Yvain, Knight of the Lion

In Praise of Chretien de Troyes and Endless Invention

In those days in the golden past

When Arthur came, at Pentacost

To Carlisle Castle deep in Wales,

Men did not fear to love. For then

Love's anguish and delights were real,

And many tales were born of it

And borne by it in memory's veins

Down to this very day. But now,

Now love is merely pleasantries, alas,

An empty form, a clouded looking-glass.

A bird flew through the smoke filled hall

Where music in the air prevailed

Like waterfalls hung from their cliff.

The king stood up. And then, quite suddenly,

He left the banquet inexplicably.

And as this happened, Guinevere,

Entranced, came from her place to sit

Beside the speaker who began

His tale, told not in noble fame

But disillusion and despair.

When Guinevere sat on the floor

To listen to Calogrenant

The earth moved from its curving path

So strange was this departure from the form

Expected of the queen in this great room,

And ushered in accordingly

A new view of the tilting world.

The king had left his place. This too

Must augur dislocations which

This knight's strange narrative might show.

A startling fanfare filled the air

As sap fills branches in the spring,

A sound of whistling through a larch

Brought down in gusting moonlit winds,

A melismatic melody,

Meandering like an eglantine,

Distracted all that banquet hall:

Queen Guinevere approached as Arthur left

(A moment like a floating gold-thread weft);

Her beauty bent attentively.

Calogrenant, that handsome knight,

Began his tale of shame, disgrace,

Averted honour and defeat,

Then paused. As Guinevere approached he stood;

But this the seneschal Sir Kay decried

Abusively, derisively,

Attacking as he always did

All that was noble, courteous

And good. But Guinevere dismissed

His envious words and silenced him.

She heard the knight profess his own

Bewilderment at what he'd tell,

As if he could not quite believe

All he would now unfold. And yet

This was his true experience:

— You'll find the more I trace this tale

The more the world perceived must seem to fail

To make these strange events seem plausible...

She urged him to proceed without

Such protestations and delay.

And thus Calogrenant began his tale,

Demanding that they yield up to him all

Their hearts while listening to his words,

For listening is to no avail

That does not captivate the heart.

— I set out seven years ago

And rode where I had never gone.

The way was treacherous with thorns

And briars tangling in the reins.

This forest was named Broceliande.

At dusk I reached the forest's edge.

The air was bright in open fields

As it had not been all that day.

Against the sun a fortress stood

Surrounded by a darkening moat

And at its drawbridge leaned its vavasour

A moulted goshawk on his wrist. The hour

Insisted that I must accept

His generous hospitality.

He struck a gong. The courtyard rang.

The courtyard rang with voices. Some

Addressed me courteously while some

Attended to my horse. But one

Moved in another world, was beautiful,

Spoke little as she dressed me in a cowl

Of finest scarlet, peacock blue.

She led me to a meadow wall.

Within its bounds we sat. She smiled;

We talked. Then at the banquet board

She faced me like a waterfall.

Next morning after sleeping well, I rose.

My horse was brought. I left soon after dawn.

The vavasour now pledged me to return,

To which I readily agreed.

I rode once more into the fields,

And there were leopards, bears and bulls

Who fought, and locked their heads in rage.

Nearby a peasant like a Moor,

Black, hideous, stood in a tree

And towered darkly over me.

He towered in a branching tree;

He looked as fierce as gathering clouds

Before a summer storm. And yet

He did not menace me. We spoke.

He claimed in fact that he was here

Solely to guard these ranging, raging beasts

On this unbounded plain where gates nor posts

Nor fences, moats or any means

But his bare hands could hold them back.

I asked him where adventure lay.

I said, "I am a knight who seeks

Whatever he can never find.

Adventure everywhere eludes me still

Hanging like storm clouds round a distant hill.

Perhaps you can direct me." "Sir,"

He said, "I cannot help you. Here

I spend my days with these wild beasts

Grasping bulls by the horns. And so

I've never known adventure, nor

Have ever heard of it near here.

"But still, there is a spring near here

Which might just test you as you wish.

You take the path. Go straight ahead.

For there are many other paths which wind

And turn and lead you from the task in hand.

You'll find the spring which boils, and yet

Is colder than the coldest stone.

This fountain stands beneath a tree

More beautiful than you have known.

"This tree is Nature's crowning work.

Its leaves are permanent. They do not fall

Even when winter holds it in its thrall;

It shades the glade. As well, you'll find

An iron basin on a chain

Which reaches to the brimming spring.

Beside the spring you'll see a stone;

This stone is indescribable

Since like no other I have seen.

I know that it is powerful.

"A chapel on the other side

Is small but beautiful. If you

Now cast some water on this stone

You'll see a storm converge and break

Above it, fierce in force; a fleece

Of cloud will part and, dark with light,

Direct such lightning on the surrounding plain

And beat the chapel roof with such dense rain

That stags and deer and boar and birds

Will, like you, hasten to escape."

I left the peasant in his tree

And rode along the appointed path.

The sun came out like prickling on the skin

When great emotion rises through the spine.

At noon I saw the spring and tree,

Its branches spreading out their arms,

Its canopy so dense that rain

Might never penetrate it. Then

I saw the basin made of gold

Suspended in the arching tree.

The stone step was of emerald

And rested on four rubies, gems

Flamboyant and vermilion as the sun

Emerging from a bank of clouds at dawn.

That stone step like a hollowed throne

Cried out for sprinkled water. So

I scattered water from the bowl

On to that ledge. At once the hail

And snow and rain and brilliant light

Poured down. The sky was torn in two.

The storm abated suddenly.

I had feared for my life until

God stilled the winds and stayed his hand,

Then fresh cool air like water washed

Across my face. And just then, in the tree,

I was delighted and amazed to see

Birds covering every leaf. They sang,

Each with his different melody,

Joyful and confident and calm.

But soon I heard someone approach.

Into this place where trees, split in the storm,

On every side lay startled, still in steam,

A knight came loudly galloping

Fierce as an eagle or a lion.

I hastily regained my horse

As he cried strongly, "Vassal! You

Who injured me by bringing war

Without due challenge, look! The woods

Are felled. I'm driven from my house

By rain and lightning! You must pay!

"Unwarranted attack demands

For honour's sake some recompense."

We clashed. Our shields held high, we wheeled

And charged. I dealt him such a blow

As drained me of my strength, but struck

His shield. He turned. (Here let me stress

In mitigation of my great disgrace

He was the taller knight, his lance

The heaviest I had ever seen.)

My lance was shattered with a blow

He towered over me and at his hand

Across my horse's crupper to the ground

I fell and lay. He walked away

Taking my horse. Ignoring me

He walked slowly away. I lay

In shame, uncertainty and pain.

I sat beside the spring. The birds

Had gone. The tree was very dark.

At last I thought I should return.

I held my armour in my hands

And walked in shame along the path

As night began to fall; I found

My host who'd asked me to return

And he was cheerful and as blithe

As when we'd parted. Even now

His daughter was as beautiful

And smiling as she'd been before;

They were surprised to see me once again

Who'd visited that place of no return.



The knight Yvain cried out, incredulous

That his first cousin, brought to this disgrace,

Should not have told this tale before.

"I would have vowed revenge at once

For this indignity to my own blood;

And even now I'd travel to this glade

To right this wrong." Sir Kay laughed loud,

"Yvain talks through his wine. It is

A pretty after-dinner speech

For callow cousin Calogrenant."

And Kay went on, still slightingly.

The Queen reproached him once again:

"Sir Kay, we weary of your tongue

Consistently so galling, dark

And bitter. Can you never change its tune?

The madman chained before the choir screen

Is no more ignorant." But Yvain

Spoke calmly. "Do not heed Sir Kay.

I think we all know well who speaks the truth.

Ignore the mastiff when it bares its teeth."

In an adjoining curtained room

King Arthur slept through all of this,

And then returned as suddenly

As he had left. The Queen repeated all

That he had missed: the puzzling tale,

The spring, the stone, the storm, disgrace,

Yvain's resolve, Sir Kay's contempt.

And Arthur, brightening, swore most solemnly

That he himself would travel there to see

The spring, by John the Baptist's Feast.

Yvain felt now a curious pang

Of irritation and impatience — for

If Arthur and his court sought out the Moor

Then found the spring and fought the knight,

Sir Kay would almost certainly

Be chosen — or Gawain perhaps

While he, Yvain, who from the very first,

On hearing of the place had vowed to joust

And thus win honour from disgrace,

Would in that crowd be overlooked.

Yvain resolved to travel on his own.

In Broceliande within three days, alone,

He'd find the fortress and its host

And look into that daughter's eyes —

He longed to see the brooding pool

Which boiled and yet was cold as ice

Anticipated in her gaze.

He'd pour the water liberally on the stone

And steel himself against the storm and then

Avenge his cousin in the field.

And so at dawn Yvain left secretly

And met his squire at an appointed tree

With all his armour, lance and sword.

The day was clear, and yet the sky

Was dark with mackerel cloud. He rode

Through forests, over mountain peaks

Through treacherous passes, thickets dense with thorn

Until he saw the fortress hide the sun,

Was welcomed by the vavasour,

And dined with the maid like melting snows.

Then, in the morning as he left,

The day already seemed prescribed

Just as Calogrenant had said.

The path led to the glowering Moor

Then to the spring beneath the tree

And water thrown down on the stone.

At this the thunder drew the clouds and rain

And down the lightning ladders bursting ran

The deluge, over-whelming in dark light;

Then from the forest rode the towering knight.

Yvain and he paused in this grove,

Then clashed as if each bore the other

Mortal hatred. Rage sustained

And fired each blow. Both lances soon

Were shattered into splinters by this force.

Both shields were pierced. Bright swords drew blood. Each horse

Reared fiercely with great trumpeting

As blow resounded on each blow.

At last Yvain struck through the helmet's hood;

The knight reeled as his hauberk ran with blood.

Because both knights fought honourably

And both the horses were unharmed,

The knight, now dazed with mortal wounds,

Could spur his shuddering mount to gallop back

Into the woods close followed by Yvain,

Who if he were to prove his claim

Of seizing honour in this field,

And on this day, must carry home

Some proof — or else Sir Kay will sourly smile

And all these wounds will win him ridicule.

Yvain pursued the knight always

In sight, almost about to seize him; then,

Just as the falcon seems to reach the crane

And swoops only to see it fly

Calmly ahead, he followed still,

A fine froth of blood wetting his face,

Blown from the other. Then their frantic race

Led them towards the castle gate.

Massive and wide, it well disguised

The treacherous narrow path within.

Extremities of danger waited here.

Yvain by lunging forward was so near

The other's saddle that he grasped

Briefly the blood stained tunic. As he did

His horse triggered the counterbalanced blade

Which hung above them, made so that

One false step on the path released

This fierce portcullis. So it was

Yvain, by leaning forward, missed

Annihilation by a breath.

His saddle and his horse were cut in two;

His spurs were severed from his heels. His foe,

Fatally wounded, galloped on.

A second loud portcullis fell

Imprisoning him. He looked about

Surprised at being captured. On the walls

Of this great hall were gilded paintings, scrolls

Depicting scenes of chivalry

And gentle virtues, bravery,

Fine horses, knights, ladies on lawns.

He heard a narrow door open,

And then a gentle step. He saw

One in whom Nature had conspired

To make ambiguous the greater grace

And excellence of body or of face;

She was alarmed to see him there.

She said, "Within, my lady grieves

Because she knows my master soon will die

Of fearful wounds. And soon, I heard them say,

They'll seek and kill his murderer."

Yvain cried out, "Please God it shall not be."

This girl who'd seen his silent bravery

Said, "Sir I'll help you if I can.

I know your name. It is Yvain,

The son of King Urien. Once

I bore my lady's message to the court

And on that day you were the only knight

To speak to me with courtesy

And if you trust me now, I swear

To gain your freedom with this ring."

She took the ring and placed it on his hand

And then took pains to make him understand

The science of its working, how

It was like bark upon the tree

Which hides the sapwood from the world.

"But," she said, "wear it with the stone within

Clasped in the palm, and when in danger turn

The stone again. Then you'll be

Invincible — invisible

As flesh of trees beneath the bark."

Calmly she led him to a bed

On which a splendid quilt was spread

More lustrous, more desirable,

More priceless than the finest quilt

Owned by the Duke of Austria.

She brought him welcome food — a capon, wine

All covered with a linen cloth. And then

They heard the sound of men and rage

Approaching. "Do not fear, Yvain," she said.

"They'll look but will not find you on this bed."

She left. And soon a cruel and hostile crowd

Were swarming through the hall and round the bed.

They found the severed horse, they raised

The barbed portcullis. Here was blood

And mystery. How could this be?

There was no door or window. Bird

Nor beast could not escape this net.

The smallest creature would be caught.

And yet a man rode here and now had gone

Or else was here but nowhere to be seen.

"Here are his spurs. He must be here.

Let's speak no more but search and search again

As thoroughly as ever summer rain

Seeks out the roots of things. Look under beds,

Beat with your clubs whatever moves; break heads."

They thronged and shouted through the hall.

Like blind men tapping with their sticks

They struck each surface with their clubs —

And yet found nothing, as Yvain

Watched from his splendid sumptuous bed.

Now suddenly the room was lit

By one of the most beautiful

Of creatures ever seen by human eye

Whose beauty tells us what it is to see;

This web of geometric art,

This net which catches everything

And through which every single thing may pass,

This sieve of moments gathering in her face —

Entered, following the bier,

Tearing her hair, consumed in grief.

She tore her hair and tore her dress

And fell down as she cried aloud

And fainted as she walked behind the bier.

Yvain could scarce contain himself, so near

To him she passed as in a dream.

The nuns and priests moving in groves

With candles like a lightning flare

Made bright that sombre room. She cried,

"Why can we still not see the murderer

Who killed this noble man still bleeding here?"

The lady's tears held back in gravity,

Invisible Yvain watched meltingly

Elusive beauty so defined.

As she proceeded from the room

Behind the censers' clouds, the choirs

And holy-water bearers, so

Yvain saw in himself grow visible

The waxing candle flame of love. The hall

Had suddenly been drained of crowds;

Yvain was longingly alone.

But soon in haste that maid returned.

Yvain said, "I would like to see

Your lady standing by the grave."

She led him to a tiny window where

He felt the cool and resonating air

And heard his lady's words: "Alas,

No knight more noble or more generous

Was ever born. Yet he was valorous

And was I fear slain in the field

By one who struck invisibly."

Seeing her grief Yvain desired

To hasten to her side. The girl

Tried to restrain him. "Sir, I beg of you,

Be careful still. Consider all you do.

You still are hunted and despised;

They would not ransom you alive.

Remain here until I return."

She feared to stay lest she be missed

Beside the grave. She left Yvain alone

To watch New Love ascend its grieving throne.

Yvain remained not knowing what to do.

He saw the body buried, and he knew

All proof that he had triumphed here

Was buried with it. So Sir Kay

Provocative, insulting, would

Deride him bitterly. And yet New Love

Transformed and led him in her willing grove

And filled him with her honeycomb.

The lady had her vengeance with this spear

Whose wound grows worse when closest to its cure.

The people left the burial.

At length no-one remained but she who grieved.

The more he watched the more he felt reprieved

By love, and even hoped in time

To speak to her. But soon he felt despair —

That he must be the enemy of her

Whom he must love. And to have caused

These tears which stained her wondrous face

So fair in anguish one could scarcely guess

At its surpassing grace in happiness!

The search for him was far afield;

Yvain might well have left but could not leave,

Doubly imprisoned here by shame and love —

Shame in the verdict of Sir Kay,

And love in that incomparable,

Incontrovertible beauty which

Yvain thought could not ever be

Repeated — in the history of the world

Nor in the future still to be unfurled —

Even by God with his own hands.



The damsel wishing for his company

Returned. She found signs of that frailty

Which love imposes and which she

Knew well. She said, "My lord Yvain,

How have you liked this day?", to which

Yvain replied, "All I have seen

Has greatly pleased me." So she said, "Yvain,

You must not think me too naive.

I understand. I know my lady well.

I'll speak to her if you will trust me still."

This damsel, who was named Lunete —

Which name suggests the heaven lighting moon

(And its diminutive at that)

And how it stands related to the sun,

Related by dependence and acclaim

In gathering and softening its beam —

Went to her mistress. So began

The transformation of that grief.

Lunete who had her lady's confidence

Said, "Lady, should you not put off this trance?"

Her lady said, "But why? When all I wish

Is that I might have died then of this grief."

"But why," the other said, "dishonour life?"

"To follow him beyond this world."

"But," said Lunete, "God may intend

Another husband nobler than the first."

"No more! Do not cast shadows on the past."

"And what, my lady, if I prove

I know already of a greater love?"

"But that is quite impossible."

"Ah!" said Lunete, "Impossibility

Will turn to certainty. Soon you will see.

But now my lady tell me this

(If you can overcome your pain):

Who will defend the spring and stone

Against outside attack. It's said

King Arthur soon will trespass here —

The Damsel of the Forest sent us word.

We both know, in the absence of your lord,

Your knights between them couldn't raise a sword."

The lady spent the afternoon alone.

Lunete's words travelled like the moon

Across the dark sea of remorse.

She recognised her curiosity

At certain words which broke that sea

Like reefs in moonlit foam. What if I prove

I know a greater love. Lunete returned.

She said, "Lunete, who did you mean?

What is his name, this knight of such renown?

Why did you speak of certainty?"

Lunete said, "Promise then you'll hear me out.

I only speak my mind. Well, then: defeat

Necessitates a victor, doesn't it?

When on the field we watch one knight

Vanquish a second, which is then

More worthy? As for me I'd give the prize

Without a moment's pause. Which would you choose?

Remember, this brave knight who felled

Your husband boldly followed him

And fearing nothing entered this very house."

Despite her promise to Lunete

She raged and would not countenance the thought.

She sent Lunete away and sat

Once more alone in sombre tears.

Lunete returned to where Yvain still lay

And lavished on him every luxury

And spoke of progress in her pleas.

The lady meanwhile felt ashamed

And thought a little of the knight

Lunete espoused. Perhaps he did not hate...

Perhaps he did not act from spite

Or reasons other than necessity.

Were he to speak he might speak honourably.

The spring's notorious, after all,

For conjuring confusion and misrule...

Next morning to Lunete she said,

"I am ashamed. I spoke in haste. You are right.

We must protect the spring and stone from storm.

Tell me about this knight of yours, his name,

His status and his lineage."

Like logs that smoulder then enflame

With no-one fanning them, so this great thought

First monstrous, dark with smoke, grew plausible

And burned. She asked, "What is his name?"

"It is my lord Yvain." "Why, this is well —

The son of King Urien, famed

And noble. There could be no fear

About his honour. When can he be here?"

"My lady, in five days." "That is too long."

"A bird could not reach Carlisle in a day."

"But," said Lunete, "I'll send a servant boy

Who runs as fast as startled deer

To Arthur's court; he could be there

By nightfall in two days." "That is too long.

Instruct your servant boy to run and run

Faster than he has ever run.

Tell him tonight there is a moon

And let him turn those two days into one,

And bid him tell this knight Yvain

He must return within three days."

"Three days — my lady, I can manage this.

And you must tell the assembled court

And win their favour for this distant travelling knight.

Impress them with his ancient throne;

Remind them of the unguarded spring and stone

Which he'll protect — since none of them, I swear,

Is worth a swallow's feather in the air."

The lady said. "Make haste. Go now."

Lunete pretended to despatch the boy

Then hastened to my lord Yvain.

The lady passed three days impatiently

While in another room nearby

Lunete spent pleasant hours with Yvain.

She bathed him, washed and brushed his hair

And dressed him lavishly as might befit

His noble station: first she brought

A scarlet cloak lined with new fur

Still fresh with chalk; clasps at the throat

Enchased with precious stones; a belt

And purse of fabric trimmed with gold.

Three days had slowly passed. The moon

Was distant in the morning sky.

Lunete announced the messenger's return.

Her lady said, "Where is Yvain?"

The damsel smiled, "He is already here."

The lady sighed and said, "Bring him alone."

Lunete returned to where Yvain had lain

And brought him by a secret corridor,

But said, "My lady is lamenting still.

She may make you her prisoner."

"Already in your lady's gaze imprisoned

I only want imprisonment."

The damsel led him through the corridor.

He felt the fear of imminence,

Which fears the future happening at once,

Unmediated, passionate.

The room was bright with candlelight,

The lady seated on a rose brocade.

She did not speak nor he to her.

He felt as if his blood were turned to air.

Lunete then seized his arm and said,

"Five hundred curses on the soul of one

Who brings into a lady's room a man

Who won't approach or say a word!"

She drew him into candlelight and said,

"Come over here, sir knight. And do not fear.

My lady is not Cerberus.

But let us pray for her forgiveness

For Esclados whom you have slain."

Yvain fell to his knees and spoke at last.

"I do not ask you to be merciful.

Nor to forgive that hoarding amber past

In which I acted in defence;

But, rather, I will thank you if you will

Do with me what you wish." She smiled..

"What then, my lord, if I should kill

This pale knight kneeling in the candle's shade?"

"My lady, even then you never would

Hear afterwards from me a contrary word."

"You smile, my lady," said Lunete.

This is the first time I have seen you smile

Since storm sprang from the fountain pool,

And valour fought with valour for your hand."

The lady said, "Sir knight, sit down.

And let me catechise you in that chain

Of causes and affections which have led

Our paths to cross and brought you to my side.

Let us rehearse the tributaries

Which, interflowing, bore us here.

"So tell me then what power it is

Which overpowers reason, self."

"That power whose spring and stone lie in the heart."

"And what controls the heart, sir knight?"

"The splash and pouring on my eyes

Of your great beauty." "What does beauty do?"

"It generates the tempest love for you."

"Is this the flaw? And wherein lies its pain?"

"It fells the trees and floods the illumined plain

And crowns confusion in its rain."

"Can you enumerate its qualities?"

"It casts its own portcullis on all sides

Which yet includes vast dew lit glades.

My heart no longer strays from you,

I never find it grazing out of view

I cannot think of other things

Except as on the turning page

Of your encyclopaedic gaze."

"And would you dare defend my spring for me?"

"Indeed my lady, yes, against all men."

Thus they were swiftly reconciled

And went together to the gathered court.

The people thought Yvain so fair a knight

That someone voiced the universal view

(Since his nobility was not in doubt)

That even the Empress of all Rome

Would lose no time in making him

Her husband. And when they heard Yvain

Had undertaken to protect their spring

They took him to their hearts as their own king.

The people all implored and she agreed

To do what she'd already planned to do.

"My lords," she said, "I must accede

And in the interests of our shadowed glade

Resolve before you to accept Yvain

As lord and champion of the field."

The people were unanimous;

One baron cried, "For all the world

We'd hear these marriage vows today —

A chaplain must be brought without delay."

That afternoon a moving field

Of mitres, censers, croziers

Bore forward on its lofted shield

Laudine, the lady of Landuc,

Who must be greatly lauded as

The daughter of Duke Laudunet,

The Lady of the Fountain, she

For whom the sun proclaimed this gilded day;

And at her side the fair Yvain,

Far distant King Urien's son.

So now the knight Yvain is lord

Of all the lands of Landuc and its plain,

The peerless tree and in its shade the stone;

The slain knight is forgotten as his queen

Sleeps under scarlet with Yvain.

And so the wedding feast goes on

With several moons succeeding several suns

Until King Arthur travelling with his court

Has left the woods near Broceliande

And nears the land of sudden storms.



King Arthur and his retinue,

Arriving at the grove, stopped at the tree

And found the fountain calm and clear.

Sir Kay was garrulous and said, "I see

The bold Yvain has been detained

In some convenient by-way on the way.

We'll not see more of him today.

Although he loudly punished every ear

I could have told you at the time

It's clear that he was boasting after wine.

"And furthermore, and notwithstanding all

We've heard about his noble soul,

He isn't here to meet this famous knight

We've had to hear so much about.

The truly valiant man is reticent

And does not need to talk, and talk — "

Gawain said, "Kay, perhaps the sacrament

Of silence might be welcome here."

And Kay scowled, "So! Please pardon me, I'm sure.

I'll never speak another word."

But Arthur now was curious to see

This conjured rain, and said "Let me

Preside over this storm-inducing stone."

He poured a brimming basinful

Of water on the stone beneath the pine.

At once the glade was grey with rain,

And thunder called to thunder distantly,

And lightning lingered in the tree.

A knight appeared and galloped from the woods.

Sir Kay cried out, "Let me begin."

Sir Kay in haste came to the king

And argued long and volubly his plea.

King Arthur said, "Sir Kay, I see

You have the prior claim and since you ask

In front of everyone it shall

Not be denied you. We must wish you well."

Yvain had recognised Sir Kay

By something of his armour's elegance

And the absence of a lady's sleeve.

Each knight now brandished high his lance.

They raised their shields, and spurred and turned

And charged with such a furious resolve

The tree re-echoed to the sound

Of lance on lance and sullen thud of shields.

Yvain now standing in his stirrups wields

The lance so cunningly that Kay,

Although he seems to meet the blow, yet falls

Grotesquely to the sodden ground,

Both lances splintering in their hands. Calmly

Yvain reining his horse slowly dismounts.

There was some laughter at Sir Kay

From gathered knights who knew his calumny

Towards others. Mysterious,

The Guardian of the Fountain turned away

From Kay still lying on the ground,

But claimed his horse and brought it to the king.

"Unwilling to claim anything

Of yours, I here return your property,

Nor ask for further penalty."

And Arthur marvelled at this courtesy.

The king addressed the Guardian of the Spring:

"And yet we do not know your name

To thank you for your conduct." Yet the king,

And Gawain standing at his side,

Thought some surprise and joy were imminent

In such a place of sudden storm

And smiled to hear the Lord of Landuc say,

"Sir king, I am your knight Yvain."

And struggling to his feet at last, Sir Kay,

Battered and bruised, said little more.

And then the king was greatly curious

And asked Yvain to tell them all

That chain of strange events, the truthful tale,

Omitting nothing, glance nor word.

For certainly a tale should not confound

Our expectations but extend

Them out of sight and mind. Such is its charm.

And so the detail glittering,

The curious tangent faintly glistening

Yvain here undertook to tell.

After amazement turned to reverie,

And afternoon spread lulling waves,

In unforeseen conviviality

They lingered savouring the tale.

Yvain invited Arthur and his court

To stay with them; the king agreed.

He would for eight days share this pleasant vale,

A time of joy for everyone

(Provided storms would always be outlawed

And no-one ventured near the stone).

Yvain despatched his falconer

To tell his lady, and the town, this news,

That all might have time to prepare.

Thus Arthur riding through the waving fields

Was met by crowds of welcomers.

Old tapestries were brought into the street,

The town was canopied in silk,

And awnings raised, in case of summer heat.

Maidens and minstrels danced and sang,

The town reverberated for the king.

Laudine was dressed in ermine for the king;

No sign of bitter fears remained,

Her face as tranquil as a shaded pool.

Arthur still riding through the throng

Sensed the intentions in her outstretched hand

To hold his stirrup, honouring him

As he descended. So quite rapidly

Before they met, dismounting, he

Approached. She said, "You are most welcome here,

And lord Gawain whom we revere."

And Arthur said, "To your fair face and form,

That countenance in which we see

The stars reflected, may God here affirm

Fortune and happiness." So he

Encircled her with courtesy, and she

Held him with open arms. Much joy

Was current then. The ladies gathered there,

Prudent and wise, were moved to flirt,

And knights for days were dazed in this sweet light

Of gazing, glances, soft delight.

In passing, note the sun and moon:

Brought face to face, each smiled and spoke and shone

(As on some summer afternoon

The moon late setting waits the ardent sun),

By which we mean the proud Gawain

Acclaimed above all others, radiant,

Illustrious to every knight —

And calm, reflective, luminous Lunete.

He praised the maid who'd saved Yvain.

He pledged himself. She thanked him from her heart.

The week was spent most pleasantly

In sunlit days of hawking, venery

And riding to the several towns

Yvain acquired by marrying Laudine.

But as the king prepared to leave

Gawain spoke gravely to Yvain of love:

"Beware the loss of all prestige.

The man whose reputation is dispersed

By absence from the tournament

The woman loving him may soon despise.

"By languishing in love's sweet idle courts

A man may lose the outer world

Of noble deeds and true heroic pride.

The joy of love that is deferred

Is all the sweeter. Like the smouldering log

It gives off greater heat and burns

Far longer than the all consuming fire.

Break from your yoke and joust with us."

Gawain spoke so persuasively, Yvain

Agreed that he might tell Laudine.

Yvain spoke gently to Laudine:

"You who are heart and soul and treasure, joy

And life, my dearest wife, grant me this day

One favour for your sake and mine."

She said, "My lord, ask anything you would,

And it is yours." Yvain was sad

Yet spoke his will without a moment's pause.

"Grant me your leave to go from you

(Lest I be thought a coward) with the king

For whom the joust is everything."

"I see that absence from the tournament

Must threaten absence from my heart.

I'll hold this love until this day returns

The eighth day after Saint John's feast

In one year's time, at which time love which burns

Will turn to ice. But be assured,

If you have not returned, and by the least

Proportion of a moment stay,

Then love will turn to hatred and thenceforth

You will be banished from my heart."

"My lady, this is long. Were I a dove

I'd fly back to renew this love;

And yet a man may often be delayed,

Delay become an edifice

From which may radiate a dozen paths,

And some of these meander, cross

And tangle in some true impediment.

You must at least allow for this."

"I will and yet not alter my intent

To harden if you overstay.

"For herein lies the function of this ring —

Which now I place upon your hand:

The stone preserves the lover in love's stead

Once he is set on love's true path.

He cannot be imprisoned, cannot bleed,

Nor be by hazardous chance delayed.

He will remember love's true gaze always

And be as strong as iron. Thus

You may not be distracted from the course

As long as it is love's and true."

Yvain now had his wish, and wept.

But nothing he could say delayed the king

Who ordered all his palfreys brought.

The Lord of Landuc ready to depart

Was showered with such a storm of sighs

And tears and kisses sweetly sad, his eyes

Were burning like a spring on fire.

Laudine herself looked on so tearfully

The king urged her to go indoors,

And so in great distress she saw them go.

"Alas," she said, "for love is like a spring

Which boils and yet is cold as snow.

Time's passing in the field passes it by

Until the lover first arrives

And sprinkles water on the stepping stone:

The elements awake in storm,

The trees are felled and nothing is the same

And then, alas, comes riding out

The knight of past and future time

And nothing can remain the same."

Yvain had left so suddenly, his heart

Was left behind. The king ahead

Had tethered him but not his heart. No man

May live without that part. And yet

By sombre miracle this happened here;

My lord Yvain lived strangely on,

The year passed like a stream which no-one sees

And runs unnoticed to the sea.

Gawain brought him to many tournaments

Where as one sleeping he excelled.



Now he had overstayed and did not know

The year or season or the time,

So interflowing were the days

And so persuasive was the haze

Of triumphs at the tournament.

The year had passed and August in the next

Found Arthur lodged at Chester in the town

While Gawain with others of renown

Had set up court in carefree tents

Outside the city walls. Here Arthur came.

Arthur was seated in this court of tents.

Another triumph wreathed Yvain,

And praise was heaped on him like leaves,

And someone spoke of something else

Or placed a sword upon the ground

Or looked out at the clustered weald —

When suddenly Yvain felt such a weal,

So great a fracture in the world

The page of triumphs written in the field

Was torn in two with nothing in between.

Attenuation takes its toll;

At length the fabric cannot wear,

And this had been a year spun from that day

Of painful parting tears

Clung to, outstretched, made thin and sere.

Yvain looked out across the clustered field.

He saw a sword placed on the ground.

Arthur was seated in this court of tents

And talked about the tournaments

When Yvain recalled his broken word.

And next, a palfrey galloping

Across the field towards their tents,

Through burning tears which shame suppressed,

A black and dappled palfrey galloping,

And next a damsel had dismounted. None

Attended her, nor took the palfrey in.

She walked directly to the king. She said,

"My lady sends her greetings to the king

And to Gawain and all except Yvain

Who is a liar, cheat and thief.

"This thief seduced my lady, stole

From her her heart beyond recall.

True lovers take but do not steal

And where they take they cherish all

And having taken seek to fill.

Then there are thieves who practise guile

For whom love is mere pleasantries,

An empty form. Yvain is one of these.

The heart he stole he promised to return

Within one year. My lady waits in vain.

"Yvain, you were most negligent and cruel.

My lady in her lonely room

Marked every day and kept the calendar.

She saw the seasons fill and fall

And in time's fullness knew those strange extremes

Of weather which may pass a weary day.

At night unsleeping she would tell

The number of the days, the empty shell

Of days and nights now passed and still

To come, days none but you might fill.

"My lady orders me to take this ring.

She cares for you no longer. You must fare

Without its stone and never more

Approach my lady." Then she took the ring

And turned away and would not hear

Were he to voice, which he could scarcely do,

His anguish. Commending then to God

The king, Gawain and other knights

She walked to where her palfrey stood

And galloped from their tents across the plain.

Not understanding where that past might lie

Which he would now with all his heart undo

Yvain could neither answer her

Nor in her absence speak again

To knights in their pavilion.

He only thought of punishing himself.

The year discordant and confused,

The bloated year which bellied out,

Had swallowed days and months of his

And left him desolate and alone.

As if a torrent fell on stone

A tempest rose and fountained through his brain,

And out into the woods he ran,

Bitter, self-hating with regret.

He tore his clothes and cast them to the ground.

Now out of sight and mind Yvain

Was naked in the wilds. Alone

Out of his mind he ran with deer and stag.

He plunged through tanglements of fallen trees

Gone from the world for time out of mind.

No-one knew where he'd gone. Gawain

Searched orchards and hedgerows for days

Until the year of tournament and prize

Seemed like a distant memory.

Meanwhile without a single thread

Yvain was lost in unfrequented woods,

His thought naked without covering.

And once he passed a youth who held a bow

And five barbed arrows. These he had

And killed and ate the flesh of deer.

One morning as the chequered sun

Was struggling in the branches of a pine,

A hermit peering from his door

Saw, through the thick encircling vine,

A man deranged who ranged and raged

Through tangled thicket, gorse and thorn.

Yvain had woken in a sombre glade

To take anew the axe-blow memory;

The sun in mourning, tousled in this shade,

Seemed equally distracted from its course.

This hermit, pitying the naked man,

Placed bread and water on a ledge.

Yvain was watching like a bird

And warily approached. That bread

Was made from barley mixed with straw

And tasted bitter and was dry and hard.

And yet Yvain returned each day to take this food

And in return left, in its stead,

Fresh game against the hermit's door.

One day a lady and her maids

Came riding through the woods. Perhaps they strayed,

For one of them, in riding on alone,

Discovered in a lonely grove

A naked man asleep in spangled shade.

Dismounting, she approached. A bird

Sang fitfully. She knelt beside,

And knew yet did not know this once familiar

Stained and sun burned face. And yet a scar

Made her remember who lay here.

Alarmed and curious, eager, yet sad,

She hastened to remount, then rode

Back to her lady and the other maid.

She cried, "My lady, to have seen

What I have seen! I think it is

Both wonderful and terrible:

A savage sleeping like a god,

In tangled woods a man with tangled hair,

Naked and destitute, a scar

Across his temple which I'd always know."

She told her lady all that she had seen.

She said, "This savage is Yvain,

The knight of such repute in strength and skill.

He's sleeping near a twisted pine. The sun

Seems not to penetrate that place.

I know him from the scar which lines his face —

Both sad and memorable. He had such grace!

But listen! Were he whole and sane

And in my lady's service — why,

I'm sure he'd help drive out Count Alier."

The lady said, "Poor knight. But, in the town

Near here perhaps I could obtain

An ointment made by Morgan le Fay

Which heals the head of fantasy

To crown once more the tree, Reality.

With this (if he's not run away)

We'll make this poor sequestered knight

A champion to expel Count Alier,

Invader of our lands." They rode in haste

Towards the town. Yvain slept on.

They rode into the town and soon

My lady brought fine clothes — a dyed silk gown

A mantle and a cloak of red —

A handsome palfrey and a silver box

Of precious unguent. She said,

"Go quickly through the forest to Yvain.

But don't forget: this ointment must be used

Most sparingly and only on his head.

It's wasted if it's used elsewhere."

The damsel said she understood.

She galloped back but felt a heightened fear

On entering the woods again,

Fear that she might not find Yvain

And fear of him should he be there.

So when she found him sleeping still

Unchanged in aspect, naked, fierce, his hair

And beard still matted, caught with leaves,

She felt her heartbeat quickening.

She tied the palfreys to a tree

And left the clothes for him nearby.

And then she brought the silver ointment box

And knelt beside the sleeping knight

And, in her ardour, quite forgot

Her mistress' words. Gently she put

A little on his forehead, then

A little on his throat, and soon

So eager to impart its healing power

She spread it on his body everywhere

From head to toe, until it all was gone.

But still the fever vanished from his brain.

She hid behind an oak and watched him sleep.

And when he woke he saw the shape

Had quite regained its world. It filled. The trees

And distant field swam like a light

Which surfaces through water. And he knew

The old adjacency of things. He saw

With puzzlement his nakedness

And did not know why this was so.

Then on the branching tree he found the clothes

And hastily began to dress.

The girl pretended to be riding by

And when he saw, and called to her,

She did not seem at first to see him there

Until he called again. And then she turned,

And reined her horse but feigning fear

Would not approach. "Sir knight," she called

"What do you want?" He said, "I've woken here

And find myself I know not where.

Perhaps you could direct me." "Sir," she cried,

"Ride with me to a town which lies nearby."

The road led to a stream. A distant moon

Stood like one much bemused above a hill.

Yvain was very weak, but said, "Good maid,

If I can be of service to you, speak."

(His voice like echoes in an empty hall.)

"But first" she said, "you must get well

And rest with us for several days."

They crossed a bridge. She threw the silver box

Into the stream, in order to disguise

The fact that she had used it all.

Yvain was welcomed as an honoured knight,

And taken to an inner room to rest.

The lady sought the ointment box.

"My lady, try to understand.

Despite my care, the box slipped from my hand

Because my palfrey stumbled on a bridge.

It slipped and fell. It struck a ledge

Then plunged into the swollen stream.

The lady raged in fury at its loss.

"This is a tragedy. Still, none the less,

We must not blame Yvain for all of this."

The rehabilitation of Yvain

Became their sole concern. They went to him,

They bathed him in a perfumed room

They washed his hair and brought a man

Of celebrated skill to shave and trim

His beard which had in time

Become a tangled forest of its own.

They dressed him with befitting grace,

They catered for his every wish,

They brought him armour and a horse.

One Tuesday some time after this,

Count Alier approached the town

With men-at-arms and knights, and sought to force

His will upon these lands, by fires,

By pillaging and skirmishing.

Yvain, by then restored in strength,

Came to the fray in battle dress

With other knights. Awaited at a pass,

Yvain now leading struck into the press

Of arms. Once more the clash of shields rang out.

The clamour rose above the crash of swords

And in the crush of knights Yvain shone out,

Plunging, advancing through the swelling crowds

Of striving arms. He split one shield,

Another knight reeled backwards, felled

Above his horse. Another sprawled —

The lady climbed her castle tower and watched

And counted as Yvain despatched

First one then two and then a third and fourth

In that confused and horrible mêlée.

It was a harrowing sight. She saw

That many lay upon the ground,

Both enemy and friend (but even more

The former, thanks to fierce Yvain).

She saw her other knights supporting him

For when they see what one bold knight can do

The others are emboldened too.

Then from the tower they saw Yvain pursue

Count Alier, and near a little hill

Take his surrender and his sword.

The watchers from the battlements

Cried out, "Who is this wondrous knight Yvain?

See how he strikes and thrusts and parries blows.

See where he lifts his shield. And see — again

He charges! See his shattered shield — who knows

How many lances he has broken here.

The forest of Argonne might well be all

Made into lances and there still would be

None left. Roland with Durendal

Could not have done so much at Roncevaux."

When Alier was brought back from the field,

His helmet gone, his neck laid bare, Yvain

Was feted by the crowds. The town knew joy

When Alier, most ignominiously

Assuring all the company

Of his allegiance to the mutual peace,

Agreed to make good all those lands

That he had taken, to restore each house

Razed by his violent greed. This done,

Yvain asked for her leave soon to be gone.

That lady felt regret that he should leave

So suddenly, who might have won her love

As wife or mistress, and the lands

Which Alier had sought so long to own

Only to lose them at his hand.

Nor could entreaty, ardent gaze, or sign

Of universal gratitude detain

The knight who should be lord of Norison.

Alas, this noble paragon

Must leave and take the forest road again.



As if the woods through which he rode

Were heaped up leaves of memory

Yvain was lost in thought. He thought he heard

The cry of voices from the past

And knew he had not left regret

But merely travelled elsewhere in that wood.

But now he heard a cry. He turned, and spurred

His horse into a glade. He saw

A dragon and a lion fight,

Entangled like a shield's device.

The dragon held the lion by the tail

And burnt its flanks. The lion roared.

The dragon fumed and flared. Yvain

Tried to decide which one to save,

And chose the lion; in its eyes

He saw expression of his own travail,

And flame seemed evil and unnatural

An exhalation. So, once more,

He drew his sword and held his shield

And hacked the dragon fearlessly.

He held the shield before his face

To counter cauldron mouths of gushing fire;

He cut the dragon through and through

Till only smouldering parts remained.

The lion was unscathed but for its fur

Which here and there was singed by sulphurous ire.

And even now it looked confused,

Unhappy and disconsolate.

Yvain thought it might turn on him,

But nothing happens as we think.

The lion proved convivial,

Companionable, capricious yet benign.

Observe the way it lolls and greets Yvain

Upstanding on its hind paws,

Its head bowed down in decorous grace,

Its forepaws joined as if to quaff some wine.

It shed a tear of gratitude.

Yvain wiped poison from his sword,

Resheathed the blade, set off again

And found the lion at his side.

Ahead of him the lion paced

And looked back, seeking from Yvain

Directives when and where to go.

It led and yet deferred to him.

And, once, it scented on the evening air

The smell of game — a deer grazing alone;

Again it waited for Yvain.

He urged it like a hound to hunt the deer.

The lion sprang most skilfully

And brought back food for both of them.

At cool of nightfall in the woods

Yvain searched for a piece of flint

And struck a spark and lit a fire

To roast a portion of the deer.

The lion rested calmly at his feet

Until he'd finished eating; then it ate

All that was left, down to the bone.

Yvain slept fitfully on his shield.

The lion watched Yvain in sleep; all night

The horse grazed in the light of stars.

For two weeks travelling in this way,

The lion always just ahead,

Jaunty, constant, considerate,

Providing food whenever there was need,

They reached by chance a long familiar wood

Where each tree seemed to resonate

With former purpose. Then Yvain

Saw, casting its immense and solid shape,

The pine tree and the spring and stone

And grieved for the unalterable past.

What happiness he'd known and lost!

How brief the sun which cleared the tree

To shine on him before the envious shade!

A thousand times he moaned and cried aloud

And sighed and wept and swooning fell

Unmindful, careless. As he fell, his sword,

Slipped from its scabbard, caught and pierced

The hauberk chain mail at the throat

And blood gushed through it. So he lay

To all appearances past pain.

The lion sleeping in the shade

Was woken by its master's cries

And saw Yvain insensible in blood,

The sword piercing his neck. It writhed and clawed

And howled discovering its rescuer dead.

So with its teeth it drew the sword,

Itself determined now to die

And leaned the blade across a trunk,

Wedging it with a branch, and ran

Towards it like a charging boar.

Just then Yvain woke suddenly

And struggled to his feet. At once the lion

Stopped abruptly in its tracks

And purred as loudly as a wheel hauled chain.

Yvain however saw the sword

Placed as it was and knew the lion's pain,

And so fell into more remorse:

He should have been the one to take

His own life after such disgrace —

Alas, that he had overstayed!

But interrupting his despair

He heard a voice as plaintive as the cry

Of curlews from the river bank.

A prisoner was calling from nearby,

Locked in the chapel near the spring;

She spoke and looked out through a chink

And said, "What can this suffering be?"

At first each claimed the greater misery

And there was mournful pleasure in

This contest and comparison.

She said, "I am a prisoner,

The saddest creature in the world."

At which Yvain upbraided her

"Your grief is bliss compared to mine."

"And yet," she said, "you may go as you please

While I have been here long confined

Without hope, waiting death these many days.

But by tomorrow I must die."

"Alas," the knight said, "for what crime?"

"None, sir. But hear my story filled with sighs."

"But doesn't someone always intervene

To save such innocence as yours?"

"Yes, but who will? The two remaining men

In all the world who'd fight for me

With three — " "One to fight three?" "Three men

Have brought the charge of treason. They

Have set the terms of my defence

And they would fight with one of these."

"And who are they who'd champion you?"

"One is Gawain, the other is Yvain."

The lion stirred and stretched in sleep.

The pine tree whispered in the breeze.

Yvain said, "Now I understand.

I am Yvain. And you are she

Who saved me in that entrance hall;

From there I watched my lady through its grate.

I am the reason you are here —

The reason and the remedy;

Your treason that of bringing me to court

Thereby imperilling your lady's heart."

"Sadly, my lord, all this is true.

I brought you to my lady joyfully.

I hoped that you might soon undo

That great misfortune at the spring.

But when you overstayed — ah, then,

My lady's sorrow turned to rage.

A seneschal consumed with jealousy

Conspired against me. Quite alone,

I had to find in forty days

One knight to fight for me against their three.

"I went to Arthur's court, but no-one there

Seemed able to advise me. No-one knew

Where you or lord Gawain had gone."

"Where is Gawain? He has no fear — "

"Gawain has left to seek the queen

Who went off with another knight.

(And no-one knows where they are now.

The king must have been mad indeed

To leave that knight so long alone with her.)

And you were nowhere to be found."

"Since I have caused your languishment,

I shall be its remedy.

Tomorrow without fail I'll take the field

On your behalf, at your command

On one condition, that my name

And true identity be not revealed."

"Sir knight, I thank you from my heart.

And yet, against three vengeful knights,

I fear for you! You must not feel compelled

By oaths or loyalty to me."

Yvain rebuked her for such doubts

And said, "I know you are distraught,

But let us not protest, except to say

That I will be your champion for the day

And hope thereby to remedy

Those ills which I have caused. Therefore

Tomorrow we shall meet at noon

And foil your persecutors in the fray.

Now evening colours all its clouds

And I seek shelter for the night."

Yvain left promptly. Through the wood

He went, his lion by his side,

Until they reach a fortified domain

Surrounded by a strong, high wall.

Outside the wall all had been razed

(For reasons which will soon be very plain).

As he approached, the drawbridge fell,

And several squires attended him,

But shrank back when they saw his playful lion,

And welcomed him but him alone.

Yvain spoke for the lion. "Do not fear

This faithful and amusing beast.

I love it as I love myself

And I will see no-one is harmed."

Reluctantly the squires agreed.

They opened wide the massive gate

(But stood well back to give the lion air).

Within were knights and ladies, damsels fair

And charming, who now smiled on him —

And yet their joys were mixed with tears.

Yvain was curious to see

Their strangely mingled grief and joy

Like rain which falls from sunlit sky.

Their baron seemed reluctant to confide

The reason for their sorrow. "We are glad

To welcome you but would not wish

Our grief to taint your happiness."

Yvain said, "On the contrary, my lord,

I would not wish to share your hearth

Without some knowledge of your heart."

"Then I will tell you all our pain.

A mountain giant, sir, plagues us.

He takes whatever he can seize

And now he claims my daughter as his own,

The fairest maiden in the world.

Already he has taken every son:

Six knights, two slain, the other four

Tomorrow he will kill unless

He has my daughter, or some knight

Will undertake to challenge his vile reign.

"And that, good knight, is why today we grieve,

While greeting you with joy as you deserve,

Befitting your high station. All we have

Is here within these walls. The rest,

Outside, the giant has destroyed,

As you must have observed. And now

Tomorrow he will kill my sons

Unless I find a knight who is so brave

That nothing in the world deters

Or shakes him in his high resolve."

Yvain said, "Sir, I am distressed

To hear of all your troubles. Yet

I am somewhat surprised that you have not

Consulted at King Arthur's court

Where someone always waits to make wrong right."

"Alas," the baron said, "I sought Gawain,

Whose sister is my wife. In vain!

Gawain has gone to find the queen

Who has absconded with another knight.

(Her escort was that fool, Sir Kay.)"

Gawain so far away; a sombre air

Of imminence within these walls;

Tomorrow a catastrophe,

Coiled like a serpent in a cloud;

Yvain could not but sigh aloud

And out of pity had to say, "Good sir,

I shall assist you willingly

Provided that this giant can be here

Before mid-morning. For at noon

I must be elsewhere for my life."

The baron's daughter and his wife

Walked sadly on the battlements;

Their faces bore as they drew near

The beauty of resemblance shared. Yet here

Yvain saw beauty masked by tears.

The baron spoke to them of hope:

The lion taming knight who knew no fear

Might on the following day — if he could stay —

End all their time of suffering,

By fighting with the mountain giant.

Yvain could not relieve them of all doubt,

Fearing the giant might be late

And he be forced to leave before their fight;

But still they slept with strengthening hopes.

The lion lay beside Yvain;

And in the morning taking Mass

And breakfasting he waited. But

The giant did not come. Time passed.

A crow circled above the plain

Against the empty sky. Time would not wait.

"My lord, I can delay no more.

I've sworn to be elsewhere at noon, and so — "

But here the baron's daughter cried out, "Do not go

Most noble knight!" and wept and prayed

By the glorious Queen of Heaven, and

In God's name and by all his saints,

And in the name of lord Gawain

Who was her uncle and whom Yvain,

She'd heard, loved and esteemed. And yet he knew

He must leave now to save Lunete.

And yet he could not move away

While ever these entreaties filled the air;

Nor could he overturn the fact that here

The niece and nephews of Gawain

Depended on his staying past the hour.

But suddenly there was a cry

And at the moat the giant stood,

A toad-like dwarf accompanying him.

They led the baron's sons with ropes

And beat the horses bearing them.

The filthy cavalcade now stopped

Beside the gate. The giant called,

"Bring down your precious daughter, baron — or

Your sons will die before your eyes.

I think I'll take her for my lackeys' whore.

They may be verminous but then

She won't be lacking company."

Yvain could clearly never leave while here

So vile a creature lived. He cried,

"Lower the drawbridge, let me cross."

They armed Yvain in haste. This noble knight,

Helped to his horse, turned back and said,

"If with God's help I can defeat this brute,

For brute he clearly is, I'll leave

At once and without ceremony."

The drawbridge lowered, brave Yvain

Rode down to meet this evil incarnate,

Behind him silent crowds in prayer.

The giant threatened him and said,

"Whoever sent you wants you dead."

The giant with bravado jeered,

"Whoever sent you wants revenge

For some great wrong you must have done.

Well then. He'll soon be well content to see — "

Yvain said, "Do not waste your breath.

Such idle chatter always wearies me.

And I have no more time." Immediately

He charged and with his lance found flesh.

The giant lunged with club raised high;

Yvain rushed forward with his sword.

His sword edge slashed the giant's cheek

Who, confident in size and strength,

Disdained all armour. Huge, he struck a blow

Which caught Yvain but glancingly

Yet bent him double on his horse.

At this the lion bristled and bent low,

Then leapt in anger and, with force,

Tore down like bark the bearskin cloak

And with it took a portion of the thigh.

In rage the giant swung the club.

But, as the lion leapt aside

The heavy club passed harmlessly,

Unbalancing the giant. Now Yvain

With rapid skill, in towering shadow

Aimed and struck two sudden blows;

One severed shoulder from the chest.

The second pierced the giant's breast with pain.

Dark death embraced him and he fell;

A falling oak could not have made

More noise. Yvain glanced at the sun.

And even as the crowd came joyfully,

Yvain was ready to set out,

To overhaul the sun which ran

Ahead of him to light a funeral pyre.

They knew that they could not detain

Their noble visitor. And so

They urged him to return, as soon as he

Had brought to its successful end

Whatever task must take him now.

He asked them to inform Gawain.

"We will indeed tell lord Gawain

When he has found the wayward queen.

But who, my lord, can we say came to us?"

Yvain reined back his restive, stepping horse.

"Say just that he once knew me well.

Say I was called The Knight with the Lion."

The baron's sons by now released,

His wife approaching, radiant,

The daughter who transmits the mother's grace

All thanked him and in haste he left.



He rode as fast as horse could run

Towards the chapel at the fatal spring;

If only time were not a single tree

Unbranching ever in its length

He could have been both here and there

And not still riding in an agony

Of fearing he would be too late.

Each object on the road ahead

Seemed rooted to the spot — so long

Before at last it floated past.

The road was straight and clear. He knew it well;

And yet it passed so cruelly,

So slowly did each mindless oak

Advance and vanish, there to echo still

In others stretching endlessly ahead.

He thought of nothing but Lunete.

He saw her bound and led into a glade.

He saw the fire spread. And still

The road led on until at last

He reached a clearing and the spring.

The field seemed strangely unfamiliar,

As crowded as it was confused

And dominated by a central pyre.

Yvain rode through the crowd and saw

Lunete dragged from the chapel by those men

Who falsely charged her. So he spurred

And urged his horse through scattering crowds

Towards her, calling loudly as he went,

"There is no justice here. Release

This lady who is innocent!"

Yet even as he saw Lunete

And charging forward through the crowd

Approached her in the vicious grasp

Of jealous hands, in haste brought out

Into the field, he saw at once

Their former lady they had lost

Each by such chains of intricate

And complicated accident.

It seemed she walked a solitary path

From which fate forced him to diverge.

Sighing he gazed on her, and sighed

And checked his horse a moment in its flight,

And sighed to see her walking, whom his heart

Saw everywhere — upon the road,

In forest dapple, framed in light or shade.

The lion too in pacing at his side

Looked up and saw him sigh, and sighed.

So, for a moment, sighs lost sight

Of her he'd come to save — Lunete

Borne forward in the swirling crowd.

The wind soughed in the towering pine.

And as he rode and sought Lunete

He heard court ladies everywhere lament:

"Ah God, how You have quite forgotten us,

To take from us our friend at court

Who had such influence, was our voice,

Our advocate. How well she knew

The business of the town. How well she meant,

No-one could be more generous."

But suddenly he saw Lunete.

As pale as winter mornings when the sun

Seems absent-mindedly delayed

Or lost in cloud, present but still unseen,

She knelt and waited past all hope,

Dressed only in her shift, surprised,

Even bewildered, when Yvain

Now raised her to her feet and gently said,

"Where are your false accusers in this crowd?

Where cower those benighted three

Who bring disgrace to every knight?"

The seneschal was not far off

Who with his brothers brought this calumny.

"The knight who would defend her must be mad

To listen to a woman's fickle word,

Or think that he can stand alone

Against us three. And let us be clear:

The lion here must take no part,

But stand aside and look on peaceably,

While we three crush this wandering fool,

For otherwise the fight's not fair."

Yvain turned from the seneschal

And asked the lion to lie down.

It circled on the same spot several times

Then lay down heavily and watched.

But loudly and at length Yvain

Called to the crowd again: "This lady is

Quite innocent of treason. Let the flames

Be kindled and with bracken fed for those

Who bring false charges, and with whom

I'll gladly fight on her behalf."

All taunts and reasoning aside,

The One Against the Three began.

The three charged suddenly as one,

But Yvain rode slowly, with his shield

A tall quintain that each might break his lance,

Then galloped to an acre's ground apart

Before returning suddenly. He caught

The seneschal now slightly in advance

And, shattering his own lance, felled

Him with a hard and toppling blow.

The other two closed round Yvain.

With brandished swords they struck. Yvain

Returned with doubled strength each blow

And none could gain advantage till at length,

The seneschal recovering his strength,

His own sword joined this vaulted arch of steel.

Yvain was now besieged. For all his skill

And valour could not overcome

The force of number. Sensing this

His lion sought the seneschal.

While all the ladies favouring Lunete

Prayed for Yvain, their prayers were all

That they could send him. Then the lion

Brought something more. It seized the seneschal

And tore the chain links from the hauberk's mail

So violently that all his side

Was bared and flowed with blood. And seeing that,

His brothers fiercely fought the lion.

Nor did it heed Yvain's loud cries

Because it saw its master's need.

And yet Yvain was most helped by the lion

In seeing it receive such wounds,

For thus enraged he rose above

Unequal odds and his own rising pain

And overpowered the rest with fearful blows.

The seneschal lay dead already — as

The tableau, like some vast machine

Which under its own weight runs down,

Devolved and slowly fell apart.

The ladies ran on to the field.

And now great happiness returned

As water in a spring returns

And gushes in its season after drought.

Lunete was with her lady reconciled

And both were joyful and once more enisled

In castle rooms and quiet shades

With confidences shared. That lady's heart

Felt strangely confident once more;

She came to see the armoured knight

And thanked him for this happiness.

She asked him to remain. "At least," she said,

"Stay here with us and heal your wounds,

And let your lion mend in health

Before you leave us. But what is

Your name? And let us offer you a bed,

Affection's company and calm days."

But he replied, "My lady, I must leave

And not remain one day until my love

Has stilled the anger in her heart

Which by my base neglect I caused."

She who possessed his heart and did not know

Said, "Surely one with courtesy should show

A knight of your great worth and high renown

Some greater kindness than to bear

Such anger in her heart." "Alas,

Whatever she desires, I too

Must wish." He sighed and did not speak

And looked into her eyes. "Does anyone

But this cruel lady and yourself

Know of these things?" "My lady, yes."

"Reveal your name if you must leave

— Although we do not wish it so."

"I want to be remembered simply as

The Knight with the Lion." "Why then, sir,

Have we not heard of you before?"

"Perhaps I lack that high renown."

And then the lady asked him once again

With all her heart to rest here for some days.

"It could not be, till I had surely known

Forgiveness and my lady's grace."

And so she wished him well and saw him go

While in his heart he said aloud,

Although she heard no word, "My lady, you

And you alone carry the key

And have the casket and the lock

Wherein my happiness is kept

Yet do not know it." And he left

In sorrow. With him, for some way, Lunete

Rode out, her happiness mixed with regret;

She promised not to tell his name.

The lion was too weak to follow him;

He made a litter on his shield,

Of ferns and moss, and carried it,

Then gently rode until he reached a gate

And called. Immediately the porter came,

Unlocked the gate and welcomed him.

Two maidens, daughters of the lord,

With ointment healed the lion's wounds

And gently brought Yvain to health

Until the knight and lion could depart.

Meanwhile, the lord of Blackthorn fought

A tournament with Death, and Death

Won at the final joust. At this

The elder of his daughters claimed his lands.

Both daughters, in dispute, went separately

To Arthur's court; arriving first

The elder spoke to lord Gawain

And placed her cause entirely in his hands.

Provided she keep all in secrecy,

He promised he would champion her.

The younger daughter reaching Arthur's court

Hoped, like her sister, to enlist some knight

To claim her cause as just. But then

Queen Guinevere had just returned,

Released at last from Meleagant,

And Lancelot lay in the tower,

Betrayed. And on this very day

The news had reached the court of giants slain

By one who called himself the Knight with the Lion.

The knights could talk of nothing else.

She asked Gawain, who said he must refuse;

He spoke most courteously. He had, he said,

Already taken up another cause.

She sought for help on every side

But everywhere the only thing she heard

Were tales of Guinevere, or else

The exploits of the Knight with the Lion.

The resolution grew in her

To search the world until she found

This knight who favoured women's hearts.

In seeking leave from Arthur to depart,

She said, "I would, for love, accede

And yield up to my sister all that's mine

But not when she demands it as her right."

The king agreed to speak of this.

And when she said she had not found

One worthy knight to champion her

He said, "I wonder if you've asked Gawain;

He's just returned — from other tasks —

Perhaps he might be interested."

The king spoke to her sister. She,

Emboldened by the promise of Gawain

Said, "Sire, I shall not yield to her one town

Or field or castle, meadow or wood —

But if she brings a champion to this claim

My knight will willingly meet hers."

"This is unfair," said Arthur. "She needs time.

Our practice at the court allows

Such plaintiffs forty days to find

A knight." She said, "Then, I must wait."

The younger sister set out on this day,

Determined to seek out and ask

The Knight with the Lion for his patronage.

In all the world she travelled, wide

And far and marvellous and drear,

She found no trace of knight or lion's rage

But met at last the illness of despair.

Forced by this sickness to delay

She sheltered in the house of friends;

They sent a maiden in her stead.

The maiden travelled through the day

And as the forest night drew down

And shadows fell, the rain began.

Were there a spring inverted in the sky

Which gushed and poured out endlessly

It could not rain on her more heavily.

So densely dark the night, she could not see

The horse beneath her stumbling in the mire.

And she felt fear. And black and chill,

Her fear was colder than the rain.

She prayed that God might lead her from

This forest and its rain — then heard a horn

Sound three times like a glimmering light

Or three times flaring candle. So she turned

And, following the memory of that sound,

At last emerged, and found a road

And, soon, a cross beside it; then

A bridge, white walls, a tower with barbican.

The watchman standing near the gate

Brought down the key and opened it.

The maiden, doubly fortunate,

Was offered shelter for the night and sat

Conversing with her host who said,

"What are you seeking, travelling here alone

In such wild weather?" "Sir," she said,

"I seek a knight who travels with a lion,

A knight, I think, of high renown."

"Indeed," he said, "he has been here

Most recently and slew a giant,

And saved us all. Alas, you come too late."

But in the morning, after peaceful sleep,

They took her to the gate and pointed out

The road he'd taken. So she felt new hope,

And after hearing once more of the feat

Which saved a daughter and four sons,

She thanked them and set out. The road

Ran straight, and straight towards the spring,

The spring which waited endlessly

Beneath the stalwart pine. She travelled on

And reached the peopled field outside a town.

The people talked of marvels; how a knight

Defeated three knights single-handedly;

And how a lion was his friend

And walked with him and slept near him at night,

This knight who championed maids — and yes,

This same knight travelled here quite recently,

But no, no-one knew where he'd gone.

This conversation turned on signs

And omens and the heavy rain,

Until Lunete came from her prayers.

The people pointed out Lunete,

The very one saved by the knight she sought,

Who slayed three men to pluck her from

The mounting flames of her own pyre,

Then bore his lion on a shield

And left, despite entreaties that same night.

The damsel thanked them courteously

And hastened to the church. Lunete agreed

Most willingly to ride with her

And show her where they'd parted on the road.

They rode together from the town.

"This is the place where last I saw that knight

And, in his arms, the wounded lion.

I pray to God that when in time you meet,

Both are restored. This is the road;

You'll soon meet others they have passed."

Lunete returned. The maid rode on

Until she reached the manor where Yvain

Had rested and been cured of all his pain.

Two daughters waited at the gate.

She asked them had they seen a knight,

One who was always with a lion

And who had travelled down this road.

"A noble knight indeed," said everyone

Now gathered at the gate. "Though he has gone

You may catch up with him today

By following these tracks." "I thank you all,"

The maiden cried and galloped off

And did not even hear their fading call

To wish him well on their behalf.

She galloped without stopping on that road

Until her palfrey's flanks were white with foam.

At length she saw the knight cantering ahead,

Accompanied by his lion. She thought,

"God help me. I must not rejoice

To see the knight I've sought so long

And found by following a trail of fame,

Until I have secured from him

His willingness to help the friend

For whom I've travelled day and night."

Reaching the knight she greeted him.

The lion watched them sleepily.

"May God be with you, fair one," said Yvain,

"And keep you from all care." She said:

"My lord, I thank you for your courtesy.

I have been searching for you constantly;

Word of your valour kept me travelling on.

Good knight, I ask you for your help;

I ask you nothing for myself

But everything for one in need.

"She is a noble lady, sir,

Who sent me in her place to search for you.

She has been disinherited;

Her elder sister wrongly seized

Her castles, towns, all territories and lands.

She heard of you as one who understands,

And stands for justice. Be her knight!

Without your valour what is she to do?

I beg you to return with me

And prove your reputation true."

The lion stirred and stretched and stood.

Yvain said with a sigh, "Do not despair.

I have been idle long enough,

For reputation fades on empty air.

I need a cause to ease my heart

And win me from the charms of wilderness

And wandering, vast days and nights,

The bitter cup of memory and loss.

I'll undertake your lady's cause.

God grant me strength enough and grace."



And so together, maid and knight

With lion pacing at their side,

In pleasant converse, set out on the road

And reached at dusk the Tower of Dire Event.

Crowds, gathered near the castle walls,

Cried out, "Beware this place. Beware.

You were brought here by malevolence.

This place will cause you shame and suffering.

The hosts who offer everything

Will bring you little lasting joy."

Yvain pressed on towards the tower,

Dismissing all he heard. Again

They cried, "If ever you've known fear or pain

Pass through these gates and they will make it worse."

Yvain again ignored these claims:

"Why must we be so much abused

For simply seeking lodgings for the night?"

An older woman spoke but hid her face:

"It is the custom in this place

To warn away the visitor.

"And we who live outside the wall

Know none are ever welcomed here.

Most travellers leave immediately in fear.

Of course you may go in. That is your choice,

But I would not advise it." Still

Yvain went forward thanking her

For all her courtesy in warning them.

The porter at the gate, ill-mannered boor,

Unlocked the locks and said, "You there.

Make haste and enter if you will."

But entering with the maid and lion,

Yvain did not deign to reply.

And here was light and space and mystery:

The hall was large and lofty, leading to

A meadow circled round with staves.

Between these lay the strangest sight:

Perhaps three hundred maidens, pale and wan,

Sat sewing cloth in gold and silver thread;

Forlorn and ill, each bent her head

And worked in marble light, in tears.

The open sky seemed meshed with cloud

And in its dull light, everything

Was pallid and remote. Embroidering

On melancholy themes, these maidens sat

In rows and groups, their dresses worn

At breast and wrist, and soiled and torn,

Their faces gaunt from hunger. Seeing him

Who, startled, watched them from a gallery,

They turned away in misery

And could not look up from the ground.

Yvain returned in some alarm

And interest to the outer gate.

The porter said, "No, sir. You can't go out.

I'm not surprised. We warned you not to come.

You've suffered too much shame, have you?"

"I have no wish to leave, my friend.

But tell me truly who are these fair maids

Who suffer in a meadow I have seen?"

The porter turned away. "You can

Ask anyone. But I won't say."

"I thank you, porter. Yes. I shall,

And others may be less demure."

Yvain went back and found the meadow door,

Then spoke to these sad maidens in their rows,

Whose pallor, so lamentable,

Was paler than the palest silk

With which they worked. He greeted them. He saw

The teardrops on their faces as he spoke.

"May it please God to lift and shake

This cloak of sadness and find joy."

One maiden answered him. "May God

Whom you've invoked take up your prayer.

You watch us and you clearly wonder where

We came from who have sadly come to this."

"It is the reason I am here."

"Well then, my lord, it happened thus:

The Isle of Damsels had a youthful king

Who loved to travel but, alas, came here.

He came here at an evil hour

And made — for us — a fatal pledge.

"Two devils ruled the castle (Yes!

They were true devils. Both had been

Born of a devil and a woman's pain.)

Our king came here. These devils captured him

And only let him save himself

(For he was still a fearful youth)

By pledging thirty maidens from his lands

To be his yearly due while he should live.

These maidens were condemned to grieve

In endless labour in this field.

"And so it is without respite.

The devils prosper. We repine,

Unless a knight should, hearing of our pain,

Vanquish those tyrants in this cruel field.

Meanwhile we slave throughout the night

That they may live in luxury.

And as you see, my lord, we are condemned

To work for all our days with orphrey thread,

And live on meagre crusts of bread,

And earn a pittance, dressed in rags.

"We dare not rest. They threaten us.

This cloth of gold is traced in blood.

But you — I fear for you, my noble lord.

If they refuse your ransom, you will pay

Most dearly for your lodging here

By being forced to fight these two.

And oh, how sorrowful we are to see

Rash visitors unaided at this sport."

Yvain felt tightening in his throat

The springs of outraged sympathy.

Yvain then thanked the maid, and said,

"May God restore you at his hour

To joy and honour." She replied, "His power

To overcome such evil go with you."

The meadow seemed to drain the light

From needles couching threads of gold

And, as she sighed, and drew another strand

From baskets filled with many-coloured thread,

Yvain set out to seek their lord

And ask for lodging for the night.

Returning to the spacious hall

Yvain found no-one there at all —

Evil or good — but, by an orchard wall,

He saw a scene of pastoral indolence.

A man lay on a sumptuous cloth

His head supported on his arm;

A girl, his daughter, young, astonishing

In beauty, read aloud from a romance.

Her mother smiled as in a trance

Beguiled by mysteries of love.

This girl, who was their only child,

Delighted them with distant tales;

So beautiful she seemed, the god of Love

Might well have sought her for himself,

To serve her and not seek to find

Another for her with his shafts.

In fact, he may have taken human form

And struck his body with his poisoned dart

Whose wound cannot heal in the heart

Without that doctor, faithlessness.

These wounds could be discussed at length,

Their subtle pain, their restless joy,

And love could be discoursed upon all day

Except that there are many who decline

To love or even to admit

That others love. They turn aside,

They do not even want to hear of love.

Instead, then, let us note the grace and cheer

With which Yvain was met. "Good sir,

This way! We greet and welcome you."

Who knows if this were feigning? Yet,

Without a doubt, they treated him

With jubilant warmth. The daughter took his arm

And in his room removed his armour; then,

With her own hands she washed his face

And neck and forehead. Next she brought

A pleated shirt of finest silk — may God

Not ask too high a price for all of this —

A tunic and, with gentlest grace,

A mantle lined with ermine fur.

At dinner he was served with such

Abundance, that the serving-men

Were weary as they set the last course down;

They paid him every honour and, at length

They brought him to his feather bed

And lay the lion at his feet.

At dawn, when God, who orders everything,

Brought back His light, still streaming, from the sea,

Yvain went to the church to pray,

Then sought to set out with the day.

But when he sought leave to depart

He heard the sombre, baleful news:

That lord, so generous, so full of ease,

Said, "Sir, there is a grave impediment.

A custom of this place prevails

Which I have no choice but to keep.

I'll summon here two tall, demonic men

Whom you must vanquish in the field to gain

My daughter's hand and all this town

And its fine Tower of Dire Event."

Yvain protested. "Sir, I want

None of your wealth. Your daughter is

As beautiful a creature as one sees,

And worthy of the German Emperor

Were he to win her heart. And yet

I only wish to leave this place."

"Enough!" he said, "The custom here insists

That you must fight. Nor will my daughter wed

Until these demons both are dead;

And then all that I own is yours."

"I see, my lord," Yvain replied,

"That I must do this. So I shall,

Since all my protest is to no avail.

But all of this I do unwillingly."

At once two fearsome demon's sons

Armed from their shoulders to their knees

Emerged with frightful clubs of cornel wood

Each spiked with brass and copper bands.

The lion, sensing at their hands

Great danger, bristled all its mane.

They watched the lion's slow parade

And wary but deliberate stare.

One said, "That lion threatens us. I swear

It must be locked away, upon our oath.

For it would help you if it could."

"Then tell me where you want it put."

"Lock it in there," they said, " — although you may

Well wish you'd kept it — in this little room.

Now let us start. Bring out for him

Whatever armour he desires."

Yvain was armed and on his horse.

The lion safely locked away,

These demons felt their force would win the day,

And charged with mace blows, cracking his shield like ice.

Yvain returned each blow with strength,

Doubling their generosity.

But even after many blows repaid

He found them still unscathed. He was alarmed

And he himself, severely harmed,

Began to fear their violent skill.

Meanwhile the lion paced its cell

And searched for openings in this cage

Through which it seemed to see, in mounting rage,

Its master bending under club and sword.

But nothing yielded. Then it found

The threshold near the wall and floor

Weakened by dry rot. So it clawed and tore

And squeezed its body almost through it. Then

It burst out roaring as Yvain

Began to weaken, under siege.

The lion roaring ran, and leapt,

And caught one demon by the arm

And dragged him to the ground as if a storm

Struck down a tree. The other turned to run;

Yvain now saw the neck exposed

And struck the fiend with such a blow

That head and trunk were severed as he fell.

Dismounting to the first the lion mauled,

Yvain found him about to yield

His demon's spirit through dark wounds.

The power of the pledge now ebbed

And drained away. Skirting the lion

The lord and lady gathered round Yvain

And said, "Now you'll be master over us

And wed the daughter whom we give

And rule the Tower of Dire Event."

"I thank you," said Yvain, "but, as I've said,

I must leave here at once. If she is mine

I must, without the least disdain

Return her to you and depart."

The lord disputed with Yvain

And urged him to accept the prize,

And threatened he might never otherwise

Unlock the gate. Yvain explained once more

The damsel he was following

Now waited urgently to leave this place.

His honour would not brook delay,

But if and when he could he would return

And gladly wed this paragon

Whose worth was quite beyond compare.

"But," said Yvain, "one other thing:

These devils vanquished, you are free

To end your damsels' dark captivity."

The lord assumed a strange indifference.

"Well then, of course you may take them,

And whether you return or not

Is up to you. It would be base of me

To hold you to an oath. My daughter's grace,

The lingering memory of her face

Should be the only pledge we need."

Outside the walls the people stood

Amazed to see this exodus:

A lion brooding, yet with some caprice

Leading Yvain, and then that faithful maid,

And after them the jubilant,

Still tearful, wide-eyed seamstresses.

They breathed the air, they bent and touched the road

Which took them from the Tower. The cloudless sun

Shone brightly as they praised Yvain,

Until they parted in great joy.



All day the sun stood in a placid sky;

And fragrant meadows, equally serene,

Unfolded as they passed. For seven days

They travelled on the winding ways

The maiden knew, until they came

To where, still palely anxious, lay

The sister disinherited.

She saw the Knight who travelled with a Lion;

She saw her faithful friend who'd brought him here —

Perhaps her sister might now honour her.

She had been ill, and still was frail.

Her face told painfully of this,

Yet she was first to greet Yvain.

And that night as they talked, she felt serene,

And confident her lands might be returned.

To detail all she felt and all they said

Of past adventure and of future hope

Might well be tedious. So we pass

To sunrise hovering to await

Their setting out for Arthur's court.

They rode until they saw the glittering town.

For several weeks King Arthur had been here

For tournaments and tales of long-lost days.

Here too the sister who would seize

The lands of Blackthorn passed the time

And counted out the forty days

In which her sister must return

With luckless knight to meet her knight, Gawain.

That sister travelling gladly with Yvain

Stayed overnight in secret near the town.

Gawain had not been seen for weeks;

Thought on some errand for the queen,

He was in fact deep in the wood

In idle pastimes waiting for a word

From her whom he would soon be championing.

When, on the eve of that decisive day,

That word was brought to him by messenger

He dressed himself in such a way —

In armour foreign to the court —

That none would recognise this knight.

Then on the following — and fortieth — day,

Leaving the lion where they'd spent the night

The maiden and Yvain rode to the king.

Still adamant in everything

She'd claimed of castle, town and lands

The elder sister was surprised

But scornful of this unknown knight.

Her sister said, "It is unfortunate

That two brave knights should now be made to fight

To settle our dispute — nor is it right.

"Dear sister, I would be content

To yield and take the lesser part

For love. But — you must understand —

To be an outcast in my father's land!

This too would not be right." Even the king

Made some attempt to reinforce this plea

And intercede to end what seemed unjust.

That sister over-confident

In having Gawain at her side

Demanded justice by the sword.

Despite the best intentions of the king

The argument led only to one end.

"You might as well wait for the river Saône

To share banks with the Danube's own —

And still I'd not give land to you."

And so words failed and quit the field

And left it empty for two knights

Who loved each other well, but did not know

Each other in this dangerous morning light,

To strike, each at the one he held most bright.

And so it comes to this, that Love

Contends with Love at last, by force,

And neither knows the other's face.

The curious crowds, who come to witness this,

Revel in hatred brandishing its sword;

They do not understand that Love strives here

To strike at Love, which never is revealed,

And pierce it to the heart. The field

Was decked as seemed appropriate.

The king called faintly for the start.

They drew back for the charge and then advanced.

Their lances shattered though they were of ash.

And neither spoke a word — yet had they done,

This dreadful conflict might have been,

Instead, the laughter and amazed

Embrace of recognition. But

In ignorance they must persist —

And now proceeded to the clash of swords

And cut and bruise and reel of helmets crushed

And hauberk battered, shields dented and smashed.

Sometimes they paused for breath, and once,

As they stood in their separate worlds

They heard someone, admiring, say,

"There's no doubt they are fighting seriously.

They won't give up at all despite the pain."

Both knights thought this was said of those two maids

Whom they were championing, confirming that

They must resolve the matter here

By still more weary, bitter blows

Till one had fallen to his knees.

The laurels still were evenly disposed.

Both bruised and buckled, bent but still upright,

Both giving and receiving woeful blows,

Each still had power to amaze

The other by his strength and skill.

This battering wore on for so long

Still with no victor that the day

Was fading into night, the chill of dusk

Was settling round them. Both were sorely tried,

Exhausted, aching, wet with cooling blood.

They paused, each leaning on his sword.

The night, and mutual respect,

Made them reluctant to resume.

And when at last Yvain spoke of the blame

Which still might taint their honour should they stop,

Gawain replied with equal courtesy

But did not recognise the other's voice

Because, exhausted, hoarse with pain,

They scarcely could be heard. And yet

Each praised the other as true knight.

Each spoke with great largesse as evening fell.

"For every blow I have invested here,

You have returned with generosity

Such as I had not thought to see,

The capital with interest.

In all my life I have not seen

So worthy an opponent as

Yourself, as my name is Gawain,

Son of King Lot and nephew to the king."

On hearing this Yvain was much dismayed

And angrily threw down his bloodstained sword.

Yvain dismounting from his horse

And swaying slightly as he stood,

Cried, "What misfortune! Had I known

That I was set against noble Gawain

I should have claimed defeat at once, and not

Once ever raised my sword against you. I

Am merely King Urien's son, Yvain."

"Yvain! What sad delight this is.

But no! For honour's sake, Yvain,

I must insist: defeat is mine."

And they embraced, and stopped each other's fall;

And, even then, they quarrelled happily

About which knight had won. At this the king,

Amazed to see so strange a thing

As knights embrace who lately fought,

Came up to them and said, "My knights,

What can this mean? Has no-one won?"

Then each protested: "Beaten, I was soon

About to fall. One moment more and he

Had overwhelmingly defeated me."

They told the king their names. He smiled

To see their comradeship, yet frowned

At all the bruising wounds involved

In this dispute which still was unresolved.

But then he said, "Most worthy knights who have

With honour sacrificed yourself this day

I think I have a way to cut this knot."

And he called loudly, "Where is she

Who takes her sister's rights from her?"

That sister answered, "I am here."

And Arthur said, "Why then, from your own mouth

Before these knights and in this company,

We've heard confession of your shameful greed.

I therefore must condemn the deed

And thus declare this verdict found

Against you: that you must restore

Your sister's true inheritance,

Comprising all those lands once rightly hers.

Comply in this, or I will simply say

My nephew was defeated in this fray."

That sister fearing suddenly

That she might forfeit everything

— For she had sought such settlement —

Agreed and quickly found herself content

To yield, with new-found generosity,

And to the applause of all that company,

That portion of the Blackthorn legacy

Due to her dearest sister. Thus,

As night resolved the day's affairs,

Two wounded knights cast off these cares.

The blood congealing in their wounds,

Their armour was removed. And painfully

They moved and spoke and tested aching limbs,

And then embraced with blood-stained arms.

Then through the crowd the lion came

To find its master. Joyfully

It leapt and licked his face. Yvain

Assured the people they would not be harmed.

"The lion is my companion. Have no fear.

Because of it I am able to be here."

And then he told them how the lion,

Saved from the dragon's fiery breath,

Had been for many months his friend,

His sole companion and providor — and,

When in the shadow of the mountain giant,

His saviour. Then Gawain cried, "It was you!

You were the knight who travelled with a lion,

Who saved my nephews and my niece!"

But Arthur urged them to retire

And bathe their wounds before a fire.

The two spent weeks in the infirmary

Where skilled physicians treated them with herbs

And ointments. Even resting here, Yvain

Already felt the deeper pain

Which ointments could not heal, the thought

Of love ungathered through the world,

Without direction like a cloud

Or pine seeds spiralling down in sudden gales.

Already he resolved to leave the king

Once more, and seek his Lady of the Spring.

It seemed that all the past conspired

And gathered to a single weight

And that weight drowned him in a spring,

Unless he travelled there to see and bring

To her his abject poverty of heart

And ask her to pour water on the stone

His heart had now become. Impatiently

He waited for his wounds to heal,

Then left in secret with the lion,

Resolved to activate the stone.

The woods rushed past as if to fetch the world

To see him reunited with Laudine.

The way, which once was unfamiliar,

Now seemed to lead straight towards her.

He found the spring; he summoned rain.

Perhaps it was his passion here,

To shake his lady into love,

Which made the storm worse, even than before.

For even Chrétien forebears to give

A full account of all that force of love.

Suffice to say it shook the tower

In which his lady stood in dread,

And beat and threatened all the town

Which now it seemed should vanish under rain.

Lunete spoke to her through the sound of hail:

"My lady what do you intend to do?

You have no knight with courage to ride out

To guard the spring. Whoever came

And started this most violent storm

Will leave unchallenged, without shame."

"What can I do?" her lady said. "I am

Alone, bereft. But you, Lunete, help me,

Advise me. You must tell me what to do.

I have always relied on you."

"Well, lady, there is no-one here

Amongst your knights who'd take the field."

"Well then — there must be someone else.

The storm's so fierce. I need a friend's advice."

"I hesitate to speak. There is one knight —

Who knows? We might do well to seek him out.

"I mean, my lady, one who slayed

The mountain giant as we heard

And killed the three who plotted here;

I mean that knight who wanders everywhere

In the company of a lion. But I fear

He might need some inducement — were he found.

For him to help you, you would have to swear

To do all that was in your power

To reconcile his lady and

This mournful knight whom she has spurned."

"And is that all? Why then," her lady said,

"I am prepared to pledge you on my heart

That if you find this knight I shall do all

Within my power to reconcile

Him to his lady, if I can."

"My lady let us make this pledge;

So let us play the game of Truth:

My lady, raise your hand above your head,

And on this precious reliquary swear

To do for this knight all that's in your power."

The lady raised her hand and swore,

"By all the saints, and with God's help

I here resolve, as you have said,

To do for this poor knight whatever good

I may, restoring to him all the love

And favour of his lady — whom you say

He lost through some misfortune — insofar

As I am able, I do swear"

Already a palfrey had been brought;

Lunete set out with lilting heart.

Expecting many days and nights to pass

Before the lion and lion-hearted knight

Would be on distant castle walls revealed,

Lunete rode smiling through the field

Where she herself had once been held.

But suddenly she saw the lion;

The knight was standing by the spring.

Dismounting she approached and greeted him.

"My lord, it pleases me to find you near

Whom I had thought a hundred miles from here."

Surprised, Yvain said, "Ah, Lunete!

Had you been looking for me?" "Sir,

I've never known such happiness.

My lady has agreed, without duress,

To take you as her lord again." Yvain

Was overjoyed. He kissed her eyes

And then her face. He said, "My sweetest friend,

You are the bearer of such joy.

How can I ever pay you back

For bringing me the bliss I seek?"

"Repay me, sir? But it is I who still

Owe life to you. But let us not delay —

My happiness lies in your noble fame."

"But have you told her who I am?"

"To her you are the strange, austere

Knight of the Lion, whose suffering

She's sworn to end." Thus happily

In conversation, followed by the lion,

They rode towards the town in heightened joy

And spoke to no-one passing on the way.

They reached the long familiar room.

Still in full armour mute Yvain

Fell to his knees. The flower of hope

Grew in the air; time like a brimming cup

So long in filling waited to be poured

Upon the stone to stream and multiply.

"My lady," said Lunete, "let this knight rise.

Forgive his foolishness and shame;

Be reconciled as you have sworn.

This is your husband, lord Yvain."

The lady trembled. "By Heaven's boundless net,

I see the trap you've caught me in, again

To love the man who broke his solemn word,

Who took my heart away, and stayed

So long without returning it.

I'd rather have the storms and rain

And suffer the unguarded spring

Than this indignity. And even now

That I must keep the vow which I have sworn,

Will he find peace with me and long remain?"

"Oh yes, my lady, yes, five thousand times;

Forgive this foolishness and bitter shame."

Yvain felt happiness rise like a spring

Through trampled grasses. "For too long

I've wandered in a lion's world."

But now they felt the beneficent air

Of mellow skies when storms have cleared;

So long in filling, waiting to be poured,

Their happiness at last had overflowed,

And in the pine tree's fragrant shade they stood.

