Lines 421–840

The duke, so doth the Geste declare,
He had a daughter passing fair,
Courteous and good was she,
When fifteen winters she had told
In all the land the people hold
Was none so fair to see;
Gentle she was, and avenant,
And by her name hight Belisant,
As ye may list from me;
Ladies and maidens bright in bower
They guarded her with great honour
And much solemnity.

The feast was held full fourteen-night,
With barons and with ladies bright,
And lords, full many a one,
And many a gentle knight was there,
And many a serjant, wise and ware,
To wait on every one;
Sir Amis,- in that self -same hour,
As butler, he was deemed the flower,
So doth the true tale run;
The doughtiest in every deed,
The comeliest in every weed,
So, seemly, praise he won.

Then when the guests at the feast's end
Should from that lordly dwelling wend
E'en as in book we read,
That merry maid, she asked anon
Of these her maidens, every one,
Saying: "As God ye speed,
Say, who was held for bravest knight,
And seemliest in all men's sight,
And worthiest in weed?
Whose fame as fairest knight doth stand,
The most renowned throughout the land,
The doughtiest of deed?"

Her maidens answered her straightway,
And quoth: "Madame, we sure will say
The sooth in this same hour,
Of earl or baron, swain or knight,
The fairest man, and most of might,
And held in most honour,
Is the chief butler, Sir Amis,
The world hath not his peer, I wis,
Neither in town nor tower.
He is the doughtiest knight in deed,
He is the worthiest in weed,
Of praise he bears the flower!"

Then Belisant, that maid so fair,
When thus her maids the truth declare
As ye may hear from me,
Upon Sir Amis, gentle knight,
I wis, her love it now did light,
Yet in all secresy;
Where'er she saw him ride or go
Her heart was fain to break for woe
That speech there might not be,
Since she might not, by night or day,
Speak with that knight, the gentle may
Full oft wept bitterly.

That gentle maiden, young and fair,
Lay in love-languishing and care
Alike by night and day;
As in the tale I tell to ye
Since speech betwixt them might not be,
In bed sore sick she lay;
Her mother to her side did go,
Full fain was she her grief to know
And help her, if she may.
She answered her without debate
Her pain, it was so sore and great
Soon must she lie in clay.

That rich duke on a morn was fain,
With many a lording in his train,
As prince so proud in pride,
Without delay to dight him here
And go a-hunting of the deer, —
They busked them for to ride;
When as the lordings every one
From out that stately hold were gone,
(Here have I naught to hide —
Sir Amis, so 't is sooth, that day
For that a sickness on him lay,
At home he would abide.

When as the lordings forth would go
With huntsmen keen, and bended bow,
To hunt 'neath greenwood tree,
Sir Amis, as the tale doth tell,
Was left behind, at home to dwell,
And guard what there should be.
That gentle knight was minded so
Into the garden fair to go,
For solace, verily;
Under a bough, I trow he lay
To listen to the birdling's lay —
In bliss, I trow, was he!

Now, gentles, list, and ye shall hear
How the duke's daughter, fair and dear,
Sore sick in bed she lay,
Her mother came with doleful mien,
With all her ladies, so I ween,
To solace that sweet may;
"Arise," she said: "my daughter fair,
And to the garden now repair
This seemly summer's day,
There shall ye list the birdlings' song,
Hearkening their joy and bliss, ere long
Thy care shall pass away."

Then up she rose, that lady bright,
And to the garden went forthright
With maidens fair and free,
And bright and fair the summer's day,
The sun shone as a flame alway
Seemly it was to see;
They heard the birds both great and small,
The nightingale's sweet notes withal
That gaily sang on tree,
But in such straits her heart was brought,
On pain of love was all her thought
She would nor game nor glee.

And so that maiden in her pride
Forth to the orchard went that tide
To ease her of her care,
Then straight Sir Amis did she see
There, as he lay beneath a tree,
To hear that song so fair;
Great bliss, I trow, that maid must know,
Her joy she could to no man shew,
Whenas she saw him there;
She thought she would for no man stay,
But straight to him would take her way
And say how she did fare.

Then was that maiden blithe of mood,
When she beheld him as she stood
She sought to him, the sweet;
Not for all good the world might hold
Would she fail with this knight so bold
In courteous wise to treat.
And even as that gentle knight
Beheld that maid, in bower so bright,
As she would with him meet,
Straightway towards her did he go,
With courteous mien and word also
He did the lady greet.

With that, the gentle maid, anon
She bade her ladies all begone,
Withdraw from her away,
And when the twain were left alone
She to Sir Amis made her moan,
And thus to him did say —
"Sir Knight, t'ward thee my heart is brought,
And on thy love is all my thought
Alike by night and day;
Save that thou wilt my lover be
I trow my heart shall break in three,
Nor longer live I may

"Thou art," she quoth, "a gentle knight,
And I a maid in bower bright
And of high lineage born,
Alike by night and e'en by day
My heart is set on thee alway,
I am of joy forlorn;
Plight me thy troth thou wilt be true
Nor change thine old love for a new,
For none in this world born,
And I will plight my troth again
Till God or Death part us in twain
I ne'er will be foresworn."

That gentle knight then still he stood,
And very thoughtful waxed his mood,
He spake with heart so free:
"Lady, for Him Who died on Rood
As thou art come of gentle blood,
And this land's heir shalt be,
Bethink thee of thy great honour,
For son of king and emperour,
Were none too high for thee!
Certes, I deem thou dost not right
To set thy love on a poor knight
Who hath nor land nor fee.

"And if we should Love's game begin
And any man of this thy kin
Should chance the same to know,
Then all our joy and praise that day
For this, our sin, we 'ld lose straightway,
And win God's Wrath also;
Should I dishonour thus my lord
Traitor were I, of all abhorred,
Nay, it may not be so
Sweet Lady, do thou by my rede,
Think what should come of this, our deed,
I trow me, naught but woe!"

That maiden fair, of great renown,
Answered: "Sir Knight, hast shaven crown?
By God Who bought thee dear,
Or priest or parson shalt thou be,
Canon or monk, that thus to me
Dost preach in such wise here?
Thou never shouldst have been a knight
To company with maidens bright,
A Friar were thee more near!
Whoe'er he be who taught thee this
May have his lot in Hell, I wis,
Were he my brother dear!

"Alas! by Him Who hath us wrought
All this, thy preaching, helpeth naught
Withstand thou ne'er so long,
Save that my will thou doest here
Thou shalt pay this, my love, full dear,
With pains both sharp and strong,
My kerchief and my robe, anon,
I'll tear, and swear that thou hast done
To me a mickle wrong;
I'll say that thou hast forced me now,
By law they'll hang thee then, I trow,
On gallows-tree, ere long!"

With that, the courteous knight stood still,
For in his heart he liked it ill,
To speak, I trow, was slow;
He thought, "If here I steadfast be
With this, her tongue, she'll ruin me
Ere yet I hence may go;
And if I do my lord this wrong
Drawn with wild horses swift and strong
The punishment I'll know!"
Full loth to do her will that day,
More loth to lose his life alway,
Ne'er had he known such woe.

And then he thought that, verily,
To grant her will should better be
Than life to lose alway, —
Thus to the maid made answering:
"For love of Christ, our Heavenly King,
Hearken to me to-day;
As thou art maiden good and true
Bethink how rape doth turn to rue
And bitter grief and gray,
But wait we for a seven-night,
And I, as true and courteous knight,
Will do as thou shalt pray."

Then answered him that maiden bright,
And sware: "By Jesu, Lord of Might,
Thou goest not thus from me,
But here and now thy troth shalt plight
That thou, as true and gentle knight
To tryst shalt faithful be!
With that her will he granted there,
Troth-plight each to the other sware
With kisses verily;
Into her bower she went again,
Then was the maid so glad and fain
Past speech her joy should be.

Sir Amis tarried not, but straight
His lord's home-coming to await,
To hall he turned him there;
When from his hunting at that same
With many a noble lord he came
Unto that dwelling fair,
Then tidings of his daughter dear
He asked, they said that of good cheer
Was she, and free from care.
To eat in hall they brought that may,
And blithe and glad were all that day
And joyful hearts they bare.

Whenas the lords, without a lie,
Were set upon the dais high
With ladies fair and sweet,
As prince who was full proud in pride
The duke was richly served that tide
With mirth and worship meet;
Whenas that maid of whom I spake
Among the maids her place must take
There, as she sat in seat,
Upon that courteous knight, Amis,
A thousand times she looked, I wis,
And did with eyes entreat.

Upon that gentle knight, Amis,
For evermore she gazed, I wis,
Nor would her glances spare;
The steward, with a traitorous eye
He did that maiden well espy
And of her mien was ware,
For by her glances did he see
That love betwixt the twain should be,
Sore was he grieved there,
Bethought him how, within a while,
He might with treason and with guile
Bring both of them to care.

And thus, I wis, that merry may
She ate in hall, with joy and play,
For four days, or for five,
Whene'er Sir Amis she might see
Then was her heart from sorrow free,
She joyed to be alive,
Where'er he sat or stood in hall
Her eyes were fain on him to fall
With longing looks to strive;
The steward for envy he was fain
To bring much sorrow on the twain,
Now evil may he thrive

That rich duke, now, as ye shall hear,
He rode a-hunting of the deer
And with him many a knight;
Then Belisant, that gentle may,
The chamber where Sir Amis lay
Thither she sought forthright.
The steward, as I read, that tide
Was in a chamber near beside,
He saw that maiden bright
As secretly her love she sought,
To spy upon the twain he thought,
Followed as swift he might.

Whenas the maiden came, anon,
She found Sir Amis there alone,
"Hail!" quoth the lady bright,
"Sir Amis," swiftly did she say,
"It is a seven-night to-day
That we our troth did plight,
And therefore am I come to thee
To know, as thou art fair and free,
And held for courteous knight,
Whether thou wilt me now forsake
Or wilt me now unto thee take
To hold, in truth and right?"

"Lady," then quoth the knight again,
"To wed with thee I were full fain
As thou with me would'st wive;
But an thy father heard men say
That with his daughter dear I lay
From land he would me drive.
If I were ruler of this land
And had more gold in this, my hand,
Than other kings full five
Right gladly would I wed with thee;
Certes, I but a poor man be;
Alas, that I'm alive!"

"Sir Knight," then quoth that maiden kind,
"Now by Saint Thomas, slain in Ynde,
Why dost thou say me Nay?
Thou ne'er shalt be so poor, I trow,
But riches I may find enow
Alike by night and day!"
That courteous knight no more delayed,
But in his arms he took the maid
And kissed that gentle may;
They dealt with word and deed anon
Till he her maidenhood had won
Ere yet she went away.

And aye that steward did abide
In hiding, by the chamber side,
Their speech he hearkened there;
And thro' a hole, 't was none too wide,
He watched them both, at that same tide,
As they together were,
And as he saw the twain with sight,
Sir Amis, and that maiden bright,
The rich duke's daughter fair,
Then wroth was he, of angry mood,
And gat him thence, as he were wood,
Their counsel to declare.

Whenas the duke he homeward came
The steward he met him at that same
Their secret to betray;
"My lord, the Duke," he saith anon,
"Of thine own mischief, by Saint John,
I 'ld warn thee here to-day,
In this thy court thou hast a thief,
Who to my heart hath done sore grief,
Yea, shame it is to say;
Certes, he shall a traitor be, —
But now, by force and villainy,
He with thy daughter lay!"

The duke, his wrath it waxed to flame,
"Now who," he cried, "hath done this shame —
Tell me, with ne'er a he?"
"Saint James," he quoth, "my witness be,
His name I'll truly tell to thee,
Now bid him hang on high;
It is thy butler, Sir Amis,
A traitor was he aye, I wis,
He with that maid did lie;
Myself I saw them, on my troth,
As I will prove before them both,
They shall me not deny!"

Then was the duke of wrathful mood;
To hall he ran, as he were wood,
For naught would he abide,
But with a falchion sharp and bright
Full fain would he Sir Amis smite,
The stroke, it went aside;
Sir Amis to a chamber fled,
And shut the door fast at that stead,
For fear his head would hide;
The duke, he smote so fierce a blow
That thro' the door the steel did go,
So wrathful he that tide.

And all who there around him stood
Besought the duke to calm his mood,
Both baron, earl, and swain,
He sware by Him Who died on Rood,
For all the world might hold of good
He 'ld have that traitor slain:
"Great honour hath he had from me,
And now a traitor vile shall be,
Hath with my daughter lain,
Not for the whole world's wealth, I trow,
The traitor shall escape me now,
But die by these hands twain!"

"Sire," quoth Sir Amis at the last,
"Let this, thy wrath, be overpast,
I pray, of Charitie,
If thou canst prove now, by Saint John,
That e'er such deed by me was done,
Then hang me high on tree!
If any man our harm hath sought,
And such a charge against us brought,
Then, whosoe'er he be,
He is a liar, shalt thou know —
As I will here in battle show,
And prove us quit and free!