Part III: Stanzas 79–116

‘Syr,’ seyd the kyng, ‘I pray the,
Where schaƚƚ thy ded of armys bee,
Yf yt be thy wyƚƚ?’
‘Syr,’ he seyd, ‘vttyrly,
At Calabur, sekyrly,
I ame aƚƚ Redy ther tyƚƚ
With a squyer, þat wiƚƚ can Ryde;
Fast be the see Sydde
Schuld we pley owur fyle;
And wot ye wyƚƚ and vndyrstond,
Ther schaƚƚ no knyght come nere hond
Fore dred of denttes yƚƚ.’

The kynge seyd: ‘Be goddes ore,
I Rede, þat þou come not thore,
Fore why, I wyƚƚ the seye:
Meche folke of that contre
Come hether~ for~ sokor~ of me,
Bothe be nyght and day;
There ys a gyant of gret Renowne,
He dystrowythe bothe sete and towyn~
And aƚƚ þat euyr~ he may;
And ase the boke of Rome dothe teƚƚ,
He wase get of the deweƚƚ of heƚƚ,
As hys moder on slepe lay.’

The kyng Seyd: ‘Be seynt Adryan~,
I Rede, a nother Jentyƚƚ mane
Be there and haue the gre:
I haue a dowghttyr, þat ys me dere,
Thow schalt here wed to thy fere,
And, yf yt thy wyll be,
Two duchyes in londe
I wille geve here in~ hande.’
‘Gramarcy, syr,’ sayd he,
‘With my tonge so haue I wrowght,
To breke my day than wiƚƚ I nowght,
Nedys me behovythe ther to bee.’

‘In goddes name,’ the kyng gane sayne,
‘Iesu send the wiƚƚ a-geyne,
Lord so mekyƚƚ of myghte!’
Menstrelles was them a-monge,
Trompettes, harpys, and myrre songe,
Delycyous nottis on hyght.
When tyme was, to bed they wente;
On the morrow Rose Torrente
And toke leve of kyng and knyght
And toke a Redy weyye,
Be a see syd as yt laye,
God send hym gattes Ryght!

A hye stret hathe he nome,
In to Calabur he ys come
With in~ to days ore III;
Soo come ther~ folkes hym a-geyne,
Fast folloyng with cart and wayne,
Fro-ward the sytte.
‘Dere god!’ seyd Torrent nowe,
‘Leve folkes, what Eyllythe yow,
Soo fast fore to flee?’
‘There ys a gyante here be-syde,
In ale thys covntre fare and wyde
No mane on lyve levythe hee.’

‘Dere god,’ sayd Torrant thane,
‘Where schaƚƚ I fynd that lothly man~?’
Ther they answerd hym anone:
‘In a castyƚƚ be-syd the see,
Slongus, soo hyght hee,
Many a man had he slone.
We wot wiƚƚ wher he doth ly:
Be-fore the cyte of Hungry;
He wiƚƚ not thens gone,
Tyƚƚ he haue the Ryche kyng~
To hys presone for to bryngg,
To be lord of hyme self a-lone.’

Tho wold he no lenger~ a-byd,
But to the sytte gan he Ryde,
As fast as he myght fare;
Here barys feƚƚ and broke downe,
And the gattes of gret Renowne
Stondyng~ aƚƚ baree.
Men of armys stond hyme a-geyne,
Mo than fyfty had he slayne
With gryme wounddes and sare.
When Torrent of hym had a syght,
Thowe Desoneƚƚ be neuyr~ so bryght,
He will Reue hym hys chaffar~.

Torrent in~ the storrope stod
And prayd to god, þat dyed on Rode:
‘Lord, ase thow schalt ale wyld at wyle,
Gyff me grace to wyn the fyld,
That thys lothly fynd hym yeld
A-non to me tyƚƚ!
A man schaƚƚ But onnys Dyee,
I wiƚƚ fyght, whiƚƚ I may Dryee.’
He mad cher~ nobyƚƚ.
When he had Iesu prayd of grace,
He wyscheyd hyme a batteƚƚ plase,
Ther as hym lyst welle.

Torrent hys spere a-say be-gane,
Bothe schyld and spere than~,
That they were sekyr and good.
Aftyr þat, with in a throwe,
Hys good horne gane he blowe.
The gyant sawe, wher~ he stodde:
Slonges of Flonthus staryd than~;
Quod Torrent: ‘Yf thow be a gentyƚƚ man~
Or come of gentyƚƚ blod,
Let thy beytyng and thy Ermyght be,
And come prove thy strenghe on me,
Therfor I sowght the, be the Rodde.’

The gyant sayd: ‘Be the Roode,
Deweƚƚ of heƚƚ send the fode,
Hether to seche me:
By the nose I schaƚƚ the wryng,
Thow berdles gadlyng~,
That aƚƚ heƚƚ schaƚƚ thow see!’
The wey than to hym he toke
And on hys bake he bare a croke,
Wase X fot long and thre;
And thow he neuer so gret war~,
Torrent thowght not fare to fare,
Tyƚƚ wone of them ded bee.

Thoo wold Torrent no lenger~ byd,
Tyƚƚ the theff gan he Ryde,
Ase fast ase euyr~ he may.
The theff had non ey but on~,
Soche sawe I neuer none,
Neyther~ be nyght nor be day.
Thurrow goddes helpe and sent Awsden~
The spere throw ye and herne gan ren.
God send hym the Ryght wey;
Than the theff be-gane to Rore.
Aƚƚ that in~ the sytte wore,
Ouyr~ the wallys they laye.

Thow the fyndes ey were owte,
Fast he leyd hym a-bowte
Aƚƚ þat somyrres nyght;
He set ys backe to an hyƚƚ,
That Torrent schuld not come hym tyƚƚ,
So meche þat theff covd of fyght.
He bled so sore, I vndyrstond,
Hys croke feƚƚ owt of hys hond,
Hys dethe to hyme ys dyght.
Torrent to hyme Rane with a spere,
Thurrow the body he gan hym bere,
Thus helpe hym god of myght.

Aƚƚ that in~ the sytte were,
Mad fuƚƚ nobiƚƚ chere,
That thys fynd wase Dedde.
Forthe they Ran with stavys of tre,
Torrent seyd: ‘So mvt I the,
Kepe hole hys hed!
Yf yt be broke, so god me sped,
Yt ys wyƚƚ the worse to lede.’
They dyd ase he hem bede,
Mo than thre hunderd on a throng
Yt ys solas Euyr~ a-mong
Whan that he was dede.

Than~ the kyng of Calaber ayen~ hym went,
Torrent be the hond he hent,
To the haƚƚ he gan~ hym lede
And comaundid squiers two,
Of hys harnes for to do
And cloth hym~ in another wede.
Waytes on the waƚƚ gan blowe,
Knyghtis assemled on a Rowe,
And sith to the deyse they yede;
‘Sir,’ quod the kyng, ‘of whens are ye?’
‘Of Portingale, sir,’ said he,
‘I com heder, to sech my dede.’

Fuƚƚ curtesly the kyng gan say
To Torrent on the oþure day:
‘Wyƚƚ ye wend with me
A lituƚƚ here be-side to passe,
There as the Geauntes dwelling was
His maner now for to see?’
To the casteƚƚ gan~ they gone,
Richer saw they never none,
Better myght none be.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘be god aƚƚ-myȝt~,
For thou hym~ slew, þat it dight,
I vouche it saue on the,

‘I yeve yt the, sir, of my hond,
And there-to, an erledome of my lond,
For soth, ye shaƚƚ it haue;
Omage thou shalte none nor ffyne,
But euer more to the and thyne,
Frely, so god me saue!’
Lordys, and ye liston wold,
What was clepud the riche hold:
The casteƚƚ of Cardon~, by sawe.
Two days or thre dwellith he thare
And sith he takythe leve to ffare,
Both at knyght and knave.

By the kyng of Pervens he gan gane,
That he had oute of preson i-tane
His son vppon a day.
Gentilmen were blith and ffayn~,
That he in helth was comyn~ agayn~,
That they myght with hym~ play.
There of herd he, sertaynle,
That Desoneƚƚ wedid shold be
With an vncouth Ray.
And listonyth, lordis, of a chaunce,
Howe he lefte his countenaunce
And takyth hym~ armes gay!

By-fore the kyng he feƚƚ on kne:
‘Good lord,’ he said, ‘for charite,
Yeve me order of knyght!
I wott weƚƚ, leryd are ye,
My lordys doughter shaƚƚ wed be
To a man~ off myght.’
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I trow, she mone
To the prynce off Aragon~,
By this day sevynnyght.
Swith,’ he seith, ‘that this be done,
That thou be there and wyn~ thy shone,
Gete the armes bryght.’

Sir Torrent ordenyth hym a sheld,
It was ryche in euery ffeld,
Listonyth, what he bare:
On aȝure a squier off gold,
Richely bett on mold;
Listonyth, what he ware:
A dragon~ lying hym be-syde,
His mouth grennyng fuƚƚ wyde,
Aƚƚ ffyghtyng as they were;
The creste, that on his hede shold stond,
Hit was aƚƚ gold shynand,
Thus previd he hym~ there.

Lordys assembelid in sale,
Weƚƚ mo than I haue in tale,
Or ellis gret wonder were.
There herd he teƚƚ ffor certan~,
That Desoneƚƚ wed shold be than~,
That was hym selfe ffuƚƚ dere.
And whan~ he herd of that ffare,
Wors tydingis than were thare,
Might he none gladly here . . . . . . .

He wold not in passe,
Tiƚƚ at the myd mete was
The kyng and meny a knyght;
As they satt at theyre mete glade,
In at the haƚƚ dur he rade
In armes ffeyre and bryght,
With a squier, that is ffre;
Vp to the lady ryduth he,
That rychely was i-dight.
‘Lordys,’ he said, ‘among you aƚƚ
I chalenge thre coursus in the haƚƚ,
Or Delyuer her me with right!’

The kyng of Aragon~ sett her bye,
And he defendid her nobely:
‘I wyƚƚ none delyuer the.’
His son said: ‘So muste I thryve,
There shaƚƚ no man just for my wiffe;
But yf youre wyƚƚ it be,
For her love did I never no dede,
I shaƚƚ to day, so god me spede:
Be-hold and ye shaƚƚ se.’
‘Alas!’ said Desoneƚƚ the dere,
‘Fuƚƚ longe may I sitt here,
Or Torrent chalenge me.’

Trumpettes blew in the prese,
Lordys stond on the grese,
Ladyes lay ouer and be-held.
The prynce and Torrent then
Eyther to other gan ren~,
Smertely in that ffeld;
Torrent sett on hym~ so sore,
That hors and man down~ he bore,
And aƚƚ to-sheverd his sheld.
So they tombelid aƚƚ in ffere,
That afterward of VII yere
The prynce none armes myght weld.

Torrent said: ‘So god me saue,
Other two coursus wyƚƚ I haue,
Yf ye do me law of lond.’
Gret lordys stond styƚƚ,
They said nether good ne yƚƚ
For tynding of his hond.
The prynce of Aragon~ in they barr~
With lituƚƚ worshipp and sydes sare,
He had no fote on ffor to stond.
Thus thes lordys justid aye;
Better they had to haue be away,
Suche comffort there he ffond.

He wold not in passe,
Tiƚƚ they at myd mete was,
On the other day at none.
His squiers habite he had,
Whan~ he to the deyse yad,
With oute couped shone,
And the hede on~ the bord he laid:
‘Lo, sir kyng, hold this,’ he said,
‘Or ellis wroth we anon~!’
They sett stiƚƚ at the bord,
None of hem spake one word,
But ryght that he had done.

Torrent at the syde bord stode:
‘Lystonyth, lordynges, gentiƚƚ of blood,
For the love of god aƚƚ-myght:
The kyng heyght me his doughter dere,
To ffyght with a ffendys ffere,
That wekyd was and wight,
To wed her to my wyffe,
And halffe his kyngdome be his liffe,
And after his days aƚƚ his ryght.
Lokyth, lordys, you among,
Whether he do me ryght or wrong!’
Tho waried hym~ both kyng & knyght.

Tho said the kyng of Aragon, i-wys:
‘Torrent, I wiste no thing of thys,
A gret maister arte thou!’
The kyng sware be seynt Gryffen~:
‘With a sword thou shalte her wynne,
Or thou haue her nowe:
For why, my son to her was wed,
Gret lordys to churche her led,
I take wittnes of aƚƚ you.’
‘Kyng Calamond, haue good day,
Thou shalt i-bye it, and I may,
To god I make avowe.’

The Emperoure of Rome ther was,
Be-twene thes kynges gan~ he passe
And said: ‘Lordys, as sone,
This squier, that hath brought this hede,
The kyng had wend he had be dede,
And a-venturly gan~ he gone:
I rede you take a day of ryghtes,
And do it vppon~ two knyghtes,
And let no man~ be slon~!’
Gret lordys, that were thare,
This talis lovid at that fare
And ordenyd that anon~.

To the kyng the thoght com~ was,
To send vnto Sathanas
For a geaunt, that hight Cate,
For to make hym~ knyght to his hond
And sease hym~ in aƚƚ his lond;
The messingere toke the gate.
Gret othes he sware hym than~,
That he shold ffyght but with one man~,
And purvey hym he bad
Iryn stavis two or thre,
For to ffyght with Torent ffre,
Though he there of ne watt.

Than take counseƚƚ kyng and knyght,
On lond that he shold not ffyght,
But ffar oute in the see,
In an yle long and brad;
A gret payn~ there was made,
That holdyn~ shold it be.
Yf Cate slow Torent, that ffre ys,
Halfe Portyngale shold be his,
To spend with dedys ffre;
And yf sir Torrent myght hym ouer-com~,
He shold haue halfe Aragon~,
Was better than suche thre.

The Gyaunt shipped in a while
And sett hym~ oute in an yle,
That was grow both grene and gay.
Sir Torrent com~ prekand on a stede,
Richely armed in his wede;
‘Lordyngys,’ gan he say,
‘It is semely ffor a knyght,
Vppon a stede ffor to ffyght.’
They said sone: ‘Nay,
He is so hevy, he can not ryde.
Torrent said: ‘Eviƚƚ mut he be-tyde,
Falshode, woo worth it aye!’

‘Sir, takyth houseƚƚ and shrefte!’
To god he did his hondys lifte,
And thankid hym of his sond:
‘Iesu Cryste, I the praye,
Send me myght and strengith this day
A-yen~ the ffend to stond!’
To the shipp sir Torent went,
With the grace, god had hym sent,
That was never ffayland;
Aƚƚ the lordys of that contre,
Frome Rome vnto the Grekys se,
Stode and be-held on lond.

Whan sir Torrent in to the Ile was brought,
The shipmen~ lenger wold tary nought,
But hied hem sone ageyn~;
The Giaunt said: ‘So must I the,
Sir, thou art welcom to me,
Thy deth is not to layn~!’
The ffirste stroke to hym he yaue,
Oute of his hand flew his staff:
That thefe was fuƚƚ fayn~.
Tho sir Torent went nere Cate, . . . . .
He thought, he wold hym~ haue slayn~.

The theff couth no better wonne,
In to the see rennyth he sone,
As faste as he myght ffare.
Sir Torrent gaderid cobled stonys,
Good and handsom ffor the nonys,
That good and round ware;
Meny of them to hym~ he caste,
He threw stonys on hym so faste,
That he was sad and sare.
To the ground he did hym feƚƚ,
Men~ myght here the fend yeƚƚ
Halfe a myle and mare.

Sir Torent said, as he was wonne,
He thankid Iesu, Maryes son~,
That kyng, that sent hym myȝt~;
He said: ‘Lordys, for charite,
A bote that ye send to me,
It is nere hand nyght!’
They Reysed a gale with a sayƚƚ,
The Geaunt to lond for to trayƚƚ,
Aƚƚ men wonderid on that wight.
Whan that they had so done,
They went to sir Torent fuƚƚ sone
And shipped that comly knyght.

The emperoure of Rome was there,
The kynges of Pervens and of Calabere yare,
And other two or thre.
They yaue sir Torent, that he wan,
Both the Erth and the woman~,
And said, weƚƚ worthy was he.
Sir Torent had in Aragon~
The riche Cite of Cargon~
And aƚƚ that riche contre;
Archbeshoppes, as the law feƚƚ,
Departid the prynce and Dissoneƚƚ
With gret solempnite.

For sir Torent the fend did faƚƚ,
Gret lordys honoured hym~ aƚƚ
And for a doughty knyght hym~ tase;
The kyng said: ‘I vnderstond,
Thou hast fought ffor my doughter & my lond,
And weƚƚ wonne her thou hase.’
He gaue to saint Nycholas de Barr~
A grett Erldome and a simarr~
That abbey of hym tas
For Iesus love, moch of myght,
That hym helpith day & nyght,
Whan~ he to the batteƚƚ gas.

Lordys than~ at the laste,
Echone on theyre way paste,
And euery man~ to his.
The quene of Portingale was ffayn~,
That sir Torent was com agayn~
And thankyd god of this.
Than said the kyng: ‘I vnderstond,
Thou hast fought for my doughter & my lond,
And art my ward, i-wys,
And I wyƚƚ not ageyn~ the say;
But abyde halfe yere and a day,
And broke her weƚƚ with blis!’