CHAPTER III. THE DWARF AND THE LANCE.
After Sir Jaufry had rode on his way, Estout his promise kept, and to each knight restored both horse and arms. That evening he set out for Arthur's court, which he resolved to reach before the jousts and games and banquetings were o'er. Eight days had they been holden in those halls when he arrived there with his company. 'Twas after dinner, as the king was seated with his lords, lending an ear to minstrels' tales and the discourse of knights, who told of acts of lofty prowess done, that Estout came with that armed troop of knights. Having alighted at the palace-gates, they soon were led before the worthy king; when, kneeling at his feet, Estout expressed himself in terms like these:
“Sure, may that high King who made and fashioned all things, He, the Lord of every sovereign, who hath nor peer nor mate, now save us in your company!”
“Friend,” the king replied, “God save you, and your friends beside! Who are ye, and what come ye here to seek?”
“My lord, I will recount you the whole truth: from Jaufry, son of Dovon, come we, to proclaim ourselves your captives, and submit to your just law. Sir Jaufry hath delivered all these knights, whom I had captured one by one, and who were bound to follow me on foot,—for they had mercy only on such terms; now he hath conquered me by force of arms.”
“And when thou last beheldst him,” asked the king, “by that true faith thou ow'st to gracious Heaven, say, was he well in health?”
“Yea, sire, by the troth I owe to you, believe, that eight days since, arise to-morrow's sun, I left him sound, robust, and full of fire. He would not even tarry to break bread; for he declared no food should pass his lips, no joy, no pleasure, no repose be his, until the knight named Taulat he had found. He now is on his track; and I engage, that if he meet him, and a chance do get to measure sword with sword, it will be strange an he not force him to cry grace; for I do not believe the world doth own a braver knight, or one more strong in arms. I speak from proof, who dearly know his force.”
“O Heaven, in which I trust,” cried Arthur, as he clasped his hands, “grant me my prayer, that Jaufry fry safe and sound may back return! Already is he known a doughty knight, and noble are the gifts he hither sends.”
Leave we now bold Estout to tell his tale, and turn we to our knight. I have related how Sir Jaufry still went on seeking his foe by valley and by mount; yet neither spied nor heard he living man to give him tidings. He rode on thus, nor met he man or beast till the high noon was passed. The sun had now become intensely hot, and hardly could he bear its burning ray; still, neither sun, nor hunger, thirst, nor aught beside, could cow his spirit. Determined not to stop upon his road till he had Taulat met, he still progressed, though ne'er a soul was seen.
As he pressed hotly on, some hours' riding found the youthful knight close by a gentle hill shaded by one of nature's finest trees. Pendent there hung from an outstretching bough a fair white lance of ash with point of burnished steel. Thinking a knight perchance was resting near, Jaufry in that direction turned his horse, and galloped towards the spot. When he had reached the bottom of the hill, he nimbly leapt him down, and walked to the high tree; but, to his great surprise, no soul was there, naught save the lance suspended to the bough. With wonder then—asking of himself why arm so stout and good, the point of which like virgin silver shone, should there be placed—he took it down, and his own resting gainst the mossy trunk, handled and brandished this new dainty lance, which he discovered to be good as fair.
“Good faith,” quoth he, “I will e'en keep this arm, and leave mine own behind.”
Whilst making this exchange, a dwarf of frightful shape suddenly rushed from out a neighbouring grove. Stunted and broad and fat, he had a monstrous head, from which straight hair streamed down and crossed his back; long eyebrows hid his eyes; his nose was large and shapeless; nostrils so immense they would have held your fists; and thick and bluish lips rested on large and crooked fangs; a stiff moustache surrounded this huge mouth; and to his very girdle flowed his beard; he measured scarce a foot from waist to heel; his head was sunken in his shoulders high; and his arms seemed so short, that useless would have been the attempt to bind them at his back. As to his hands, they were like paws of toads, so broad and webbed.
“Knight,” cried this monster, “woe befals the man who meddles with that lance! Thou wilt receive thy dues, and dangle on our tree; come, then, give up thy shield.”
Sir Jaufry eyed the dwarf, and angrily replied:
“What mean you by such tale, misshapen wretch?” At this the dwarf set up so loud a cry that all the vale resounded; and at once a knight well armed, mounted upon a steed in iron cased, came, with high threats upon his lips exclaiming:
“Woe to the man who hath dared touch the lance!”
Having the hill attained, he Jaufry saw; and thereupon he said:
“By Heaven, sir knight! to do what thou hast done is proof thou carest little for thy life.”
“And why so, lord?” Sir Jaufry calmly asked.
“Thou shalt soon learn. No man doth touch that lance and get him hence without a fight with me. If I unhorse the knight so bold as dare to touch it, and conquer him by arms, no ransom saves his life,—I hang him by the neck; and on my gallows which thou seest from here full three-and-thirty dangle in mid air.”
“Tell me now faithfully,” Sir Jaufry said,—“can he who sues for mercy gain it at thy hands?”
“Yea, but on one condition I have firmly fixed; which is, that never in his life he cross a horse; ne'er cut his hair or pare his nails; ne'er eat of wheaten bread, or taste of wine; and never on his back wear other dress than what his hands have woven. Should he such terms accept before the fight, he may perchance find grace; but naught can save the man who once hath fought.”
“And if he know not how to weave such dress?” asked Jaufry.
“The art to weave, to shape the doth, and sew, must then be learned,” the knight replied. “Say, then, if thou consent; or if thou choose this hour to be thy last.”
“I'll not do so,” quoth Jaufry; “for too hard the labour seems.”
“Thou'lt do it well before five years are fled; for thou art tall and strong.”
“No, by my troth, I'd rather chance the fight, since 'twould appear I've no alternative.”
“Take my defiance, then!” cried out the knight; “and bear in mind, the combat 's to the death.”
“So be it!” said Sir Jaufry; “I'll defend myself.”
They drew apart some space with such-like words, each thinking on his side a victim soon would fall. Then the knight came and thundered at his foe. In shivers flew the lance; but Jaufry bore the shock unmoved. Not so the knight; for Jaufry, his weapon planting at his shield, broke it right through; the hauberk too beside, and wood and iron, for a cubit's length, pierced through the shoulder.
[Original Size] -- [Medium-Size]
He fell: Jaufry with naked blade was by his side; but as he saw him thus, so poorly sped,—
“Knight,” he exclaimed, “methinks thy hanging-trade is done.”
“Lord,” cried the wounded man, “unhappily 'tis true. Thou hast too well performed thy work for safety henceforth to be banished hence.”
“I will not trust to that,” quoth Jaufry; “or at least, it shan't prevent my hanging thee.”
“In Heaven's name, my lord, I crave thy grace!”
“And by what claim canst thou obtain it, thou who never yet hast granted it to man? Thou shalt find pity, such as those yonder found who once begged grace of thee.”
“If, good my lord, my head have erred, my heart been black and habits villanous, guard thee from following in my steps. I ask for mercy—that should I receive. Wilt thou, a man of lofty virtue, choose that ever the reproach should come to thee of hanging up a brave and courteous knight, such as I once did bear the title of?”
“Thou liest in thy throat,” Sir Jaufry said; “never couldst thou be prized a proper knight, but rather, I believe, an arrant knave. Who doth a villain's act doth forfeit rank and chivalry alike. In vain thy suit; no pardon shalt thou find.”
Undoing his steel helmet as he spoke, he seized a rope and placed it round his neck; then, dragging him beneath the dismal tree, he well and fairly hung him up thereto.
“Good friend,” he then apostrophised the knight, “the passage now may be considered safe, and travellers need fear little more from thee.”
[Original Size] -- [Medium-Size]
Leaving him hanging upon such adieu, he rode towards the dwarf, as with intent to kill. But when the latter saw him thus return, crossing his arms full quickly on his breast,—
“Fair sir,” he cried, “I yield to you and Heaven; but grant me, pray, your pity. Of myself no evil have I done; since, had I disobeyed the knight, I should have lost my life. Maugre myself, for fourteen years I've watched this lance, which twice a-day I burnished. Woe had betided me if I had bilked such task, or failed by signal to advise my lord when it was touched by knight. This, fair my lord, hath been my only crime.”
“Thou mayst have mercy,” Jaufry said, “an thou dost that which I shall now command.”
“Speak, good my lord; and God confound me if I lose a word!”
“Rise, then, and hie thee to King Arthur's court. Tell to that king the son of Dovon sends thee, and presents this lance which he hath won, the fairest weapon eye hath e'er beheld. Recount to him beside thy lord's ill-deeds, how that so many worthy knights he'd hung, and how in his turn like meed was given unto him.”
“My lord,” exclaimed the dwarf, “all this I promise you.”
And Jaufry made reply, “Well then, begone!”
It was one Monday eye that this fell out, just at the setting sun. The night came shortly on serene and fair, and the full moon shone out as bright as day. Jaufry pursued his road,—for naught could change his purpose,—and the dwarf prepared to execute his trust. At peep of morn he started for Carlisle, where, after certain time, he safely came. The king was breaking up his court, which for two weeks he there had held, and knights and barons all were going their way content and glad, bearing rich guerdons from their noble lord, when curiosity their steps detained at sight of a strange dwarf, who in his hand a handsome lance did hold. This dwarf pushed forward to the palace-hall, where each with eager eye observed his shape; for never till that day had they beheld such wondrous man; but he, passing the gaping crowd without remark, straight to the monarch's throne his steps pursued; and there he said:
“May God, most noble sire, grant you weal! Albeit my form is strange, yet, please you, hear, for I do come a messenger from far.”
“Dwarf,” said the king, “God save thee too! for thou methinks art honest. Speak without fear, and do thy message featly.”
The dwarf preluded with a sigh, and thus began:
“Sire, from Dovon's son I bear to you this lance, which has been cause of mourning dire and great. Proud of his valour and his strength, a knight had hung it to a tree upon a hill, where I have watched it, burnished it beside twice every day, for fourteen weary years. If a knight touched it, I by my cry aroused my lord, who then, all armed, would rush upon the stranger; being vanquished, he was quickly seized and by the neck incontinently hung. 'Twas thus that three-and-thirty met their fate; when that the knight, whose messenger I am, conquered this lord and won the lance, hanging in turn its owner for his deeds. This is the lance that now he sends to you; and here am I, your vassal and your slave.”
“'Tis well,” the king replied; “but, dwarf, now give me, on thy faith, some news of brave Sir Jaufry: without a lie, say when thou saw'st him last.”
“'Twas Monday evening, please you, my good lord; I left him when the fray was o'er and he had finished hanging up the knight.”
“And was his health then good?”
“Yea, sire, with God's help, and well disposed and gay.”
“Good Lord divine and full of glory,” cried the king with clasped hands, “grant of your grace that I behold him safe; for scant my pleasure and my joys will be till I have held him in these arms again!”