Lines 1261–1680

"And since thou art good knight and free
Jesu this word hath sent by me
To warn thee now anon,
So foul a wretch thou shalt be sure,
Such grief and poverty endure,
As fell, I trow, to none;
O'er all the world, both far and near,
Thy best friends, whom thou held most dear,
They shall thy presence shun;
Yea, e'en thy wife and all thy kin
Shall flee the place that thou art in,
Forsake thee every one!"

That knight stood still as any stone;
Those words he hearkened every one
That were so drear and dread;
He knew not what were best to do,
To flee, or to the combat go,
His heart was e'en as lead;
He thought: "If I confess my name
Then is my brother put to shame,
His life in sorrow fled, —
Certes," he quoth, "for fear of care
To keep my troth I will not spare,
The Will of God be sped!"

And all the folk, they deemed, I wis,
That this knight he was Sir Amis,
Who came to fight indeed, —
He, and the steward, as I say,
Before the justice brought were they
To swear for this their deed,
Before the folk, the steward, he,
Sware that his word no lie should be,
God help him at his need
Sir Amiloun, he steadfast sware
He ne'er e'en kissed that maiden fair,
Our Lady be his speed!

When they had sworn, as thus I told,
To fight were fain those barons bold
And busked them for to ride,
And young and old, all folk that day,
They straightly unto God did pray
He would Sir Amis guide!
On steeds that were both stiff and strong
They met, their spears, so sharp and long,
Were shivered on each side;
Then each man drew his sword so good
Together hew, as they were wood,
For naught would they abide.

Those champions, who were fierce to sight,
With falchion fell begin to fight,
As madmen hack and hew,
Hard on each other's helm they smite
With strokes so strong, and of such might
That fire from out them flew;
So hard they smote on head and side
That from their deadly wounds and wide
Blood wells in crimson hue;
From morning-tide till noon were past
The combat did betwixt them last,
Fiercer their anger grew.

Sir Amiloun, as flame of fire,
Sought for his foe with fierce desire
And smote with might and main,
His blow, it glanced aside that stead
And smote the good steed on the head,
Scattered was all the brain;
The steed fell dead upon the ground
Then was the steward, in that stound,
Fearful lest he be slain;
Sir Amiloun adown doth light,
Afoot he seeks the steward forthright
Raising him up again.

"Now rise up, Steward," the knight did say,
"Thou needs must fight afoot to-day
Since thou hast lost thy steed;
By Saint John, he were craven knight
Who with a fallen man would fight
Who thus were brought in need "; —
That courteous knight, so free and fair,
The steward by hand he taketh there,
Saying: "So God me speed,
Since that afoot thou needs must go
I'll fight with thee afoot also:
Other were falsehood's rede!"

The steward, and that man of might,
Anon together met in fight
With brands both bright and bare;
So fierce a fight they then began
The blood from out their armour ran
For nothing would they spare;
The steward his shoulder smote that tide,
And made a wound both deep and wide
A grisley gash it were,
And thro' that wound, as ye may hear,
That knight was known with rueful cheer,
When he was come to care.

Wroth was Sir Amiloun and wood,
Seeing his armour red with blood
That erst was white as swan,
Then, with his falchion sharp and bright,
He smote in wrath a blow of might
As hero bold, anon,
That even from the shoulder blade
Down to the breast a wound it made
Sheer thro' the heart hath gone; —
With that the steward fell down dead,
Sir Amiloun smote off his head
Thanked God the fight was won!

Then all the lordings, men of might,
Or lesser folk, who saw that sight
Were filled with joy that tide,
The head upon a spear they bare
And to the town they gat them there
For nothing would abide;
From town to meet the knight they came
In fair procession, at that same,
Seemly, from either side,
The victor to the tower they led
With mickle honour at that stead
As a prince proud in pride.

When to the hall they came, I wis,
All in that palace deemed Amis,
He stood their face before, —
"Sir Amis," quoth the duke anon
Before the lordings every one,
"What I forbade of yore
I grant thee now, that gentle may,
My daughter, dearly bought to-day
With grisley wounds and sore;
Therefore I freely grant thee here
My land, with this my daughter dear
To hold for evermore."

Then glad and blithe that courteous knight,
And thanked the duke with all his might,
Full glad was he, and fain;
In all the court was none, I ween,
Who wist what his true name had been
Who saved those ladies twain.
Then leeches to their will they found
Who handled these, his wounds, and bound,
And made him whole again,
And all were joyful in that hold,
To God gave thanks a thousand-fold
In that the steward was slain.

Sir Amiloun, he dight him there
And said that he from thence would fare
And get him on his way,
And tell his friends, both less and more,
And all who friendship to him bore
How he had sped that day;
The duke, he granted leave that tide,
And proffered knights with him to ride.
But he made answer, Nay,
No man he thought with him to take
But swiftly did him ready make
And rode from thence away.

Thus on his way he went alone
For never man with him had gone
Or were he knight or swain,
That knight, so brave in blood and bone,
He stayed for neither stock nor stone,
Till he came home again.
Sir Amis, as I now shall say,
Waited his coming every day,
Up in the forest plain,
There Amiloun and he they meet,
With joy he doth Sir Amis greet,
Tells how the steward he'd slain;

And saith how he should wed for meed
That gentle maid, in goodly weed,
Who was so fair of face.
Down from his steed he sprang anon,
The other's raiment each does on
As erst in that same place,
"Brother," he quoth, "now go thy way —
And taught him all that he should say
Within a little space.
Sir Amis, he hath joy untold
And thanked him there a thousand-fold,
Who shewed him so much grace.

And as they needs must part, the twain,
Sir Amis thanked him oft again
For this, his right good deed:
"Brother," he saith, "an it should be
That care or woe befalleth thee
And of my help hast need,
Send thou thy messenger nor spare,
Be sure that I shall fail thee ne'er,
As God shall be my speed,
For be thy peril ne'er so strong
I'll be thy help, for right or wrong,
If life I lose for meed!"

With that they part asunder there, —
Sir Amiloun, that knight so fair,
Went homeward in that tide
Unto his wife, who scarce was kind,
Welcome he from his friends did find
As a prince proud in pride;
And when it came unto the night
And he, with this, his lady bright,
In bed lay, side by side,
Within his arms with many a kiss
He clasped her close, in joy and bliss,
For nothing would abide.

His wife, she was full fain to know
For what cause he had acted so
For this last fourteen-night,
And laid his sword betwixt them two
That she durst not, for weal or woe,
Touch him, her lord, aright?
With that, Sir Amiloun, he knew
That Amis, as a knight so true,
Had kept the troth he plight;
"Lady," he quoth, "I now will say
And tell the truth to thee alway —
Betray me to no wight!"

With that the lady straitly prayed
For love of Him, Who this world made,
To tell her how it were;
Without delay, that gallant knight,
The truth he told to her forthright
How he to court did fare,
And how he slew the steward strong
Who would, by treason and by wrong,
His brother bring to care;
And how Sir Amis, courteous knight,
Had lain beside her every night
While he afar did fare.

The lady wrathful waxed that tide
And angrily her lord did chide,
Words waxed betwixt the two;
She quoth: "With wrong, and not with right
Now hast thou slain a gentle knight,
I wot thou ill didst do."
"Lady," he quoth, "by Heaven's King,
I did it for no other thing
Only to save from woe
My brother; and were I in need
I hope he 'ld give his life for meed
If he might help me so!"

And thus, as now the Geste doth say,
Sir Amis, he was glad and gay,
To court went speedily;
And when he thither came again
By earl and baron, knight and swain,
Honoured, I trow, was he;
The rich duke took him by the hand,
And gave him seizin of his land
That his for aye it be;
Sithen, with joy upon a day
He wed with Belisant, the may,
And true and kind was she.

A seemly folk, and great, withal,
Came to that bridal, there in hall,
Whenas he wed that flower,
And earls and barons, many a score,
With other lordings, less and more,
And ladies bright in bower;
A royal feast they there did hold
Of earls and many a baron bold
With joy and great honour;
Throughout that land, from east to west,
Amis was held of knights the best,
For praise elect in tower.

And then, within a two years' space,
Unto the twain there chanced a grace
By God's hand was it told,
For the rich duke, he needs must die,
With him his lady low did lie
Buried in clay so cold;
Then men Sir Amis, fair and free,
As duke, and lord, in majesty
O'er all that land did hold,
Two bairns begat he on his wife,
No fairer children e'er saw life
As in the Geste 't is told.

So was that knight of great renown,
The lord of many a tower and town,
A mighty duke was he,
While this, his brother Amiloun,
In grief and care was brought adown
Who erst was fair and free;
For as the Angel had foretold
No fouler leper did one hold
Within the world than he,
In Geste to read it is sore ruth,
What grief he had for this his truth
Ere years had passed but three.

For ere three years had come to end
He wist not whither he might wend —
Such woe was his, alway;
For all who erst his friends had stood,
And most of all his kinsmen good
As foes they turned away;
Yea, and his wife, as I say truth,
By day and night she wrought him ruth
More than they all, i' fay.
When this hard lot befell the knight
A man in a more friendless plight
Were not on earth that day.

A wicked shrew she was, his wife,
She pierced his heart, as with a knife,
With words so sharp and keen,
She quoth: "Thou caitiff wretch, in strife
The steward he wrongful lost his life
As may by thee be seen,
Therefore, by Saint Denys of France,
This evil sore to thee doth chance,
Pity were sin, I ween!"
Then oft his hands for woe he wrung
Vowing that he hath lived too long
Whose life but loss hath been!

Alas! Alas! that gentle knight
Who whilom was so fair to sight
And suffered so much woe,
That from his wife, so fair and bright,
From his own chamber, of a night
Was bidden forth to go!
And in his own hall, in the day,
From the high board was turned away
For it was ordered so,
At the board's end he ate, to wit,
For no man would beside him sit,
Sore sorrow must he know.

When but six months had passed withal
That he had eaten thus in hall
And had good nourishing,
His lady's anger waxed full strong,
She deemed that he had lived too long,
No lie I here do bring —
"Now thro' the land there runs this word,
I feed a leper at my board,
He is so foul a thing
My kin these tidings sore displease,
No longer shall he sit at ease,
By Jesu, Heaven's King!"

She summoned him upon a day,
"Sir, it doth chance," so did she say,
" 'T is truth, I swear to thee,
That thou dost eat too long in hall,
Thy presence doth displease us all,
My kin be wroth with me!"
The knight, he wept, and spake so still:
"Now send me where it be thy will
That no man shall me see,
And I from thee no more will pray
Than meat for but one meal a day,
For holy charitie!"

That lady then, for her lord's sake,
She bade that men should timber take,
For nothing would she stay,
Without the gates, but half a mile,
She bade them build a lodge that while,
That stood beside the way,
And when that lodge, I trow, was wrought
With him, of all his wealth, he brought
But his gold cup away;
When he was in his lodge alone
To God in Heaven he made his moan,
Gave thanks to Him alway.

When he within that lodge was dight
In all the court there was no knight
Would do him service there
Save but one child, who with him came,
Childe Owen, did they call his name,
Who wept for this, his care;
The child was true, of good renown,
And sister's son to Amiloun,
He spake with words full fair,
Saying he would beside him stand
Nor cease to serve him, foot and hand,
While that in life he were.

The child, who was so fair and bold,
As Owen was his name first told,
He came of noble blood,
When he was twelve years old withal
Then Amoraunt his name they call,
Courteous was he, and good,
Beside his lord each night he lay
And fetched from out the hall each day
What they should have for food;
And when each man made mirth and song
For his lord's sake, he sat among
Them all in dreary mood.

Thus Amoraunt, as I now say,
To court he cometh every day,
Nor stayed for all they strive,
For all, that he should come away
And leave the leper, straitly pray,
Then should he better thrive.
He answered them in gentle mood,
Swearing by Him Who died on Rood
And suffered Wounds full five,
That for the whole world's wealth to take
His lord he never would forsake
Whiles that he were alive.

When as the twelvemonth's end did fall
And Amoraunt came to the hall
Their food to take, one day,
The lady, she waxed wroth anon
And bade her servants every one
To drive that child away;
She sware by Him Whom Judas sold,
That tho' for hunger and for cold
Stark dead her lord he lay,
Nor meat nor drink, nor anything
To succour him should any bring
From her, from that same day.

The child, his hands he wrung, the twain,
And, weeping, gat him home again
With mickle grief and care,
His lord, he did him straightway pray
And bade him tell without delay
What thus had grieved him there?
He answered him, and said also;
"I wis I well may be in woe,
And grief and sorrow bear,
Thy wife hath sworn in evil mood
That she no more will give us food,
Alas! how shall we fare?"