The Siege of Milan

[Primus Passus: A Fitt]

All werthy men that luffes to here Off chevallry that byfore us were That doughty weren of dede, Off Charlles of Fraunce, the heghe kinge of alle line5That ofte sythes made hethyn men for to falle That styffely satte one stede. This geste es sothe, wittnes the buke, The ryghte lele trouthe whoso will luke In cronekill for to rede. line10Alle Lumbardy thay made thaire mone And saide thaire gaummes weren alle gone, Owttrayede with hethen thede.

The Sowdane, Arabas the stronge, Werreyde appon Crystyndome with wronge line15And ceties brake he downn, Robbyde the Romaynes of theire rent, The Popys pousty hase he schente And many a kynges with crownn. In Tuskayne townnes gon he wyn line20And stuffede tham wele with hethyn kyn, This lorde of grete renownn. And sythen to Lumbardy he wanne; Mighte to lett hym hade no man. Thus wynnes he many a townn.

line25The emagery that ther solde bee, Bothe the Rode and the Marie free, Brynnede tham in a fire. And than his mawmettes he sett up there In kirkes and abbayes that there were, line30Helde tham for lordes and syre. To Melayne sythen he tuke the waye And wanne the cyté apon a daye, Gaffe his men golde till hyre. Many a martyre made he there line35Off men and childire that there were And ladyes swete of swyre.

The lorde of Melayne, Sir Alantyne, Sawe the Crystynde putt to pyne. Owte of the townn he flede line40To a cyté that was thereby; All nyghte he thoghte therin to ly. He was full straytly stede. Thay myghte it wynn with spere and schelde; Appon the morne hym buse it yelde line45Or laye his lyfe in wede. Was never no knyghte putt to mare care. Full hertly to Criste than prayes he thare To knawe the lyfe he ledde.

The Sawdane sent hym messangers free line50And bade hym torne and hethyn bee And he solde have his awenn: Melayne, that was the riche cité, And alle the laundis of Lumbardye, And to his lawe be knawenn: line55‘And if he ne will noghte to oure lawe be swornne, He sall be hanged or other morne And with wylde horse be drawen, His wyffe and his childire three Byfore his eghne that he myghte see line60Be in sondre sawenn.’

He prayede the Sowdane than of grace That he wolde byde a littill space Whils one the morne at daye, And he sall do hym for to witt line65If that he wolde assent to itt To leve apon his laye. Bot than heves he up his handis to heven, To Jesu Criste with mylde steven Full hertly gane he praye. line70‘Lorde,’ he saide, ‘als Thou swelte appon the Tree, Of Thy man Thou hafe peté And Mary mylde, that maye.

‘If I solde Crystyndome forsake And to hethyn lawe me take, line75The perill mon be myn. Bot, Lorde, als Thou lete me be borne, Late never my sawle be forlorne Ne dampnede to helle pyne. Bot, Lorde, als Thou swelte on the Rode line80And for mankynde schede Thi blode, Some concelle sende Thou me — Whethire that me es better to doo, The hethyn lawe to torne too Or my lyfe in lande to tyne.’

line85Than wente that knyghte unto bedde For sorowe hym thoghte his hert bledde, And appon Jesu than gan he calle. And sone aftire that gane he falle one slepe Als man that was wery for-wepe. line90Than herde by hym on a walle Ane angelle that unto hym gane saye, ‘Rysse up, Sir Kynge, and wende thy waye, For faire the sall byfalle To Charles that beris the flour-delyce — line95Of other kynges he berys the pryce — And he sall wreke thy wrethis alle.’

The angelle bade hym ryse agayne, ‘And hy the faste to Charlemayne, The crownnede Kynge of Fraunce, line100And say hym God byddis that he sall go To helpe to venge the of thy foo Both with spere and launce.’ The Kynge was full fayne of that; His swerde in his hande ge gatt line105And therto graythely he grauntis. He garte swythe sadyll hym a palfraye And even to Fraunce he tuke the waye. Now herkenys of this chaunce.

The same nyghte byfore the daye line110Als Kyng Charls in his bedde laye A swevn than gan he mete. Hym thoghte ane angele lyghte als leven Spake to hym with mylde steven, That gudly hym gane grete. line115That angele bytaughte hym a brande, Gaffe hym the hiltis in his hande, That even was handefull mete And saide, ‘Criste sende the this swerde Mase the His werryoure here in erthe — line120He dose the wele to weite.

‘He biddes thou sall reteyne it tyte And that thou venge alle His dispyte, For thynge that ever may bee. And sla alle there thou sees me stryke line125And sythen thou birnne up house and dyke, For beste He traystis in thee.’ The walles abowte Melayne townne Hym thoghte the angele dange tham downn That closed in that cité, line130Sythen alle the laundis of Lumbardy Townnes, borows and bayli. This was selcouthe to see.

When Charls wakenede of his dreme, He sawe a bryghtenes of a beme line135Up unto hevenwarde glyde. Bot when he rose, the swerde he fande That the angelle gaffe hym in his hande Appon his bedde syde. He schewede it thanne to his barouns alle, line140And than saide his lordes bothe grete and smalle: ‘The sothe is noghte to hyde; We wote wele that Goddis will it es That thou sall conquere of hethennesse Countres lange and wyde.’

line145To mete than wente that riche kynge, Bot sone come there newe tydynge Als he in sete was sette. The lorde of Melayne he sawe come in, That was his cosyn nere of kyn, line150And hym full gudely grette. The grete lordis alle hailsede hee And prayede tham all sesse of theire glee And sayse to Charls withowtten lette, ‘Jesu Criste hase comannde thee line155To fare to the felde to feghte for mee, My landis agayne to gette.’

He tolde tham alle at the borde and by That the Sarasenes had wonn Lumbardy — Thay mornede and made grete mone — line160And how the angelle bade hym goo. The Kynge tolde his sweven alsoo; Thay accordede bothe in one. Thane sayde the Beshope Turpyne: ‘Hafe done! Late semble the folke of thyne. line165Myn hede I undirtake That Gode es grevede at the Sarasenes boste. We salle stroye up alle theire hoste, Those worthely men in worde.’

Bot alle that herde hym Genyenn line170That was a lorde of grete renownn And Rowlande modir hade wedde. Thare wery hym bothe God and Sayne John! The falseste traytoure was he one That ever with fode was fedde. line175For landis that Rowlande solde have thare Dede fayne he wolde that he ware, The resone ryghte who redde. His firste tresone now bygynnes here That the lordis boghte sythen full dere line180And to ladyse grete barett bredde.

‘Sir,’ he sayde, ‘that ware a synfull chaunce. What solde worthe of us in Fraunce And thou in the felde were slayne? Thyselfe and we at home will byde line185And latte Rowlande thedire ryde, That ever to bekyre es bayne With batelle and with brode banere. Of his wyrchippe wolde I here, Witt ye wele, full fayne.’ line190For Rowlande this resone he wroghte; Everemore in his herte he thoghte He solde never come agayne.

The kynge than sent a messangere To grette lordes bothe ferre and nere line195And bade tham make tham yare. Bot the peris take a concelle newe That made alle Fraunce ful sore to rewe And byrdis of blyse full bare. Thay prayede the Kynge on that tyde line200That he hymselfe at home walde byde To kepe that lande right thare, ‘And sendis Rowlande to Lumbardy With fourty thowsande chevalry Of worthy men of were.’

line205Then Rowlande, thus his were than made, Fares forthe with baners brade; The Kynge byleves thare still Within the cité of Paressche For to kepe that townn of pryce line210Als thay accordede till. And if the Sowdane wane the felde Lyghtly walde they it noghte yelde To thay had foughtten thaire fill. Bot be comen was the feftenede daye line215Therfore myghte mornne bothe man and maye And ladyse lyke full ill.

To Melayne even thay made tham bownn And batelde tham thare byfore the townn, Those knyghttis that were kene. line220And into the Sowdane thay sent a knyghte And bade hym come owte with tham to fyghte, To witt withowtten wene. The Sowdane grauntis wele thertill That tornede oure gud men all to gryll line225And many one mo to mene. Than the Sarasene come owte of that cité Forty thowsandes of chevalrye, The beste in erthe myghte be[ne].

The forthirmaste come a Sarasene wyghte, line230Sir Arabaunt of Perse he highte; Of Gyon was he kynge. He saide ther was na Cristyn knyghte, Ware he never so stronge ne wyghte To dede he [ne] solde hym dynge. line235And one Sir Artaymnere of Beme That was Sir Olyveres eme — Byfore the stowre thay thrynge. And even at the first countire righte The Sarasen slewe oure Cristyn knyghte. line240It was dyscomforthynge.

The lorde of Melayne to hym rade, Sir Alantyne withowtten bade, The Crystyn knyghte to wreke; Bot he stroke oure Cristyn knyghte that stownde line245That dede he daschede to the grounde, Mighte no worde after speke. Sythen afterwarde he bare down Worthy lordes of grete renownn, Ay to his launce gane breke. line250And sythen areste thaire nobill stedis And to the hethyn hoste tham ledis. Loo thus-gates fares the freke.

Bot by that was done the grete gon mete, Barouns undir blonkes fete line255Braythely ware borne doun. Thay stekede many a staleworthe knyghte; The hethen folke in that fyghte The moste were of renownn. Oure knyghtis one the gronde lyse line260With wondes wyde one wafull wyse: Crakkede was many a crownn; Riche hawberkes were all to-rent, And beryns thorowe thaire scheldis schent That many to bery was bownn.

line265The Sarasens semblede so sarely That thay felde faste of oure chevalrye; Oure vawarde down thay dynge. Righte at the firste frusche thay felde Fyve thowsande knyghtis trewly telde — line270This is no lesynge. Oure knyghtis lyghtede one the bent; Thorowe thaire scheldis are they schent. Of sorowe than myghte thay synge. Than oure medillwarde gane tham mete, line275Thare myghte no beryns oure bales bete, Bot the helpe of hevens Kynge.

The medillwarde Sir Rowlande ledde; That doghty in felde was never drede To do what solde a knyghte. line280Fyfty lordis of gret empryce, Of Fraunce that bare the floure-delyce, Hase loste bothe mayne and myghte. Our medillwarde sone hade thaye slayne, And Rowlande was in handis tane line285And other seven that were knyghtes. Bot als God gaffe hym that chaunce, Thay wende he hade bene Kynge of Fraunce That lyfede in thase fyghtis.

Bot of a knyghte me rewes sore line290That in the felde laye wondede thore: The Duke of Normandy. He lukes up in the felde, His umbrere with his hande up helde; On Rowlande gane he cry: line295‘Rowlande, if the tyde that chaunce That thou come evermore into Fraunce, For the lufe of mylde Marie, Comande me till oure gentill Kynge And to the Qwene, my lady yynge, line300And to all chevalrye.

‘And if thou come into Normandy, Grete wele my lady And Sir Richerd my sonne; And dubbe hym duke in my stede line305And bydde hym venge his fadir dede, Of myrthe if he will mone. Bid hym hawkes and houndes forgoo And to dedis of armes hym doo, Thase craftes for to konne line310Appon the cursede Sarasens for to werre, Venge me with dynt of spere, For my lyfe is nere done.

‘A, Rowlande, byhaulde nowe whatt I see: More joye ne myghte never bee line315In youthe ne yitt in elde. Loo! I see oure vawarde ledde to hevene With angells songe and merye stevene Reghte as thay faughte in the felde. I see moo angells, loo, with myn eghe, line320Then there are men within Cristyanté That any wapyn may welde. To heven thay lede oure nobill knyghtis And comforthes tham with mayne and myghtis, With mekill blysse and belde.’

line325Bot by Rowland gan a Sarasene stande That braydede owte with a bryghte brande When he harde hym say soo; And to the Duke a dynt he dryvede. At the erthe he smate righte of his hede. line330Therfore was Rowlande woo. And Rowland styrte than to a brande And hastily hent it owte of a Sarasene hande, And sone he gane hym sloo. With that swerde he slewe sexty, line335The beste of the Sarasens chevalrye, Off hardy men and moo.

Than Rowlande in handis is taken agayne And putt unto full harde payne That sorowe it was to see. line340And foure nobill knyghtis than have thay slayne Byfore that were in handis tane With Sir Rowlande the free. The Sowdane comandis of his men An hundrethe knyghtis to kepe tham then, line345Rowland and other three, And to oure rerewarde sythen thay rode. Oure barouns boldely tham abode. Nowe helpe tham the Trynytee!

The Duke of Burgoyne, Sir Belland, line350The fadir of Sir Gy of Nevynlande, The rerewarde than rewlis hee. He comforthede alle oure nobyll knyghtis, Said, ‘Lordis, halde your feldes and your ryghttis And no Sarasene yee flee. line355And thofe ye see thies lordis be slayne Ne hope ye noghte for alle thaire payne That ne we sall solance see; By the werkynge of oure wondis sare Of the paynes of helle fele we no mare line360Bot hy to heven one heghe.’

Thay fruschede in fersely; for Goddis sake Grete strokes gane thay gyffe and take With wondis werkande wyde. Bot yitt the Sarasens with thay speris line365Full ferre on bakke oure batelle berys And knyghtis felde undir fete. Walde never no Crystyn knyghte thethyn flee Thoghe that he wyste ryghte there to dye, I doo yowe wole to wytt. line370Bot alle in fere thay endide righte thare That sewede the Sarasenes sythen full sare For lordis that levede the swete.

Thus fourty thowsande hafe thay slayne Safe foure that were in handis tane, line375Rowlande ande other three. One was the gentill erle, Sir Olyvere; Another was Sir Gawtere, The Kyngis cosyns nere; The thirde was Sir Gy of Burgoyne — line380His fadir in the felde laye there slone; The soryare myghte he bee. They ledde thies lordes into Melayne; With that the Sowdane turnes agayne, Righte gladde of his menyee.

[Secundus Passus: A] Fytt

line385To the Sowdane chambir many a man Oure foure lordis ledd thay than To rekken of theire arraye. Thay ette and dranke and made tham glade, Bot littill myrthe oure lordis hadde. line390The Sowdane gane tham saye, ‘Welcome be thow, Kynge of Fraunce; The bytide a cely chaunce: Thi lyfe was savede this daye. The false lawes of Fraunce sall downn; line395The rewme sall leve one seynt Mahownn That alle the myghtyeste maye!’

And Rowlande answerde full gentilly, ‘I ne rekke whethir I lyfe or dye, By God that awe this daye. line400Kynge of Fraunce ame I none, Bot a cosyne ame I one To Charlles, by my faye. He will gyffe me golde and fee, Castells ryche with towris heghe — line405That lorde full wele he maye. Bot Goddis forbode and the holy Trynytee That ever Fraunce hethen were for mee And lese oure Crysten laye.

‘For sothe, thou Sowdane, trowe thou moste line410One the Fader and the Sone and the Holy Goste. Thire thre are alle in one That borne was of Marye free Sythen for us dyede one a tree; In other trowe we none.’ line415Thane loughe the Sowdane withe eghne full smale And saide, ‘Ane hundrethe of youre goddis alle hale 416aHave I garte byrne in firre with bale Sen firste I wanne this wone. I sawe at none no more powstee Than att another rotyn tree line420One erthe, so mote I gone.

‘Goo, feche one of theire goddis in And if he in this fire will byrne Alle other sett att noghte.’ Than furthe ther rane a Sarasene in that tyde line425To a kyrke was there byside; A faire rode in he broghte Fourmede ewenn als He gane blede. Oure Cristen knyghtis bygane thaire crede And Rowland God bysoughte line430And saide, ‘Thou that was borne of a may, Schewe thou, Lorde, Thi meracle this day, That with Thi blode us boghte.’

They keste the rode into the fire And layde brandis with mekill ire; line435Fayne wolde thay garre hym birne. The Sowdane saide, ‘Now sall ye see What myghte es in a rotyn tree That youre byleve es in. I darre laye my lyfe full ryghte line440That of hymselfe he hase no myghte Owte of this fire to wyn. How solde he than helpe another man That for hymselfe no gyn ne kan, Nother crafte ne gyn?’

line445Thay caste one it full many a folde; The rode laye still ay as it were colde. No fire wolde in hym too. All if the crosse were makede of tree The fire yode owtt that come ther nee. line450Than wexe the Sowdan woo. ‘And yif the devell,’ he sayde, ‘be hym within, He sall be brynt or ever I blyne;’ Of hert he was full throo. ‘Thies cursede wreches that are herein line455Has wethede thaire goddis that thai may not byrn; I wote wele it es soo.’

Than bromstone that wele walde birn And pykke and terre mengede therin Thay slange in the fire full bolde. line460Torches that were gude and grete For to helpe that mekill hete Thay caste in many a folde. The fire wexe owte at the laste; Oure knyghtis made thaire prayere faste line465To Criste that Judas solde. The rode braste and gaffe a crake That thamm thoghte that alle the byggynge brake That was within that holde.

A fire than fro the crosse gane frusche line470And in the Sarasene eghne it gaffe a dosche, Ane element als it were, That thay stode still als any stone. Haundis nore fete myghte thay stirre none Bot drery wexe in chere; line475Thay wyste nother of gude ne ill. Than Rowlande sais his felawes untill, ‘Sirs, hy us alle hethyn in fere. This meracle es schewede thorowe Goddis grace, For alle the Sarasenes in this place line480May nother see nore here.’

Sayde Sir Gy of Burgoyne, ‘Yitt or I goo The Sowdane sall have a stroke or twoo That glade sall hym no glee.’ He ferkes owte with a fawchon line485And hittis the Sowdane one the crownn Unto the girdyll welle nee. Thay tuke the grete lordes with ire And brynte tham in that bale fire; Those doughty garte they dye line490Bot sythen the Sarasenes crouned Sir Garsy, Thay ofte sythes chaste oure chevalry — A bolde Sarasene was he.

Alle that was than in that place Thay slewe clenly thorow Goddis grace, line495Oure worthy men and wyghte. And sythen owte at the gates they yede. Ilkone of tham fande a whitte stede Sadlit and redy dighte. Thay stirtt up on those stedis full steryn; line500Thay fande no man that tham wolde warne, Oure ferse men, felle in fighte. And als the cronekill yitt will saye, Even to Fraunce thay tuke the waye; To Paresche thay ryde full righte.

line505Bot yitt thay wolde noghte come att Paresche To thay had offerde to Seyne Denys And wendis to that abbaye, And leves thaire stedis righte at the gate And wightly in thay tuke the gate, line510Thaire prayers for to say. And by thay hade thayre prayers made Agayne thay come withowtten bade. Thaire horse than were away And alle the bellis that in that abbaye was line515Range allone thorowe Goddis grace Whils it was pryme of the day.

And thereby wiste those lordis of pryce That the myghte of God and Seynt Denys Had broghte tham thethyn away. line520Thaire horse that so there come to handes Was thorowe the prayere of Seynt Denys — Thus will the cronecle say. Bischope Turpyne than come fro Paresche townn To Seynt Denys with grete processiownn line525For thiese lordes for to pray That was in Lumbardy at the were. And when he sawe Rowlande there He saide, ‘Lordis, morne we may.’

Thay mervelde why the bellis so range line530And the clergy lefte theire sange, Thoghte ferly of that fare. Thay hade mervelle whate it myghte mene. Als sone als the Byschoppe hade Rowlande sene, To hym he went full yare. line535Sayd, ‘A, Rowlande, how fares Lumbardye And all oure nobill chevallry That thou hade with the thare?’ ‘Certis, Sir Bischoppe, it is noghte to layne, The Sarasenes hase oure gude men slayne; line540Thou seese of tham na mare.’

The Bischop keste his staffe hym fro, The myter of his hede also. ‘I sall never were the more, Ne other habite for to bere, line545Bot buske me bremly to the were And lerene one slyke a lore. A, Mary mylde, whare was thi myght That thou lete thi men thus to dede be dighte That wighte and worthy were? line550Art thou noghte halden of myghtis moste, Full conceyvede of the Holy Goste? Me ferlys of thy fare.

‘Had thou noghte, Marye, yitt bene borne, Ne had noghte oure gud men thus bene lorne. line555The wyte is all in the. Thay faughte holly in thy ryghte That thus with dole to dede es dyghte. A Marie, how may this bee?’ The Bischoppe was so woo that stownnd line560He wolde noghte byde appon the grownnd A sakerynge for to see; Bot forthe he wente — his handis he wrange — And flote with Marye ever amange For the losse of oure menyee.

line565Then come Kynge Charls appon pilgremage Fro Paresche town with his baronage; To Seynt Denys he went. Bot when the Bischoppe mett with the Kynge, He wolde noghte say ‘Gud mornynge’ line570Ne ones his browes blenke. The Kynge had mervelle what that myght be; Bot als sone als he Rowlande see, Wyghtly to hym he went. Be Rowlande had his tale tolde, line575The Kynge myghte noghte a tere holde. For bale hym thoght he brynt.

‘Allas,’ he saide, ‘cosyn syne, Whare are alle the nobill knyghtis of myne That ever to fighte were fayne?’ line580‘Sir, bi God and by Sayne John, The Sarasenes alle bot us hase slone — It is no bote to layne. Bot we were taken into holde; Bot als that Criste hymselfe wolde line585That we wan owte agayne, Thorowe the grace of God omnipotent In his chambir or we went The Sowdane have we slayne.’

Genyonn saide, ‘Lorde, by my rede, line590All if the Sowdane thus be dede, Thay will have another newe, A more schrewe than was the tother, Garcy that is his awenn brothir, That more barett will brewe. line595These landes of hym I rede ye halde Or he will kindill cares full calde; Yhe trowe this tale for trewe. Or ells within thies monethes three Als qwhitte of Fraunce sall yhe bee line600Als yhe it never ne knewe.’

‘Now Cristis malyson,’ quod the Bischoppe, ‘myghte he have That Charls first this concell gaffe And noghte bot it be righte. To make homage to a Sarasene — line605Jesu kepe us fro that pyne And Marie His modir bryghte. Bot at home, Sir Kynge, thou sall kepe nanne Bot alle thy gud men with the tane That worthy are and wighte line610Appon yone cursede Sarasenes for to were And venge the one tham with dynt of spere That thus thi peris hase dyghte.

And alle the clergy undirtake I Off alle Fraunce full sekerly line615Thay sall wende to that were. Of the Pope I have pousté: Att my byddynge sall thay bee, Bothe with schelde and spere.’ The Bischoppe sendis ferre and nere line620To monke, chanoun, preste and frere And badd tham graythe thaire gere And keste thaire [care] clene tham froo, Come helpe to feghte one Goddis foo, All that a swerde may bere.

line625The clergy grauntes alle ther-to, Als doghety men of dede solde do That worthy were and wyghte. Be comen was wekes three Thare semblede a ful faire menyhé line630In baneres burneschid bryghte. A hundrethe thowsande were redy bownn Of prestis that werede schaven crownn And fresche men for to fighte. Thay lightede appon a lawnde so clere line635Undir the Mownte Mowmartere: It was a ful faire syghte.

With that the Bischoppe Turpyn come And also a cardynall of Rome With a full grete powere. line640Thay semblede appon another syde, Baners bett with mekill pryde, The clergy that was so clere. And appon thaire knees thay knelide down; The Bischoppe gafe tham his benyson, line645All hollyly in fere. And thane sent he in to the Kynge And badde hym forth his barouns brynge And saide, ‘My prestis are here.’

Bot yitt this false Genyonn line650Conselde the Kynge ay with treson That hymselfe solde duelle ther still: ‘And lette the Bischoppe wende his waye, Doo at yone Sarasenes that he maye; There sall he feghte his fill. line655And byde thiselfe in this citee. Slayne in the felde gife that thou bee, Alle Fraunce may like it full ill.’ And with his concelle and his fare Slyke concell he gaffe tham thare line660The Kynge grauntis thertill.

And forthe to the Bischoppe than sendis he, And for thynge that ever myghte bee He solde hym never beswyke. Bot take his nobill chevalrye line665And wende forthe into Lumbardy, ‘For I will kepe my ryke.’ The Bischoppe saide, ‘By Goddes Tree, Or that Charls doo so with mee Full ill it sall hym lyke! line670I sall hym curse in myddis his face. What! sall he nowe with sory grace Become ane eretyke?’

The Bischoppe leves his powere thare And into the cité gane he fare line675And the Cardenall with hym. And when he come byfore the Kynge, There was none other haylsynge Bot stowte wordes and grym. He saide, ‘Allas, Sir Charllyone, line680That thou thus sone becomes a crayon! Me thynke thi body full dym. Alle the false councell that touches the crown Here gyffe I tham Goddis malyson, Bothe in lyfe and lyme.

line685And Cristis malyson myghte he have That fyrste to the that concell gaffe; And here I curse the, thou Kynge! Because thou lyffes in eresye, Thou ne dare noghte fyghte one Goddes enemy.’ line690And a buke forthe gane he brynge. And the sertayne sothe als I yow telle He dyde all that to cursynge felle. This was no manere of lesynge. ‘Nowe arte thou werre than any Sarasene, line695Goddes awenn wedirwyne; Of sorowe now may thou synge.

‘If Cristyndome loste bee The wyte bese casten one the. Allas that thou was borne! line700Criste for the sufferde mare dere, Sore wondede with a spere, And werede a crown of thorne; And now thou dare noghte in the felde For hym luke undir thy schelde, line705I tell thi saule for lorne. Men will deme aftir thi day How falsely thou forsuke thi laye And calle the Kynge of Skornne.’

Bot then Kyng Charls withowtten wene line710At the Byschopp was so tene, A fawchone hase he drawen. And the Bischopp styrte than to a brande, Hent it owt of a sqwyers hande Both with myghte and mayne line715And braydes owte the blade bare. Be myghtfull God than he sware: ‘If I wiste to be slayne, Charls, and thou touche mee, Thou fares noghte forthir fete thre line720Or it be qwitt agayne.’

Than grete lordes yede tham bytwene; The Kynge comande his knyghtis kene The Bischopp for to taa. And the Bischopp said, ‘Sirres, I will yow no scathe line725And bi my faythe it es grete wathe Bot if ye late me gaa. For certis I will noghte taken bee With nane that I now here see Bot if yee firste me slaa. line730And whilk of yow that touches me Withowtten harme passes noghte hee.’ Than with his horse come thay.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘I avowe to mylde Marie And to hir Sone, God Almyghttye, line735I sall noghte leve the soo. For we are halden with the righte, Clerkes appon cursede men to fighte. I calle the Goddes foo. I sall gerre buske my batelle bownn line740And halde the, Charls, within this townn: Withowt thou sall noghte goo. Was never kynge that werede a crown So foule rebuytede with relygyon; Thou sall sone witt of woo.

line745‘Goddes byddynge hast thou broken; Thurghe the traytour speche spoken Alle Cristendom walde thou schende. When Criste sent the a suerde untill, Thou myghte wele wiete it was His will line750That thiselfe solde thedir wende. Therefore I sall stroye the, Byrne and breke downn thi cité If thou be never so tene. Then to yone Sarasenes wende sall I, line755Fighte with tham whils I may dry, In Goddes servyce to ende.’

The Bischopp and the Cardynere Appon thaire horses gatt bothe in fere; Owte of the townn thay rade line760Also faste als thay myghte dryve To the grete batelle belyfe And buskede baners full brade. They romede towarde Paresche town And thoghte to bete the cyté downe line765With the powere that he hade. (Slyke clerkes beris my benysone, For trewere men of relygyoun In erthe were never none made.)

Charls over the walles bihelde line770And sawe the hoste come in the felde And drawe towardes the town. Bot than said Duke Naymes unto the Kynge: ‘Sir, yonder comes us new tythynges With baners buskede alle bown. line775I rede ye praye yone clergy sesse And aske the Bischoppe forgyfnesse And absolucioun. And graunt hym graythely for to goo For to feghte appon Goddis foo, line780Or loste es thi renownn.’

‘In faithe,’ saide the Kynge, ‘I graunt.’ The Bischopp es gude and on evynhaunt With baners bryghte of hewe Before tham a furlange and mare. line785The Kynge undid his hede alle bare — The Bischopp wele hym knewe — And appon his knees he knelid down And tuke his absolucyoun. Theire joye bygane to newe.

line790The Kynge says: ‘Haly fader free, This gilte I praye the forgyffe me And I will wirke your will. And with your clergye tournes agayne; Riste and ryott yow by the water of Sayne, line795Ay whils I come yow till.’ The Bischoppe grauntis hym in that tyde And pyghte pavylyons with mekill pryde, With wyne and welthes at will. The Kynge into the citee went line800And aftir his baronage he sent, All forwardes to fulfill.

And by the thre wekes comen were, Charls had semblede a faire powere. Hymselfe come all at hande line805Erles, dukes and the Twelfe Duchepers, Bothe barouns and bachelers, Knyghtis full hevenhande. Thay offerde alle at Seynt Denys And grete lordes to armes chesse, line810And Charls tuke his hande And thus romewes that grete powere. The levenynge of [thair] baners clere Lyghtenes all that lande.

[Tertius] Passus: A Fitt

Thus Charls with his chevalrye line815Unto he come at Lumbardy In no place wolde he hone. And to the Sarasenes was it tolde That Charls make werre appon tham wolde To venge that are was done. line820The grete lordes than togedir spake: ‘It is better that we Sir Garcy take And crownn hym the Sowdane sone.’ Than sent thay to many an hethyn knyghte; Thay badde that alle solde come that myghte, line825By the heghten day at none.

When thay were semblede sekerly, Thay crownnede the Sowdane Sir Garcy That solance was to see[ne]. Sexty knyghtis of dyverse lande, line830Ilkon sent hym sere presande To witt withowtten wene. Thay dressede on hym a dyademe And made hym emperour, so hym seme, Those knyghtis that were kene. line835Syne present hym with golde And stones of vertu that was holde, The beste in erthe myghte bene.

The Kynge of Massedoyne lande Sent the Sowdane a presande, line840The meryeste one molde: Sexty maydyns faire of face That cheffeste of his kyngdome was And faireste appon folde; Sexty fawconns faire of flyghte; line845And sexti stedis noble and wyghte In everilke journay bolde And appon ilke a stede a knyghte sittande With a fawcon appon his hande And a cowpe full of golde;

line850Sexty grewhondes unto the gamen; And sexti raches rynnande in samen, The beste in erthe myghte bee. He come hymselfe with this presande And broghte in his awenn hande line855That was worthe thiese three: Invisebill, a full riche stone, A safre, the beste that myghte be one To seke alle Crystiantee. The Sowdane was full fayne of this line860And kyndely gan his cosyn kysse With mekill solempnytee.

When he his powere semblede hade, A ryalle feste the Sowdan made Of worthy men in wede. line865Of alle the damesels bryghte and schene The Sowdane hade hymselfe I wene Thaire althere maydynhede. By tham ilkone he laye a nyghte And sythen mariede hir unto a knyghte: line870Thay leffed one haythen lede. So mekill luste of lechery Was amange that chevalry That thay [myg]hte noghte wele spede.

To Charls now will I torne agayne line875That passes over mountayne and playne; At [Me]layne wolde he bee. And when he come into that stede Whereals the Cristyn men byfore weren dede, Off Fraunce so grete plentee, line880There heghe appon an hill, appon highte, Turpyn garte an awtre dyghte That alle the folke myghte see; And off the Trynytee a messe he says And hertly for the saules he prayes line885And the bodyes that thare gan dye.

The Bischopp sone gane hym revesche; In gude entent he says a messe In the name of God Almyghte. He blyssede the awtere with his hande line890And a fayre oste of brede therappon he fande That ever he sawe with syghte. His chalesse was so full of wyne There myghte no more hafe gone therin — It come fro heven on highte. line895He dide his messe forthe to the ende And thankede Gode that it hym sende And Marie, His modir bryghte.

The Bischopp in his hert was fayne And thankede God with all his mayne line900And Marie, His modir free. He tolde the hoste with lowde steven How brede and wyne was sent fro heven, Fro God of moste poustee: ‘And all that ever hase sene this syghte, line905Yee are als clene of syn, I plyghte, Als that day borne were yee. And whoso endys in this felde In His byggynge sall he belde, Evermore in blysse to bee.’

line910The Bischopp than keste of his abytte And aftir armours he askede tytte; For egernesse he loughe. A kirtill and a corsett fyne, Therover he keste an acton syne line915And it to hym he droughe An hawbarke with a gesserante; His gloves weren gude and avenaunte. And als blythe als birde one boughe He tuke his helme and sythen his brande, line920Appon a stede, a spere in hande Was grete and gud ynoghe.

Sayse, ‘I praye yow, all my cleregy here, Assembles undire my banere; The vawarde will I have. line925Charls and his knyghtis kene Lete erles and barouns with hym bene, Both sqwyers and knave I beseke freschely for to fyghte That the [le]wede men may se with syghte line930And gud ensample have. Standis [now baldly f]or youre trouthe; Appon yo[ne Sarasen]es haves no rewthe. For golde in erthe, none save.’

Thus Ch[arls led]eth a faire menyhé line935Bifo[re Mela]yne, that riche cité, Braydes up baners yare. And when the Sowdane hase tham sene, He comandes his knyghtis kene That thay solde make tham yare. line940And or he wolde passe owte of the townn, He made his offerande to Mahownn — The wars, leve Gode, tha fare. And sythen owt of that citee Off heythen men an hugge menyhee line945That semyde als breme als bare.

Sir Arabaunt, with ire and hete, A furlange bifore the batelle grete Come and askede fighte. And byfore of oure folke had he slayne line950Bothe the lorde of Melayne And many another knyght. Than sayde the Bischopp, ‘So mot I spede, He sall noghte ruysse hym of this dede If I cane rede aryghte.’ line955And or any knyght myght gete his gere The Bischopp gart hym with a spere Appon his tepet lighte.

Turpyn strake hym so sekerly Thurgh the breste bone all plenerly line960A lange yerde and more That dede he daschede to the grounde Grysely gronannde in that stownde, Woundede wonderly sore. The Bischopp than lighte full apertly line965And off he hewes his hede in hy That are was breme als bare. His horse unto the Cristen oste gan spede; A sqwyere broghte agayne his stede And one he leppe righte thare.

line970The Bischopp sqwyere in the place Saw that the Kynge dede was That had bene of grete powere. His helme and his hawberke holde, Frette overe with rede golde, line975With stones of vertue dere His gowere pendande on the grounde — It was worthe a thowsande pownde Off rubys and safere. He lowttede down, up wolde itt ta; line980The Bischopp bad hym fro it ga: ‘Go fonnge the another fere.

To wyn the golde thou arte a fole; Thou bygynnes sone for to spoyle. Loo! yonder comes moo. line985Thou settis more by a littill golde That thou seese lye appon the molde Than to fighte one Goddes foo. Loo! yonder comes Sarasenes in the felde; Go kill tham down undir thi schelde. line990Slyk [w]orchippes were gude to do.’ He tuke the pendande in his hande; The Bishoppe bett hym with his brande [That] he keste it hym fro.

With that come girdande Sir Darnadowse, line995A nobill knyghte and a chevallrouse, Prekande one a stede. He was the chefe of Famagose, A Sarasene that fayne wolde wyn lose, And to the Cristen oste gan spede. line1000He bad sende owte Charlyon If he dare come to wynn pardonn, A bofett for to bede. He wolde noghte fighte bot with a kynge; He calde hymselfe withowt lesynge line1005The chefe of hethyn thede.

Then Kyng Charls tuke his spere hym to; The Bischopp Turpyn and other mo Prayede God solde hym spede. ‘A, dere lorde,’ said Rowlande in heghe, line1010‘Late me fare to fighte for thee, For Hym that one Rode gan blede.’ Than Charls sweris by Saynt Paule: ‘Sen ilke a man feghtis for his saule, I sall for myn do mede. line1015Slayne in the felde gif that I bee, Kynge off Fraunce here make I the, With reghte the reme to lede.’

Than withowtten any more habade Theis two kynges togedir rade line1020With ire and grete envy. And at the firste course that thay ranne Thies kynges two with horse and manne At the grounde bothe gun ly. Deliverly up sone bothe thay stirtt line1025And drewe thaire swerdis with noble hertt, Withowtten noyse or cry. Thay dalt so derfely with thaire brandes Thay hewe theire scheldis to thaire handis In cantells hyngand by.

line1030So darfely bothe thaire dynttis thay driste A littill while thay wolde tham riste; The Sarasene prayede hym styntt. ‘Nowe certis, sir,’ he saide, ‘me rewes of thee A Cristynn man that thou solde bee: line1035Thou arte so stronge of dyntt. Bot torne unto oure lawes and take tham to And I sall gyffe the rewmes two, And elles will thou harmes hentt.’ Bot the Bischoppe Turpyn than cryes on heghte, line1040‘A! Charles, thynk appon Marie brighte, To whayme oure lufe es lentt.

‘And if ever that thou hade any myghte, Latt it nowe be sene in syghte What pousté that thou hase. line1045Latte never oure Kynge with dynt of brande B[e] slayne with yone Sarasene hande Ne ende, Lady, in this place. A [God] wote we sall be safe; [Never] the lyk wolde we hafe line1050Of oure comly Kynge of face. [Thou Ma]kere bathe of son and see, [Pity t]he dole w[e d]ree for Thee And graunte us of Thi grace.’

[Charls] saide, ‘Sir Bischopp, nay, line1055[Never sall I] forsake my lay.’ And togedir gan thay goo. So stiffely aythere at othere strake; Appon his helme Sir Charles brake His nobill swerde in two. line1060Bot than the Franche folke with nobill stevenn Thay cry up unto the Kynge of Hevenn And for thaire lorde were wo. The Sarasene was curtays in that fighte And lawses owt a knyfe full righte; line1065His swerde he keste hym fro.

And Charles voydede his broken brande; Owte he hent a knyfe in hande. And samen thay wente full tytte. Thay daschede full darfely with thaire dynt. line1070Mighte no steryn stele tham stynt, So styffely bothe thay smyte. In sondre braste thay many a mayle; Thaire hawberghes thurgh force gan fayle. To see had lordis delitte. line1075Botte a felle stroke Sir Charls gafe hym one Evyn at the breste bone; That strake his hert gan blende.

The Sarasene was dede of that strake And Charls gan this fende up take; line1080And with his awenn brande He broches hym so boldely That his hert blode sekerly Rane to oure Kynges hande. And thare he wane the Sarasene swerde line1085And certis that with one the erthe He conquered many a lande. The Cristen folke were never so fayne; Bot by the Kynge was horsede agayne The batells were doande.

line1090And hawberkes sone in schredis were schorne And beryns thorowe the bodys borne And many a Sarasene slayne. Knyghtis one the bent bledis; Many lay stekede undir stedis line1095In gilten gere full gay[n]e; Other with glafes were girde thurgh evyn. We may thanke Gode that is in heven That lent us myghte and mayne. Thay sloughe tham downn with swerdis bright. line1100The Cristynnd faughte in Goddis righte; The Bischopp loughe for fayne.

Bot, als the cronakill yitt will telle, Ther come a Sarasene fers and felle And to the Bischoppe glade, line1105And stroke hym righte thorowe the thee And agayne to the hethen oste gane flee; And Turpyn after hym rade. The Bischoppe folouede hym so ferre That the Sarasene hade the werre line1110For the maystrie that he [made]. He stroke hym so in the Sowdane syghte, He fande never man that after myghte Hele the hurt [he had]e.

Bot they helde in the Bischoppe in that rowtte line1115That he ne myghte noghte wyn owte And ther he [was doande]. The Kynge of Massedoyne land with a spere The Bischop fro his horse gane bere And sette [on hym his hande]. line1120The Sarasenes sware he solde be dede And the Kynge sayde, ‘Naye,’ in that stede ‘For no Sarasene liffande.’ And righte als thay solde oure Bischopp slo, Thay smote the Kynge of Massaydoyne fro line1125Clenly of his reghte hande.

Bot than Kynges men of Massaydoyne weren wo When thay saughe thaire lorde was wondede soo And trowede he walde be dede. Thay braydede owte swerdes full bryghte line1130Agaynes the Sowdane folke to fighte Full styffely in that stede. For that gane fyfetene thowsandes dy Of the Sowdans chevalry, Laye bledande than full rede. line1135And with that Turpyn gatt awaye To Charls oste — full fayne were thay. A horse thay to hym lede.

Bot when the Bischoppe was horsede agayne, Alle the cleregy weren full fayne line1140And presede into the place. So depe wondes that day thay dalt That many on wyde opyn walt That wikkidly wondede was. Thay sloughe so many an heythen kynge line1145That at the laste thay tuke to flyinge Als God us gaffe the grace. Many a Sarasene garte thay falle, And Turpyn with his clergy alle Folowede faste one the chase.

line1150And Charls on the tother syde Sloughe tham downn with wondis wyde; The doughty garte thay dy. The Sowdane hymselfe so harde was stedde That with ten thowsande away he fledde, line1155And faste to Melayne gatt he. The Cristen men chasede tham to the barres And sloughe righte there fele folke and fresche, All that there walde byde and bee. Bot than Kynge Charls tuke the playne line1160And semblede all his folke agayne To luke how beste myghte [the].

Thay myghte noghte the cité wynn, The strenghe of the Sarasenes that were within. The Bischoppe said, ‘I rede line1165Of oure knyghtes in the felde Es many woundede undir schelde And also some are dede. And yone Sarasenes full of tresone es. There I concelle bothe more and lesse line1170We stirre noghte of this stede Ne or tomorne serche never a wounde Bot luke than who may be sownde. Lat Criste wirke.’ And forthe he yede.

Here to a[c]ordes everilkon; line1175Lordes [haf] thaire horse tone And comen es the nyghte. Fo[r alle] the Sarasenes there Th[ay ne mygh]te no forthir fare Bot bydis in brenys bryghte. line1180Ch[arles acordede] als thay rade. All [nyghte on]e the bent thay bade With standardes even up streghte. The Kynge prayede the Bischoppe fre His wonde that he wolde late hym see line1185That he hade tane in that fighte.

Bot the Bischoppe saide, ‘A vowe to God make I here: There sall no salve my wonde come nere Ne no hose of my thee Ne mete ne drynke my hede come in, line1190The cité of Melayne or we it wyn Or ells therfore to dye.’ He garte dele his vetells then Furthe amanges oure wonded men, Bot no mete neghe wolde hee. line1195Bot als so sore wondede als he was, Knelande he his prayers mase To Gode of moste pousté.

Oure folke hade done so doughtily That many of tham weren ful wery — line1200So hade thay foghten than. Bot one the morne the Cristen stode, A thowsande, over theire fete in theire blode, Of theire awenn wondes wane. Othere refreschynge noghte many hade line1205Bot blody water of a slade That thurghe the oste ran. The Sowdane sent a messangere To Kynge Charles als ye may here; And that sawe many a man.

line1210The messangere bare a wande Of an olefe in his hande, In takynnynge he come of pece. And lowde he cryede appon Charls the Kynge And saide he myghte his handis wrynge line1215Appon lyfe if that he es: ‘For oure Sowdane hase by Mahownn sworne That he salle mete hym here tomorne With full prowde men in prese, With fowrty thowsande of helmes bryghte: line1220Was never yitt frekkere men to fighte Sene in hethynnesse.’

And Charles ansuerde at that tide, ‘In faythe I sall tham here habyde, Wode giffe that thay were. line1225If that he brynge alle the Sarasenes That es alle heythynnesse within, Hyne will I noghte fare.’ The messangere agayne than rade And they sett wache and still habade line1230Whills pryme was passede and mare. Bot or the nonnee neghede nee, To tham than soughte a felle semblé With baners breme als bare.

Bot than Sir Charles spekes full gudely line1235To Rowlande his nevewe that stode hym by And said, ‘Sir, so God the spede, This day wirke thou manfully With thi nobill chevalry And of the Sarasenes hafe [no dre]de. line1240Thou sall see that I sall noghte be sparede; Myselfe sall have the vawarde. There Jesu [Crist the spe]de.’ The trumpetes trynes one righte than; To joyne so jolyly thay bygane, line1245Oure worthy men in wede.

Thay ruysschede samen with swilke a rake That many a Sarasene laye on his bake; And one the lawnde righte ther thay lay Full grisely gronande one the grete, line1250Stekyde undir stedis fete, And liste nothynge of playe. So darfely than thay dynge tham downn Thay saide the myghte of saynt Mahownn Was clenely all awaye. line1255‘A! Mountjoye!’ oure lordes gane crye, And Charles with his chevalrye Full freschely faughte that day.

They hewe of hethen hedis in hye. Oure Cristen men so sekirly line1260Of tham hade littill drede Bot brittenesse tham with brandis bare And Sarasenes thurghe the schuldirs schare That to the girdill it yode. Thay tuke none hede of gudes nore golde, line1265Lay never so mekill appon the molde, Oure worthy men in wede, Bot beris abake the batells brade; Fowrty thowsande in a slade Laye stekede under stede.

line1270And so harde bystade was the Sowdane, Hymselfe with ten thowsande than To Melayne tuke the gate. Oure Cristen knyghtis with thaire speres The hyndirmaste fro thaire blonkes beres line1275And chacede tham to the gate. The owte barres hew thay downn And slewe hethynn kynges with crownn And thaire powere therate. To sawtte the cité sadly thay bygann; line1280Off Cristyn men many a cruelle man The hethyn wex all mate.

With speris and with spryngaldes faste, With dartis kenely owte thay caste, Bothe with myghte and mayne. line1285With gownnes and with grete stones Graythe gounnes stoppede those gones With peletes, us to payne. Our Cristyn men that were of price Bendis up bowes of devyce line1290And bekirs tham agayne. Appon bothe the sydis so freschely thay fighte That by it drewe unto the nyghte Fele folke of Fraunce were slayne.

There were of oure clergy dede line1295And other lordes in that stede Or thay of sawte walde sesse. By than thay sawe it was no bote to byde And fro the cité warde thay ryde, Oure prynces provede in presse. line1300The Bischoppe es so woundede that tyde With a spere thoroweowte the syde That one his ribbis gan rese. Thurgh the schelde and the browe bare A schaftemonde of his flesche he schare — line1305Lordynnges, this es no lese.

He pullede it owte, keste it hym fro, And weryde the handis that it come fro And that it lete forthe glyde. The Sowdane over the wallis byhelde line1310And sawe the Cristen in the felde Frowarde the cité ride. And appon Kynge Charls than cryes he: ‘What Charls, thynkes now to flee? I trowe the moste habyde. line1315I sall the mete tomorne in felde With fourty thowsand under schelde, Sall fonde to felle thi pryde.’

Says Charls, ‘Thou false hethyn hownde, Thou ne dare noghte byde appon the grounde. line1320Ther evermore worthe the woo; Bot aythire of thies dayes ilyke Hase thou stollen awaye lyke a tyke. The develle myghte with the goo! That cité bot thou yelde to me line1325And fully trowe and Cristyn be Appon one God and no moo, In felde yif ever I see the mare I sall by myghtfull God,’ he sware, ‘Hewe thi bakke in twoo.’

line1330Then of oure Cristen men in the felde Many semblede under schelde And some ware wondede sare. Thay that were bothe hale and sownnde Comforthed tham that were evyll wounde, line1335So als Criste wolde it were. The Kynge than of his helme tase And to the Bischoppe swythe he gase And sayde, ‘Fadir, for Goddes are, Thy woundes that thou walde late me see; line1340If any surgeoun myghte helpe thee, My comforthe ware the mare.’

‘What! wenys thou, Charls,’ he saide, ‘that I faynte bee For a spere was in my thee, A glace thorowte my syde. line1345Criste for me sufferde mare. He askede no salve to His sare, Ne no more sall I this tyde. I sall never ette ne drynke Ne with myn eghe slepe a wynke, line1350Whate bale als ever I byde, To yone cité yolden bee Or ells therfore in batelle dye — The sothe is noghte to hyde.’

Als thay stode spekande of this thynge, line1355To Charls come a newe tydynge That blenkede all his blee. Thay saide that one Sir Tretigon, That was the Sowdane syster son And the best of Barbarye, line1360‘Certys, Charls, he comes at hande With men of armes a sexty thowsande To strenghe with yone cité.’

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

‘Now sone, when I hafe foughten my fill, I sall avise me gif that I will line1365One thi message to wende.’

‘Now Sir Bawdwyne, buske and make the bownn.’ He saide, ‘Allas, thou Charelyoun, That ever I tuke thi fee; For yitt myselfe es saffe and sownnde, line1370My body hole withowttyn wounde, Als thou thiselfe may see. I walde noghte, for all thi kyngdome, That ever that worde unto France come I solde so feyntly flee. line1375Gett the a currour whare thou may; For, by God that awe this day, Thou sall have none of mee.’

‘A, Sir Ingelere, for a knyghte thou art kyde.’ ‘Whi, Sir Charls, what walde thou that I dide?’ line1380‘I pray the wende thi waye.’ ‘Bi Jesu Criste that sittis aboffe, Me thynke thou kydde me littill luffe When thou that worde wolde saye. Bot me sall never bytyde that taynte. line1385I hope thou wenys myn herte be feynte. I say the schortly, naye. That I sall never so fremdly flee, God lett me yif it his wille bee Never habyde that daye.’

line1390The Duke Berarde was wondede sare: Thurgh the schelde into the body bare He was borne with a brande. Of this message thay gun hym frayne, Bot he hade no worde to speke agayne line1395Bot grymly stude lukande. Than Turpyn gan to Charls say, ‘Here arte thou servede, bi my fay, Thou fayles of that thou fande. The Duke es woundede so wonder sare line1400It ware grete syn to greve hym mare; Gude Sir, thou late hym stande.’

Thay prayede a banarett than of pryce, One Sir Barnarde of Parische, For grete gyftis he wolde wende. line1405And he saide, ‘Lordynges, by my faye, I ame over symple to yow to saye Whereever ye will me sende. I aske ordir of knyghte thertill. Bot giffe your giftis where ye will; line1410Elles ye be my frende.’ Thay made hym knyghte with full gud chere; He tuke leve at the Twelve Duzepere, This curtayse knyghte and he[nde].

He saide than: ‘Have gud daye, Charls, in this stede, line1415For thou sall never gyffe me brede Ne in thy burdynge say If I be pore of golde and fee That I fro this grete journee Fayntly fledde away.’ line1420He rydis even to the gatis of Melayne And there with Sarasenes was he slayne. He dide full wele that day. And Charls for hym in hert was woo; Bischoppe Turpyn and othere moo line1425For his dede sore mournede thay.

Thus have thay prayede everylkone, Bot there wolde goo never one; The symple thay bade none sende. The Bischoppe Turpyn cryede appon highte: line1430‘Sen ye are so frekke for to fighte God of his myghte yow mende. Yitt are we ten thowsande here That are yitt bothe hole and fere, That wele for kene are kende, line1435And of gude men that none will flee To fourty thowsande or we dye In the felde to make thaire ende.’

Bot als Turpyn lenys hym on his brande, Over an hill he saw comande line1440Ful many a brade banere. The Duke of Bretayne, Sir Lyonelle, That Charls was thare he herde telle And had mystere of powere. He broghte hym thirty thowsande fyne, line1445Vetaylls gude and nobill engyne, This bolde with full blythe chere. Than Turpyn gan to Charls say, ‘I see a felle hoste, bi my fay, That sone will neghe us nere.

line1450Yone are the Sarasenes mekill of mayne, The full powere owt of Spayne, That sone sall full ill spede. For, by Hym that swelt on tree, This day no Sarasene sall I see line1455Sall gerre me torne my stede.’ And in his hande he caughte a launce — ‘Have gud day, Charls, and grete wele Fraunce!’ — And agayne that hoste he yede. In fewter sone he keste his spere line1460And thoghte the boldeste down to bere That batelle walde hym bede.

So blody was that Bischoppis wede His conysaunce ne yit his stede The Bretons ne couthe noghte knawe. line1465Bot als an harawde hym byhelde He lukede up into his schelde And sayde to alle one rawe, ‘If Bischoppe Turpyn appon lyve be, In faythe, lordynges, yone es he line1470That ye se hedirwarde drawe.’ Thay ferlyde why he fewterde his spere. ‘A Mountjoye!’ cryes one that he myghte here: He was glade of that sawe.

The wardayne rydis hym agayne line1475And said, ‘Sir Bischoppe, for Goddis payne, Who hase greved the?’ He tuke his spere owt of reste adownn And gaffe tham alle his benysoun, The Bretons when he tham see. line1480The Bischoppe tolde tham of his care; Bot than the Bretons hertis were sare For the dole oure oste gun dryee. A messangere went to telle the Kynge. So fayne was Charles never of thynge line1485With eghe that he gan see.

And or Turpyn myghte his tale halfe telle, He sawe come hovande over a felle Many a brade banere, Standardis grete with stalworthe men. line1490Sexti thowsande wele myghte thay ken In brenyes burnescht clere. Under the cante of an hille Oure Bretons beldis and bydis stille When thay wiste whate thay were. line1495The Bischoppe saide, ‘Bi Goddis myghte, Thaym sall rewe or it be nyghte The tyme that thay come here.

‘Go we to yone company With “Mountjoye” baldly and tham ascrye; line1500Late ther be no lettynge.’ An hawrawde saide, ‘To fewe are we To fighte with slyke a grete menyé; It is better wende to the Kynge.’ ‘A, sir, whare thay are sexti thowsande men, line1505And if thay were mo bi thowsandis ten, [Bi] God that made all thynge, The more powere that thay be The more honour wyn sall we. We dowte noghte tham to dynge.’

line1510The Bischoppe to the Kyng sent And prayes hym to byde appon the bent, The cité for to kepe That there no Sarasene solde come owte To thay had rekkenede with that rowte line1515Thay sawe come overe the depe. Oure Bretonns kyndely comforthes he, Sayse, ‘Alle the Sarasenes ye yonder see, Thaire frendis sore may wepe. We sall wirke tham wondis full wyde; line1520I hete tham be thaire lemans syde Sowndely never sall thay slepe.’

For isschuynge owte of the cité Kynge Charles with his menyé Helde his batelle still. line1525Oure Bretons bolde that fresche come in Thoghte that thay wolde wirchipp wyn And gatt the cante of the hill. The Sarasenes were so strange and stowte Thay late no lede that thay wolde lowte, line1530Thay were so wykkede of w[ill]. Oure Bretonns dide so doughtyly That lange or none sekerly The Sarasenes lykede full ill.

Samen than strake that grete stowre line1535Als it were aftire the none ane houre — It was noghte mekills mare. Bot many a Sarasene in that stownde Lay grysely gronande on the grownde, Woundede wonderly sore. line1540Bot there God will helpe ther es no lett; So stronge strokes thay one tham sett With burneschede bladis bare That fourty thowsande Sarasenes kene With brandis lay brettenyde one the grene: line1545So bolde oure Bretonns were.

And to the cité the tother wolde have flede And Rowlande thoghte he wolde tham stedde; Ten thowsande was with hym. And when he with the Sarasenes mett, line1550Full grym strokes he over tham sett With growndyn speris and grym. Charles appon the tothere syde Sloughe tham downn with woundis wyde And made thaire dedis full dyme. line1555And thus thay chase tham here and thare Als the howndes dose the hare And refte tham lyfe and lyme.

Rowlande rydis to Letygon That was the Sowdane sister sone line1560And stroke hym with a spere That dede he daschede in the felde. Helme ne hawberke he myghte none welde Ne never after none bere. Of sexti thowsande, sothely to say, line1565Passede never one qwyke away; Bot evyll thay endide there. The Cristenyde knelide down in that place And thankede God that gaffe tham grace So worthily tham to were.

line1570The false in the felde thus gun thay felle. The Kynge callede Sir Lyonelle And avauncede hym full heghe. The Duke of Burgoyne bifore was dede. He sessede hym in his stede line1575And gafe hym his doughter free. And to the Bischoppe than swythe he gase That wery and sore woundede was And fastande dayes three. Be that tyme he myghte note wele a worde owt-wyn. line1580The teris rane over Charles chynn That sorowe it was to see:

‘And thou dy, than dare I saye The floure of presthode es awaye, That ever hade schaven crownn. line1585For there ne is kynge ne cardynere In Cristyndome may be thi pere Ne man of religiownn.’ He will no man his wondes late see Ne mete ne drynke none neghe hym ne, line1590For prayer ne for pardownn. Oure oste for the Bischoppe mournes alle And graythes tham to Melayne walle With baners buskede bownn.

New vetailles the Bretons broghte than, line1595That refresschede many of oure men, Of brede, brawne and wynne. A nobill hurdas ther was graythede And baners to the walles displayede And bendis up thaire engyne.