The Brut: King Leir

After Bladud came Leir
His son, whom he held full dear;
He held this lordly land
Long time in his own hand,
Sixty winters past —
So long did his life-days last.
A goodly burg he wrought
Through the counsel his wise men brought.
And he called that castle fair
E'en by the name he bare;
Kaer-Leir he the burg did call,
('T was dear to his heart withal,)
But when men speak thereof to-day
Leirchestre do they say.
Of yore, in the olden days,
'T was a burg right fair to praise.
Since then much woe hath it seen,
Mickle sorrow its lot hath been,
For 't was all destroyed and undone.
And its folk they were slain, each one.
Thus sixty winters all told
Leir did his kingdom hold.
The queen, his wife, she bore
Three daughters, and no child more;
The king he had ne'er a son,
(Sorrow therefrom he won,)
Who heir to his honour should be
He had but these daughters three.
And thus were they hight; Gornoille,
Then Regau, the third Cordoille;
The youngest sister was she
And fairest of all the three.
To her father's heart was she near.
E'en as his life was dear.
The king, he waxed old in days.
And feeble in strength always.
And much did he vex his mind
What counsel 't were best to find,
And who should the kingdom hold
When he should be under mould.
And thus he himself bethought,
(Evil thereby he wrought,)
"My realm in three will I share
Betwixt these my daughters fair;
To my children I 'll give my land
To have, and to hold in their hand.
But first will I search and see
The which of them best loves me.
And she shall have largest measure
Of my goodly lands and treasure."
In this manner, the king, he thought.
And even thereafter wrought.
For he bade Gornoille come near.
The first of his daughters dear,
And forth she came from her bower
To her father the self-same hour.
And these words did the old king say
As he sat on his throne that day :
"Gornoille, hearken and speak.
Soothfast words do I seek,
Very dear art thou to me.
Say, am I dear to thee.'
What worth dost thou set this hour
On me, and my kingly power?"
Wary was Gornoille there.
As women be everywhere.
And she answered a fair leasing
Unto her father the king :
"Hearken, dear father and lord.
By the god I have aye adored,
(So help me Apollin to-day.
For my trust is in him alway,)
I wot that I love thee more
Than this world and its treasure store;
Yet more would I say to thee,
Thou art dearer than life to me!
This do I say thee for sooth,
Thou shalt hold it for very truth."
And Leir, the king, hearkened and heard.
He believed his daughter's word,
And this was the answer told
From the lips of that father old :
"I say to thee, Gornoille, here.
Gentle daughter and dear.
Right goodly shall be thy meed
As fitting for goodly deed:
I am old and feeble grown.
Great love to me thou hast shown,
I am dearer than life to thee —
Now this land will I deal in three,
And thine be the larger part,
Daughter dear to my heart!
And for lord will I give thine hand
To the highest thane in my land."
The old king, he spake thereafter
With Regau, his second daughter:
"Regau, my daughter dear.
Rede me thy counsel here.
Before all my folk say to me
How dear to thy heart I be!"
Then wisely she played her part.
And made answer, with mouth, not with heart:
"One limb of thine do I love
All on this earth above.
Yea, dearer than life it were" —
But no word of truth spake she there
No more than her sister had done.
Yet the lies they spake, each one.
Their father for truth did hold :
Then he answered. King Leir the old,
For his daughter pleased him well —
"The third part of my land will I tell
To thine hand, and at my behest
Choose thy lord where thou likest best."
Yet the king he was not content.
On his folly he still was bent;
To come to his presence he bade
Cordoille, the third fair maid,
(The youngest was she in sooth.
And the wisest in words of truth,
And the king he loved her more
Than the twain who had come before).
Cordoille, who had hearkened and heard,
Knew that false was her sisters' word.
And she sware upon oath that day
That never a lie would she say.
Nor the truth from her father hide
Were he lief, were he loth, that tide.
In this wise spake Leir, the king,
(Ill rede was he following,)
"Now from thy lips will I hear,
Cordoille my daughter dear,
(Apollin be good to thee!)
How dear is my life to thee? "
Then answered Cordoille the daughter.
With mirth, and aye with laughter,
"My father is dear to me
As thy daughter is dear to thee,
Soothfast my love, I ween.
For the kinship us twain between.
As I hope for mercy alway
This more I to thee will say;
Thou art worth as much, I trow,
As that which thou holdest now.
And methinks the tale of thy treasure
Shall be e'en of men's love the measure;
For right soon are they loathed of all
Whom misfortune doth aye befall."
Thus, the maiden, she spake her will,
And afterward held her still.
The king, he was wroth at her word,
It pleased him ill what he heard.
For aye in his heart he thought
That to shame him the maiden sought;
He thought that she held him light,
And less dear he was in her sight
Than he was to her sisters twain —
But to leasing they aye were fain!
Then King Leir, he waxed black withal.
Black as a funeral pall,
So changed his skin and his hue
As the anger within him grew.
And he fell aback in a swoon —
But he lifted him up full soon.
The maiden feared when he spake,
With ill words his wrath out-brake:
"Hearken, Cordoille, to me.
My will here I tell to thee;
My dearest daughter wast thou,
I count thee most hateful now !
Never a foot of my land
Shall be given into thine hand !
In two portions my realm shall fall
And thy sisters shall hold it all.
But care shall thy portion be.
And thy dwelling with misery.
For ne'er had I dreamt this thing
That thou shame upon me should'st bring !
Henceforth art thou dead to me.
From my sight do I bid thee flee:
To thy sisters my land I give.
For such is my will, while I live,
Cornwall's duke, he with Regau shall share.
And the Scotch king wed Gornoille fair.
All mine shall be their's evermore.
Yea, all that I ruled afore!"
And thus the old king he wrought
In such wise as he had thought;
Oft was that maiden sad,
But never more cause she had !
She was heavy at heart and sore
For the anger her father bore;
She gat her into her bower.
Where she hid her many an hour,
But never a lie would she tell
Though she loved her father well.
Shamefast that gentle maid.
From her father she shrank afraid;
Wise rede she found at that tide.
In her bower did she still abide,
And wept, and lamented her sore
For the sorrow of heart she bore.
Thus one day after another
It passed, each like to the other.
In France was a king, I ween,
A rich man, and warrior keen,
Aganippus was he hight.
Chief of the folk, that knight.
Young was the king at that tide,
Nor as yet had he found a bride.
He sent messengers at this same,
And unto Britain they came.
Even to Leir, the king.
Fair greeting they here did bring

From their chief, — Would Leir hearken his prayer
And give him Cordoille the fair.
He would have her to crown her as queen.
And do all that should best to her seem,
Even all she desired at her word.
From wayfaring men had he heard
How men spake of that maiden fair.
Of the fairness and fame she bare
E'en before the French king's throne —
Of the beauty that was her own.
Of her honour and patient mind.
Of her courteous ways and kind.
In all the land of King Leir
Was there none men might call her peer.
In this wise Aganippus, the king,
To King Leir did greeting bring.
King Leir, he himself bethought.
And fitting answer he sought;
He bade his scribes to write
And a letter right well indite.

And he sent it forthwith by hand
Into the French king's land;
Thus ran King Leir, his writ, —
Wide spread the news of it —
"To Aganippus, France's chief,
Leir of Britain, this brief —
All honour I wish to thee still
For thy good deed, and right good will,
And the message so fair and meet
With which thou myself didst greet.
But I do thee well to wit.
Here, by my royal writ.
That my lordly land and fair
I have given, in equal share.
To my daughters, each a part.
For the twain are dear to my heart.
A third daughter I have, I trow.
But her dwelling I know not now.
For she hath despised me
And angered me bitterly;
For a wretch she doth me hold.
And because I be waxen old
Hath she put me to open shame.
The greater shall be her blame!
Of all my folk or my land
Which I hold, or may hold, in my hand
No whit, so I swear to thee.
Of this shall her portion be.
But an if thou desire that maid,
(She is very fair be it said,)
I herewith yield ye consent;
In a ship shall the maid be sent,
With the clothes that she with her bore.
Of me shall she have no more.
If thou wilt take her alway
I will do even this that I say.
Now thou know'st of my wrath the ground —
I pray thou abide whole and sound."
This writing to France they bring.
Straight to that noble king.
He bade them open and read.
Dear were its runes, indeed.
The king he deemed awhile
That the words were but words of guile;
That King Leir, her father old.
The maiden would fain withhold,
And the madder grew his desire,
And the flame of his love waxed higher,
And he spake to his barons thus.
The folk-king, Aganippus :
"A rich man enow I be,
I care not for lands or fee.
Never shall it be said
That King Leir refused me the maid;
But I will have her, I ween.
For consort, and noble queen.
Her father his lands may hold
And keep all his silver and gold,
I ask no treasure of his,
Mine own be enow, I wis!
I ask but the maid Cordoille,
With her shall I have my will."
With writ and with word once more
His folk he sent to this shore,
And again to King Leir made prayer
To send him his daughter fair,
And he would receive her well
In honour, as queen, to dwell.
The old king, he no whit stayed.
He took that noble maid
But with the clothes she ware.
And he bade her hence to fare
O'er the sea, that maiden good;
Stern was her father's mood !
But the French king, of heart so mild,
He welcomed the maiden child;
His folk, they deemed it right.
And they crowned her queen forth-right.
Thus Cordoille must with them dwell,
And the people loved her well.
But her father, Leir, the king,
In this land had his harbouring.
And had given his daughters dear
All his land, and all his gear.
He gave first Gornoille's hand
To the king of the Scottish land,
Maglaunus the prince was hight.
Great was his power and his might!
And Cornwall's duke thereafter
Did he wed to Regau his daughter.
But soon there chanced this thing
That the duke and the Scottish king

In secret together spake.
And thus did they counsel take.
That they would rule all the land
And have it in their own hand;
And to Leir, the king, they would give,
For the while that he yet might live.
Food for his days and his nights,
With forty hired knights.
And further there should be found
What was fitting in hawk and hound.
That through the land he might ride
And ever in bliss abide
The while that his life should last —
This counsel made they fast;
But e'en as their word they spake
Thereafter that word they brake;
And erstwhile it pleased the king,
And thereafter did sorrow bring.
King Leir, he deemed it well
With the Scottish folk to dwell,
With Maglaunus the king, his son.
Since the elder daughter he won.
Right welcome the king was made
And many fair words were said;
They furnished him there forth-right
With forty household knights,
With horses, and eke with hounds,
All that was meet they found.
But soon after it so befell
That Gornoille bethought her well
As to what were the wiser rede.
For evil it seemed, indeed,

That her father maintained these knights —
And she spake to her lord by night
As the twain in bed they lay.
And thus she began to say —
"My lord give me counsel now,
(Dearest of men art thou !)
Of my father would I complain ;
Methinks that he be not sane.
For honour is he unfit
For now hath he lost his wit;
Methinks that so old he be
He doteth full speedily.
Now here hath he forty knights.
He keepeth them days and nights;
Here doth he hold these thanes
And with them their serving swains.
Their hounds and their hawks, I trow.
Thereof cometh harm enow !
For never elsewhere do they wend.
And ever the more do they spend.
But blithe of heart do they live
And take the good that we give.
Well-doing ever we sow.
And naught but unthank do we know !
Mischief they do evermore,
For they beat our men full sore,
My father he hath in his maisnie
Of idle men too many.
Now thus doth it seem me just.
The fourth part we forth will thrust,
Of thirty he'll yet be lord
Enow to serve at the board.
Ourselves we have cooks enow
For the kitchen service, I trow!
Ourselves we have butlers still
And cup-bearers at our will;
Let some of this folk forth fare
As it pleaseth them, otherwhere.
As mercy I hope and implore
I will suffer it never more!"
When he heard, King Maglaunus,
That his queen she spake to him thus,
He answered the lady there
In noble speech and fair;
"Lady, thou doest ill,
Hast thou not treasure at will?
But keep thou thy father in bliss.
He liveth not long, I wis.
For it may be that foreign kings
Should hear of us evil things.
That we had dealt with him thus
And shame should it bring upon us.
But let him keep them still.
All his folk, at his will.
And this, forsooth, is my rede,
For right soon shall he be dead.
And then shall we have in our hand
The better half of his land!"
But Gornoille would have her will,
And she said, "My lord, hold thee still.

Leave it all in my hand
And I will dismiss this band."
She sent them all with guile
To their hostelry the while;
Thence she bade them depart with speed.
Since she would them no longer feed —
Many, I ween, of the thanes.
And many too of the swains
Who were servants to Leir, the king.
And whom he did hither bring.
And when the king heard thereof
In sooth he waxed very wroth,
Sadly the old king spake.
Bitter complaint did he make;
Thus said the old king good,
(Sorrowful was his mood!)
"Now woe to that man betide
Who hath honour, and lands so wide.
And all to his child doth give
The while that he still doth live
And may rule, for ere life be spent
Methinks he may sore repent!
But now will I take my way
To Cornwall without delay.
Counsel I think to hear
From Regau, my daughter dear,
Duke Hemeri hath her hand
And half of my goodly land."
Forth did King Leir wend
To Britain's southernmost end.
To Regau his daughter fair,
For counsel failed him there.
When the king to Cornwall came,
They welcomed him at the same;
There a full half year did he dwell
With his knights, and thought it well.
Then Regau spake craftily
To her lord, Duke Hemeri,
"My lord, hearken thou to me.
In good sooth I say to thee
We have done but a foolish thing
In receiving Leir, the king,
And these thirty knights of his.
It displeaseth me sore, I wis!
Send we twenty away.
Ten knights may serve him alway,
For ever they drink and they eat,
I find in them naught that is meet!"
Hemeri, the duke, he said,
(His old father he there betrayed,)
"So sure as I be alive
Of knights shall he have but five,
With them hath he folk enow.
He doeth naught, I trow;
And if that his will be so
Right soon shall he from us go!"
And as they had planned withal
Even so did the matter fall;
They took from the king his knights
And the folk that was his by rights.
But five of his men they left.
Of the others was he bereft.
When King Leir of this was ware.
Woe was his portion there;
Troubled at heart was he.
He lamented him bitterly.
Thus did he speak that day.
And with sorrowful mien did say —
"Weal, Weal, Weal, Weal,
With men dost thou falsely deal.
When on thee most their trust is laid
By thee are they most betrayed !
Two years, they have scarcely flown
Since, a rich king, I held mine own;
Many knights were under my sway;
Now I live to see the day
That I sit here stripped and bare;
Bereft of all must I fare!
Woe is me that I saw this land!
I were better in Gornoille's hand.
My goodly daughter and fair;
With her folk I tarried there,
Thirty knights would she give.
In some wise I might fitly live;
From her country I needs must go,
I deemed it were better so.
But the worse hath been my share!
To Scotland again will I fare,
With my daughter again to speak.
At her hand will I pity seek
If honour she will not give —
Yet let her once more receive sio
Me, and these five, my knights,
I will dwell with her days and nights,

And a short while endure this strife.
No whit long shall last my life!"
Thus Leir, the king, fared forth
To his daughter who dwelt in the North;
She harboured him full three nights,
Her father, and these his knights;
The fourth day an oath she sware.
By all the Powers that were,
That no more should he have of right
Than but one serving knight.
An he liked it not he might fare
And seek harbourage other-where.
Full oft Leir had woeful been,
Never worse than then, I ween!
Thus spake Leir, the king, —
Sorrow his heart did wring, —
"Alas, Death, where art thou?
Why dost thou not slay me now?
I wot Cordoille spake sooth,
Now do I know it for truth —
My youngest daughter was she
And very dear to me.
Yet thereafter she was to me loth
For these the words she quoth —
' The man who hath little, I deem,
Shall be held in light esteem.
And methinks of men's love the measure
Is even the tale of thy treasure!'
Well spake that maiden young,
Wisdom lay on her tongue!
The while I my kingdom held
My face men with joy beheld;
For my land, and for my fee.
My earls they fell to my knee.
Now am I wretched enow
And beloved of no man, I trow!
My daughter spake truth to me
I believe her verily !
And these, her sisters twain,
To lie were they ever fain
When they said they held me near,
Their own life was not so dear.
But Cordoille, my daughter young.
She said with truthful tongue,
That she loved me e'en as a daughter
Were bound to love her father;
What more were I fain to hear
From the lips of a daughter dear?
I will fare hence speedily
And get me across the sea;
To Cordoille I think to turn.
Her will I am fain to learn.
Her truthful speech did I blame,
Therefrom I won mickle shame.
For now all my succour lies
In the one I did erst despise.
I look for no worse at her hand
Than that she forbid me her land."
King Leir, he fared to the sea —
But a single servant had he —
To a ship he went straightway,
Never man knew him that day.
Over the sea they won
To a haven they came anon.
Forth went Leir, the king,
But one swain in his following;
He asked where the queen might lie.
They were fain to come her nigh?
And the folk, forthwith they showed
Where the queen of that land abode.
A field the king had found;
There he rested upon the ground.
His swain he alone would send,
(He was e'en a trusty friend,)
Cordoille, the queen, to seek
And in secret with her to speak.
Thus he said: "Queen, all hail to thee!
Thy father's swain I be;
Thy father the sea hath crossed.
For all his land hath he lost;
Thy sisters the realm have ta'en.
Foresworn, I ween, are the twain.
He cometh, in truth and in deed.
To this land, of very need;
Help him now in thy might.
As thy father, it is but right!"
Then the queen, fair Cordoille,
For a while, she sat very still.
Then the red to her cheek did flow
As if from the wine draught's glow —
(The swain he sat at her feet.
Right soon he found counsel meet.)
At length all her heart out-brake.
'T was very good that she spake —
"Apollin, fair thanks to thee.
That my father hath come to me.
Tidings right glad I hear
That he liveth, my father dear!
Of me shall he have good rede
An I be not afore that dead!
Now, good swain, hearken to me.
Hear what I say to thee:
I will give now unto thy care
A coffer rich and fair;
Pennies therein be found,
I wot, to a hundred pound.
I give unto thee a steed
Right good, and strong at need
To carry this treasure here
E'en to my father dear.
Say that from me ye bear
A goodly greeting, and fair.
And bid him without delay
To some fair burg to find his way,
And in some rich town, or street,
To take him a lodging meet.
There shall ye buy for him first
That which may please him most,
What he needeth to drink and to eat.
And vesture fitting and meet.
Hawks and hounds as he needs
And the very best of steeds.
And be to his household told
Forty good knights and bold.
In garments rich and fair —
Then shall ye a bath prepare.
And a couch, and bed him soft,
And bleed him little and oft.
If silver be lacking thee.
Then ask it again of me.
And he shall have at my hand
Enough from this my land.
Of his old land never again
Shall he speak to knight or thane.
When forty days be gone
Ye shall make it known, anon.
To this, my lord so dear,
That Leir the king be here,
He hath crossed the water to me
My land and kingdom to see.
And I, I will take it so
As if naught thereof did I know;
With my lord I'll towards him ride
And rejoice that we meet that tide;
So shall it be known of none
That he be not newly come.
But thus shalt thou writing bring
Unto my lord the king.
Take thou this money from me
And see that well-spent it be;
And if thou dost wisely deal
It shall be to thy good and weal!"
The swain took the money there
And swift to his lord did fare,
Even to Leir, the king,
And the tidings did truly bring
To where on the field he lay
Resting for grief that day.
When all to the king was told
Of good comfort was Leir the old;
Truly he spake with voice
In these words did he there rejoice —
"Thus Good after Evil betides,
Well is he who its coming abides!"
To a fair burg his way he made
Right so as the queen him bade,
There he did right wisely and well
All things, e'en as she did tell.
And when it came at last
That the forty days were past,
Then took to him King Leir
The knights he held most dear.
To the French king they greeting bore,
(He was his son-in-law,)
And sent word to him by their hand
That King Leir had come to his land
And speech with his daughter prayed, —
She was dear to him, he said.
Aganippus, he was fain
That Leir had crossed the main;
Toward him he went forth-right.
And led with him many a knight.
And his fair queen, Cordoille.
Then had King Leir his will;
Together they met in bliss
With many a clasp and kiss.
To the burg they took their way —
Joy was with them that day —
They bade the trumpets blow.
And the pipes sound loud and low,
Throughout the castle hall
Were hangings of silken pall;
The boards that were spread for food
Glittered with gold so good ; ;
Gold rings, and golden bands
Each man ware on arms and hands.
Fiddle and harp were strung
And men to their music sung.
The king set men on the wall
And bade them proclaim over all
And declare that Leir, the king,
In this land now made sojourning —
"And thus saith Aganippus,
He that is chief over us,
That now unto Leir the king
Ye all shall obedience bring;
Lord shall he be in this land
And have it all in his hand
Even as many year
As it please him to tarry here.
And Aganippus, our king.
He shall be but Leir's underling.
He who would live and thrive
Hold this peace while he be alive!
And if any this covenant break
Swift vengeance the king will take.
And he chargeth all who have heard
To hearken, and keep his word!"
And the folk they quoth: "We will
Keep the king's peace, loud and still!"
And thus for that same year
They did, even as ye hear.
In peace and loyalty.
And with mickle fealty.
When another year was come.
Then would King Leir fare home.
He was fain to see this land.
And prayed leave at the French king's hand.
Then the king Aganippus
Answered his father thus:
"Thou shalt never leave my coast
Save with a mickle host.
Of my folk I will thee lend;
Five hundred ships will I send
Filled with the best of my knights
And all they may need for the fight.
And thy daughter Cordoille, I ween.
Who is of this kingdom queen,
She, too, shall sail with thee
With an army, across the sea.
Now haste to that land amain
Where thou didst aforetime reign.
And if there be any still
Fain to withstand thy will
And take from thee thy right
And thy kingdom, then shalt thou fight,
And slay them, and take the land.
And set it in Cordoille's hand,
That it be hers to have and to hold
Whenever thy days be told."
These words said Aganippus,
And Leir, he did even thus,
In everything he wrought
E'en as his friend had taught.
O'er the sea he gat him here
With Cordoille his daughter dear.
Peace did he swear alway
With those who would own his sway,
And he felled with his great might
All who would with him fight.
Thus all the kingdom and land
He won again to his hand
And freely to Cordoille gave
Who was queen from across the wave.
Thus was the wrong made good —
And so for a while it stood,
Leir the king this land
For three years held in his hand.
Then came the end of his day.
The king, he lifeless lay;
In Leicestre, so 't is said.
His daughter the body laid.
In the temple of Janus, to wit.
In the book may ye read of it.
And Cordoille, she held the land, .
With high strength, five years in her hand.
Five years as queen did she reign —
Then tidings came o'er the main
That the French king was dead, I ween.

And widowed was Cordoille, the queen.
So men did the tidings bring
Unto the Scottish king,
That dead the French king lay.
And Leir, too, was dead alway;
Through Britain then did he send.
To Cornwall, at its south end,
The strong duke did he command
To harry the Southern land,
And he would sally forth
And conquer again the North.
For he deemed it a mickle shame

And held it to them for blame.
That a queen should have all in her hand
And rule as king in the land.
While their sons should landless be
Who in sooth were better than she.
Since their mothers the elder were
And their's was the greater share.
"No more will we suffer this wrong.
But the land shall to us belong.
For our sons we the realm will win." —
Thus did they the war begin.
Mischief came swift thereon;
Of their men, her sisters' sons
Led an army against her there —
These were the names they bare,
Morgan, and Cunddegis —
Oft they led their folk, I wis,
Oft they fought, oft they won the day.
Oft they lost — so it went alway.
Till at last the Britons were slain.
And Cordoille was captive ta'en.
Their aunt they in prison cast.
In a torture house full fast.
Wrathful the woman's mood,
They vexed her more than was good.
Until she became so wroth,
To her very self was she loth,
And she took a long sharp knife
And therewith did she end her life.
But this was an evil rede
That she slew herself, indeed.
And thus the kingdom and land
Fell to her nephews' hand.