him, and served him loyally. (17577–646) Let us leave the emperor now, and I will tell you about King Guiac. Having conquered Saxony, he gathered all his men. “My lords,” he said, “listen to me now. May God our father be praised for the good fortune he’s given us, and for what we’ve won so far. From now on we’ll hold in peace this land we’ve conquered. King Saluf, I believe, has fled to Germany. Our tutors used to tell us that our ancestors, Sir Belin and the worthy Brennus, were the greatest conquerors.240 The pair conquered a huge amount, and so did the worthy King Arthur, a man of immense valour. In short, the truth is that they made

239  17634 Spain Espaingne: Holden’s surmise (314) that Spain fails to fit the context seems unnecessary, given Spain’s role here in the elaboration of the many places the emperor fears Europeans will seek to conquer, as well as Spain’s specialness in chansons de geste of the Charlemagne cycle.

240  17659–72 Our tutors used to tell us … further conquests Ço nus ont dit avant noz mestres ... devum conquere: in invoking King Arthur’s campaign against Rome and the conquering brothers Belin and Brennus, known from Geoffrey of Monmouth and Wace, Guiac is legitimating his own attack on the German Empire. He had already used this strategy in trying to obtain Waldef ’s



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conquests as far as Rome and were Roman emperors. If we did that in our own time, conquering as much, we’d be greatly honoured for it. I’d like to do that with your help, my lords, if we engage in further conquests. Germany is close by, with plenty of wealth: rich castles, rich cities, a great deal of land, and rich fiefs. If we can conquer it we’ll have a very rich territory, with all its wealth and all its gold: all the treasure of the land. I ask for none of that except lordship. You can have all the spoils as long as I have sovereignty.” They replied loudly, making a great din in the hall, “Oh, lord Guiac, noble king! We’ve told you many times that neither death nor anything that might happen could make us leave you.” “My lords,” he said, “many thanks! You’re worthy and brave. There’s no need to wait any longer: let’s prepare for travel.” He established order in the land, garrisoned his castles well, and gathered his men. When he had everything ready, he left Saxony. After travelling several days, he came to Germany. He encamped in a valley next to a plain, then ordered his men to raid the land at once, and ravage it relentlessly. They did so unhesitatingly, like the powerful men they were, raiding the fields and the roads, and seizing people and property. The king went out on raids with his men, capturing castles and fortified towns. When the emperor heard this, he ordered an immediate muster of all the men in his empire. Such an army had never been heard of, with so many kings and dukes and counts that no one could tell their number. The emperor then rode out, with the men he greatly cherished. They rode until they met King Guiac, and when the two armies saw each other, both sides arranged their troops in battle order, led by dukes, counts, and kings. Once they were armed and on their war-horses, the men on both sides looked fierce. The Germans were ready to attack strongly. (17647–730) “My lords,” the emperor said, “this army is much smaller than ours. To a single man on their side we have at least ten here. They’re a mere handful: we’ll quickly capture them.” They clashed with raised lances, and many were knocked down. They struck each other hard on both sides, like brave men, not like cowards. The king of Sicily and his men dealt hard blows, but lord Gudlac and his followers, who were ready to fight, fought back fiercely and forcefully. Many were killed on both sides, and the king of Sicily was taken prisoner. If lord Gudlac set his mind to it, not one of them escaped pain and a bloody face. The king of Apulia spurred up, his Apulians with him, and King Helye with the Lombards.241 They attacked the brave Gudlac, thinking to rescue the king of Sicily by a concerted attack. Before they could set him free, a hundred men would be seen dying, their loss greatly mourned once the battle was over. (17731–60) Leading a large army from Cologne, Salemon did not retreat at all but came spurring at top speed, a heavy lance in his hand. He struck the duke of Pavia, splitting his coat of mail and knocking him far off his horse. He would have cut his head off had it not been blessing for his and Gudlac’s conquering ambitions (vv. 14999–522). The story of Guiac and Gudlac is often modelled on that of the brothers from the Brut material (see, e.g., note to v. 14501).

241  17753–54 Apulians … Lombards Lumbarz … Lungebarz: Lumbarz and Lungebarz both mean “Lombards,” but the author seems to distinguish between the two forms and to use them to refer to Apulians and Lombards. However, as Holden notes (315), he does this inconsistently. Lumbarz are Lombards at vv. 17814 and 18997, Apulians at v. 17753; Lungebarz are Lombards at v. 17754, Apulians at v. 17813. To maintain narrative consistency, we translate Lumbarz as “Apulians” in v. 17753 and Lungebarz as “Lombards” in v. 17754.

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for the Lombards, who harried them from all sides. King Saluf arrived, fighting very well. He hurt the English badly, killing many with his sharp sword. Then the emperor’s seneschal Aleruf arrived, the most wicked fellow in the world, enormously strong and highly praised for his prowess. Taller by a whole foot than any man in the kingdom, he was so strong and struck such blows that no one could withstand them. He took a heavy lance, and made his way into the press, where he charged at the valiant Guntier and struck him ferociously. The villain pierced him all the way through, cutting his veins and sinews. His heart failed, he fell down, and was soon stretched out on the ground. It was a huge and painful loss, for he had been a man of great courage. Lioine rode forward, consumed with anger at the sight of Guntier’s corpse, which lay on the ground. He did not fail to strike hard but, gleaming sword in his hand, he started dealing heavy blows at once and knocked many men down, dead and bloodied. Lord Urs swung his great axe repeatedly, and whomever he struck with it he left lying there cold and dead. (17761–806) For their part, Ode and Tierri and Sir Odard fought hard, and so did Waldemer, as was obvious in the press, together with his Danes and with the English force. They were pursued throughout the battlefield by the Apulians and the Lombards, for whom things turned out badly when the king of Apulia was killed and the king of Lombardy taken prisoner. A Lombard turned back, impatient to get away, and went to the emperor, whom he told the whole truth: how well the English fought, and how two of the kings were captured and the third killed, which had greatly hurt the emperor’s troops. (17807–26) Distressed, the emperor spoke to his men: “My lords,” he said, “let’s go and think about avenging ourselves. I wonder how that handful of men can hold out against us. Let’s go and capture them all! Not one will escape being taken prisoner very quickly. If I’m not revenged on them now, I’ll never again be happy.” They attacked the English at once, not sparing them in any way. Having surrounded them from all sides, they struck them with lances, threw javelins at them, and attacked them so fiercely that many were killed there. When King Guiac saw this, he spoke to his Englishmen: “My lords,” he said, “I entreat you by God to be mindful of your honour. Let’s rush to help our men, whom the villains have completely surrounded. If they don’t receive immediate assistance they’ll never get out of this battle alive. We’re few and they’re many, so let’s be brave and fierce. We should learn from the eagle when he swoops down into a marsh full of ducks. There are birds everywhere, yet as soon as they see the eagle they all fly away as fast as they can, some to the woods, some to the open country. Let’s be eagles to their ducks, bold when they’re cowardly!” And they replied at once: “Let’s go there quickly! May almighty God never keep any of us from fighting hard!” Then they spurred their horses and flew to rescue their men. Like brave and bold fighters, they struck the Germans’ chests. They attacked them fiercely, knocking many to the ground. When their lances broke, they unsheathed their gleaming swords and exchanged tremendous blows; the fields echoed with the din. Many saddles were emptied, and many brains spilled. (17827–80) King Guiac advanced and struck a wealthy and powerful German count with his sharp sword. He split his heart in two and the count fell backwards on the grass. Guiac sought out the emperor until he found him at last. As soon as the two of them saw each other they started exchanging savage blows. The emperor hit Guiac so hard that he stunned him. Guiac struck back at the emperor, who was surrounded by his men in the press of



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battle. He slashed through his strong shield and split his sturdy coat of mail, wounding him in the right shoulder and knocking him down to the ground to Guiac’s left. He would quickly have swooped down, captured and detained him, had it not been for the Germans with their sharp swords. More than twenty thousand of them came spurring to join their emperor, intending to kill Guiac and rescue the emperor, but Guiac shouted his war-cry. No one whom he reached was spared suffering, as he soon rallied his troops to him and boldly attacked the Germans. They exchanged hard blows, and many men fell in the field. The brave Guiac and his men were courageous and fought well, eager to keep the emperor prisoner if they could. But the Germans were truly distressed and anxious to see their emperor knocked down on the ground and with a wound to his trunk. They were convinced that he was mortally hurt. The Germans and the English fought fiercely on that occasion. The Germans really wanted their lord back with them, but the English would not allow it, determined to keep him by force. That is why the battle was so fierce and in the end left many men in pain. (17881–932) Then those brave fighters started a battle in which they abundantly proved their courage by the hard blows they dealt. But the battle was harsh and many men lost their heads that day. The English were brave, bold, tough, and eager for victory, and so were the Germans, who struck hard with their sharp swords. They were strong and effective, because there were many more of them. On that occasion their strength held and they were able to rescue the emperor, yet before they removed him from the battle many men died painfully, unshriven. But King Guiac could not go on. Had he had the men and the strength, he would have held on to the emperor, but one really should not blame him since he had done his utmost; might makes right, as they say, and that has often been proven. When they had rescued the emperor, the Germans withdrew and led him out of the press, though that cost them great pain and suffering. (17933–60) “My lords,” the emperor said to them, “this has been a hard battle for us. Now I know indeed that God is angry with us, and that we’re weighed down by our tremendous deadly sins. I’m very badly wounded. If we can make it safely to our city, I should be able to recover. I’ll send messengers throughout the land, asking all those who can bear arms and know how to make themselves useful in battle to come and help me. If heavenly God loves me enough to give me back my health, I’ll be able to recover from this wound and won’t have to die now. I’ll avenge myself on those villainous English scoundrels who’ve killed my men and injured and maimed me, I don’t know by what misfortune. If it pleases God, I’ll yet see the day when I’ll avenge myself on them properly and capture them all.” Then he turned to go, went straight to the city, and ordered that his entire army withdraw immediately. Thus the emperor withdrew due to his wound. (17961–92) The Germans and their forces barely managed to escape from the English. They made their way to the city, defending themselves vigorously, for the English pursued them, attacking them and killing many. The English drove the Germans before them as far as the city gates. Since he had the upper hand, King Guiac retired. At once he commanded his men to make camp right away, and they quickly did his bidding. Everyone in the army hurried to find a space and pitch a tent. They began to wage war, and they ravaged the land, which was so rich and fertile. The bold troops raided throughout the countryside, took whatever they found unprotected in the woods or on the roads, and

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brought their spoils to the camp. The emperor Alexis was sad and angry to see his land laid waste, destroyed and burned, and greatly dismayed at his own wound, which he was sure would kill him. He sent for the king of Hungary and the princes, dukes, counts, and barons who had filled the city with their great army. “My lords,” he said, “now listen. I’m severely wounded, and it’s a great misfortune that we’ve lost so many men. Dear lords, don’t be dismayed by our losses. We can still win. Don’t give way to despair. What we’ve lost, we may recover, if it pleases God. Because of this, dear lords, I ask you and beg you, for the love of God, to guard the city as well as you can, and think about how to hurt those who mean to destroy us here. Take care of this land. My life is in danger: I’m not sure whether I’ll recover or not. I’m badly wounded and can’t move; I need to rest. Let’s send for all the vassals of your land right away, to come help and relieve us at once, without any delay. We’ll gather so many men that we’ll kill our enemies.” The seneschal jumped up. “Sire,” he said, “listen to us. Don’t bother to send for all the vassals to deal with such a small army. I tell you, truly, they won’t last a month here. They’ll be fewer every day, and our men will grow more numerous each day, killing theirs. If it weren’t for your wound, which keeps you from the field, I tell you that they’d all be killed, slain, and utterly defeated.” The emperor replied: “Dear lords, let it be as you decide among yourselves. You’re certainly planning to act bravely.” (17993–18074) “Sire,” said the seneschal, “don’t take this the wrong way, but stay quietly in your rooms, and make sure that you’re well looked after, and we’ll defend the city against your wicked enemies. God willing, we’ll do enough to chase them away from here.” The emperor left and went to his rooms right away, then sent for all his doctors to tend to and heal his wound. The chief men of the city, who were wise and of good reputation, prepared the city well. They had the walls well crenellated, and had many turrets and tall towers made around the city. They fortified the city so well that they feared no siege engine. (18075–94) The English rejoiced greatly because the field was left to them. Lioine, Tierri, and Waldemer were prouder and bolder than the rest. One day they rode out from their camp, with a good three hundred armed men, straight toward the city. When the defenders saw them, they immediately armed themselves and prepared to fight. King Saluf and his seneschal were on horseback. They rode out from the city, with, I believe, seven hundred or more armed knights, and at once attacked the English. There was a great clash of lances and a great melee of knights. The seneschal charged ahead, struck one of the besieging knights and ran him through. Seeing him mortally wounded, Lioine wanted to avenge him right away, and spurred and pricked his horse. He struck the seneschal from on high, and knocked both him and his horse to the ground in a heap. Then he rode forward to attack a German, whose hauberk and shield did him no good. Lioine thrust the head of his lance, banner and all, right through his body. Then King Saluf rode up, holding a sturdy lance in his hand; he would not fail to hit hard. He struck a knight from Cologne, whose shield and mail were of no use to him: he fell dead on the spot. Tierri saw this, and spurred his swift horse to attack Saluf fiercely. They struck each other, but their hauberks were so impenetrable that neither could wound the other in the body. Lioine strongly supported his men, who were brave, hardy, and worthy. He did great damage to the Germans, killing and slaughtering many of them. A very noble girl,



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the daughter of the powerful emperor (I don’t think any woman since the time of King Arthur was so praised for her beauty or accomplishments) climbed up to the tower to see the bitter battle.242 She singled out Lioine above all the others as the bravest and the best rider and fighter, and the one who clashed most often with the enemy. She saw that he was tall and well built and sumptuously armed, but she did not know who he was or what country he came from. She called one of her attendants. “Come here, my dear,” she said. “Move over here and look at the paragon, the most courageous of knights, the bravest and strongest in all of Germany, I believe. That’s the great knight whom I could find it in my heart to admire, the one on that huge sorrel horse who carries the golden shield. By God Almighty, I’d like to know who he is and what his name is. I’d give a fine gift and great wealth to whoever could tell me that.” The girl replied: “My lady, you’ve chosen well. You’re not at all mistaken. He makes himself stand out, so that by his courage and looks you’ve recognized him as the best.” (18095–182) Lioine conducted himself well. With his sword he gave a lot of trouble to the defenders and struck off many of their heads. The defenders, who had a larger force, did well. They wreaked havoc on the attackers, who had to retreat to their camp to save themselves, with the defenders in pursuit. But Lioine, noble Tierri, and bold Waldemer, often turned back and gave them great blows with their swords. Waldemer was captured, with ten or so other knights, and Tierri was knocked off his horse. Lioine was strong enough to rescue him, however, like a good fighter, and struck down so many men that Tierri was re-horsed. But a messenger had rushed off at once to Gudlac, who had stayed in the camp, and told him all about how their men had been defeated, Waldemer captured, and Tierri toppled from his horse. When Gudlac heard the news, before another word was spoken he had his men arm themselves, and without delay he armed and mounted his good horse, a thousand armed knights with him on their war-horses. They hurried to rescue their men, who were in danger, fleeing toward them with the defenders at their heels. Lord Lioine acted as the rearguard, still fighting, as was apparent from his shield and good and shining pointed helmet, for both were battered and broken, but his hauberk had held, so that his body was not wounded. The more the maiden in the tower saw of him, the more she desired him. “Alas!” she said, “Dear Lord God, I know I can’t avoid loving that knight. I don’t know who he is or where he comes from, but he wields arms well. I don’t know if he’s foolish or wise, I know nothing of his lineage, but that shouldn’t matter: there’s great strength in him. If he were a man of high birth I’d be eager to love him faithfully; for if he were a king’s son, I certainly couldn’t keep from loving him, no matter what happened to me, good or bad.” (18183–246) When the defeated group, which had been fleeing, joined up with their main army, together they returned to the fray and attacked the defenders. There you would have

242  18151–52 climbed up to the tower to see the bitter battle Muntez estoit sus en la tur / Pur esguarder le fort estur: the princess in the tower who watches her beloved fight or, as here, falls in love with the knight when she sees him in action, was already a romance commonplace by the time Waldef was composed. Ykenild climbs up a tower to watch Gudlac in battle (vv. 13365–78). Ereburc does not watch Bede fight but, overwhelmed by love, gazes from her tower at the city, knowing that he is there (vv. 1067–102).

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heard lances clashing and seen knights give each other many great blows with steel swords, mighty spears, and strong lances, but the attackers had the advantage. The seneschal rode up to King Saluf. “Oh, king,” he said, “let’s go, for we’re losing too many men, and if we wait longer we’ll all be dead or captured. They have more men than we do. Soon it will be too late.” Saluf replied: “I agree entirely.” At once they rode off toward the city. Men from the besieging army pursued them, rescued Waldemer and all the captives, and turned back. King Saluf and the seneschal were brave fighters. When they returned with neither great losses nor any spoils, they were dejected and angry because their prisoners had been rescued; they were sorry and chagrined. The English turned back and went straight to their camp. They rejoiced and were pleased to have rescued Waldemer and the others who had been captured, whom they now brought straight to the camp. The young men in the army, who were valiant and skilful, often tested their daring before the city walls. (18247–88) The maiden, who felt much more love for Lioine than she showed, was in the tower, her heart aching because she knew nothing about him and could not talk to him when she wanted. She was sorrowful and vexed, and every day at dawn she climbed the tower and looked toward the English camp for a chance of seeing Lioine. If Lioine had known that she loved him with her whole heart, he would not have failed, at any price, to make several major onslaughts against the defenders. Yet he did so anyway, confronting them every day. She waited there for a bit, and when she saw him come from the camp, she felt great joy and delight. She said to herself that fear of her father or of any other authority could not keep her from sending to inquire about him. She called a page of hers, who was astute and courteous, gave him gifts, and promised more. “Come here,” she said, “dear friend. See that knight, the tall one on the great sorrel horse with the golden shield?” And he replied: “I’ve certainly seen him.” “Friend,” she said, “go over there, but be careful that you’re not noticed by the man you’ve seen. Follow him to their camp, and find out all about him: who he is, where he comes from, if he’s a man of high standing, how he looks and bears himself, and above all what his name is. And tell me all of it, don’t forget anything.” The page replied: “My lady, of course, I’ll make all these inquiries for you to the best of my ability.” The page crossed the city all alone and went quickly to the camp. In a meadow near the river bank he stopped, having recognized Lioine, who was galloping swiftly ahead, followed by the others. (18289–346) When the defenders saw them, they rode out to attack them. Great blows were struck and there were both wins and losses. The maiden was in the tower, watching Lioine carefully to see how he did, how he advanced and retreated. She called her loyal and devoted attendant. “See, dear friend,” she said, “how chivalrously he behaves, how he knocks down those knights and how he takes their horses, how he has his shield set at his neck and how handsome and well built he is.” And the girl replied: “My lady, by God who made the world, he’s very valiant and praiseworthy, and very handsome. But what’s the use of your love, your huge sighs and copious tears, when he can’t come to you or talk to you or enjoy you? Neither of you can do anything for the other. I’ll tell you the truth as I see it, though: if either the emperor or your mother the empress knew that you loved a man who’s making war on your father, trying night and day to conquer his land, I’m telling you, they’d immediately hate you for it.” (18347–80)



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The maiden replied: “By God, who never lied, neither my mother nor the emperor my father, neither life nor death, or any torment, however strong, even if they starved me, could stop me loving him with all my heart. The more they were to forbid it and the more upset they were, the more I’d love him. I’d never give him up, no matter how much they scolded.” While they talked, watching the battle, Lioine rode ahead, attacked the constable in front of the gate, and knocked him from his fine horse. When they had had their fill of fighting, they turned back. The defenders were downcast, and the attackers won the day. They went straight back to the camp, riding fast. The page did not waste any time but ran across the meadow, keeping close to Lioine, whom he followed to the camp. When Lioine came to his tent, he dismounted and removed his armour. The boy closely observed both his body and his face, and said to himself that since the day he was born he had never seen such a handsome man. He called a soldier over, and asked him quietly who was the knight who had just disarmed. The soldier told him, truly, that the knight was called Lioine, that he was greatly esteemed, born in England to a family of very high rank, son of a king called Florenz and a queen, of very noble origins. When the boy had heard who Lioine was, he left promptly, went straight back to the city, and came before the maiden. She saw him and called to him. “Tell me,” she said, “dear friend, did you ask about the knight?” And he replied: “My lady, you’ll hear good news about him! I saw him both armed and disarmed. His name is Lioine. He’s English, born in England, a knight of great eminence. His father is King Florenz, and his mother is a queen. I dare swear that in this world he has no equal in looks or appearance, even though he hasn’t yet grown a moustache.” (18381–448) When the maiden heard this, at once she said to her attendant: “Now, my dear, you may hear things that make me very happy. No one can blame me now for wanting to love him when he is so praised for his beauty and his valour and his virtue. He’s the son of a king and a queen.” “My lady,” the girl replied, “since now you love him so much, send this boy immediately with a message for him, to ask about his feelings: whether he can love you and how he’ll treat you.” “I’ll do that,” she said, “I won’t wait another hour.” At once she took out a large, precious, and beautiful ring and a beautifully made belt. Neither of silver nor of ivory, it was richly wrought of embossed gold and studded with precious stones. The princess told the boy to go right away, without resting, to take the ring and the belt to Lioine in a hurry, without hanging about, and to give him without delay that gift from her, which he should receive as a token of true love. She told him to be sure to tell Lioine that whoever wore the ring would never die of a wound, and to assure him that she loved him truly and had loved him since the day that she first saw him in battle, and that she loved and desired him so much that she could neither play nor laugh, nor have any joy or amusement, comfort or enjoyment, unless she could be sure of him. She would gladly talk to him in private, if he liked, if he dared to cross the water that enclosed the great tower, which she did not dare to leave.243 The water was deep

243  18496–99 She would gladly … that enclosed the great tower Mult volentiers … U la grant tur estoit enclose: the princess’s scheme is borrowed from the classical story of Hero and Leander, lovers separated by the Hellespont. The love affair between Lioine and the princess echoes its classical model in a number of details but is adapted to chivalric romance; unlike Leander, who swims across the Hellespont, Lioine crosses the river on his horse.

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and flowed swiftly, much more swiftly than the Gironde.244 The current was so powerful that neither boat nor bridge could withstand it. If Lioine had a horse or war-horse he trusted so much as to dare to ride it across, she would hang a great glowing lantern from a lance on the meadow side of the tower, and if he wanted to come he should aim for the light. On the bank under the tower, at the old postern, he would be well received without being seen by anyone. “There we’ll be able to speak at leisure if he wants to come. Let it be tomorrow, late in the evening, so no one can see him. He can let me know his wishes through you, so that I’m not on tenterhooks.” (18449–522) The boy was sensible and wise. When he had heard his message, he got up and left at once, and ran through the city without stopping. He soon came to the camp, made his way to Lioine’s tent, and went in. Having found Lioine in his tent, he knelt before him to greet him courteously. “My lord,” he said, “hear this. The emperor’s daughter, a very noble girl, the flower of all living women, sends me to greet you, dear lord, as her heart’s desire. She’s suffering for your sake, more than I dare tell you. Don’t doubt that she loves you more than anything. I know it from her own lips. From the moment she saw you in battle, the other day while she was in the tower where she’s now suffering for your sake, she has felt great love for you. Love has so overwhelmed her that she doesn’t know what to do, nor can she refrain from loving you. Through me she offers you her love in such a way that you may now accept it and claim her as your beloved. By this love-token she irrevocably grants you possession both of her love and of her person.” He took from beneath his cloak the rich belt and the ring, and presented the gift to him. Lioine took it in his hands, receiving it graciously, and thanked him many times. The boy said to him: “My dear lord, on behalf of the lady I must tell you that the stone in the ring is not only beautiful but also powerful. You can be sure that so long as you wear the ring you need never fear losing a drop of blood. Gird yourself with the belt and, for her love, hold it dear.” Lioine replied: “So I shall, truly. I wouldn’t give it away for all the wealth from here to Babylon, or for all the gold of Sidon.” The boy said: “My lord, do listen a little longer. The maiden who is so noble and beautiful also wishes to tell you that she can’t go on if you don’t come, willingly and soon, to speak with her.” Lioine replied: “My friend, how shall I speak with her? How can I come to her?” The boy answered: “You can, and if you’ll listen I’ll tell you how we’ve arranged it. Now I’ll tell you what to do: if you have a horse you can trust in the water, tomorrow evening you may come when the army is quiet and no one’s paying attention to you. When the night is quite dark, you’ll ride on land until you’re level with the great tower, and then follow the swift river current that rushes toward the sea. Outside the tower you’ll see a bright lantern hanging between the water and the town. Go straight toward the light and continue till you’re under the tower. You can be sure we’ll meet you and take you to safety. About the horse, my lord: see that you have a good one for this business, big and strong and powerful, one that can protect you from death, for if he’s not like that you’ll be in mortal danger.” Lioine replied: “Have no fear; don’t ever worry about that. I have a good, well tested horse. He’s good and big and has proven himself, 244  18502 much more swiftly than the Gironde Plus rade asez que n’est Girunde: the Gironde, an estuary near Bordeaux in southwest France formed by the confluence of the Dordogne and Garonne, is known for very strong tidal currents.



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so I wouldn’t fear to swim a good seven leagues, a long way, in open seas, no matter how deep, in storm or waves. Greet the maiden for me, and tell her that I’m hers, and her devoted friend; that I submit to her forever; and that I love and desire her so much that on pain of death I wouldn’t fail to do her bidding, even if I should die for it. And tell her that tomorrow, late in the evening, I’ll venture out. I certainly won’t let fear of death stop me from coming, nor is there anything that could hold me back.” (18523–642) The messenger answered: “I’ll tell her. With your leave, I’ll go now.” “My dear friend,” Lioine said, “tell me, so help you God, if you want to be knighted. I’ll knight you, be sure of that.” The boy replied calmly: “I won’t take up arms at this point; I don’t want them, my good lord. I’ll just take my leave and go.” Lioine answered: “Don’t go. Take something of mine with you.” He had a very good horse brought, well worth praising, which he had won in Saxony. It was good in time of great need, all saddled and bridled, worth more than a hundred pounds. He gave it to the boy, who accepted it. “My friend,” Lioine said, “please accept this good Saxon horse and keep it for my sake. If God grants me health for long enough, you’ll be well rewarded for the service you’ve done me. You’ll profit greatly from it.” He gave him jewels, belts, brooches and rings, gold and silver. The boy received them courteously, and thanked him. He took the horse and mounted it. Having gone on foot before, he was now on horseback. In this way lord Lioine rewarded him for the good service he had done him. The boy returned, happy and joyous, not at all downcast. Lioine had been generous to him. Very happy, he went speedily back through a ditch that ran alongside the meadow, so that no one from the city could have noticed that he had had anything to do with the besiegers. The maiden was all alone in the tower, watching for her messenger, when the boy appeared, unnoticed by anyone else. He went straight to the maiden and told her all the news, from beginning to end: how he went and how he spoke to Lioine; that Lioine accepted her love-tokens gratefully and with thanks; that he loved her with all his heart; that he would come the next evening, just as they had devised, and that he would not fail to come, no matter what. He recounted Lioine’s reply to her, and showed her the rich gifts that Lioine had given him, for which she was grateful to Lioine. Thus the maiden remained, overwhelmed by love. It seemed to her that it would be ten days, not one, till her beloved came to speak with her, for that was the only thing she desired. (18643–714) Lioine did not waste any time. Arising before dawn, he had the trumpets sound and ordered a thousand of the bravest and most skilful knights, the best fighters, to mount their horses. He led his men straight to the gates of the city. The defenders came out with a large and powerful army and joined battle with the attackers. Many a great blow was given there, many horses lost their riders, many good men fell. Lioine surpassed himself. In that day’s battle he struck down many knights, won many good horses, gave and received many great blows, and did many knightly feats for his beloved’s sake. The battle was hard-fought. Many strong mail-coats were split there, many good shields smashed, and many men mortally wounded. When they had fought enough, the besiegers retreated. They behaved very courageously: they went and returned together.245

245  18744 went and returned together Ensemble alerent e revindrent: that is, they never broke ranks.

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In the grip of love, Lioine left the battlefield, often glancing toward the tower. The day seemed to him interminable. He rested in his tent until night fell. As soon as it was dark, he sent at once for his horse, girded on his good steel blade, and mounted his good horse. He left the camp quietly and alone. He did not say a word to any of his men and would not take with him even a single page or squire. He left the army stealthily and rode along the beach until he was level with the tower. It was murky and dark. No wonder he was afraid when he realized how strong the current was. Then he saw the light on the tower and knew for sure that he had gone the right way. Commending himself to God in heaven, he spurred his horse, and at once the horse launched itself into the current. Immediately the waters closed a lance-length above Lioine’s head, so he could neither see nor hear a thing. The current carried him far down and away from the tower, and if the horse had not been hardy, he would have died in great pain, but the horse was strong and managed to escape the current. With great strength and force the horse broke out of the current and fought the waves until it came near the tower. It drew toward the light, sometimes swept back and again forward, carried by the terrifyingly large waves. With great effort and struggle it came to land on the bank under the tower, by the great ancient postern. The page came running to the spot, glad to see Lioine. They went into a vaulted chamber beneath the wall, made of sturdy stone, where they left the horse. Lioine was made comfortable there. The boy had him take off his soaked clothes and put on fine dry ones. They climbed the stairs and entered the great tower, into the handsome chamber where the maiden was sitting. And when she saw Lioine come in, she had all she desired. Delighted, she jumped to her feet instantly. Then they kissed, embraced, and caressed one another. They sat on a quilted coverlet and talked about what was on their minds, not in the manner of a negotiation but in true love. When they had talked for a long time and delighted in each other’s company, they went to bed together and took their pleasure. They had all the candles extinguished, so they could be left alone. Before a full forty days had passed, the joy and delight that they felt were to turn to a greater sorrow than you have ever heard. (18715–828) Lioine was now very comfortable and saw nothing that displeased him. He embraced his beloved and kissed her many times. Once he had achieved his desire, he forgot all about the trouble that he had had getting through the water. He lingered so long that he saw the day breaking, and the city’s watchmen blew their horns from the walls to announce the dawn. The hour was well advanced, but Lioine was still lying in bed in the arms of his beloved, whom he loved more than his life. Finally he said to her, affectionately: “My love, I see daylight. I have to go; I can’t stay. I don’t know the people here, and I wouldn’t want to be seen for all the gold that Jesus made.246 When you want me to come, hang the lantern outside, and when I see its light I’ll know for sure that I should come to you in this tower. Thus I’ll be able to visit you whenever it pleases you. I’ll follow the light toward you and won’t fail you for anything in the world.” He held her close and kissed her mouth and face, then took his leave and got up. He found his clothes, dressed, and went quickly down the stairs and to the postern. The page brought him his horse, which he mounted without delay. Having blessed the page, Lioine turned to the water 246  18848 all the gold that Jesus made trestut l’or que fist Jesu: see note to v. 16016.



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and went straight back into it, commending himself to Jesus Christ. The horse began to swim toward the sea, going sometimes up and sometimes down. Good and strong, it carried Lioine over the water so that he didn’t drown in it. He came to land safely, thanks to the good horse’s efforts. He returned to the camp straight away and went stealthily into his tent, without anyone noticing. He never let any of his men know where he had been that night, except for one of his close friends, a young man who was a baron’s son. There was no one else in his household who knew so much about his secrets, or was so close to him. He revealed to him where he had gone, and told him how he had got there and returned, what he did with the maiden when he wanted to, and all the favours she granted him. But when they least expected it, they would pay dearly for their love: both were to die tragically. Alas! how ill-fated was their love! (18829–98) When Emperor Alexis was quite recovered from his wound, he assembled his army and spoke to them. “My lords,” he said, “what shall we do with these Englishmen here? They came to this land and besieged us, they’ve killed so many of our people and laid waste to the land. They want to kill us all in great pain and torment. They want to take over the lordship of this land by force, and to enslave us and all our descendants forever, if we allow it. But it would be better to die honourably defending ourselves in battle than to give up our land like this without fighting.” “Now, my lord emperor, do listen,” said the king of Hungary, a very valiant man, who served the powerful emperor because he sought his daughter’s hand. The emperor had promised him his daughter in exchange for his service, and would willingly give her to him when he had finished his war. “My lord,” he said, “please hear me. By God, don’t be too frightened. Don’t despair because of the losses you’ve suffered, my lord. If you want to go to war, sometimes you lose, sometimes you win. After the loss you’ve had, my lord, with the aid of holy Jesus you’ll conquer so much that you’ll be honoured forever. Now that you’re healed, thank God, and we see you safe and sound, don’t delay any longer, but tomorrow at daybreak let’s go fight those Englishmen! And, God willing, we’ll vanquish them. We tell you, truly, we’ll never leave the field until either they’re all dead or captured, or else we’ve all been killed.” Everyone in the great hall, Germans, Lombards, and Teutons, exclaimed: “Dear lord, king of Hungary, you’ve made a good suggestion and given good advice to our lord the emperor, that tomorrow morning we go fight those Englishmen so we can be avenged on them. They’ll die shamefully and painfully, if the Lord God wills it.” (18899–960) “My lords,” said the emperor, “so help me God and Saint Peter, I like your speech very much. Tomorrow at dawn, we’ll fight those Englishmen, just as we’ve decided.” They waited through the night for day to break. Early in the morning they got ready and assembled their troops properly. Their standard-bearers proudly went forth from the city. On the plains around the city there were more than sixty thousand well armed knights, not counting the foot-soldiers. Every single one of them was well armed, in accordance with his station. The troops of dukes, princes, and kings were now riding alongside a marsh in serried ranks, and when the English saw them they ran for their weapons, armed themselves, and prepared to do battle. They ordered their ranks and came out of their camp. They attacked the Germans and soon they were exchanging blows. Then the troops of Germans and Englishmen joined battle. The powerful king of Hungary, with his many knights, made the first attack, in which many men lost their

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lives. King Saluf struck after that, bringing with him a great troop of his Lombards from Lombardy and men from the Romagna.247 They fought hard in battle, like brave men. King Kersot hit hard. He was king of Sardinia, a brave monarch accustomed to fighting well, most valiant and courteous, and a relative of the emperor. With great strength and prowess, he often attacked the English with his good Saracen sword. Following the mighty king of Sardinia came the duke of Maurienne, with a large army and many men, and with him the duke of Lorraine, and a powerful duke of Swabia called Cassaruc.248 They promptly attacked our Englishmen, sparing them in no way. After them rode the emperor with his proud retinue, with dukes, counts, and barons from distant regions, who gave their all to the fight. They attacked the English strongly, but the English stood up to them, defending themselves vigorously and putting up a strong fight in return. Englishmen endure suffering and distress most bravely, and in the face of bitter fighting they are strong, bold, and tough. The English took their stand at the foot of a hill. The battle was already fierce, and many a mother’s son lost his life most painfully in the fray that day. (18961–19036) Gudlac led his mighty band of two thousand hardened armoured knights toward the hill. He struck King Kersot in the midst of his large company and knocked him down off his horse. He would have captured him by force had not Kersot’s knights, in their hundreds and thousands, spurred forward with great violence, each making every effort to rescue the king. Each struck fiercely about him, but the brave Tierri, Lioine, and Salemon from Cologne, with their large body of knights, brought welcome help to Gudlac, grappling strongly with the Sardinians and exchanging many great blows with them. Indeed, by dint of great strength and might they captured the king of Sardinia and held him and the best of his men. (19037–60) Urri, a very brave Englishman, came spurring forward and struck a German, whose hauberk was no more use to him than an acorn. Urri pierced him through the body with his lance and struck him dead beside a meadow. After this he would not hold back but hit a noble count from Germany, whom he struck in such a way that he split his lungs and liver, knocking him dead in the middle of the path. When King Saluf, who detested the English, saw this, he quickly struck Urri through the body with his keen sword. Neither shield nor hauberk could save him: he fell dead to the ground. This was a great and painful loss, because Urri was most courageous. (19061–80) Lioine arrived, spurring his horse, and found Urri lying dead. Sad and angry, he saw Saluf, who had killed him. If he could not take revenge he would never be happy again. Commending his soul to God, he fiercely spurred his horse around the side of a rock. He hit Saluf sideways, pierced his shield and hauberk, and with his straight, strong lance bore him far from his horse, splitting his liver and lungs and knocking him dead onto the sand. The wretch fell dead to the ground and Lioine said to him insultingly: “My 247  18998 men from the Romagna Rumeins de Rumenie: on the meanings of Rumenie see note to v. 15009. In this context Rumenie is likely the Romagna, a region next to Lombardy.

248  19014 Cassaruc Cassaruc: at v. 17636 the duke of Swabia was called Hermer. There are only two references to a duke of Swabia in the poem; on both occasions he is no more than a name among other names, chosen to provide a suitable rhyme.



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lord king, my dear friend Saluf, now you’ve conquered enough. You’ve conquered Germany and you’ll stay there forever more. Leave us great Saxony; I don’t believe you’ll get there soon.” The emperor’s constable arrived, spurring his horse hard. A man of great strength, he was the best fighter in Germany. He gave Lioine such a blow that he stunned him badly. Lioine knew how to use his sword and gave him such a blow that he pierced his brain with his sharp blade. As he withdrew it, the constable fell to the ground, his war over. Wicard then advanced, astride a good grey horse, which he had taken from the king of Apulia after killing him in a bitter battle. He struck the king of Austria in the middle of his shield, which was truly a valuable one. He pierced the strong shield and his lance stuck in the king’s chest. The king’s hauberk was good and did not break, but he was borne far from his horse. (19061–124) Then the emperor’s seneschal appeared, a German by birth. He spurred his horse and galloped energetically, keen to avenge the king if he could and to cut off Wicard’s head. In turn Wicard galloped speedily toward him, and both struck each other hard. The seneschal struck a powerful blow through the middle of Wicard’s shield boss and knocked Wicard far from his horse. Wicard jumped to his feet like a first-rate knight, drew his good steel sword, and went to recover his horse. Seeing the brave man knocked onto the sand, Lioine spurred his horse and galloped, eager to avenge Wicard. He gave the seneschal a fierce and heavy blow with his sharp steel sword, knocking one of his helmet’s quarters, together with the ventail, quite to the ground, and cutting his flesh to the bone. The seneschal, a man of great renown, was so stunned by the blow that he was completely bent over his horse’s neck. But before Lioine could give him another blow with his steel sword he was greatly hindered: the king of Hungary, who was very jealous of him, spurred forward with his bodyguard and shouted to him loudly: “You made a disastrous decision, my man, when you struck the seneschal and the emperor’s constable, whom you killed today, and when you killed King Saluf. By God who was crucified, truly you’ll pay for it soon. Never again will you kill any brave man.” (19125–68) He ordered his men to strike Lioine quickly and not to let him escape without doing their best to hack him to pieces. Once they received the order they speedily obeyed, hitting him from all sides and knocking him far from his horse. He would certainly have been killed or maimed had it not been for the estimable Wicard, who quickly came running. Sharp sword in hand, he struck many great blows, fighting so vigorously that he was able to put lord Lioine back on his feet. There they joined forces and defended themselves like brave men, but they were up against so many that if our Lord God had not taken care of them they would certainly have been slaughtered. When a most praiseworthy knight, born in England, saw Lioine in trouble, he rapidly went, though wounded through the body, to tell King Guiac how Lioine was harassed: if he did not quickly help him he would never more see him alive. Hearing this, King Guiac immediately shouted to his men. “My lords,” he said, “listen to me! You’ve heard about Lioine. If we don’t help him at once we’ll never see him alive again. Let’s set about helping him.” They spurred their horses and attacked the king of Hungary. Lances were shattered there, as a bitter, harsh, and brutal battle began. (19169–210) King Guiac was most valiant. He and his army of brave, strong and doughty Englishmen rescued Lioine and Wicard from the enemy. They fought hard until both Lioine and

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Wicard could remount their horses, having already received many wounds. Then they struck further into the fray, slaughtering the Hungarians. King Guiac pressed forward, his sharp sword in his hand. He approached the Hungarian king and gave him such a blow on his helmet that it flew to the ground. God protected his face well and his flesh was untouched, but he was so stunned by the blow that he did not know which way to turn. King Guiac advanced to capture him, and retained him by force. When the Hungarians saw their king captured in this way they all retired, discomfited. Seeing his men in flight, the emperor looked most unhappy. The duke of Bavaria said to him: “My lord emperor, withdraw. The best of your men are captured, and if you wait here any longer, you’ll certainly be captured or killed soon. Look at how those vicious Englishmen are wielding their swords from Vienne!249 Nothing can resist them. So we must retreat to the city, to avoid further harm. It would be stupid and childish to stay longer, for we’ve already easily lost the best men in our entire army. The king of Hungary is captured with the best of his knights, as is the king of Sardinia; the powerful king Saluf has been killed; and dukes, counts, and barons whose names I don’t know are captured or dead in the field. If we stay here longer, our fate will be no different: we’ll never leave the field alive. As far as I am concerned, I must tell you that I’m in a sorry plight because I’ve been badly wounded in the body by two lances. I don’t think I’ll ever be healed; I escaped from the fray with difficulty. Now look at your men and how badly off they are. I can well see they’re completely exhausted. For this reason, my noble lord, let’s go, before we lose all our men.” (19211–74) “ My lord duke,” said the emperor, “so help me Jesus and Saint Peter, I’m so distressed I don’t know what to say, when I see my men killed in this way, in great pain and torment. I’m sure God is angry with me. Let’s go back to the city, and our men will follow us.” The emperor made his way quickly toward the city and his men followed after him, much afflicted because the English kept striking them, harassing them right up to the gates. Many of the defeated were captured and killed. The emperor was distressed that he had lost so many of his men and the city was now under siege. He ordered his men to guard the gates so no one could leave or enter. King Guiac turned around and returned to his encampment. The English were much encouraged that they had defeated the enemy twice. (19275–300) You have heard about the brave and much esteemed Lioine and his passionate love affair with his beloved: how he came and went as he used to. It happened that one of the servants, brought up in the city and a relative of the constable whom Lioine had killed, inquired assiduously until he was told everything about how Lioine came and went, and how he took his pleasure with the emperor’s daughter. He discovered all about their love affair, how Lioine arrived by the light of the lantern and how he entered at the postern gate. (19301–18) The fellow—may Jesus curse him—devised a wicked plan to trick Lioine and make him lose his life. He watched him closely until one night, when Lioine was due to come, he climbed to the top of the tower and carried off the lantern which the girl would raise 249  19244 swords from Vienne branz vianeis: in the medieval and early modern periods, towns along the river Vienne were known for sword-making.



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when she wanted Lioine to come. He quietly got into a boat and raised the lantern high up on a tall lance, so that its light could easily be seen as far as the besieging army’s camp. But Lioine, once he had seen the light, quickly got ready and prepared himself in haste to go to his beloved, alone, as he thought. He quickly left the camp, came to the water and rode in. The night was extremely dark, so that he could see nothing, neither the tall tower nor the city, only the lantern and its light. Lioine followed the light, just as he had done before. The blackguard was in the boat, rowing smoothly and well, and Lioine did not realize anything was in the water. The boat travelled gently toward the sea, and he followed it, greatly surprised because he had never before gone so far. He kept looking around him but saw nothing except the light in front of him, and the big waves of the sea began to rise higher. Lioine saw that the light was leaving him far behind. The more he thought he was nearing it, the more it moved away from him, and he saw he would have to stop, unable to reach it, and he saw the waves of the sea and clearly felt his horse faltering badly under him, too weak to swim any further. Then he realized he had been tricked. “Alas, my prized horse!” he said, “now we’ll be separated. You’ve saved me from many a danger. Alas that we’ll now die here! I believe no steed was ever so valuable, and no horse was, or could be, so powerful.” He looked up at the sky and often implored God for mercy. “Ah, Jesus,” he said, “sweet and gentle father, in honour of your mother and of your most holy death, which you wrongly suffered for us, Lord, on the most holy cross, here I ask you, Lord, to be merciful to me as you were to Longinus, who struck you with his lance, for now I can see clearly that I’ve been betrayed.” When his steed could no longer help him it collapsed and sank, and so did he. He commended his soul to Jesus Christ, and after that uttered not a word more; the sea covered him completely. There he died, which was a great loss; never was a man of his lineage so much mourned in his time, for all kinds of people lamented his death, as did those who hated him and those who had never set eyes on him. (19319–404) When the man in the boat realized that Lioine had drowned and perished, he returned to land, threw the lantern into the sea, and went back to the city. May the Creator of all things curse him! Only three days later, when the young men of the city went to amuse themselves on the shore beside the tower, they found Lioine’s corpse. They looked carefully at him, praising his handsome body, so fine and shapely. No one knew who he was or where he came from; everyone marvelled at him. They bore him on a shield, many of them grieving bitterly, into the emperor’s palace. The citizens greatly lamented this body, so handsome and noble, and laid it down in the great hall. Dukes, counts, princes and kings, and even the emperor, came with sad faces to look at Lioine’s body and see if, having examined it, they could recognize him. Not one of them, high or low, knew anything at all about him. He was wearing a short tunic, which no one recognized. His waist was shapely and he was well shod, with spurs of fine gold on his feet. His face was handsome but very pale. There was no one in the hall who did not pity him, everyone saying that he was truly a noble man, whoever he was and however he had got there. Soon the news reached the girl’s chamber that such a man had been found and brought to the hall. (19405–54) When she heard the news, she quickly jumped to her feet and at once came running into the hall. Great terror seized her heart. She stepped forward and looked at the man

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who lay dead on the floor. She came closer, looked at him, recognized him, and cried aloud: “Holy Mary, our Lady, have pity! It’s Lioine, my beloved. Holy Mary, who killed him?” She fell to the ground in a faint, to everyone’s great distress. But a knight held her up, and when she eventually recovered consciousness, she cried and wailed as if mad. She came closer to the corpse. “Alas!” she said, “my dear love, how pale I now see your handsome face, which was so bright and fresh, and is now so altered!” And she fainted a second time; her soul almost left her body. Let me tell you an amazing thing about her: her eyes and her ears neither saw nor heard; she was as still as stone. The emperor was entirely grief-stricken at this. The girl turned as cold as ice and all colour left her face. For a while she was as if dead, with nothing to comfort her and only one knight to help her. When she eventually recovered consciousness, she cried and wailed as if mad, bemoaning her wretched lot. She opened her eyes, looked about her, and resumed her desperate lament. “My dear love, how sweet you were; no one was fairer than you. Alas for your courage! Now you’re dead—what a loss that is! I don’t think nature ever made a more beautiful creature. You’ll never again open your beautiful eyes, my love; worms will eat them from now on. (19455–500) “Alas, alas! What grief for such an incomparable man! Alas, that such beauty will now rot away! A curse on you, death!” she said, “you’re too powerful, you’re too mighty, there’s no living thing in the world that you don’t control, taking its life away at whim. Lioine, my dear love,” she said, “you were so brave in battle, you were so strong, you hit so hard in the fray. You cherished knights so much, often giving them generous gifts, and you so willingly gave them your silver and your red gold. None of your attendants was ever in need. Who now will bestow large gifts, or perform acts of daring and prowess, bold attacks and knightly exploits? Who now will carry out great assaults when you’re lying dead here? You were such a warrior, but you were very young. Today, truly, is the fifth day since we lay in each other’s arms in that tower, quite naked and with great delight—I no longer care who hears it. I never thought then that parting would come so soon. I’ll never feel that joy again. Alas, wretch, what will become of me?” She fell to the ground and lay prostrate, and the people around her were visibly afflicted. When she recovered and rose, she looked at Lioine’s body. “My love, how beautiful your mouth was! No lady or girl ever had a more beautiful one, just as nature could shape it. What will become of your beauty, your strength, your valour, you who were once so acclaimed? Now they’re completely destroyed. Oh Lioine, alas that I ever saw you! Alas that you ever saw me too. You died for me, I’m sure, and I shall certainly die for you. (19501–54) “Oh Lioine, my dear love, what will your friends say now? What will the king your father say, and your mother the queen, when they hear what happened to you? They’ll never again feel joy. What will King Guiac say now, and his brother, brave Gudlac, and your friend Tierri?” She wrung her hands so hard that blood ran down her fingers, and everyone in the great hall saw it. She swooned, and swooned again, so that everyone thought her soul had that moment left her body and she had gone to God. When she recovered, she lamented and never stopped crying out: “Oh Lioine, my dear love, so often you promised that I’d go with you to England once the war was over. No need to speak of that any more, since I can’t go with you.” There she swooned once more and again collapsed; her heart nearly failed her. And when she recovered she looked at Lio-



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ine, whom she loved so much. “Lioine,” she said, “dear love, you were so brave and clever, you were so famous. It’s hardly any time since you killed King Saluf, and you killed the constable too. You struck the seneschal a blow with your steel sword, and cut his flesh to the bone. It’s amazing you didn’t kill him with your sharp steel sword; his helmet was no use to him. There’s no man alive in the world who would have done half of that without becoming famous, esteemed, and cherished forever. You died for me, Lioine; it would indeed be wrong if I didn’t die for you when you died for me. I can’t live without you, Lioine. The world will soon be rid of me. Oh Lioine, handsome youth, with your handsome face, fresh and rosy, I’m sure that because of your great beauty, your valour, and your virtue God snatched you away into his heaven and will keep you in his retinue. I believe that there was never a knight of such renown in paradise. I’m sure, Lioine, that you’ll adorn the heavens above. In that holy company you’ll have eternal life. I’ll come to you soon, my dear love. We’ll be together forever; our souls will be together while our two bodies will remain here. That’s why I now long to die, in order to come to you and be near you forever.” She stretched herself out next to him deliberately, kissed his mouth and face, and said: “My dear, sweet, love, you’ve given me so many sweet kisses, you’ve hugged me tightly in your arms so many times; you’ll do so no more, alas, alas!” She embraced him, clasped him to her, and kissed him, putting her mouth on his. She said to him, weeping: “My love, now I’ll kiss you, and then I’ll join you in the highest heaven above. Now I surely wish for nothing else.” With that, while clasping and kissing him, she gave up her soul to God. (19555–642) Then matters were even worse than before. When those in the great hall saw the two bodies lying together and realized that she was indeed dead, as was he, and that he was Lioine of England, there was great grief in the hall for both of them. The news spread into the inner chambers, and the empress came running, greatly lamenting her daughter’s death. The emperor was utterly grief-stricken, and so was the empress. They had no son or daughter except this girl, so noble and lovely. They lamented without restraint; they no longer cared about their lives, and said they had lived too long when they had thus lost their child, for they had no other heir. All their hopes rested on her. They would not stir from her for a single moment; there they fainted and almost died. They bitterly lamented their daughter, and often cursed death for having struck her down suddenly in such a way. Seeing counts and barons, Germans, Lombards, and Frisians grieving so much and acting as they did at the time, no one alive could be so hard-hearted as not to feel pity. (19643–76) The king of Austria rose and was the first to speak to the emperor. “For God’s sake, my lord emperor, please listen. My lord,” he said, “let it be. What use is this lamentation? Since this stroke of fate has happened and you have lost your daughter, let her be treated as any dead person. Have each gate guarded, so that no one can report this knight’s death to his army. A great loss has befallen them here, and as soon as they know about it, a thousand men will die who don’t deserve it. Your daughter is dead, as we’ll all die; we’ll all pass through death. Put aside this sorrow and end your great distress. Think of the enemies who have besieged you so hard, and of how we’ll defend ourselves, for we’re completely surrounded. Fighting will serve no purpose. You should give this plenty of thought: if we don’t have a bigger army, the best of us will be captured and

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killed. Bury these bodies, richly dressed and with great honour.” “For the love of God, my lord emperor,” said the duke of Bavaria, “the king has spoken most sensibly, and your people here beg you to follow his advice and abandon this great sorrow.” They at once took away the two bodies and gave them a splendid burial. They guarded the two bodies with great honour that day, and through the night as well. (19677–717) There were many people in the great hall, including the emperor himself, whose grief was violent, and the empress too, mourning bitterly, and all the counts and barons around them, who held candles and lamented throughout the hall. They kept vigil all that night: no one slept a wink. The next day, as the bells rang for prime,250 they carried the bodies out. Two archbishops and three bishops performed the service most solemnly, and up to a hundred monks, priors, and abbots were certainly gathered there, not counting priests and clerks from the town, around two thousand of them. They wore capes and tunics and carried caskets and reliquaries,251 while others carried precious and costly censers to perfume the two bodies that I have told you about. Many people fainted. After the archbishop commended the souls to God at the archbishopric, the bodies were carried out with great honour. Much singing and reading could be heard as they carried the bodies into the cemetery and put them in two tombs of dark gray marble within an enclosure. Having commended their souls to God, they went away. Such great wealth was distributed there that the poor truly became rich forever after. And now let us leave these two. (19718–58) I want to tell you about Guiac, the powerful king, who was deeply distressed and angry because he did not know where his dear kinsman Lioine had gone and what had happened to him. He made inquiries throughout the army, and likewise asked men, but nobody knew anything about Lioine, whether he was dead or alive. Some believed he had perhaps been captured in the city. So they searched and inquired until they knew the whole truth about Lioine’s fate, how he was found dead on the shore below the city, how the girl died for him, and how they both died. (19759–76) When King Guiac knew that Lioine had died in this way, he wept and sighed deeply. No one can describe how bitterly he mourned for Lioine, whom he had thus lost. That day he often fainted, tore out his beautiful hair, and cursed the moment he was born, since he had lost the man he loved above all others, through whom he had conquered so much, and who was of such renown. Gudlac’s grief was not feigned. He mourned Lioine so much that he lamented and often fainted. And whoever could see Tierri grieve could truly say that since the time of Jesus Christ no one had ever sorrowed so much. “Lioine, dear friend,” he said, “now we’ll be parted. Would to God, who’s never lied, that I might be buried beside you. We were such good friends, and had we died together, death would seem so sweet to me I’d never need solace. Alas, Lioine! It was so loving of you to give me weapons and take me out of poverty when you found me in the forest, and to make my father, who lay there old and sick, rich and powerful, giving him fine cities and large possessions. And I don’t know how to repay you except by dying alongside you. Alas, my heart, you’re so hard, harder than a stone in a wall. Why don’t you break, now that I’ve 250  19729 prime prime: church service sung at the first hour of the day, around 6 AM. 251  19740 carried: MS has portent.



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lost the man who did me such great honour? Oh God, what a plight I’m in when I can’t die now, for that’s what I most want. Heart, so disloyal and base, why won’t you break? Now indeed I’ll make you break.” He rushed at once to a sword, snatched it and put it close to his heart. He would soon have killed himself, which would have been a great loss and a great pity, but his friends, seeing this overwhelming sorrow, jumped up and quickly grabbed him from all sides. They took the sword out of his hands and held him firmly as if he were crazy; he did look like a madman. They removed all his weapons, leaving none in his tent, and his friends and intimates took him to the king’s tent. (19777–842) “My lord Tierri,” said the king, “you must now find comfort for this grief, which serves no purpose. Indeed, I loved Lioine greatly, and greatly relied on him. Now that I’ve lost him I’ll never feel joy for a single day, and I certainly mourn for him greatly. Yet I also want to seek comfort, as far as I can, for grief will serve no purpose. And now that you’ve lost him, you’ll find a good friend in me, for in his place I’ll cherish you, and do for you whatever you wish. Tell me what you’d like, as you used to tell Lioine.” The king comforted him until he was able to take him to his own tent, where he had him watched over so that he could not kill himself. (19843–64) The king summoned his men and had them all gather before him. “My lords,” he said, “now listen to me. You’ve heard about the misfortune that has befallen us: we’ve lost Lioine. Now I have lost him, I too should wish to be dead, and this very day I’ll abandon everything I’ve conquered here. I’ll return to England and never again bear weapons. For his soul’s sake I’ll release the prisoners I’ve taken here. In the morning, when we see the day break, we’ll all take to the road.” They would certainly all have agreed to the king’s decision, when Salemon of Cologne, and with him a baron from Saxony, rose before the king. “My lord king,” said one of them, “listen to me. What do you mean to do now, sire? Will you abandon this land that you’ve just conquered? God forbid you do so! If you leave in this way you’ll be shamed forever, and all your heirs who’ll live after you likewise. If you’ve lost Lioine, don’t disgrace yourself on that account, but consider revenge, take pains to destroy those who sent him to his death. Those inside the city destroyed and murdered him, and they still hold his body. Before you leave in this way, avenge your great grief on them. So don’t grieve overmuch if you’ve lost one of yours. He’s dead and you will surely die. You’ll all go that way. Not one of us will escape it but will die, as all our ancestors did, our fathers and all our rulers. They’re dead and we’ll die too, all going the same way.” Salemon spoke until he comforted them all, and the king ordered that the journey be abandoned. In fact, he said and swore that he would never leave the realm until the city was captured and those in it chastised. And all the barons likewise swore to this with many great oaths: nobody they caught in the city would escape slaughter, not even the emperor himself, should they find him in the fray. With that, King Guiac stopped and said no more. (19865–930) It was on a fine summer’s day that King Guiac mounted his horse, a thousand knights with him, all armed on their steeds, in addition to two thousand brave archers and footsoldiers. He wanted to see how he could best besiege the city. He had his catapults, mangonels, and fine siege engines, which he had had constructed in the camp, dragged to the spot. When those in the city saw them, they rode out toward them vigorously. The king of Austria left the city with his troops and attacked the besiegers, exchanging many

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mighty blows. Guiac, Tierri, the worthy Salemon too, and the English alongside them, struck well at close quarters. They were like furious wolves that had fasted for three days and by the fourth were deranged with hunger. The English were at their fiercest. Whomever they reached that day they killed, causing the greatest suffering. Every single man taken prisoner was killed. The battle was cruel, and in it the English showed especial hatred toward the Germans, shouting at them: “In an evil hour you killed Lioine; so much the worse for you that you saw him die! You’ve surely murdered him between you, and you’ll pay most dearly for it.” The king of Austria had already been captured and would soon have been killed, when a young man spurred forward, armed with a sharp sword, and bravely rescued him, seating him on a war horse. He fought extremely well that day and gave the English a hard battle. Because it was summer the weather was hot and the young man tired from his great exertions that day, for he was much too young. He went back into the city and there rapidly disarmed, mounted his horse, girded on his steel sword, hung his shield round his neck, and rode out of the city, carrying a lance with him. Good Lord, what excellent youthful exploits he performed! He struck into the fray and soon knocked down a knight, then a second, and then a third, capturing the horses of all three. King Guiac and Tierri had withdrawn from the fray and were both resting, with three other knights. “Look, my lords,” said the king, “look at that amazing sight. That young man seems to me so powerful, and he uses his lance so well! If he can survive for long, he’ll be a brave knight. How forcefully he has just struck down these good knights and won their three good horses! One day he’ll be highly esteemed. He’s handsome and attractive, and looks very good in his tunic. He sits so well on that fine horse and handles his weapons expertly, but is far too young. It would be a great pity and a great misfortune if he were to be killed or maimed. Good Lord! How splendid he’d be if he were properly armed!” And everyone else praised him too. (19931–20018) The young man turned and looked around. He saw King Guiac standing there, recognized him by his arms, and rode up to him, spurring his horse. He said to Guiac: “King, I know it’s you and I can’t leave before I’ve jousted with you. Having heard you highly praised, I’ve desired this above all things, and I mean to test your prowess. I’m asking you for just one joust, and then I’ll leave at once. I’ll go away happy, for I’ll be able to boast about it afterwards: I’ll be greatly praised and esteemed forever.” The king replied: “My dear friend, don’t rush so much to joust here with me, but go in and put on your armour. Once you’re properly armed, you’ll soon be able to joust, if you wish, either with me or with someone else. And if you’re able to win something by knocking down your opponent, it’s quite right that you should keep what you’ve won.” The young knight replied: “There’s no point in trying to persuade me to go away before I’ve jousted with you. I have such an excellent and strong shield that I don’t fear your blow.” (20019–52) “My dear friend,” the king said, “Tell me now, upon your word, who are you and of what people? You’re greatly lacking in sense. You’re brave, but not wise. Tell me truly, so help you God, who were your parents, where are you from, and who are your other relatives?” The knight answered: “I certainly won’t hide that from you. I’m the powerful emperor’s nephew, son of one of his sisters, and my name is Alerou. It’s been at least two months since he gave me arms and knighted me with great honour. Since then I’ve done you much harm, killing your men. My father is the king of Portugal. I want your



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horse very much, for it’s so handsome and so large. So help me true and mighty God, if I had it in my possession I wouldn’t give it away for all the Roman Empire. If I can win it in a joust, let me lead it away in peace. And if you win mine, you can lead it away freely. The emperor bought it for a thousand bezants.”252 The king heard him out and smiled. He said to Alerou: “Get out of here! Leave me alone. I’ve no intention of jousting with you. Either the emperor was quite mad when he knighted you so early, or he wanted to spite your father. It was a very foolish idea. He’s either old or senile. You’d still be much better off playing ball with children than jousting in this battle.” When Alerou heard him he grew angry. “King,” he said, “you mustn’t say that! Don’t treat me as such a child, for I’m strong and strike well with both sword and lance. You’ll soon learn how strong I am! If that wouldn’t be considered foolish, I’d say that you’re too cowardly and dare not joust with me. But you’ll see that this won’t help you, for nothing in the world can stop me from striking you.” He spurred his horse to a gallop, and hit the king so hard that he stunned him completely. (20053–108) Unable to hold back, the king struck him ferociously. Alas! What a pity it was and what a loss, how grievously intemperate of him not to have restrained his hand! He pierced him right through. When Alerou felt that he was wounded, he dismounted on the green grass, blood pouring from his body, and stretched himself out on the ground. The king saw him lying there, all disconsolate. Slender-waisted, with long and strong legs, he wore a green tunic hemmed with gold, and his shoes were of the finest brocade one could find in Thessaly, with gold spurs worth a hundred shillings or more attached to them. The king stepped back, sad and distressed. He lamented bitterly and wept much. “Oh, God!” he said, “what a misfortune has befallen me today, to have mortally wounded this man! Oh, God! What a pity and what a loss that I have now wrongfully killed such a nobly born man, so bold and brave. Though he had never wronged me or injured me in any way, now I’ve taken his life because he was so eager and determined to display his great prowess, strength, and agility, and his remarkable knightly qualities. I can rightly say of myself that it’s an evil deed for a king to kill such a child merely for his words.” He threw his lance far away, and his shield too, commending them to the devil. (20109–54) “My lord king,” Alerou said, “don’t let my death concern you. I know well that I’m losing my life through my own folly. I am, alas, incapable of keeping my mouth shut. I completely forgive you my death. But it will be a great comfort to me that I was killed by the best king who ever was or ever will be, as has been shown in many places and in fights with many people, myself included, for I’ve been killed by my own great insolence.” The king went away, in great distress. He returned to the camp and ate nothing that whole day, but lamented and grieved very much for the death and the youth of the young Alerou, whom he had killed. He was gloomy and despondent a long time. When the people from the city saw that King Guiac had left, they returned to the field, where they found Alerou lying dead, his body pierced through. Utterly dismayed, they picked up his body, arranged it becomingly on his shield, and carried it away, grieving bitterly. You could see people fainting, crying, lamenting, and cursing the man said to have disfigured his shapely body; whoever killed him in this way had done wrong. They carried

252  20082 a thousand bezants mil besanz: see note to v. 4502.

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him to the city. When the emperor learned that his beloved nephew had been killed, he fainted seven times, if not more, greatly lamenting his death. “Alerou,” he said, “my dear, sweet nephew, I’d hoped that you’d increase my reputation. I never thought you’d lose your life so soon. I truly believed that thanks to you I’d be feared all over the world. Now I’m much weakened: since I lost my daughter, I’ve had no heir but you. Cursed be the hour I was born! I wish I could have died before I was thus afflicted. My affairs keep going from bad to worse, and I’d rather be dead than alive. I know well, for sure, that foreigners will now come and hold Germany and the empire; foreigners will rule. Not being strong enough to fight against those men out there, I’ll stay in here with my army and my people.” They buried the body with great ceremony in the same church where Lioine was buried, placing Alerou next to him. (20155–218) The emperor told his men to shut the city gates at once and bank up earth against them well, so that no one could go out nor the besiegers get in. He would defend himself from within as long as possible, now that their sortie had resulted in the loss of Alerou, his nephew whom he loved so much. They banked up the gates well and greatly strengthened the city’s defences. There was nothing to be done now but defend themselves and fight on the ramparts. (20219–32) King Guiac launched a fierce attack on the city. He had huge rocks thrown from mangonels and catapults at the strong and high walls, but the men from the city were on the battlements, defending themselves bravely and inflicting great losses on the English. Archers and crossbowmen were on the brattices,253 nocking and shooting their arrows,254 and defending their city well. When King Guiac saw that he could not at all get the better of the fortified city by assault, he had the land put under cultivation, planting gardens and vineyards and building farmsteads and houses. He swore great oaths, pledging never to leave the realm until the city was taken; no one could make him raise the siege. The defenders, who endured tremendous hardship, were very courageous and defended themselves bravely. After the city was placed under siege, the king did not once stir from it for a full year and a good five months. But when food ran out, the defenders found themselves in dire straits. Things that used to cost hardly anything were now being sold for a hundred bezants,255 so scarce was everything. Finding themselves in such danger, the citizens got together and went straight to the emperor, to whom they made it perfectly clear that they would starve in agony, and could no longer defend themselves. Instead he should try hard to make peace with King Guiac. The emperor was distressed to see his people thus starving. He was very angry and did not know what to do when he realized that he would lose his land, for he could not defend himself, and would have to agree to terms. He summoned two dukes and a wise archbishop. “My lords,” he said, “listen to me. You see well how things are going for us, how we’re defeated and overwhelmed, how we’re besieged here, and short of food. I don’t know what to do, so help me God, unless you go to King Guiac and make promises in my name: to him and all his 253  20241 brattices bretesches: temporary wooden structures (platforms, parapets, or galleries) added to a fortress for use during a siege. 254  20243 nocking qui encochent: to nock an arrow is to fit it to the bowstring before shooting it.

255  20265 a hundred bezants cent besanz: see note to v. 4502.



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companions I’ll give as much as he wants of what is mine. I’ll give them gifts as rich as they could ever wish for. I’ll give them more than they could ever ask for, so they’ll all be satisfied and go away from my land. If they want to do me homage, I’ll give them such rich fiefs, strong castles and wealthy cities, that they’ll be rich and prosperous as long as they live.” (20233–304) The leaders went away and climbed up to the battlements. They talked at length with the besiegers, whom they entreated to have their king come to them, since they could not leave the city themselves. They would gladly speak with him if they could. The besiegers went back and told King Guiac that the emperor’s envoys, an archbishop and two dukes, had just come to the battlements to speak with him, if it was not too much trouble for him to come and talk to them. And he did so without further delay. He mounted one of his chargers and, taking some of his closest companions, went there at once, to hear what they wanted. The archbishop spoke first. “My lord king, listen to me. The emperor sends us to tell you that he doesn’t know how you entered his territory but that you’ve grievously afflicted him even though he had neither wronged you nor offended you in any way. In spite of the great and unprovoked wrongs you’ve inflicted both on him and on his land, he wishes to honour you greatly, as he has sent us to tell you. He’ll give you as much as you want of his possessions, his silver and his gold; through us he assures you that he’ll give you more than you could ever ask for. And to all your companions who come from foreign lands he’ll give as much as each will want to take, on condition that you leave this land in peace. But if you wish to stay here he’ll give you castles and great fiefs, extensive lands and rich cities, which you’ll hold from him provided you swear allegiance to him.” (20305–58) “My lord archbishop,” the king said, “I tell you truly, so help me God, that when I left England I wasn’t looking for wealth, nor for gold or silver. I wanted in particular to conquer as much land as I could: I don’t care for any other possessions. I have seven companions who depend on me for their livelihood and who’ve served me a long time, having left their country for me. Believe me, every single one expects to win a kingdom and would never be satisfied, no matter what possessions one might give him, including castles and cities, unless he were called king. And I’ve many other knights, bold and battle-hardened, who’ve completely abandoned their families and friends, their lands and countries, for my sake, and who’ve often endured with me great pain and hardship, battles and cruel suffering. If I didn’t pay them back properly for their great efforts and their service, they’d be badly deceived and I’d have wronged them very much. Instead you’ll tell the emperor, who is besieged in there, that before things become even worse for him he should surrender the city to me and throw himself on my mercy. And I’ll be clement and will hold him in great honour, as is due to an emperor. But if he won’t do this, so that I have to prolong the siege, and if he won’t surrender to me, so that I have to capture him by force, I’ll put him in prison under such harsh conditions that he’ll never get out but will surely die there, and none of those with him will ever escape from the prison.” (20359–406) The messengers went away, upset and disheartened, and came to the emperor. They reported to him faithfully everything that Guiac had said. They had had no success at all, having found Guiac to be utterly unfriendly in this situation, unless the emperor were to

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surrender the city. But if the emperor were to defend it and Guiac took it by force, the emperor should be well aware, and this is no lie, that he would never leave Guiac’s prison alive and that those captured with him would all be killed, unless he were to throw himself on Guiac’s mercy. When the emperor heard this, he was angry and aggrieved. He bitterly complained and lamented before all his people. “By God almighty,” he said, “I won’t do that for anything in the world. I’d rather let myself be killed here than surrender the city or go to him in such a manner.” Like one completely lost, the emperor went away, climbed up one of his towers and looked at the country all around. He saw the large English army encamped beside a marsh, and the siege towers they were building around the city, and the farmsteads and the gardens, their equipment and their siege engines. Then he knew for certain that they would not leave the realm until they had taken the city. He was frightened, because he was not strong enough to defend himself, he was running out of food, and his people in the city were dying in large numbers. Then he knew indeed that in the end he would have to give up the city and the tower. Much distressed to see his people starving without being able to help them in any way, he said nothing more. He felt utterly desolate. As the famine in the city grew worse, the people assembled and made their way quickly to the great hall, sad-faced and lamenting, and cried out to the emperor: “A curse on your father’s soul, noble lord and powerful emperor! Why are you keeping us in here? You’re deliberately letting us die. Let’s open the gates, so we can go out and fight the men outside, risking our bodies. We’d rather die fighting than perish here without food. Three days have already gone by, and this is now the fourth, that we’ve had nothing to eat or drink. We’re in extreme danger and tell you truly that we’ll no longer endure this suffering.” (20407–80) “My lords,” the emperor told them, “so help me God and St Peter, I have no idea what to do. I’m well aware that I’ve lost this land. Would to God the besiegers might capture me, even if they kill me. I’d rather be dead than alive. I don’t know what more to say. I no longer care about my life. If someone were to cut my head off, by my God and Jesus Christ, I wouldn’t take it ill at all but would completely forgive him my death. Since I can no longer help you, nor protect you or advise you, have the gates opened at once, and to protect your own lives deliver me to King Guiac. That way you’ll save yourselves.” The archbishop spoke to the emperor first, very warmly. “Thank you,” he said, “my lord emperor. We’ve often heard in the past how those at war are at the mercy of fortune, often winning, but often losing. Whoever can hold fast to his conquests is considered fortunate, highly praised and honoured. But we’ve no idea if this is good or bad, for we’ve often seen a man who’d suffered great adversity, losing all he had, meet with good fortune, so that in a short time he had such a stroke of luck that he was able to regain all he’d lost and win even more than he’d ever had. On the other hand, the man who’d won everything would have such bad luck that he’d lose it all and be reduced to nothing. Therefore, sire, don’t be aggrieved by what you see here. We’ve heard of emperors, and also of powerful kings, who were killed in battle and to whom much worse things happened than have befallen you. So don’t lose heart. King Guiac is exceedingly wise and proud, valiant and courteous. I know well and am convinced that if you throw yourself on his mercy he’ll show you clemency. It could happen that God will remember you and Guiac will give the city back to you. There’s a great deal, indeed, that you should do to



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protect your people from death and save your own life. We pray you and entreat you to surrender to King Guiac in friendship and affection, both to set your people free and to save yourself. If you wait until our men have been killed and he’s taken you prisoner by force, he’ll be driven by anger to abuse you so badly that you’d give anything to avoid that. Therefore, sire, reflect on this and do it as soon as you can while you still have the opportunity. Otherwise you may wait so long that when you decide to do it you’ll no longer be able to. Consider now how to save yourself.” (20481–560) All those who were in the hall, dukes and counts, princes and kings, came before the emperor, lamenting bitterly, and fell at his feet. “Oh, sire, in Jesus’ name, have mercy! Have pity on us, sire, and don’t let us perish because of you. Restrain your feelings. The wise archbishop has given you excellent advice, loyal, trustworthy, and sound: that you should surrender to King Guiac and deliver us from danger. If you don’t do this, sire, we’ll all die.” “My lords,” the emperor said, “alas that my mother ever bore me! And that I can no longer defend myself! Now I must surrender both myself and the city to King Guiac, and do whatever he wants. What a wretched business this is! I’d rather be torn to pieces or burn to cinders in a fire than that this should have happened to me: to have lost hope, unable to defend myself. My heart is racked with pain. I can’t and won’t go against you, my men. But may God, who is both father and lord, give me a speedy death before I am humiliated. I’d rather let myself be killed, or starve in great agony, than surrender to King Guiac; I wouldn’t do it for anything in the world, except to protect you from death. But now I’ll do as you wish and as you have all asked me. You’re my men and my friends, and I’d rather die alone for your sake than have you perish for mine. Have the gates opened at once, so that people can come in and go out. Let King Guiac know that I won’t contend with him or hold the city against him. Instead he should do what he wants with me, as long as he lets my people leave safe and sound and without hindrance.” “Sire,” the barons said to him, “may God, who was crucified, reward you for this. You have released us from prison.” Then they had the gates dug out, unlocked, and opened wide. After that they sent messengers to King Guiac to say that the emperor had resolved to surrender to him, if he so wished, and to throw himself on his mercy, on condition that his people could safely leave the city, of which Guiac should take possession. King Guiac agreed to this and sent for the emperor, whom he guarded in great state. After that he took possession of the city and announced throughout his army that all the emperor’s men could leave in peace and safety. No one should be so insolent as to harm them in any way. But before they went away King Guiac arranged to take into his service, with great honour and without any trouble, all the princes whom the emperor used to retain. He received pledges from them all and subjected the entire country to himself. (20561–642) Guiac now held the entire land. He neither feared nor was in awe of anyone. Then he came to a decision and summoned all the men who owed him feudal service from Germany and the empire at large. They were to appear before him on a day he appointed, all ready to hear what he wished, desired, and commanded. Whoever refused to come would certainly be dispossessed, for on that day Guiac would have himself crowned and made emperor. After his coronation he would go on a campaign of conquests toward the East. No one would stop him from conquering Rome. Afterwards he would cross the

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Ionian Sea and stay in Greece for a while …256 “This is an excellent beginning. By God, who never lied, as long as we live we won’t fail you for anything. Go, dear lord, and conquer more. In this whole world, sire, there’s no country you won’t conquer if only you want to have it.” (20643–70) When the worthy emperor Guiac, good and generous, the giver of gifts, had distributed fiefs to his knights and raised them high, because they had greatly exerted themselves for his sake, he asked for water and washed. They all sat down to eat and were richly served. Guiac acted nobly: he had the powerful emperor Alexis eat with him, as well as all the dukes, counts, and kings he had taken prisoner. He had them eat in the great hall, richly served, honoured, and looked after assiduously. That day there was great wealth, power, and splendour in the great hall before the emperor Guiac. All at once a pilgrim appeared, walking step by step toward the high table. He wore a hat and a cloak whiter than ermine. He had a handsome, ruddy face, and seemed to be very old. His beard was long and whiter than snow on the branch. Broad-faced and bright-eyed, he looked very vigorous, and in his hand he held a pilgrim’s staff. When they saw him coming, all the counts and barons, and all the servants too, made way for him. When the pilgrim came before the emperor on the dais, all those in the great hall marvelled greatly at him, staring at him in wonder. “Emperor,” the pilgrim said, “I have come to denounce the great arrogance of your undertaking, in which neither you nor any man ever born can ever succeed. You were exceedingly insolent to think you could ever conquer the Earthly Paradise by force. Emperor, it’s impossible for you to conquer that land. Indeed, you’ll never enter it, either by assault or by any kind of arrogant action. For sure, you won’t even catch a glimpse of it, for you should know that God doesn’t want that. Though you may wish to conquer Paradise and fight the angels, as you have bragged here in your insolence and pride, you don’t have the power to match your foolish will. If you’ve conquered so much that you’re called emperor, you should thank God above, who is free from arrogance and pride. You don’t owe your conquests to yourself but to God, who is in heaven above. He gave you skill, power and strength, wealth and great possessions, and to your men whatever they needed. All this was given to you by God, who raised you so far above everyone else. Know for certain that He’s angry with you because of your great arrogance and your promise to fight the angels if you find them in Paradise. You’re eager to fight, but you don’t think of death. A day will come when you’ll find yourself in battle, fighting against Saint Michael and many other heavenly angels, and you’ll be so terrified that you’ll have no courage to even think of striking.257 You’ll have no lance or 256  20662 and stay in Greece for a while … E la demura une piece …: there is a gap in the MS after this verse; an entire folio, i.e. 168 verses, is missing. In his notes Holden supplies missing plot details from Bramis: Guiac plans to exceed the conquests of Alexander the Great and reach the Earthly Paradise, where all the archangels together will be unable to keep him out. Having outlined his plans, he distributes fiefs to his faithful followers. Gudlac receives Saxony, along with Greece and Constantinople, Lombardy goes to Tierri, Salomon is given Cologne, Waldemer Apulia and Calabria, Wicard Hungary, Odard Sicily, and Modred Swabia; see Holden, 317, and Bramis, 228–30. 257  20753 A day will come … Unchore en avendra le jur …: the battle Guiac will have to fight alone is the Last Judgment. Like all Christians, at his death he will have to account for his actions and face the wrath of God and His angels; see Holden, 317.



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shield, no hauberk or steel sword, and entirely different things will be on your mind. You won’t have any more attendants, knights, or armed men than the least important of the men present here today, for you’ll go there utterly alone. Not one of all the men you see here will come with you or consider you his lord. But when you remember your former possessions your heart will be racked with torment. Know that all your conquests so far, which have made you so powerful, will weigh on you heavily. Then you’ll wish very much that you’d never had anything, for you’ll have lost everything you’ve given away and spent, except what you’ve given to the needy for the love of God. But from now on beware: unless you’re careful, the higher you climb the harder you’ll fall. The more you have the more you’ll lose, and the more painful death will be to you. That is why I say to you, lord emperor, that this cruel death is approaching you fast. As a sign of it I tell you this: before you’ve stood up from the table where you now sit you’ll hear such bitter news about your closest family back in England that you’ll be devastated by grief.” (20671–798) The emperor sat in silence. He did not speak at all, and said no word but listened to the pilgrim’s speech with lowered head. The pilgrim turned to go and made his way to the door, and no one ever knew what became of him afterwards. All those in the great hall marvelled at the words they had heard, and at the emperor, who looked so dejected and never said a single word. In the end the emperor lifted his head a bit. “My lords,” he said, “where’s the pilgrim whom you saw speaking to me? I don’t see him. Bring him to me, for I saw him here just now. Why did he leave so soon? I know for certain that he’s wise and I’d like to hear more from him.” All the servants who heard this rushed all over the palace, searching both high and low, but heard nothing more about the pilgrim and reported to the emperor that they had learned nothing. The emperor was upset that he had not spoken longer with the pilgrim, for if the pilgrim had not left so quickly he would have asked more questions. He fell silent and said nothing more, becoming quite preoccupied, a despondent look on his face. Three men, apparently messengers, then arrived at the palace. They had white beards and grave faces, wore cloaks and carried pilgrims’ staffs. All three seemed to be noble men. They came up the stairs and greeted the emperor. (20799–842) “My lord emperor,” the oldest said, “dear lord, listen to us. We are your men from England and have come here looking for you. With your permission, dear lord, we bring you dire news of the good King Waldef, your father. Listen now, my lord emperor. After you went away and abandoned your land, the good King Fergus died, king and ruler of London. This was a great pity and a great loss, for he was a brave man. When he felt that he was about to die, he had King Waldef, your father and our lord, come to him, and gave the rich city of London to his daughter. In front of his entire baronage, he entrusted the lady to Waldef, in whom he had great confidence. She was to stay with him until the return of your brother Gudlac, whom we see here, and who had married the lady, the rightful heir to London, as we know for a fact. The first week after the good king died and was duly buried, King Waldef, your good father, took possession of the land and the cities, the castles and the fortresses, and returned to Norfolk, taking with him the lady, your brother Gudlac’s wife. Had she been a hundred times his mother, he couldn’t have treated her better, nor honoured or cherished her more. But the earls Brand and Hil-

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debrand, King Fergus’s treacherous and devious nephews, came from Northumberland when they knew for certain that their uncle had died. They brought with them large forces and many men, and immediately laid siege to Winchester. They negotiated with the citizens so long, asked and entreated, promised and gave so much, that the citizens surrendered the city to them, swore oaths of fealty, and promised to be their firm allies. Then they went to London and talked to the citizens until, deceiving them like the traitors they were, they persuaded them they should have been the rightful heirs after the death of King Fergus because Gudlac,258 who had married the lady taken away by Waldef, had certainly been killed in a foreign land very far away; also, that Waldef had taken the lady away from the city so as to have a pretext to crush the Londoners. By their tricks and their exhortations, the treacherous scoundrels persuaded the Londoners to hand over the city to them. Oh God! What folly that was! They took oaths of fealty from all the citizens. (20843–916) “When King Waldef heard the news, he was shocked and angry. He summoned the army of his land and went straight to the city of London to seek out the traitors, both of whom he besieged there. But the Londoners were brave and, unwilling to be besieged, they sallied out of the city with their men and their army, attacked King Waldef forcefully, and fought hard. Things went badly for them when King Waldef defeated them, and all would have been either killed or captured if they had not been forced to retreat inside the city first; not one would have escaped. But the sheriff of the city, who was renowned for his wisdom, had been taken in the battle together with his two sons, and brought before King Waldef. The king scrutinized them carefully, and then spoke to them, calling them traitors. In the end he ordered that they be hanged high on a gallows. All three should be taken at once outside the city gates and immediately hanged high on a gallows, like wolves. ‘My lord king, noble and kind,’ the sheriff said, ‘I beg you for mercy. It’s undeniably true that we’ve erred against you and against your son, our lord, whose domain this is, as well as against our lady. But it’s those who gave us bad advice who should be hanged for the wind to buffet; they deceived us badly. Lords Brand and Hildebrand did that, who have been traitors all their lives. Like the good liars they are, they pretended it was true that Lord Gudlac had been killed and would never come back. By their fraudulent words they brought us to this pass, and we surrendered the city to them. Alas, that we ever did so! Now you’ll do whatever you want with us; we deserve to die. But if, sire, you’re merciful to us, we’ll hand the city over to you. This night, truly, it will be all yours. If we don’t give you back the city as we’ve promised, have us all hanged in the morning. We’d expect no more.’ The king was silent. He said nothing but was deep in thought for a long time. (20917–80) “‘Sire,’ King Florenz said, ‘what the sheriff said makes a lot of sense. Grant it, sire, and have him go to the city at once, but keep his two sons here. If he holds to the agreement, and returns to you tonight to surrender the city, as he has promised, let his sons go back to him freely and you’ll become good friends.’ King Waldef replied: ‘My lord Florenz, so help me God, I’ll grant everything you have suggested.’ The sheriff went straight back to

258  20901 King Fergus rois Uthier: MS Uthier does not fit the context; the king who has just died is Fergus, not his brother and predecessor Uther, who has long been dead; see v. 6839.



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the city, where many people asked him how he had escaped. He told them the truth: that he was a hostage and had left behind his two sons as pledges. He tried hard to figure out how to free his sons. As soon as night fell and the city was still, he quickly armed himself, taking no one with him except his two nephews, who were valiant and brave. Once they reached the gates, the porter recognized them, running quickly to meet them, and the sheriff stopped. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘my friend the porter, open the gate and let me through. You can feel quite safe tonight. I’m going outside the walls to hear what’s going on in their army, and I’ll be back with you soon.’ The porter replied: ‘You can certainly go out, my lord, whenever you like.’ He ran to the gate and opened it, and the sheriff went out. They spurred and pricked their horses until they came to King Waldef’s camp, where they found the king lying in his tent with many of his men, including King Swein and King Florenz. ‘My lord king,’ he said, ‘come away! Where are your other men? Have them arm quickly; there’s no time to delay. Come and take back the city, as I’ve pledged you.’ The king at once ordered that his army should be armed, and in haste he armed too, taking his retinue with him. He reached the gate and called out. The porter, not suspecting treachery, promptly opened the gate and stood next to it. The king and all his men went in together, then loudly shouted: ‘Strike boldly, my lords! Strike, slay, kill! See that you spare no one!’ And they bravely did so. When the citizens heard this, they at once jumped up and armed themselves. (20981–21056) “When Earl Brand and his brother lord Hildebrand heard this, at once they armed themselves, along with the Londoners, and attacked King Waldef. Many heavy blows were exchanged there and many heads fell in the main street of Westcheap.259 Those in the city came off worse and fled, defeated. The earls Brand and Hildebrand fled over the bridge. And thus King Waldef, who remained there, took the city, putting so many of his trustworthy men inside that it was well guarded. The frightened citizens had hidden themselves in abbeys, churches, cellars, and caves, but King Waldef wisely took a hostage from each of them, so that they would serve and support him loyally and well. Meanwhile earls Brand and Hildebrand headed straight for Winchester, taking with them those who had escaped. They garrisoned the city, because they were sure King Waldef would besiege them or attack them but they did not have the strength to fight him. Very much afraid, they decided that Brand would stay in the city and Hildebrand would travel to some distant foreign country to seek help and aid. (21057–96) “With that Hildebrand left and went from land to land, to Scotland and Gutland, Denmark and Ireland. He searched so long and travelled so far, promised and gave so much, that in the end he gathered a huge army and landed at Southampton. Once King Waldef had garrisoned the city he had conquered, he went off to besiege Winchester with no more delay. The city was often attacked, and those inside defended themselves like valiant and worthy men, for Earl Brand was very brave. When Waldef heard that Hildebrand had arrived with his army, he headed in his direction. He fought and defeated Hildebrand, killing many of his followers and capturing many. Hildebrand himself was wounded by a big lance through his body. They would all have been cut down and killed 259  21063 Westcheap Westchep: a large market in London in the Middle Ages; the site is now called Cheapside. See Holden, 318.

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had they not reached their ships, which they launched into the sea, making their escape in great distress. (21097–126) “Then King Waldef turned back and promptly laid siege to Winchester. When Earl Brand heard that his brother, lord Hildebrand, had been defeated in battle and come to grief, he was mortified and furious. He told the citizens how Hildebrand had arrived, leading an army, and how he had been defeated, and he told them he would go abroad to seek aid and help. They could be quite sure that he would return within the year and bring them such an army that he would capture King Waldef. Should he ever find him here he would throw him in his prison or hang him from a gallows. In the meantime they should defend the city. Taking nine companions with him, one evening he stealthily left the city. He went straight to Devon and took ship at Bristol, making straight for Ireland, where he found his brother Hildebrand. The two of them went to many countries and raised a large army. Meanwhile they heard tell of a demon, a huge and wild monster with eyes fully a foot apart. His name was Hunewald and he lived far off in Africa. Exceptionally big and brawny, he had the strength of twenty men. So they went and talked to him craftily. For a start, they promised him all King Waldef ’s land and they also promised that if he wanted to join them he could reign over them. (21127–72) “But King Waldef didn’t know of this—alas that he couldn’t know it! He laid heavy siege to the city and busied himself attacking it. After Brand’s departure, the citizens negotiated so much with Waldef, and gave him so many gifts that in the end they yielded him the city, made him firm pledges, and found good hostages for him among city leaders. Before he left, he had the city well garrisoned and pacified the whole region. Then he returned to his own land, not fearing any war. Later he heard from people close to the sea that ships from Ireland were approaching. Wanting to be certain, he went straight to London, taking many men with him, and in order to both see and hear for himself—since he had no idea what would happen—he intended to journey to the coast near Dover, where ships that caused great harm used to land. At once he left London with many men and went to be quartered at Rochester, not expecting any trouble. One day a fog rolled in and stayed there all day and all that week. The weather was so foggy you could not see a furlong in front of you. (21127–212) “Earl Brand and lord Hildebrand came sailing from Ireland. They travelled over the sea, with good wind and weather, until they entered the Thames unimpeded, neither seen nor noticed. They sailed far that day, up to the city of Rochester, and landed on the left bank. They found a fisherman and asked him about King Waldef, where he was and what he was doing, and the fisherman told them he was in Rochester and would be spending the night there. When Earl Brand heard this, he immediately said to his followers they should arm quickly and guard the river bank with great care, so that nobody might go past them who could give news of them to the king. As soon as night fell and they were all armed, they went straight to the city, threatening to kill the king. He was already in bed, and the whole city was quiet. They went in through the gates, then shouted loudly: ‘My lords, noble knights, strike, strike with your good steel swords! Remember how treacherously they treated us in London.’ They set fire to the city and killed everyone in their way. Whoever could see Hunewald, who was smashing huge



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buildings with his iron club and killing the men inside, would have been astonished at the prodigious feats he performed. (21213–54) “When the king heard this uproar, he quickly jumped to his feet and looked out a window. He spotted Hildebrand, saw his knights dying in great pain and agony, and saw the city on fire. He called out to his knights: ‘Get up, my lords, and arm yourselves quickly! We’re betrayed, for certain: I’m sure I’ve seen Hildebrand, who’s now attacked us here with a large army, and many of his people are violently killing ours.’ They rapidly armed, mounted their horses, and fiercely attacked their enemies. Great misfortune struck Waldef when he lost his loyal retinue, and a treacherous archer slew his horse under him, but he quickly jumped up, drawing his naked sword, twenty fierce and hardened knights at his side. Then Earl Brand appeared, and for a while stuck close to them with his household knights. Many blows were exchanged as Brand’s men hit them from every side and attacked them fiercely. They were all wounded, cut to pieces and killed, except for the king, who was distressed but boldly undertook so much that he tackled a hundred men, striking hard with his gleaming sword. He killed so many that there was a great pile of them before him, and he shattered two sturdy swords with his mighty blows. Seizing an axe, the work of the good smith Wayland,260 he wreaked havoc with it, felling Hildebrand’s two nephews, all bloody and dead, and many of their other followers, including two earls and two kings, born in Ireland. (21255–304) “When they were all killed, the king continued to defend himself. Then Hunewald came up and with his club struck the king such a mighty blow on his helmet that it flew to the ground, quite shattered. The king was furious at that. He was so stunned by the blow that it knocked him to the ground, but he quickly jumped up again, mortified and angry. Furiously he rushed toward Hunewald and struck him with his axe, not holding back. Though he could hardly reach his head because he was so monstrously tall, he gave him a powerful blow with his trusty steel axe. A section of the strong helmet and part of the ventail next to the temple fell down. Waldef cut Hunewald’s flesh down to the bone, taking off the eyebrows and all of the right ear, making it fly to the ground, so violent was the blow. People marvelled at it. Then Waldef told the Saracen: ‘A curse on your whole race! When you leave here you’ll never boast of killing me in the field, because until now you haven’t really felt my blows.’ Then he remembered his sons and many times wished they were there. ‘Alas,’ he said, ‘for my fine son Guiac, alas for my fine, sweet son Gudlac, alas, alas for my fine, sweet sons. If you were in this land now I wouldn’t be as good as dead. Alas, now I’ll be slain and you’ll never see me again. You’ll never hold land for long if you, my sons, don’t avenge me if you’re ever able to.’ (21305–50) “The battle was bitter. They all assailed him, striking at him from all directions, hitting and pelting him with spears. He had quite lost his sturdy helmet and shield, which

260  21298 the good smith Wayland Weilland le bon fievere: a legendary blacksmith in Germanic mythology, Wayland (Weland, Volundr) was known in Norse, French, and Anglo-Saxon literature for forging many famous weapons and pieces of equipment, including Beowulf ’s corselet and chanson de geste heroes’ swords. See, e.g., Beowulf, ed. Bruce Mitchell and Fred C. Robinson (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), v. 455; Raoul de Cambrai, ed. and trans. Sarah Kay (Oxford: Clarendon, 1992), v. 314.

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were completely in pieces, lying at his feet on the ground, and his hauberk of small fine mail was broken and shattered. Blood streamed to his feet both down his front and down his back. Alas, Lord! What anguish and what a loss! What a heinous deed that was!261 When Waldef could no longer defend himself, he still refused to surrender, falling to his knees as he continued to resist. The king was slain there, but his body was at once taken up and, as we’ve heard tell, borne forthwith to the ships. Because of his great reputation, it was placed in a boat and taken to Ireland, in order to show how extraordinarily strong he was to the end of his life. (21351–78) “After this wicked act, Brand hastily retreated and gathered his men by the gates outside the walls. He had the roads watched so that nobody could pass and the news would not get out and reach London. Immediately they mounted their fastest and most valuable horses and spurred them on all night. A little before sunrise they came directly to London. In the throng there were a good ten thousand, and they came straight to the city completely unrecognized; a similar number arrived soon after. They all entered at the same time. Inside, no one paid attention, thinking they were some of their people. Indeed, they thought it was good King Waldef. When the Londoners realized who these men were, they rushed to their weapons and quickly armed. Many blows would have been struck, but the wicked Brand and Hildebrand now appeared before them. ‘My lords,’ Brand said, ‘stop! There’s no need to fight. Listen to what I’ll say. I took revenge on King Waldef in the city of Rochester, where he lodged last night. I’m telling you the truth: he lies there dead and cut to pieces. I’ve killed him and his men there, and all this land knows of it. He had chased me from my kingdom and dispossessed me of my rights, wrongfully and unlawfully. Now I’ve taken revenge on him, and I’ve come back to you here, to my lawful inheritance. People know well it’s mine by right, because it belonged to my uncle, and if anyone were to oppose this he’d soon meet his end. (21379–426) “He showed them his huge army, which was approaching the city. They negotiated until they all came to an agreement; they became his men and held the city from him. Brand and Hildebrand now left and made for Winchester. They entered it and thanks to their cunning quickly conquered it this time. They stayed there until they felt sure of the city, when they went back. They took without delay all King Waldef’s castles, whatever he had built and reinforced, and installed their men there. Then they returned to London, equipped all their ships, and sailed straight to Norfolk, arriving in front of Caister. After laying siege to the city on all sides they took it, and quickly captured all the local castles. They went on to besiege Tasburgh and the fortified city of Attleborough, but they could not take them because there were loyal people inside. Next they went to Thetford, but King Merlin arrived from Hertford with many men and stood fast with those in the city, because the queen, who held Thetford, was there. Then Earl Brand and Hildebrand besieged the city, losing more than they gained. Mortified because they could not succeed, they chose to retreat and returned to Norfolk, all of which they gave to Hunewald. Having drawn up a charter bestowing on him all of King Waldef’s land, they went back to London and there assembled a huge army. They swore repeatedly that there was no one

261  21364 What a heinous deed that was! Cum il ot fet grant ultrage: we adopt Holden’s suggested emendation of MS il ot fet to il i ot fet (Holden, 318).



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in the kingdom who would not quickly become his man and hold everything he owned from him.262 Finally they went on toward Oxford, we don’t know with what success.”263 (21427–78) The emperor listened to them as they recounted all this. “My friends,” he said, “this is harsh and bitter news. Tell me, who are you?” “My lord,” said one of them, “I’ll tell you. I’m known as Earl Harding, and I’m one of your Norfolk barons. I’m from the city of Tasburgh and was acknowledged as its earl and lord. I’ve come to give you this news. Pardon me, fair sweet lord, but if you don’t immediately take action, you’ll lose the whole land.” “Oh God,” said the emperor, “alas that I was ever born, now that we’ve lost our father! Gudlac, dear brother, what shall we do? The pilgrim told me the whole truth, here at my table a short time ago. Now I know he told me the truth, and that God sent him to me in Christ’s name, because of the arrogance and excess of my undertaking, which I’ll regret forever. Now I’m truly certain that God is angry with me for the great arrogance of my plans. I’m convinced that I’ve greatly sinned against Him. How shall I be reconciled with Him? I’ve often heard clerics, who know how to read and sing mass, say that God hates nothing more than pride and arrogance, through which many a soul will perish. We ought to know this well. I was so arrogant that I thought for certain no king or emperor or anyone born would dare withstand me in any way, or so much as frown at me. If I formerly rose up high and was recklessly arrogant and proud, I’ve fast tumbled down, never to rise again. I’ll be eternally damned. (21479–528) “Henceforth I wish to forsake and abandon my great pride. So I’ll now change my life and leave the folly I’ve lived in for a long while, ever since I was born. Now I’ll give up the weapons that used to give me so much pleasure, with which I always did so much harm and killed so many noble men. So many castles and cities, so many lands and kingdoms are laid waste through my misdeeds, and will never be restored. I myself am responsible for these sins and misdeeds. I’m eager for you to know this, and you can certainly recognize that there’s nothing I can do to avoid my part of the responsibility for all the wrongful acts that you’ve done in battle and in tournaments ever since you became my men. Because of this, I now understand that this world is worth nothing to me. The longer I stay here, the more I’ll sin, and I may soon stay here so long as utterly to perish. This very day I’ll surrender to God, our king and lord, and I’ll surrender my weapons to him, so that I’ll never bear any again. I’ll abandon this world and put myself at his service, going into exile where I’ll never be known. Above all, my lords, I’ll pray almighty God to give you a true pardon for the great misdeeds that you and I have done, that we may not incur damnation. (21529–72) “My brother Gudlac, you’ve heard what I intend, how I’ve undertaken to serve God, with a loyal and true heart. I give and grant to you everything that I’ve conquered ever since we left our land. Henceforth be its lord: by the crown I wear here, I now put you in

262  21475–76 his man … from him ses hummes … de li: though the singular pronoun is surprising in the context, it probably refers to Hunewald. Holden (318) finds this reading not quite satisfactory, since only Waldef’s own land was given to Hunewald in v. 21469. 263  21478 we don’t know with what success Ne savom k’il ont esploité: the messengers’ very long account of events in England ends here.

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possession of it. Never again shall I rule my lands, nor wear a crown, unless it should be in heaven above, where all who have served God will be crowned, to dwell in His glory.” After that, he had the tables removed and there was much lamentation. Then he got to his feet, took the crown from his head, and held it out to Gudlac. “Gudlac, my brother” he said, “take it. With this crown I give you everything I’ve conquered, near and far.” Gudlac replied: “My good, sweet brother, please, you shouldn’t say this. Have pity, good sweet brother! Have pity, my lord, noble emperor! We both have the same father and were born of the same mother: you should love and trust me and ask my advice before anyone else’s. You shouldn’t undertake something without revealing it to me first. If you wish to give alms to alleviate your sins, you can build churches and abbeys, build roads, bridges, chantries,264 and feed and clothe monks. You can well serve God and save your soul, without going into exile now. If you depart and abandon us now, who will avenge our father, and what should our mother do? And then what should we do, once we’ve lost you? From now on we’ll always have a hard and miserable existence. As for me, I tell you, by the loyalty I owe you: never, so long as I live, will I own any of your conquests. Not a single foot of any town, castle or city will stay in my possession. So give them to whomever you like; certainly they’ll never be mine. I mean to go with you and never leave you. We won’t be separated in either life or death.” (21573–634) “Emperor,” said Salemon, “here’s my opinion. You are emperor, and a brave one, none so powerful in the world. Keep your crown, my lord. It’s not fitting for you to abandon it, or to take this course without the advice of your barons, who have to protect your honour. Abandon this idea: it’s too childish and frivolous. Keep your lands and think of conquering more. When you divided the empire this morning, we heard you say that you’d conquer the whole world, and you wouldn’t cease until you conquered the Earthly Paradise. Remember your predecessor, the excellent king Alexander,265 who conquered the whole world for himself. Until his death, he never wanted to give up any land. This is why he was so loved, acclaimed, and honoured. On his deathbed he had his followers come forward, divided all his conquests among them, and surrendered his soul to God. That’s how the good king, so fine and generous, behaved. As long as he was alive, he wouldn’t give up his land, yet he had been told, and had found it in writing, that he’d die that year without fail, on his return to his homeland. He never thought to exile himself, for either danger or fear of death. And you want to abandon us all here because of what a pilgrim said. May God stop you, for you’d ruin us. But instead go on with your brave deeds, your courage, your glorious acts, as you’ve begun. If you live, no man ever born will be your equal. If you now abandon us in this way, your countrymen will say you fled out of fear. Everything you’ve done in your life, all your deeds of valour and bravery on the battlefield and in the fray, would be in vain. No fame, esteem or renown would ever 264  21610 chantries chanteries: chapels to which an endowment is attached, providing for the salary of a priest who celebrates masses for the founder’s soul.

265  21655 the excellent king Alexander Alisandre, le tres bon roi: the poem’s audience would have recognized this as a double-edged compliment. Though the legend of Alexander was very popular in the Middle Ages, its protagonist was criticized for his hubristic ambition to conquer the whole world as often as he was admired for his achievements.



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be attached to you; everything would be over. So I say to you, my lord emperor, trust your good brother, Gudlac, and us, your followers, with whose help you have acquired esteem and fame, and stay with us. Protect what you’ve given us, my good lord, and if you’re not willing to do it, know that we’ll return it all to you and accompany you. We’ll never leave you so long as we live.” (21635–708) Then Waldemer came forward, the noble Dane from overseas, and lord Urs, lord Wicard, lord Ode and lord Odard, lord Modred and lord Urri, and with them brave Tierri and many others. They all fell at his feet: kings and dukes, earls and barons were on their knees before him. “My lord emperor,” they said, “please, by the soul of Waldef, your father, don’t abandon us, for you might as well kill us. Sire, you were the one who brought us here into this foreign kingdom with you, raising us to such high positions. You’d do a great wrong if you now forsook us and left us in this way. Without a leader we’d be wretched. What could we do? No more than the sailor overwhelmed on the high seas: the storm takes him so by surprise that he’s petrified. The rudder in his hand is useless, his great mast, which is so tall, shatters from end to end, and he lets the ship sail wherever it wants. Then the sailor laments, and we’d lament even more, my lord, were we to lose you like this. You should steer us, protect and keep us all, and be our ruler. For pity’s sake, my lord and beloved emperor, why do you want to leave us? We have every wish to serve you. My dear lord, if there’s anything you want, look at your men here who’ll do everything to get it for you. Without having to stir, you’ll have it all just as you wish, whether city or rich land, because we’ll go and conquer it by force. What will now become of the valuable fiefs, the lands and the cities you’ve given us, raising us so high, when you won’t defend us but want to abandon us here? We’ll return all these lands to you and never hold a single foot of them. We want to go with you and with you endure bad times and good.” (21709–66) “My lords,” the emperor told them, “in the name of God and his dear mother, you should never ask me such a thing. You are men of great courage. Since the time of our forefather Adam, I think, no king or emperor, neither Alexander the conqueror nor the brave King Arthur, ever had in his lifetime such valiant people, nor who knew so much about warfare or could do more damage to their deadly enemies in battle. There were never any such in this country, nor did I ever hear tell of men who knew better how to protect land, summon or gather an army or give the best advice. Cherish each other, as good men should, and stick together. You’re such good and valiant fighters that you won’t find anyone in this world who dares do you wrong or oppose you in battle. Now let one of you come forward, someone who can govern a land, rule, keep and defend it, and receive the crown.” Not one spoke a word except Modred, who jumped up, unhappy and furious. “My lord emperor,” he said, “ why won’t you listen to our entreaty? If you abandon us here and want to leave us, you’ll have mistreated us too badly, tricked, deceived, and betrayed us. That’s not what you pledged when you brought us with you. You often swore to us, and confirmed it on oath, that as long as you lived you wouldn’t leave us, and now you’ve left us here in this foreign kingdom. I tell you for sure that’s against God’s will.” (21767–816) “Modred,” Guiac replied, “good, sweet friend, you’ve now told me what you think. I’ve set my heart upon this journey so firmly that I’d be reluctant to abandon it.” “My lord

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emperor,” said Gudlac, “postpone this journey just for a year and stay with your men, as you have until now. And what’s more, think of our father, slain in England, and of how our country is laid waste and our mother besieged. If she’s forcibly captured she’ll be maltreated and ruined, and soon she’ll die. If you depart now, without avenging your father, we and our family will all be put to shame. But stay here, sire, and defend your land, and I’ll go to England. God willing, I’ll avenge the death of King Waldef, our father, and rescue our mother. If I can find the traitors, no castle, town, or city will avail them. Wherever I find them, I’ll cut off their heads and bring them here to you. Then you’ll win much honour, wherever you go later, for having avenged your father by sending those men to death. My good, sweet lord, wait until you’re revenged on them.” (21817–54) “Gudlac,” said the emperor, “my fair, sweet brother, speak no more of my staying longer than this day. I wouldn’t do so for the whole world, not for kin, not for father, not for wife, not for mother, and if you speak of it again you’ll forfeit my love. I’ll never love anyone who talks to me about it. But you, my brother, a brave, bold, valiant and victorious knight unequalled in the whole world, think now about avenging them, and don’t speak of me as the one to do it. For my part, all is forgiven. May God, who made the whole world, give solace and victory to everyone who helps you put to death all those who’ve wronged us so much by killing our father. (21855–76) “My lords,” said the emperor, “may God heap you with honours. Tell me what to do with this crown. To whom may I best deliver it? Who can best handle it?” All the noblemen were silent and said nothing, except Gudlac, who was the first to speak. “Sire,” he said, “listen to me. You intend to go and serve God, as you’ve told us here, but before you go, ask forgiveness from all those you’ve wronged. You’ll be able to go more securely. First go to Emperor Alexis, whom you’ve greatly wronged, ask him forgiveness in God’s name, and give him back the crown, begging him for mercy. Do the same with all the others, and all those here whom you’ve captured. Let them go quite free, and before you part from them, restore to them their lands, exempt from dues, so that you’re cleared of sins against them. That way you’ll be more secure.” (21877–904) “Ah, Gudlac, my fair, sweet brother!” said the emperor, “now I’m sure you love me, since you’ve given me such advice. No man who ever lived could advise me better about how to save my soul. May he who suffered on the cross reward you for it.” Weeping, he kissed him. There was much lamentation as King Guiac, unhappy and downcast, turned toward Emperor Alexis and knelt at his feet in tears. “My lord emperor,” he said, “have pity! For the sake of that God who never lied, have pity on me, sire, for the wrong I’ve done you. Accept the crown and place it on your head. I here restore your title, lordship, and power, and I beg of you a true pardon for the great crime I committed against you when I invaded this country. Know that from this day forward I’ll never again bear the name of emperor. From now on I’ll be called Guiac the wretched, the poor outcast.” The emperor raised him, then himself fell at his feet, before kissing him two or three times, he was so joyful and moved. Thus they were reconciled and forgave the wrongs each had done the other. Guiac at once ordered that everybody who had been imprisoned, and all those taken captive by the men who were in the hall—the emperor’s dukes, princes, kings, counts, barons, who were all his prisoners—should be released. He knelt on the ground in front of them. “My lords,” he said, “have pity, for God’s sake! I’ve behaved badly



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to you in dispossessing you so wrongfully and sinfully. This very day I’ll return everything I took from you, your castles, all your fiefs, your lands, and your cities, and I beg of you a true pardon, for the sake of Christ and his Passion.” Everyone ran to him and raised him from the ground, and they all cried out in answer: “Oh thank you, noble lord! We all forgive you and thank you.” Then they kissed each other and were reconciled in friendship. (21905–70) “My lord emperor,” Guiac said, “now listen to me. I’ve returned your crown, which I had wrongly taken from you. I’ve restored the possessions of your counts and barons hailing from foreign parts, and also those of all your dukes and kings. Now I ask you, my lord, for the love of God and holy charity, to help my followers who’ll remain here and want to stay in the land, and for love of me to provide for them, so that they’re not destitute or wish to harm you.” The emperor replied, saying: “So help me God, my good, sweet lord, I’ll give as much of my land to all your men who want to stay with us as will make them rich and powerful. And if they want to leave and return to their own lands, I’ll give them so much silver and gold that they’ll be rich and powerful all the days of their lives.” Guiac thanked him warmly, and took his leave of them. (21971–22000) “My lords,” he said, “listen to me: you see how things stand. This morning I was an emperor, rich and enormously powerful. I had such power that I thought I owned the whole world, and now, my lords, I’m brought so low, as you can see. Indeed, now I possess no more than what I have on my back. From now on I have nothing to think of except serving and loving God, and now I’ll leave you, commending you to Him. Alas, alas for my noble followers, loyal, proud and honourable men! Never was there such a group of good and worthy men, nor indeed will there ever be men so famous for their bravery. I’ll leave you now and never see you again, and you will never see me. But may that God who dwells above keep and protect you in honour, virtue, and courage, because of the many kindnesses and services you’ve done me.” (22001–28) He kissed them all and left the palace, without saying another word to them. Inside the palace dukes, counts, barons, Germans, Teutons, and Frisians could be seen bitterly lamenting, tearing their hair and rending their clothes. Some could be seen swooning, others collapsing on the ground. They all followed him, lamenting, weeping and wailing, and mourning their lord. “Alas, valiant King Guiac, brave and bold fighter! Who will now conquer lands and vast kingdoms, towns, castles, and cities? And who will now bestow lands and carry on great wars? Who will uphold knighthood when we’ve nothing left of you? And who will dole out great gifts now that we’ve lost you? The world was lit up by your valour, your prowess, your virtue, your generosity, your nobility, and your beauty. Now that we’ve lost you, the world will lose its brightness. The whole world will grieve for losing you like this.” (22029–60) Throughout the city there was great lamentation. Meanwhile Guiac made his way to the eastern gate. He saw poor people standing there, and among them a pilgrim, with a worn old cloak, ugly and full of holes. He called the pilgrim to him. “My friend,” he said, “come over here. Give me the cloak you’re wearing and I’ll give you my mantle, which is very costly and beautiful.” The poor man thanked him and gave him the cloak, and Guiac gave him his fine mantle of new dark silk. It was richly worked and embroidered all over in fine gold. Its splendid clasp was precious, elegant, and beautiful, with so many fine

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and valuable gemstones on it that the mantle was worth more than all the gold from seven cities. The pilgrim took it, wondering at the exchange, thanked him with all his heart, and greatly praised God for making him rich and prosperous for the rest of his life. Guiac took the cloak, wrapping it meekly around himself. He sat down on the ground and took off his footwear, his precious and valuable hose and shoes, and had a boy carry them to the poor pilgrim at once, in exchange for his pilgrim’s staff and his hat, which was neither fine nor handsome. Guiac put the old hat on his head and took the staff in his hand, then got up, commended them all to God, and took the metalled road in rags and bare feet.266 (22061–108) When his men saw him go like a poor pilgrim, they felt nothing but distress, and they began to weep. You should have seen their grief: “Alas, noble knight,” they cried out, “you shouldn’t leave like this! Alas! How will those legs and feet, once so well shod, bear walking on the hard ground? Alas, have pity, noble Guiac, don’t abandon us in this way! Sire, take pity on us and let us go with you.” Guiac stopped and turned round, addressing them most humbly. “My lords,” he said, “don’t hold me up but let me go in peace. Go to your lodgings; farewell. The day is already well advanced, but I don’t know where and how far I’ll go, nor where I’ll take lodging. I’m not taking a single penny with which to buy food or drink, and will have nothing except alms; God will provide for me. Return, my lords. Go back, and may God, who is both father and son, heap you all with honours and protect you from sorrow. Whoever follows me a single step will never be dear to me.” Then they all parted company and never saw each other again. Thereupon Guiac left, commending himself to God in heaven. In this way he went into exile, never to return. People in those days often spoke of the way Guiac had gone, and they truly believed that because of his virtue and beauty fairies had taken him away into their country, to stay there forever. We have told the truth about him, as we have found it written down. (22109–60) Now we shall leave Guiac to tell you of Gudlac, and of the mighty retinue who were so distressed when their liege lord went into exile. They returned to Marende in great sorrow,267 but the brave and noble emperor Alexis often comforted them. He honoured them and held them dear, and made over to them all the wealth in his realm, all his gold and silver and all his magnificent treasury. If any men wanted to stay with him, he gave them more land than their ancestors ever had: cities, castles, and strong towers. Those who remained with him became wealthy and powerful, but not a single Englishman stayed behind at that point, except the brave and courteous Waldemer the Dane, king of Apulia, which had been given to him earlier, after the king of that land was killed in the war. (22161–90) When Gudlac had dwelled there as long as he liked, he took his leave of the emperor and departed with his whole army. He went straight to Saxony, which had been given him earlier, and gave it all to Tierri, whom he crowned its king. Then he left Saxony and 266  22107 metalled road chemin ferré: important roads, sometimes dating back to Roman times, were often covered with broken stone (“road metal”). 267  22167 Marende Marende: the name fits no known German town. Bramis mentions Marence, possibly a corruption of Mayence (Mainz), though not in this part of his translation; see Holden, 319, and Bramis, 224.



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went directly to Cologne, giving the land to Salemon and crowning him king, just as Guiac had ordered. Finally, not wishing to delay any further, he meant to travel to England to avenge his father’s death. The noble warrior Gudlac and his men took to their ships at Cologne. In fine weather and with a favourable wind, they sailed across the sea until they arrived in England, landing at Dunwich and disembarking at dawn. What is now called Felixstowe was then called Dunwich.268 (22191–216) Now safely arrived in his own land, Gudlac asked the people he found in this port who had conquered the land and what his name was. And they replied that it was certainly a devil, a demon called Hunewald, a diabolical man, exceedingly tall and strong. “You’ve never seen such a man; he’s wreaked much harm in this land. He lives close by, on a great hill by the shore; he’s there every day, indeed, until the stroke of three. He keeps watch over all the land, because he knows well that Guiac or his brother, the good Gudlac, will come to avenge their close kin and destroy their enemies, and he doesn’t want to be surprised. No matter how soon they arrive, or how large an army they bring, he’ll fight them because that’s what he really wants. You can be sure he’ll be found over Walton way, but he’s so well supplied with weapons that he’s afraid of no enemy. He carries so many weapons, dreadful and of all kinds, you could load a cart with them: axes and big hatchets of sharp steel, and large iron clubs, terrifying even to look at. He’s not afraid of any danger. You’re sure to find him there, on a hill by a wood.” Gudlac answered: “I’m going there, to find out what he means to do.” (22217–64) “My lord,” the people told him, “now go stealthily, with many men, and make sure you’re well armed. He’s so large and violent that nothing can withstand him, for he strikes so hard with his steel sword that no weapon has a chance against him. Certainly neither strong hauberk nor tough shield, neither doublet nor pointed helmet will help you, so powerful are his blows. And he is so well armed that no mother’s son alive can in any way harm, injure, or hurt him, however keen, sharp, and trenchant the weapon might be.” (22265–82) “God help me!” said Gudlac, “I won’t hesitate to go there at once, whatever may happen to me afterwards, so help me God.” He asked for his weapons, armed himself without delay, with two good, stout hauberks, to better protect his body, and put two helmets on his head, better than anyone had ever seen. With him he carried two swords; better ones were never forged. He mounted his good horse and settled firmly into the stirrups. They passed him a sturdy shield, which he threw around his neck quickly. With a rampant golden lion in the middle of a field of clear blue, it was stronger and better than anyone had ever seen. The sword in his hand was beautifully etched,269 its iron edge razor-sharp, well tempered and keen, trenchant and cutting …270 (22283–306) 268  22215–16 Felixstowe … Dunwich Domoc … Seint Feliz: Holden points out (319) that Dunwich and Felixstowe are twenty miles apart.

269  22303 beautifully etched mult bien fieté: MS fieté is probably a copying error for freté, which Holden glosses as “reinforced with an iron band” (Holden, 319). The word is more likely to mean “etched”: sword blades were often decorated with etched patterns. 270  22306 trenchant and cutting Bien trenchant e bien esmulu: The narrative breaks off at this point, at the end of a rhyming couplet; the rest of the column is left blank.

Appendix I

EXTRACTS FROM THE ORIGINAL TEXT

LE ROMAN DE WALDEF Prologue (1–74) En Bretaigne furent jadis Plusurs rois mult poësteï�s, Ki devant nus dunc i esteient, De qui les granz honurs teneient; Bretaigne esteit dunc apelee Qu’ore est Engleterre clamee; Julius Cesar la conquist, De conquere mult s’entremist. Julius de Rome ert emperere, Suvent avint ove gent fiere En Engleterre pur conquerre Car il desiroit mult la terre; Od grant esforz i vint suvent E suvent perdi de sa gent, Dunt il ot le quor mult iré. Puis la conquist par poësté Par Androgeu, un duc de Kent, Com le Bruit conte apertement: Come le Romein la conquistrent, Combien de tens le treü pristrent, Com il ierunt suvent vencu, Com perdirent puis le treü; Qui l’estoire savoir voldra Lise le Brut, illoc l’orra. D’une estoire voldrai parler Ki mult fet bien a escuter, De verité est tute feite Kar des rois engleis est estreite, Com il la terre dunc tenoient, Cum entreuls parti l’avoient, En quel maniere puis la tindrent E les aventures q’avindrent. Ceste estoire est mult amee E des Englés mult recordee, Des princes, des ducs e des reis; Mult iert amee des Engleis, Des petites genz e des granz, Desqu’a la prise des Normanz. Quant Li Norman la terre pristrent Les granz estoires puis remistrent

4 8 12 16 20 24 28 32 36 40

232 Extracts from Le Roman de Waldef

Qui des Engleis estoient fetes, Qui des aucuns ierent treites, Pur la gent qui dunc diverserunt E les languages si changerunt. Puis i ad asez translatees, Qui mult sunt de plusurs amees, Com est le Bruit, com est Tristram, Qui tant suffri poine e hahan, Com est Aelof, li bons rois, Qui tant en fist des granz desrois; Ces en sunt, e altres asez Que vus asez oï�r purrez, Ces gestes, qu’erent en engleis, Translatees sunt en franceis. Les anciens ça en ariere Mult par orent bone manere; Les aventures que lur avindrent Entreuls tutes bien les retindrent E en memorie les metoient, Que cil qui en aprés venoient Suventes foiz les recorderent, Plusurs suvent en amenderent. Ceste estoire vus vuel mustrer Del riche roi Waldef, le fier, Com il estoit suvent traï�z, Com il perdi ses dous fiz Quant il ierent jofne d’eé, Com il erunt de li porté E porté en estrange terre, Com entreuls avoit mortel gerre, En quel terre furent nuriz, Cum puis devindrent bons amis, E si vus dit les aventures Que mult lur avindrent ja dures.

44 48 52 56 60 64 68 72

Bede and Ereburc suffer love’s torments (1057–112) Or est Bede d’amur suspris, Que tut ublie sun paï�s, Trestut a mis a nunchaleir, En amur a mis sun voleir; En un lit s’est adunc chaü E dit que tel mal l’a feru Qu’il ne se peut d’iloc turner, Iloc se voldra reposer; En suspirant fortment se pleint Car amor l’a si forment destreint. La damoisele est en la tur, Que trop est susprise d’amur, Ne set que ele pusse fere Ne sun duel n’ose a nul retreire. “Haï�! le paï�s d’Engletere!

1060 1064 1068

Extracts from Le Roman de Waldef Tant par sunt ore de mal eire La gent que de vus sunt estreiz, Trop par sunt une gent de pes, Qu’a femme ne sevent parler Ne lur servise abanduner, Mais trop sunt beals e alingné E trop ont il en euls bunté. De male eschole sunt apris; Ne dusent hors de lur paï�s En estranges terres aler Quant ne sevent a gent parler. S’il m’eüst ainz areisuné E d’amur eüst rien parlé, Dist li eüsse mun coragé, Tut le tenist il a utrage; Si ainz a lui parlé eüsse E jo en tiel corage fusse, Pur lecheresse me tendroit E asez meins me proiseroit. Si a cel puint pusse venir Que parler i pusse a leisir, Tut li dirroie mun pleisir, E puis soit nus al covenir.” D’amur iert ele si susprise K’ele ne set en quele guise Ele se pusse contenir, Ester ne puet n’en pes gisir, A la fenestre suvent alot, En la cité suvent gardot Envers l’ostel sun bon ami Que ele ot de novel choisi. Ore s’entreeiment si forment, L’un de l’autre ne sot neent; Issi se sunt il contenuz Uit jurz entiers e voire plus.     Mult se pleingnoit Bede forment, Mult le pleingnent tute la gent, Beivere ne puet ne mangier, Nis en sun lit ne pot durer, A nul ne s’ose descoverir, Ne set que purra avenir.

1072 1076 1080 1084 1088 1092 1096 1100 1104 1108 1112

Queen Ernild intervenes to stop the fight between Guiac and Waldef, who do not know they are father and son (14443–520) La reï�ne en ubbli nel mist, Comanda soi a Jesu Crist, De l’eglise atant est turnee, A la batallie est droit alee, De tost aler ne se targa, Suvent curut, suvent ala; Ja tant aler ne se savoit,

14444 14448

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Ainz qu’ele venir i pooit Ja se furent entreferuz Mult granz colps de lur branz muluz. La dame enz el champ se lança Meint humme adunc la reguarda Curante i vint eschevelé, Cum esbahie e effreé, En halte voiz geta un cri. “Rois Waldef,” fet ele, “merci!” Entreuls atant se mist E a sun sengnur le roi dist: “Merci pur Deu, beals tres duz sire! Vulez vus vostre fiz occire, Qui a vus s’est ci combatu? Merci, pur l’amur de Jesu! Ja est ço vostre fiz Guiac E la est vostre fiz Gudlac. Iço sunt ambesdous vos fiz Que Saracin pristrent jadis; Deu en soit ore gracï�é, Qu’il les vus a ci enveé. Li angele del ciel ceste nuit De la part Deu il m’aparut, De la part Deu me nuntia E me dist e me comanda Que ci venisse en ceste place E vos fiz ici vus mustrasse.”     Li rois la dame reguarda, Bien dist e mult bien le quida Que ele fust ja forsenee E qu’ele fust del sen changee, Il ne set que ço pooit estre. La dame se turna a destre, Guiac sun fiz areisuna, Mult ducement a li parla. “Guiac,” fet ele, “beals amis, Beals duz chiers e beals tres duz fiz, Veez ci le roi vostre pere E jo sui pur voirs vostre mere, E veez la Gudlac tun frere. Mult i a grant tens çanariere Ke vus fustes de nus raviz, Tant cum vus erï�ez petiz, Mais Deus, qui est e pere e fiz Vus a ore a nus ci tramis; Par l’angele Deu mult bien le sai, Quanque jo ore dit vus ai. Beaus fiz Guiac, kar en pensez E vostre mere reguardez; Entre mes costez vus portai, Veez dunt jo vus aleitai.” Ses mameles dunc li mustra,

14452 14456 14460 14464 14468 14472 14476 14480 14484 14488 14492 14496 14500

Extracts from Le Roman de Waldef Tut en plurant a li parla. Guiac sa mere a reguardee, Cum devant li s’est demenee, En sun curage bien entent Qu’ele iert sa mere vereiment E que Waldef estoit sun pere; Adunques li turna sa chiere, A la terre geta sun brant, Droit a sun pere veit curant E a ses piez en cruiz se mist, A sun pere merci requist. “Pere,” fet il, “pur Deu, merci! Pur celi qui unc ne menti Aez merci de vostre fiz, De ço que j’ai vers vus mespris, Nel fis certes a escï�ent; Tele aventure avient suvent Que un sage humme mult mesprent Envers sun ami charnalment.”

14504 14508 14512 14516 14520

A mysterious pilgrim interrupts Guiac’s feast, urging him to abandon his arrogant plans for conquest (20687–798) Grant fu al mangier la richesce E la fierté e la noblesce Ke el paleis iert a cel jur, Devant Giac l’empereor. Un pelerin es vus atant, Pas pur pas vers le dois avant, Chapel avoit e esclavine, Qui plus iert blanc que peil d’ermine, Beals vis avoit e culuré, Uns hum sembloit de grant eé, La barbe ot longe e tute blanche, Plus ke n’est nois desus la branche, Larges vis avoit, les euls clers, Par semblant resembloit mult fiers, En sa mein tenoit un burdun; E tuit li conte e li barun E tuit li sergant qui servirent, Quant il entreuls venir le virent La voie li funt e chemin. Atant es vus le pelerin, Devant l’empereor al dois; Trestuit cil qui sunt el palois Se sunt durement mervellé, A mervelle l’unt esguardé. “Emperere,” dist li palmer, “Venu vus sui pur nuncï�er Le grant orguel k’empris avez, Ke vus ja jur n’acheverez Ne ja achever ne purrez,

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236 Extracts from Le Roman de Waldef

Ne nul humme qui unques fust nez; De tres grant orguel pensastes Quant vus unques prendre quidastes Par esforz paraï�s terrestre. Emperere, ço ne pot estre Ke vus la terre conquerrez, Ja mes pur voirs n’i enterez Ne par esforz ne par orguel, Ja nel verrez certes de l’uel, Kar Deu nel volt, sachiez de voir; Tut eez ore le voleir Ke pareï�s conqueï�siez E as angeles combatisiez, Si cum vus estes ci vanté, Par tun orguel, par ta fierté, Vus nen avez pas le poeir, Selunc le vostre fol voleir. Si vus conquest conquis avez, K’emperere estes clamez, Deu de la sus loer devez, K’est sanz orguel e sanz fiertez; Ne l’avez pas conquis par vus Mes par Deu del ciel, qui est la sus, Qui duné vus a le savoir E la force e le pooir, La richesce e le grant avoir, E a vos genz lur estuvoir; Tut iço vus a Deu duné, Qui tant vus a sur tuz levé. Ço sachiez bien de verité Ke il est vers vus mult iré Par le grant orguel que feï�stes E la parole que deï�stes, Ke as angeles combatrï�ez S’en paraï�s les trovisiez; De combatre as mult grant desir Meis ne pensez pas de murir. Unchore en avendra le jur Ke vus vendrez en un estur U vus truverez Seint Michiel, Angeles asez altres del ciel, U vus serrez si esbaï� Que ja ne serrez si hardi Que vus ja nul ferir pensez. Lance n’escu ja n’i averez Ne halberc nul ne brant d’acer, Vus averez tut el a penser; Ja n’i averez puint de mesnee Ne chevaliers ne gent armee, Neent plus k’avera li menur Ke ceenz soit ui icest jur, Kar vus trestut sul i vendrez; De tuz ceuls que ceenz veez

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Extracts from Le Roman de Waldef Un sul ove vus n’i vendra Ne ja pur sengnur vus tendra. Mais quant il vus remenbera Des biens que vus eüstes ja Le quor mult fort vus en doudra; Sachiez, mult vus en pesera De quanque ore avez conquis, Dunt par estes si poëstis; Dunc voldrï�ez vus mielz asez Ke unques rien n’en eüsiez, Kar trestuz averez dunc perdu K’avez duné e despendu, Fors de tant ke averez duné As besungnus pur amur Dé. Mes des or garde vus pernez Cum vus plus en halt muntiez; Si mult bien ne vus purveez E vus plus durement charrez, Cum plus averez, plus i perdrez, E a la mort plus vus doudrez. Pur ço vus di, sire emperere, Icele mort, qui tant est fiere, Vus vient, sachiez, mult aprochant Par ensengnes vus di itant: Ainz que de ci levé seez De la tablë u vus seez, Nuveles si dures orrez, Dunt vus tres grant duel en averez, De vos plus charneuls amis, K’en Engleterre sunt remis.”

20772 20776 20780 20784 20788 20792 20796

Waldef ’s death (21307–78) Hunewald est venu atant, Al roi duna un colp mult grant En sun healme de sa mace, Ke voler le fist en la place E ke trestut le depesça. Li rois forment s’en aï�ra, Del grant colp fu si estuné K’a terre jus est trébuché, Meis il resalli tost en piez Kar dolent iert e mult irez. Par grant ire vers li salli E de la hache le feri, De ferir ne se volt pas feindre; El chief le pot a poine ateindre Kar il ert mult hisdus e grant. Un colp li duna mult pesant De la hache, qu’iert bons e d’aciers; De sun fort healme un des quartiers E de la ventaille ensement

21308 21312 21316 21320 21324

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238 Extracts from Le Roman de Waldef

Juste la temple aval decent; Tut desqu’a l’os sa char trencha E les surcils li entama, Od ço tute la destre orelle ‒ Le colp tindrent a mervelle ‒ El champ le fist trestut voler, Itant par estoit le colp fier. Aprés a dit al Saracin: “Maloit soit trestut le tuen lin! Ne ja ne vus avanterez, Quant vus de ci departirez, Ke vus en champ m’eez occis, Ke mes colps ançois ne sentis.” De ses fiz dunques li menbra E tantes foiz les regreta. “Haï�!” ço dist, “beals fiz Giac, Haï�! beals tresduz fiz Gudlac, Haï�! Haï�! mes tresduz fiz, S’ore fuissiez en cest paï�s Unchor serroie seins e vis. Allas! ore serrai occis, A nul jur mes ne me verrez; Ja terre lunges ne tiengniez Si vus, mes fiz, ne me vengiez Si vus en eise ja soiez.”     Mult estoit la batallie dure, Puis li cururent trestuz sure, Ferirent le de tutes parz, Jetent e ruent, lancent darz; Sun fort healme e sun escu Avoit il trestut perdu, Que trestut ierent detrenchiez, Jus gisent a terre a ses piez, E le halberc menu maillé Ert derumpu e depescé, Le sanc li raeit a ses piez E par devant e par detriés. Ha, Deus! quel duel e quel damage! Cum il ot fet grant ultrage. Quant il ne se pot mes defendre Ne il ne se volt a euls rendre A genulz a terre chaï�, Unchore adunc se defendi. Atant i fu li rois occis, Meis li cors fu meintenant pris, As nes fu tantost aporté, Si cum il nus fu reconté; E en un batel fu lors mis, Pur ço ke il iert de grant pris, En Irlande le fist porter Pur la mervelle de li mustrer, Cum il de grant valur estoit Tant cum en li la vie avoit.

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Appendix II

REORDERED TEXT OF VERSES 10807–111901 Okenard said: “My dear lord, I’ll willingly swear the oath.” They asked for the relics, and Okenard swore upon them to what Edward required. Next he asked for leave to go and they all granted it. He commended them to God and gave them many thanks for thus freeing him, then he left and quickly made his way out of the city. He rode so long that day that he lodged in Hertford, where he was received with great honour. He stayed there all that day, and left next morning, to go straight to King Waldef. Waldef was then in Thetford, holding a great feast. King Merlin and King Florenz and King Swein, with large retinues, King Felix of Huntingdon with his family and his friends, and dukes, earls, and barons from other parts, had all come to the feast and were most joyful at the return of King Waldef, who had escaped from prison. Then a traveller appeared, spurring into King Waldef’s presence. “Sire,” he said, “listen to me and you’ll hear news of Okenard. He is quite free now; you’ll soon see him in the city.” When King Waldef heard him, he rejoiced greatly. “My lords,” he said, “now quickly mount your horses and all together come with me. We’ll go and greet Okenard. We should show him great honour, for he’s saved me from death and God sends him here to us. I’ll reward him as soon as ever I can.” King Waldef mounted his horse, accompanied by his magnificent assembly of barons. Bells rang in the city and a Te Deum was sung. Everyone went to meet Okenard and greeted him with great joy. Having received him courteously, they all went back together. Whoever serves a worthy man prospers mightily, but whoever serves a bad man comes off the worse. He who serves the worthy man will in the end profit by it, and he who serves the bad one, as we have heard many times, will never get anything good from him; on the contrary, he who has served him the most will, in the end, seek to trick his master into dismissing him. According to a proverb I have often heard, he who serves a bad man wastes his time. (10807–74) King Waldef was in excellent spirits, and so were the men from the city. They all sat down to eat and were served splendidly. When Waldef had finished his meal and the men in the hall were all in a good mood, a young man arrived and stood before him. “King Waldef,” he said, “listen to the news I bring. Erkenwald is dead, the good king of Lincoln whose daughter is your wife, and the inheritance falls to you. The citizens have sent me, my lord, to ask you to come in haste and take power, and not to delay much if you wish to have the city.” The king appeared saddened by the news, and kept his head bowed for a long time. Then he spoke. “My lords,” he said, “you who are gathered here, listen to me. You know well that I owe a debt of affection to Okenard, whom you see here, for if it hadn’t been for him I’d be dead. He saved me from harm by setting me completely free when I was sentenced to a cruel death and awaited execution. He surrendered himself to death for my sake, but God delivered him indeed and he escaped grave danger. I had wronged him greatly when I disinherited him and exiled him from my land, and now 1  See Introduction, pp. 21–22.

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wish to reward him in the following manner. I could return the land I had taken away from him, but this would not be a proper reward for his offering his own life to save me from a harsh death, unless I could die for him. Today, before you, I give him Lincolnshire and the entire domain as a heritable fief. Let him hold it from me from now on, and if he wishes to have more, I’ll please him in every way.” (11023–74) Earl Okenard replied: “May God, who created the world, reward you for it, for you’ve given me a splendid gift.” He quickly got up and kissed first Waldef’s hand and then his foot, and so did all those in the great hall. Earls, princes, dukes, and kings, all thanked him profusely for having given Okenard such a gift. “My lords,” said mighty Waldef, “this isn’t the time to delay. Early tomorrow morning you must all be ready and on your way. We’ll go straight to Lincoln.” “Sire,” they replied, “we’ll all be ready.” All that day and all night they rested and amused themselves, and in the morning they set out, with a large and powerful army. They travelled in daily stages until they entered the city of Lincoln. The citizens and aldermen, as well as men from the surrounding country, came to meet them and welcomed them with great rejoicing. Then they went into the city, where the king stayed as long as it pleased him. Then he summoned all his men, earls, barons, and minor nobles, most of those in the land and all men from the domain itself, ordering them to be there on a given day. (11075–108) When they were all assembled, the king addressed them. “My lords,” he said, “you who ought to be my men, listen! I thank you gratefully for having honoured me so much in receiving me as your lord; you are excellent people. Here is Earl Okenard, who saved me from death in London. You’ve heard much about my harsh imprisonment in the city of London, how I was sentenced to death, and how I was bound in chains heavier than a packhorse could carry. But the brave Earl Okenard delivered me from all that and saved me from death. Afterwards he disdained to flee, unafraid of dying, because of the faith he had pledged King Fergus, may God curse him! But God protected Okenard well and I’ve brought him here with me. Now I want to reward him for the service he has done me. I grant to him this city with the entire domain, as a sign of loyalty and affection, for he has indeed deserved it by saving me from death. You know well how much I used to hate him and how I took away his land, and yet he saved me. One should indeed cherish a vassal who returns good for evil. I’d never done him anything but evil, and yet he repaid me with much good and great honour: all the more reason for me to love him. Now, my lords, I ask you to do as I entreat you and become his men, holding your lands from him. He’ll do you such great honour and be such a good lord to you that you’ll never have had a better one, nor one better able to keep peace among you. He’s so worthy and courageous that you won’t find a living man who could harm you in any way; you’ll be safe everywhere.” They replied as one: “We’ll become his men willingly and hold our lands from him. We won’t deny your wish but will do as you please, our good lord.” Then all the barons of the land did homage to Okenard and proclaimed him king, amid great rejoicing in the city. Having been a poor earl before, Okenard was now a wealthy king. Very wise and open-handed, he was a good ruler in his land. No man was so brave as to dare offend him. (11109–78)



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King Waldef left and returned to his country. He was greatly loved and much praised for the rich gifts he gave, and knew how best to reward those who served him willingly. (11179–84) King Waldef was in Thetford. Remembering how King Fergus had humiliated him while he kept him in prison, he had his country’s army summoned, all those who could bear arms and could be useful to him. Burning for revenge, he summoned his friends and all favourably disposed neighbours, and made it known throughout his land that whoever sought wealth should come to him and he would get it, considering himself well satisfied. Hundreds and thousands willingly flocked to him. When the king had gathered all these noble barons, he called King Swein, King Florenz, whom he loved very much, King Felix of Huntingdon and many more of his friends, King Merlin of Hertford and others of his family, his barons, his dukes, and his earls. Then he told them of the humiliations King Fergus had inflicted on him as long as he had the upper hand. (10875–902) “My lords,” he said, “now listen to me. You’ve heard much about the great shame and ignominy inflicted on me in the city of London by King Fergus when he put me in his prison. He kept me captive like a thief, like one accused of treason. No king, duke, or earl was ever thus humiliated. Now I want to take revenge, which is why I’ve had you all summoned. I want to entreat and beg you, and offer you much of my wealth, to come along with me and help me in this great time of need.” They all shouted together: “Sire, thank you, in God’s name! Go, we’ll follow you! Truly, we’ll never let you down.” “My lords,” he said, “thank you! I’ll always rely on you.” (10903–24) It was at the midsummer festival of Trinity Sunday that King Waldef left Thetford with much joy and delight, greatly strengthened by the army he had gathered and making a display of great power. Day by day they travelled so fast that they reached London, where they posed a great threat to King Fergus. Their entire army was encamped on the plains before the city, where they pitched tents and pavilions and canvases edged with gold. When King Fergus heard this, he climbed up a tower to survey brave Waldef’s army, and saw so many pitched tents he was very … and angry. He ran down in a fury, swearing by God’s might that they would all be put to death, King Waldef would be hanged, and the rest utterly defeated. Then he called his two nephews, who were most brave and bold. The elder was called Brand and the younger Hildebrand. Recently knighted, they were valiant and proud. He had sent for them earlier and they wisely came with a large army, which greatly strengthened Fergus. But one thing made him furious: some of the kings he had summoned did not deign to come but sent word back that they would not help him or defy Waldef. Some of King Fergus’s allies stayed away, while others came to him: the king of Canterbury, King Herman of Salisbury, King Hereward of Chichester, King Herlaf of Gloucester, and King Bede of Bedford, who subsequently died there. Two kings came from Wales, with a large force of Welshmen. No more arrived on that occasion, and before the month was out some would regret they had come. (10925–78) King Fergus was distressed that his people, from whom he had expected plenty of help, had let him down and would be of no use to him now. He assembled his men and addressed them in a friendly manner. “My lords,” he said, “what do you advise me? You can see how King Waldef has besieged us here. Alas that I didn’t kill him when I held him in my prison! A curse on wicked Okenard, who let him escape! Much more trouble will

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yet come of it. When he escaped alive from us, I told you repeatedly that he wouldn’t keep the peace and would never cease making trouble. Now he has arrived here with many men. It’s never happened in our days that any man dared to think of besieging this city. He’ll crush and kill us if he can give vent to his anger. Now I ask you, my lords, for advice.” (10979–11003) Then King Fergus’s nephew Hildebrand rose. “My lord,” he said, “listen to me. King Waldef has come here with a large and powerful army, and besieged us in this city. We’ll be shamed and greatly disgraced if you’re so afraid of death that you allow this. You have a great many good men. Together with your forces from the city, we’ll fight tomorrow morning and, God willing, we’ll easily defeat them. And if we have to retreat to the city, we’ll do so.” “You’ve spoken well,” said Fergus. “We won’t tarry a single day longer but make our preparations today, so that tomorrow we’ll be completely ready.” (11004–22) On this occasion they did no more, but all returned to their lodgings and rested until the next morning, when they prepared to fight and arranged their troops in battle order. (11185–90)

INDEX OF NAMES

All references are to line numbers in the original poem. An asterisk indicates that the name is discussed in a footnote. Adam, 21773, biblical first man Aelof, 49*, unidentified romance hero, perhaps the father of Horn, protagonist of the Roman de Horn Africa (Alfrique, Aufrique, Aufrike), 7049, 7151, 11824, 12199, 17282, 17348, 21164 Alerou, 20065, 20084, 20095, 20115, 20155, 20173, 20178, 20193, 20218, 20228, son of the king of Portugal and nephew of the German emperor Alexis Aleruf, 17780, seneschal to Emperor Alexis Alexander (Alisandre), 7464, 15537, 16848, 21655*, 21775, Alexander the Great Alexis, 18017, 18899, 20681, 21918, 22169, German emperor Androgeus (Androgeu), 17*, Duke of Kent in the legendary histories of Britain Anjou (Angou), 2700, region in northwest France Apollo (Apollin), 4968, 5040, 7064, 11736, pagan god Apulia (Puille, Puelle), 15009, 17615, 17752, 17817, 19118, 22187, region in southern Italy Apulians (Lumbarz, Lungebarz), 17753*, 17813 Arthur (Artur, Hertur), 15015, 17663, 18148, 21776, legendary British king Atle, 301*, 315, 321, 323, 355, an early king of Norfolk Attleborough (Atleburc, Atheleburc, Ateleburc, Atleburch), 349*, 1507, 1744, 2155, 2748, 2769, 2912, 3265, 4201, 4266, 4742, 7022, 8685, 9075, 9106, 9255, 9328, etc., town in Norfolk and seat of its kings, including Waldef Austria (Ostruce), 19119, 19677, 19945, 19969

Babylon (Babilonie), 18581 Bavaria (Baivere), 19238, 19708, region in southeast Germany Bede (Bedes), 401, 429, 549, 723, 770, 786, 799, 821, 875, 889, 903, 920, 951, 983, 1011, 1021, 1023, 1027, 1029, 1057, 1107, 1139, 1143, 1173, 1188, etc., king of Norfolk and Waldef’s father Bede, 10971, 11217, 11245, 11254, king of Bedford, Waldef’s enemy (not to be confused with Waldef’s father Bede) Bedemund, 375, 385, an early king of Norfolk Bedford (Bedeford), 10971, 11219, town in the east of England Belin, 15001*, 17661, legendary British king Bern, 3274, 3979, 4015, 4016, 4025, 5043, 5245, 5486, 5701, 5711, 5721, 5723, 9837, 9868, 9873, 9965, 10395, 10416, 10460, 11231, 11243, 13507, follower of Waldef Berwick (Berewic), 15060, town on the English border with Scotland Blois, 1116, 1251, town in France Brancaster (Brunchastre, Bruncastre, Castre), 216, 4388, 4396, 5212, 5313, town in northern Norfolk Brand (Brant, Branz), 10951, 11349, 11393, 20883, 20959, 21057, 21067, 21081, 21093, 21112, 21129, 21178, 21213, 21219, 21281, 21379, 21405, 21463, nephew of King Fergus and Waldef’s enemy Brennus, 15001*, 17661, legendary British hero, known as Brennius in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain Bristol (Bristove), 21154, port in western England Britain (Bretaigne), 1, 5*

244

Index OF NAMES

Brittany (Bretaingne), 2700, region in France Brun (Burn), 3274, 3285, 3976, 5369, 6789, 11233, 11257, 11261, 13507, 17270, 17301, one of Waldef’s followers Brun, 209, lord of Flegg and one of Castor’s knights, (not to be confused with Brun, follower of Waldef) Brut, 18*, 24, 47, Wace’s Anglo-Norman translation of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s legendary history of Britain, named after the country’s supposed founder Burgundy (Buluingne, Burguingne), 2696*, 15008, region in eastern France Byzantine domains (Rumanie), 15009* Caister, 247, 254, 1597, 5316, 6953, 10391, 14274, 21446, fortified city founded by Castor on the Norfolk coast; originally called Castorie Cambridge (Cantebrige, Cantebruge, Cantebrege), 795, 3238, 4327, 4615, 5327, 5348, 5522, 5529, 5568, 6210, 6425, 8696, 8965, 8993, 9597, 10155, 13026, town in East Anglia Canterbury (Canterbire), 6243, 7169, 10035, 10967, seat of the king of Kent Cardigan (Caradigan), 6263, town in Wales, on an estuary leading to the Irish Sea. Carlisle (Carduel, Carduil), 6252, 6450, town in northwest England Cassaruc, 19014*, duke of Swabia; see also Hermer Castor, 125, 129, 155, 173, 203, 205*, 219, 237, 253, Roman governor of England Castorie, 204, 205*, 242, 243, 247; see Caister Castre, 212, early name of Brancaster Chester (Cestre), 6254, town in northwest England Chichester (Cicestre), 6245, 6470*, 10063, 10113, 10969, 11348, town in England, King Hereward’s seat Cnut (Kenut, Cunut), 3238, 4327, 4655, 5348, 5399, 5500, 5571, 10155, king of Cambridge, hostile to Waldef Colchester (Colecestre, Coilecestre), 391, 796, 3239, 4325, 4577, 4588, 5594, 5642, 5945, 5954, 6421, town in southeast England

Cologne (Culuingne, Coluingne, Culungne, Coloingne, Culuigne), 7035, 11419, 11440, 11453, 11478, 11746, 11820, 12619, 12637, 12693, 12771, 13535, 15174, 15370, 15397, etc., city in Germany, where Guiac is raised by King Conrad Conrad (Conred), 11420, 11454, 11465, 11621, 11644, 11648, 11707, 11740, 11745, 11752, 15384, king of Cologne, whom Guiac serves before eventually inheriting his throne Cornwall (Cornewalle, Cornewaille), 6257, 15057, region in southwest England Danes (Danois, Daneis, Denois, Deneis), 114*, 6622, 6679, 12042, 12279, 12295, 12297, 12324, 12334, 12336, 12348, 12381, etc. Daniel (Saint), 4905, 11664, biblical prophet David (Davi), 2060*, biblical king, model of ideal kingship; a medi­ eval tradition unsupported by the Bible attributed his death to his wife Bathsheba Denmark (Danemarche, Denemarche, Danemarge), 6622, 8166, 11976, 12035, 12569, 21000 Dereman (Derman), 423, 447, 463, 474, 482, 537, 551, 571, 639, 789, 3149, 9150, 9171, 9226, 9236, 9254, 9327, knight in Bede’s service, Odenild’s lover and Florenz’s father Devon (Devensire), 15058, 21153, county in southwest England Dorchester (Dorecestre), 6261, town in Dorset Dorset (Dorsete), 15057, county in southwest England Dover (Dovere), 21199, port in southeast England Dublin (Develin), 8389*, 8470, Ireland’s principal city Dunwich (Dunewiz, Domoc), 9849, 9903, 9917, 22213, 22215*, town on the Suffolk coast



Edmund (Saint), 249*, East Anglian king and martyr Edriz, 5405, lord of Ipswich, who fights against Waldef Edward, 10701, 10777, 10797, 10811, sheriff of London Edwin (Edwine), 6255, 6789, king of Portchester, who fights against Waldef Eldret, 4088, 4089, 4095, nephew of King Uther of London Elfere (Helfere), 359, 367, an early king of Norfolk Elstan, 6257, 6788, king of Cornwall, who fights against Waldef Elveden (Elvedene), 6405, town in Suffolk, close to Thetford Emma (Emme), 8268, Erkenwald’s wife and Ernild’s mother England (Engleterre, Angleterre), 6*, 11, 94, 1071, 1463, 2539, 2746, 2875, 2900, 7379, 8120, 8209, 8231, 8291, etc. English(men) (Englois, Engleis, Englés), 34, 36, 41, 954, 962, 969, 981, 1044, 1257, 2631, 2960, 4822, 5732, 13056, etc. Ereburc, 1020, 2535, 2740, sister of the Norman duke (or king) Morgan, Bede’s wife and Waldef’s mother Erkenwald (Erchenbald, Herchenwald, Erchenwald), 3291, 3337, 3339, 3367, 3401, 3417, 3516, 3643, 3648, 3686, 3867, 3891, 4133, 4155, 4157, 4175, 6249, 11035, king of Lincoln, Waldef’s father-in-law Ernild (Ernil), 3287, 3344, 3548, 3563, 3645, 3701, 3756, 3843, 3854, 3869, 8267, 8622, 8629, Erkenwald’s daughter and Waldef’s wife Ernis, 3553, one of Erkenwald’s vassals Eron (Heron, Herun, Erun), 11439, 11466, 11483, 11513, 11566, 11568, 11587, 11609, 11615, 11638, 11643, 11658, 11666, 11675, 11709, 11751, 11756, 15439, 15475, 15565, 15647, etc., king of Saxony Essex (Esesse), 392, 5592, 6422, 6500, 8697, county in the east of England Evroc (Ebroc), 7050, 7055, 11822, 11861, 12201, 12203, king of Morocco

Index OF NAMES

245

Fécamp (Feschamp), 2319*, port in Normandy Felix (Feliz, Felis), 717, 6259, 6471, 8973, 8985, 8994, 9003, 9271, 9278, 9281, 9291, 9293, 9306, 9309, 9625, etc., king of Huntingdon, to whom Waldef’s father Bede marries his sister Odenild Felixstowe (Seint Feliz), 22216*, port on the Sussex coast Fergus, 6898, 9315, 9679, 9703, 9752, 9757, 9818, 9875, 9884, 9898, 9899, 9913, 9921, 9942, 9949, 9968, 9985, 9988, 9995, 10007, 10112, etc., earl of Guildford, then king of London Fern, 5942, 5986, 6103, 6131, 6137, 6161, 6165, 6170, 6183, 6497, 6502, 6507, 6729, 11349, 11394, one of Waldef’s enemies, son of the sheriff of Colchester Flanders (Flandres), 12617, 12755, region in present-day Belgium and northwest France, next to the English Channel Flegg (Fleg), 150*, 151, 211, coastal area in northeast Norfolk Florenz (Floren), 760, 2169, 2283, 2327, 2337, 2373, 2419, 2439, 2445, 2497, 2505, 2517, 2527, 2605, 2655, 2659, 2664, etc., Waldef’s cousin, son of Odenild and Dereman; see also Foundling Foundling (Truvé, Truvez), 775, 2167, 3072, Florenz’s nickname while his identity is still unknown France, 883*, 913, 1113, 1119, 1232, 1389, 15007 French(men) (Franceis, François), 904, 947, 970, 974, 987, 993, 1179, 1235, 1258, 11476 Frisians (Frisun), 19672, 22034 Frode (Frodes), 457, 459, 503, 847, 867, 1495, 2133, 2333, 2759, 2915, 2937, 2962, 2966, 2994, 3127, 3147, 3169, etc. Bede’s seneschal, who usurps the throne of Norfolk after Bede’s death Frodelin, 460, 3147, 9157, Frode’s son, who kills Dereman out of envy

246

Index OF NAMES

Garsire, 15835, 16009, 16093, 16097, 16170, 16195, 16203, 16217, 16229, 16241, 16339, 16441, 16472, 16662, 16668, 16692, 16700, 17438, 17444, 17461, King Saluf’s nephew Gascony (Gascuingne), 2692, 2695, region in southwest France Gecestre, 6250*, town in England Germans (Aleman, Alemans, Alemanz, Tiois), 11476, 13689, 17729, 17872, 17901, 17918, 17926, 17927, 17941, 17957, 17993, etc. Germany (Alemaingne), 15174, 15939, 17501, 17658, 17673, 17701, 17883, 18166, 19069, 19106, 20209, 20646 Giac, 384, 401, king of Norfolk, Bede’s father Gimund (Guimund, Guimond, Gimunt, Gimuns, Guiemund, Giemund), 851, 867, 1495, 1607, 1616, 1651, 1723, 1728, 1739, 1746, 1850, 1873, 1879, 1889, 1901, 1925, 2003, 2011, 2017, 2068, 2101, etc., vassal of Bede, then of Waldef Gimund, 1623, 1652, Gimund’s father Gimund, 6247, 6786*, king of Warwick (not to be confused with the vassal of Bede and Waldef, or his father, another Gimund) Girard, 1115, 1193, 1203, 1214, 1230, 1251, count of Blois Gironde, 18502*, estuary in southwest France Gloucester (Gloecestre), 6253, 10970, 11347, 11393, town in southwest England, seat of King Herlaf Gravesend (Grabesant, Gravesant), 12798, 12816, town on the Thames estuary in southeast England Greece (Grece), 20661 Grimsby (Grimesbi), 12780, seaport in the English county of Lincolnshire Gudlac (Gullac, Gutlac, Gudlas), 6234, 7046, 11817, 11821, 11829, 11857, 11863, 11870, 11878, 11884, 11904, 11907, 11941, 11953, 11971, 11982, 11987, 12025, etc., the younger of Waldef’s twin sons

Guiac (Giac), 6233*, 7033, 7039, 7045, 11417, 11419, 11431, 11569, 11591, 11622, 11625, 11631, 11657, 11676, 11701, 11720, 11729, 11749, 11757, etc., the elder of Waldef’s twin sons Guildford (Geldeford), 6899, town in southeast England Guntier, 17373, 17787, 17797, one of Guiac’s and Gudlac’s followers Gutland, 12310*, 21099, present-day Gotland, Götaland (both in Sweden), or Jutland (Denmark)

Hardecunut (Herdecunut), 13063, 13343, 13425, Danish vassal of Gudlac’s Harding (Hardinc, Hardincs), 2998, 3007, 3017, 3273, 4429, 4506, 4527, 4535, 4703, 4777, 5037, 5255, 5267, 5275, 5289, 5397, 6787, 10395, etc., lord of Tasburgh, a vassal of Bede, then of Waldef Harding, 6252, 6450, king of Carlisle (not to be confused with the lord of Tasburgh) Helye, 17623, 17754, king of Lombardy Hemming, 6251, 6449, 6460, 6557, 10085, 10141, king of York Henelaf, 6254, king of Chester Hereford, Herefordshire; see Hertford Hereward, 6245, 6347, 6469, 6490, 6494, 6556, 10061, 10087, 10969*, 11348, king of Chichester Herlaf, 6253, 10970, king of Gloucester Herman, 6258, 6787, 10139, 10185, 10968, 11277, 11287, 11299, 11302, 15053, 15083, king of Salisbury Hermer, 17636, duke of Swabia; see also Cassaruc Hertford (Hereford, Herford, Herteford), 425*, 5328, 5349, 5483, 6246, 9151*, 9329, 9342, 9371, 9628, 9638, 9649, 9712, 9725, 10518, 10820, 10897, 21456, town in England, twenty miles north of London; King Howard’s seat, later given to Merlin, nephew of King Rut Hertfordshire, 9644, county in southern England Herviz, 6260, king of Winchester



Hildebert, 9515, 9562, 9563, brother of King Howard of Hereford Hildebrand (Hildebrant, Hildebrans), 10952, 11004, 11349, 11394, 13497, 20883, 20959, 21058, 21067, 21081, 21094, 21097, 21114, 21117, 21130, 21135, etc., Waldef’s enemy, nephew of King Fergus Hoel, 6263, king of Cardigan Howard (Hoard), 5349, 5421, 5459, 5481, 6246, 6335*, 6348, 9392, 9435, 9483, 9504, 9508, 9569, 9611, 9629, 9639, 9645, 9667, 9672, 9677, 9746, king of Hertford Hunewald (Hunewal), 21163, 21249, 21307, 21468, 22225, giant who fights against Waldef Hungarians (Hungres), 19220, 19232 Hungary (Hungerie, Hungrie, Hongrie), 17639, 18024, 18921, 18952, 18991, 19157, 19207, 19223, 19253 Huntingdon (Huntedune, Hountedone), 715, 6259, 6472, 8974, 8991, 9625, 10829, 10895, town in the east of England, seat of King Felix Ipswich (Gipewiz), 5406*, town in Suffolk Ireland (Irlande, Irlant), 8388, 8469, 11931, 12215, 21100, 21155, 21193, 21214, 21375 Irish(men) (Ireis, Irois), 113* Ive, 1187*, 1197, one of Bede’s followers

Jesus (Christ), 5004, 10424, 11564, 11598, 11766, 11984, 12054, 14391, 14410, 14444, 14464, 14536, 14841, 16016, 16242, 18848, 18870, 18936, 19276, 19319, etc. Julius Caesar, 7, 9*, first Roman general to invade Britain

Kent, 17*, 6244, 9636, 9681, 10036, county in southeast England Kersot (Kersolt), 19001, 19041, king of Sardinia Lazarus (Lazarun), 4903, 11663, New Testament character, raised from the dead by Jesus

Index OF NAMES

247

Levenot, 6277, King Uther’s seneschal Lincoln (Nichole), 3293, 3329*, 3340, 3685, 4315, 4340, 4548, 6249, 6399, 8269, 10270, 11034, 11089, 11096, 13586, chief city in the English county of Lincolnshire, seat of King Erkenwald Lincolnshire (Nicholesire), 8407, 11069, county in England; see preceding entry Lindsey (Lindesi), 12279*, area in Lincolnshire Lioine, 15206, 15755, 15775, 15789, 15799, 15816, 15817, 15825, 15829, 15857, 15861, 15863, 15881, 15908, 15919, 15955, 15962, 16001, 16087, 16098, 16115, etc., Florenz’s son Loeneis, 6262*, region in Britain, possibly Lothian Lombards (Lumbarz, Lumbarx, Lumbard, Lungebarz), 11476, 17754*, 17769, 17813, 17813, 17814, 17819, 18950, 18997, 19672 Lombardy (Lumbardie), 15008, 17624, 17818, 18997, region in northern Italy London (Lundres), 277, 295, 3301, 3427, 5191, 5946, 6185, 6239, 6397, 6401, 6611, 6615, 6623, 6658, etc. Londoners (Lundrois, Lundreis), 3428, 3698, 4037, 4084, 6564, 6615, 6630, 6845, 6852, 6882, 6891, 9743, 9758, etc. Longinus (Lungi), 11669*, 19390, name given in Christian legend to the Roman soldier said to have pierced Jesus’s side with his lance Lorraine (Loherengne), 17635, 18920, region in northeast France

Mahomet (Mahun, Mahumet), 4806, 4965, 5068, 5086, 7392, 7456, 8421, 11712, 15836, 15879, 15914, 15971, 15987, 16586, 16592, 16620, 16989, 17260, 17280, 17457, 17462, pagan god Marende, 22167*, town in Germany, perhaps present-day Mainz Martin (Saint), 13842 Mary (Saint) (Seinte Marie), 510, 3782, 8064, 9141, 9844, 10219, 13017, 13844, 14169, 14181, 14371, 14374, 15810, 16821, 19464, 19466, mother of Jesus

248

Index OF NAMES

Maurienne (Moriane), 17637, 19010, region in Savoy, in southeast France Merlin, 5353, 5421, 5427, 5434, 5437, 5455, 5460, 5461, 5474, 5481, 5949, 5967, 5985, 6095, 6125, 6138, 6139, 6145, 6157, 6305, 6337, 6465, etc., nephew of King Rut of Thetford Michael (Saint) (Seint Michiel), 20755 Modred (Moderet), 21713, 21799, 21817, one of Guiac’s and Gudlac’s followers Morgan (Morgant), 841*, 885, 896, 901, 959, 999, 1011, 1013, 1051, 1141, 1175, 1205, 1209, 1214, 1227, 1229, 1265, 1271, 1380, etc., king (or duke) of Neustria (Normandy), Waldef’s uncle Morocco (Maroc), 7049*, country in Africa; 11821, 11827, 12200, city in Africa Mortain (Moretuien), 1151*, 1172, county in Normandy

Narborough (Nereburc), 4345, 4355*, 5121, town in Norfolk, Earl Okenard’s seat Nero (Neron), 220*, 224, one of Castor’s followers Neustria (Neustrie), 839*, 876, 878, ancient name for Normandy Norfolk (Norfolque, Norfoc, Norfolche, Norfouc, Norfouke), 119, 131, 139, 164, 299*, 797, 2544, 3389, 3655, 5542, 5552, 6946, 6947, 8237, 8756, 9771, 9817, etc., county in East Anglia, where much of the action of Waldef takes place Normandy (Normendie), 877, 2318, 2712, 2847, 3059, 15007, region in northern France; see also Neustria Normans (Norman, Normant), 39, 905, 961, 1236, 2661 Norway (Norweie), 8460, 12270, 12315, 12362, 12376 Norwegians (Norrois, Norreis, Noreis, Norois), 114*, 6621, 12272, 12281, 12298, 12299, 12317, 12345, 12367, 12374, 12379, 12389, 12396, 12410

Odard, 6947, one of Waldef’s vassals Odard, 17245, 17372, 17807, 21712, follower of Guiac and Gudlac (not to be confused with Waldef’s vassal Odard ) Ode, 7605, king of Poitou Ode (Ude, Odun), 17245, 17372, 17807, 21712, one of Guiac’s and Gudlac’s followers (not the same character as in the preceding entry) Odenild (Odinild), 441, 451, 495, Bede’s sister and Florenz’s mother Okenard (Hochenard), 3007, 4234, 4346, 4357, 4414, 4551, 5122, 5123, 5151, 5196, 5949, 5973, 5985, 6099, 6131, 6145, 6157, etc., vassal of Bede, then of Waldef, eventually king of Lincoln Osmund 3305, 3433, 3518, 3545, 3579, 3592, 3599, 3657, 3681, 3713, 3715, 3733, 3761, 3792, 3806, 3813, 3841, 3849, 3934, 3962, 3969, 3986, 6248*, 6785*, 10181, etc., king of Oxford Oxford (Oxeneford, Oxenefort), 3305, 3433, 3657, 6248, 10181, 10667, 21447, present-day Oxford

Pavia (Pavie), 17765, town in Lombardy, a region of northern Italy Peter (Saint) (Seint Pere), 18962, 19276, 20482 Poitou (Peitou, Peitoue), 2699, 7555, 7604, 8157, region in western France Portchester (Porecestre), 6255*, town in southern England, at the entrance to Portsmouth harbour Portugal (Portigal), 20071 Provence, 2699, region in southeast France Regensburg (Renesburc, Renesburg, Reinesburc), 15611, 16482, 16485, 17197, 17478, town in southeast Germany Reinier, 17635, duke of Lorraine Rochester (Roucestre, Rouecestre), 21204, 21221, 21227, 21411, town in Kent Romagna (Rumenie), 18998*, region in Italy just south of Lombardy Romans (Romein, Rumein), 19, 93, 96*, 259



Roman Empire (Rumanie), 20076 Rome (Rume), 9, 103, 15019, 17666, 20660 Roudham (Rudham), 5514*, village in Norfolk, not far from Thetford Rouen (Roem, Ruem), 887, 2321, 2848, chief city in Normandy Ruald, 6250, king of Gecestre Russia (Ruissie), 15010 Rut, 3237, 4328, 4613, 4652, 5323, 5347, 5355, 5393, 5499, 5509, 5514, 6479, 6481, 8717, 9445, 10154, king of Thetford

Salemon (Salemun), 15729, 17274, 17302, 17761, 19052, 19883, 19915, 19950, 21635, 22201, baron from Cologne Salisbury (Salesbire, Salesbires), 6258, 10139, 10968, 11277, 15053, town in southern England, King Herman’s seat Saluf, 15675, 15695, 15732, 15766, 15795, 15814, 15837, 15848, 16044, 16066, 16091, 16177, 16227, 16306, 16325, 16491, 16524, 16604, 16648, 16659, 16985, etc., king of Saxony Samson (Sampson), 2055*, last of the Israelite judges, betrayed to the Philistines by his lover, Delilah (Judges 13–16) Saracens (Saracin, Sarazin), 4305*, 4385, 4566, 4583, 4729, 4805, 5039, 6959, 6977, 6982, 7026, 7037, 7053, 7234, 7271, 7417, 8211, 8333, 8343, 8351*, 11735, 12194, 14273, 14468, 16215, 16786, 16811, etc. Sardinia (Sardane, Sardanie), 17638, 19003, 19009, 19058, 19255, large island and at the time independent state off the west coast of Italy Sardinians, 19055 Saxons (Seisne, Seines, Seingnes, Seingne), 11473, 15573, 16785, 17037, 17209 Saxony (Seisuingne, Sessuingne, Seisungne, Seissoingne, Seissuingne), 11439, 11650, 15173, 15553, 15595, 15634, 15668, 16222, 16239, 16543, 17049, 17490, 17497, 17519, 17531, 17589, 17596, 17618, etc., region in eastern Germany

Index OF NAMES

249

Scania (Eskanie), 4283*, Danish province Scotland (Eschoce, Escoce), 8464, 8467, 15063, 21099 Scots (Escoz, Eschoz), 113*, 9998 Sicily (Sezille), 15009, 17607, 17741, 17748, 17756, large island off southern Italy Sidon (Sidonie), 18582, ancient port in the eastern Mediterranean Solomon (Salemon), 2055*, biblical king famous for his wisdom, but also for allowing women to turn him away from God (1 Kings 11:1–10) Southampton (Suhantune), 21104, port in southern England Spain (Espaigne), 2675, 6960, 7309*, 7321, 7397, 7502, 15940, 17224, 17634* St Rémy (Seint Remi), 1851, town or city, presumably in France Suffolk (Suffoc, Suffolque, Suffoque, Suffolche, Suffoche, Suffouc), 300*, 3249, 5321, 5541, 5548, 5551, 5557, 5567, 6402, 8238, 8720, 9772, county in East Anglia, part of Waldef’s realm Swabia (Swave), 17636, 19013, region in southwest Germany Swangey Fen (Swanegeie), 15241*, area near Attleborough in Norfolk Swein, 4325, 5587, 5659, 5717, 5729, 5739, 5751, 5851, 5865, 5877, 5881, 5899, 6043, 6195, 6205, 6211, 6276, 6280, 6282, 6458, 6501, 6505, 6585, 6786, etc., king of Colchester Swein, 12287, 12327, 12333, 12337, 12343, 12353, 12377, 12403, 12409, 12417, 12499, king of Denmark Tasburgh (Taseburc), 4431, 4509, 4512, 4602, 4693, 21451, 21487, town in Norfolk Tervagant, 4968*, pagan god Thames (Tamise), 12793, 12945, 21217, longest river in England; flows through London Thessaly (Tessaille), 20126, region in Greece

250

Index OF NAMES

Thetford (Tiefford, Tieford, Tieffort), 311*, 326, 389, 795, 3237, 4328, 4615, 4652, 5330, 5337, 5339, 5479, 5515, 5539, 5584, 6403, 6405, 6415, 6915, 7021, 8719, 8728, 10070, 10102, etc., town in Norfolk Tierri, 16356, 16357, 16360, 16366, 16390, 16403, 16425, 16453, 16483, 16504, 16506, 16509, 16839, 16893, 16903, 16924, 16937, 16949, 16962, 16991, 17003, etc., Lioine’s friend Toli, 6261, king of Dorchester Tovi, 6262, king of Loeneis Tristram, 47*, protagonist, with Iseut, of a story of tragic love, the subject of numerous literary works Turks (Turcs), 17268

Unwine, 313, a pirate in Atle’s time Urri, 4235, 4388, 4397, 4405, 4555, 5213, 5225, 5268, 5278, 5297, lord of Brancaster Urri (Young Urri), 5226, 5228, 5246, 5250, son of Urri of Brancaster Urri, 19061, 19075, 19080, 19082, follower of Guiac and Gudlac Urri, 21713, follower of Guiac and Gudlac Urs, 17358, 17373, 17803, 21711, follower of Guiac and Gudlac Urvein, 4283, 4326, 4745, 4749, 4756, 4779, 4799, 4829, 4848, 4854, 4869, 4951, 4955, 4981, 5005, 5061, 5063, 5067, 5081, 5111, 5117, 8390, 8397, 8473, 8593, etc., king of Scania Uther (Uthier, Utier), 3427, 3624, 3641, 3669, 3697, 3862, 3867, 3892, 3915, 3978, 3984, 4013, 4029, 4041, 4047, 4070, 4078, 4107, 4114, 4119, 4131, etc., Fergus’s brother and king of London Valencia (Valence), 7204, 7311*, 7319, 7496, city on the east coast of Spain

Waldef (Waldé, Waldés), 64, 2110, 2324, 2331, 2335, 2351, 2353, 2376, 2443, 2509, 2553, 2573, 2576, 2579, 2580, 2600, 2607, 2611, 2637, 2645, 2654, 2659, 2667, 2673, etc. Waldef, 367, 375, an early king of Norfolk Waldemer, 13059, 13341, 13425, 13495, 17809, 18098, 18194, 18197, 18207, 18268, 18282, 21709, 22185, a Danish follower of Gudlac Wales, 10973 Walton (Waletune), 22245, settlement on the Sussex coast near Felixstowe Warwick (Warewic, Werewic), 6247, 15059*, town and county in England; sometimes confused with York (Everwic) Wayland (Weilland), 21298*, legendary smith in Germanic mythology Welsh(men) (Galois, Walois, Waleis), 113*, 6266, 9998, 10974, 11252 Westcheap (Westchep), 21063*, market in London Wicard (Witard, Wicart), 19115, 19130, 19131, 19142, 19178, 19215, 21711, follower of Guiac and Gudlac Wiltshire (Withelesire), 15054, county in southwest England Winchester (Wincestre), 295, 3882, 3981, 4067, 4136, 6260, 20890, 21082, 21107, 21128, 21434, city in southern England Worms (Garmeise), 17504, German emperor Alexis’s capital Ykenild, 13150, 13365, 13386, King Fergus’s daughter, married to Gudlac York (Everic, Everwic), 6251, 6449*, 6549*, 10086, town in Yorkshire, King Hemming’s seat; sometimes confused with Warwick (Warewic)