The Knight of the Little Cask
Aforetime, in the wild land between Normandy and Bretaigne, there dwelt a mighty lord who was of much great fame. Near to the border and beside the sea, he let build a castle full well embattled, and so strong and so well garnished that he feared neither count nor viscount, neither prince nor duke nor king. And the high man whereof I speak, was, the tale saith, most comely of body and countenance, rich in goods and noble of lineage; and from his face it seemed that in all the world was no man more debonair, but of a sooth, he was all falseness and disloyalty, so traitorous and so cruel, so fierce and so proud, so fell and of so great disdain he feared neither God nor man; and all the country round about him he had laid waste,—this is the sum thereof.
No man might he meet, but he did him some outrage of his body, so great was his licence; he held all the roads and waylaid the pilgrims and did the merchants annoy; and many were oft sore discomforted thereby. He spared neither churchman nor cloistered monk, neither canon nor eremite; and monks and nuns, whereas they are most bound unto God, he made to live shamefully whensoever he had them in his might; and likewise dames and damsels, and widows and maids. He spared neither the wise nor the simple; and he laid his hand upon both the rich and the poor; and many folk had he driven forth in dishonour, and of those he had slain the tale may not be told. Nor would he ever take to him a wife but thought to be abased thereby, for had he been married to a woman he had deemed himself much shamed. And always he ate flesh, nor would he observe any fast day; no will had he to hear either mass or sermon or holy writ, and all good men he held in despite. Methinketh there was never yet man so fulfilled with vile customs; for all the evil a man may do in deed or word or thought he devised, and all were brought together in him. And so he lived for more than thirty years and there was no let to his ill doing.
So the days came and went until a certain lenten tide, upon the morning of Good Friday. He that was nowise tender of God had risen full early, and said to his household after his wont: "Make ready now the venison, for this is the hour to break our fast; I would eat betimes and then we will ride out to win somewhat." The kitchen knaves were all abashed; doubtful and troubled they made answer: "We will do your command, lord; yet we would ye had said otherwise." But when his knights, whose hearts were more inclined to God, heard him, they straightway said to him: "Fool, what say ye? This is lent, a holy time, and it is that high Friday whereon God endured the Passion to bring us to salvation; every man should abstain this day, and you, you would break your fast and eat meat in evil wise. The whole world is under chastisement, in fasting and abstinence; yea, the very children do penance,—and you would eat flesh this day. God must revenge himself upon you, and certes, he will in time." "By my faith," he made answer, "it will not be straightway, nor before I have done much malice, and many a man hath been hanged and burned and undone." "Have ye no respite in doing despite to God?" quoth they then. "Now ought ye incontinent to cry upon our Lord Jesus Christ and beweep the sins with which ye are tainted." "Weep?" quoth he, "what jest is this? I have no mind for such folly. But do ye make moan and I will laugh, for certes weep will I never."
"Hearken, sir," they make answer, "in this wood dwelleth a right holy man, and to him those folk who would turn from their sin, go to make confession; come, let us confess to him and give up our evil life; man should not always live sinfully but rather should turn again to God." "A hundred devils!" saith he. "Confess? shall I become a jest and a by-word? Cursed be he that turneth his footsteps thither with such intent, but if there be any spoils to be got I will go hang this hermit." "Nay, sir," quoth they, "prithee come with us. Do this kindness for our sake." "For your sake," he then made answer, "I will follow you, but for God will I do nought; 't is but for fellowship I go with ye. Bring up my horse, and I will forth with these hypocrites. But liefer had I two good mallards, nay, two tiny sparrows than all their confessions; yet will I go thither to make a jape of them. Whenso that they are shriven they will go rob here or there; it is even as the confession made between Reynard and the hen-hawk,—such repentance falleth at a breath." "Sir," quoth they, "now mount your horse, that God who knows no lie may do his will with you and give you true humility." "By my faith," saith he, "may it never so fall that I become mild and debonair and be feared of no man." And straightway thereafter they set forth. He who is possessed of the devil rideth behind singing, and his fellows go before weeping. And as his men fare on before him, ever he gives them ill words, pricks and prods and misprises them; but they, on their part, to humour him, say whatsoever he will.
And they ride on by the straight paved way so long they come into the forest to the hermitage. There they enter, and within the chapel they find the holy man; but their lord has stayed without, for he was fell and stark and full of malice, and fiercer than mad dog or werewolf; ofttimes he looketh down at his feet and proudly he straighteneth himself. "Lord," they say, "now light ye down and come within, amend your ways, or at the least, pray God's mercy." "Nay, I will not stir hence," quoth he; "and why should I pray his mercy when nought would I do for his sake? But now speed ye your affair for therein have I no part or portion; and much I fear lest I lose all my day through this dallying. For even now the merchants and pilgrims, whom it behooveth me to bring to ground, fare along the highroad, and now they will go their way unhindered; and as God may aid me, this weighs heavy upon me. By Saint Remi, I had liefer that ye were never shriven than that they go hence unshamed."
His men perceive that he will do no otherwise, and they pass into the chapel before the altar and speak with the holy hermit. Each hath said his matter as fairly as he might, and the hermit, as his wont was, assoiled them full sweetly, but only by making covenant with them,—to wit, that ever thenceforth they should withhold them from evil so much as they might. Fairly they pledged them, and then gently they besought him: "Lord, our master is without; for God's sake now call ye him, for he would not come within for our asking, and who knoweth if he will come for you." "Certes, lords," saith he, "I know not, but gladly will I make assay; yet do I greatly fear him."