The Lady of the
Fountain
Part V
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1.
Within that park there was a lake, and there
The countess walking with her maid one day
Espied a something covered with lank hair
That motionless beside the water lay
And, frightened, was about to run away.
Then curiously they crept to him instead,
And felt his pulse to see if he was dead.
2.
And when they had determined certainly
It was a living man, she with her maid went
Back to the castle hurriedly, where she
Brought from her room a rosewood box of ointment.
"Take this," the countess said. "Rub the contents
A little on each temple--do not waste
It, for when gone it cannot be replaced."
3.
And so she went to Owain then, afraid
At first, but as she knelt and saw, in fact,
He was a not ill-favored man, the maid
Applied herself to rubbing front and back,
And did not spare the salve. To be exact,
She found her labor so congenial,
That inadvertently she used it all.
4.
And when she'd finished she withdrew a space
To watch. A little time, and he arose
And stretched, and then he scratched his neck and face.
And peeled off tufts of hair. And now he knows
He is a man, and sees he has no clothes.
But then he notices, with some surprise,
A robe and mantle just beneath his eyes.
5.
The maid had placed them there--they were a test
Of whether he were now a beast or man,
But Owain without hesitation dressed.
And when she saw, she mounted and began
To ride along the shore, as was the plan.
And Owain called to her, and asked her name,
What chance had brought her here, and whence she came.
6.
"My mistress is a widowed countess who
Possesses all these grounds, and you may find
Her castle if you take this path, or you
May share my horse with me, if so inclined."
So Owain weakly clambered up behind,
For he was feeble yet, and then she turns
The horse's head, and as she came, returns.
7.
And as they rode along the lake, she threw
The ointment box into the water, for
Her mistress would be angry, she well knew,
That all was used, when she had said before
To touch him with a little, and not more.
And when they reached the castle, as she thought,
The countess drew her to one side, and sought
8.
Her box again. "Alas," the maid replied,
"My palfrey stumbled with me, and it fell
Into the lake as we rode at its side."
"This box was worth far more than I could tell,
Or you believe, you clumsy girl. Ah well,
I thought it was my gain to help this knight,
So tend him now: I'll not lose all through spite."
9.
Ad so some weeks go by, until at length
Owain is quite restored, all through their care,
And gains again his fleetness and his strength,
And sheds in scaly tufts the growth of hair,
So that his skin is smoother and more fair
Than it had been before. And then one day
He heard the sound of men prepare for fray.
10.
He asked the maiden what it was, and she,
"An earl that my lady will not wed
Has made himself, therefore, her enemy,
And comes in force and takes her goods instead,
Her cattle and her land." Then Owain said,
"Ask of your mistress horse and arms; I would,
If possible, do her today some good."
11.
And when the maiden told the countess what
Owain had said, she laughed, and answered her,
"He shall have both, and better has he not,
Or ever will possess. I well can spare
What may tomorrow not be mine to share."
So horse and arms, and all a knight requires,
Were sent to Owain, and a pair of squires.
12.
Then he rode out and came into the town,
And there he found, preparing for defense,
But few, and even those were quite cast down.
But Owain spoke to them, and roused their sense
Of manhood, and inspired new confidence,
And led them out, and though they were but few,
The enemy was off its guard, and scattered too.
13.
So taking full advantage of surprise,
He drove into the center of that force,
And from the earl would not take his eyes,
But ever turning, toward him made his course,
Until he rode against the other's horse,
And dragged him from his seat, and rode away.
For Owain, who had fought Gawain and Kay,
14.
And others of the best, this seems but sport.
So with the earl as his prisoner,
Though foes pursue, he rides back to the court,
And gives him over to the countess there.
And all his plunder he must now restore,
Before she lets the earl go his way.
And this Owain his debt to her repays.
15.
The countess now, urged by the common voice
Of all her people, starts to see Owain
In quite another light--what better choice
Should she decide to seek a mate again?
But all such thoughts she finds are quite in vain;
Owain tells her, with every thanks, that he
Can have no peace but far from company.
16.
Owain then left, and traveled far that day,
And farther on the next, but though he fled,
His thoughts were faster, and made him their prey.
And on the third, at eve he made his bed
On years of mouldering leaves, and overhead,
A dense-laid latticework of leaf and limb
Concealed the moon, and made its blue light dim.
17.
His lady came to him in sleep and called his name;
Then he awoke, and all above, the birds
Were singing in the leaves. That day he came
Upon a craggy hill that heavenward
Thrust high above the trees. And there he heard
The cry of some great beast, and turned his horse
Toward a cloven rock that seemed the source.
18.
There in the cleft a speckled serpent twined,
With darting head and flame-like tongue, and wrought
A moving maze through which no prey could find
A passageway. And with the serpent fought
A lion, by that creature's malice caught
In that tight space, and ever loudly roared.
Owain dismounted then, and drew his sword,
19.
And sliced the snake in two, and wiped his blade
Upon a clump of grass. But then he saw
The lion leap at him and he, afraid,
Stepped back and raised his sword, then let it fall.
For now the creature rolled with lifted paw,
And now it sported like a spaniel 'round
His feet, and came at him with playful bound.
20.
Then all that afternoon, as Owain rides
Through woods, the lion bears him company,
Until they stop to rest at eventide.
Then Owain breaks off limbs from a dead tree,
And lights a fire, and when it's burning free,
The lion comes, slow-pacing, for he drags
Between his legs the carcass of a stag.
21.
So days go by, and Owain never wants
For meat; each night the lion makes a kill.
And now he knows the place, but whether chance,
Or fate, or hidden bondage of the will
Has brought him once again into that vale,
He does not know, but sees the spring with pain,
And hurries on, unwilling to remain.
22.
But night is near, and by a rocky hill,
Not far beyond, he stops to gather wood,
And builds a fire. The lion brings his kill,
A buck with branching horns, and he with blade
First cuts the roebuck's throat, and drains the blood,
And after flays the carcass, quarters it,
Then cuts off chops, and roasts them on a spit.
23.
And then he heard a moan so low he thought
At first it was the wind. But then the sound
He heard again nearby, and called out, "What,
Or who--a living man, or spirit bound
To some cleft tree, or rock, or fairy mound
For evil done?" "A living being, yet
No man; I am a maid, my name, 'Lunette.'"
24.
"What brings you here alone by night?" And she,
"No choice of mine, that in this hollow stone
I lie in durance bound; had I the key
To chain and door, I would ere this be gone.
But both are iron, and neither I alone,
Or you can set me free before the time
Appointed that I expiate my crime."
25.
"What crime?" "But this--there was a knight, Owain,
Who came to us from Arthur's court, and won
My Lady's love, but did not long remain.
And all spoke evilly of what he'd done,
But I, who loved him best of anyone.
And so the seneschal, my enemy,
Would ever make a mock of him to me.
26.
"One day when he was speaking thus, a pair
Of chamberlains joined in his mockery--
Two beardless youths--and I, 'You would not dare
Speak that to him, I think, though you are three,
And trained in arms as well as treachery.'
For that I am to die but two days hence,
If none will fight these three in my defense."
27.
Then Owain told her who he was, and swore
To stand in her defense, and when the meat
Was done, he gave her half, for in the door
There was a narrow window with a grate.
And then they talked of what was past, and ate,
And thought no prince was ever better fed,
Though they had neither salt, nor wine, nor bread.
28.
They talked all night, and when the sun was high,
Owain asked her if there were anyplace
He could find shelter for that night nearby,
For he had traveled long, and soon would face
Three swords at once. "I know just such a place,"
She said. "First cross the ford, then northward ride
Four miles, or five at most along that side.
29.
"Then you will see a high-towered hall, and there
You'll find no lack of hospitality.
Sleep well, but not too long tonight--take care
To come again by noon to fight for me."
And so he left, and rode till he could see,
Above the tops of trees and hillocks steep,
High towers around a massive castle keep.
30.
There such a welcome as was promised him
He found, and yet the lord, the servants all,
Walked silently; the meal was dark and grim
As death; yet there was welcome in that hall,
And for his lion, meat, his horse, a stall.
And when they ate, that lord sat on one side,
And on the other, lovely as a bride,
31.
His daughter, but Owain discovered she
Was strangely occupied with what she ate,
And cared not for his knightly courtesy.
"Your pardon that we do not quip or prate,
As we might do, if not bowed down by fate,"
That lord then said. And then Owain, "Why so?"
"I had two sons, and they were wont to go
32.
"To hunt the deer upon a neighboring hill.
And there a giant lives, a fiend whose prey
Is humankind, and all he can, he kills
And eats. And there my sons were caught one day.
He comes tomorrow, and will take away
My daughter in exchange for them. If I
Refuse, he'll kill my sons before my eyes."
33.
"Which will you do?" In faith, I do not know.
I judge less shame that my sons should die,
Than she he does not hold. Yet she would go
To save her brothers' lives. But then, should I,
While she is dragged away, stand idly by,
Let her, pure maid, become the shameful sport
Of such vile hinds as fill this butcher's court?"
34.
"Since there's no help, let's speak of this no more."
And then they talked of other things, and soon
That lord had learned that in the arts of war,
Owain was not untried, and begged it as a boon,
He fight the giant. And Owain, at noon,
Tomorrow I am promised to fight three,
Though for your sakes I would that I were free."
35.
"What is your promise, when so pure a maid,
And these, my only sons, are to be killed?"
"It is a maid as well, who needs my aid,
And I have debts to her, all unfulfilled."
"Perhaps the fiend, if God has thus so willed,
Will come before." "Long as I can, I'll wait,
Not longer, for I do not dare be late."
36.
He slept that night, the lion at his feet,
And early rose, and armed himself to fight,
Then slow the hours, and yet they were too fleet.
And as the giant has not come, the knight
Tells them that he must go. "But stay, and all
I have is yours--my goods, my lands, my hall."
37.
And now the maiden hangs on him and weeps,
And begs him stay. And he, "Poor maid, I swear
This is an obligation I must keep,
And I've already stayed long as I dare."
Then he goes to the stable and prepares
To mount. But then he hears the sound of drums,
And horns, and shouts, and knows the giant comes.
38.
And going out, he sees a rabble crew
In skins of animals, and at their head,
A swaggering giant large as any two,
Who held a club ringed 'round with lead,
And then two nearly naked youths that bled.
An ugly dwarf, as they were pulled in tether,
Came after with a whip of knotted leather,
39.
And slashed their flesh. As puffed up as a toad
He was at his unwonted power. And now
The giant stops, and stands astride the road,
And bellows, "Send your daughter out, or I'll
Make mince of these, your sons. She would not smile
On me when I asked for her hand before,
And now I would not keep her as my whore.
40.
"Yet she may prove some use as evening sport
For kitchen knaves, and grooms, and stable boys,
And other hangers-on about my court.
Be quick about it--speak and make your choice."
And then Owain cried out with a loud voice,
"Take me instead; I am no tender maid,
To hear such cowardly threats, and be afraid."
41.
Then he rode out, the lion at his heel,
And drove his lance into the muscle of
The giant's upper arm, until the steel
Struck solid bone. Then as he strove
To draw it out again, the giant drove
His horse back on its haunches with a stroke
Full on the hero's shield that nearly broke
42.
His arm. And now the giant pulls the spear
Out of his wound, and snaps the shaft in half.
And Owain draws his sword, then sharply veers,
And rushes in beneath the giant's staff,
And strikes, but scarcely nicks the giant's calf,
And then withdraws. And thus the fight lasts long;
Owain is quick and skilled, the giant strong.
43.
But now the lion leaps, and with his claw,
He shreds the giant's bearskin covering,
Down the naked thigh, and rakes it raw.
And now the giant turns, and bellowing,
Strikes at the lion with a mighty swing.
But as his club comes down, Owain strikes too,
And cut's the giant's arm completely through.
44.
Then rushing in, he drove his sword below
The giant's ribs, and found a vital place.
Now like some forest oak he topples, slow
At first, then crashes down upon his face.
And all is silent for a little space;
Then all the giant's rabble flee, and last,
The dwarf, too short of leg to travel fast.
45.
He squeaks like some small vole the plow has turned
Out of his den, and flees toward the wood.
The lion, quicker, leaped on him and spurned
His body with his paw. That lord now would
Have given Owain half his land and goods,
And more, but Owain will not wait to hear
His praises, for he knows that noon is near.
46.
Instead, he prays his horse is not too spent;
Then with all haste he can, he spurs toward
The hollow rock in which Lunette is pent,
And hours it seems until he sees the ford.
In truth, not longer could he well afford
To wait; the seneschal has heaped a pyre
Of well-dried wood, and it but waits the fire.
47.
Ah, poor Lunette, her Lady thinks. With haste
I spoke, and you, you spoke with too much heat,
And both by this, I fear, are much disgraced.
So by her order none is there to greet
That maiden as she comes with shackled feet.
And at each arm there walks a chamberlain,
Who hurries her too fast for the short chain.
48.
Her wrists are bound, and ever and again
She falls, and is pulled roughly up. Her hair,
So long and black, hangs like a horse's mane,
Unbound, and a thin linen shift she wears,
That leaves her slender arms and legs as bare
As fresh-peeled willow withes. And thus she went
Toward the fire, clothed as a penitent.
49.
And now she stands before the seneschal.
"Lunette, for all the harm you've done to me,
And these, it seems it's we who after all
Will have last laugh. Or shall I set you free?"
"You would not, so I do not beg. To me,
Your presence is more hateful than my death,
Nor do you care for me. Why waste more breath?"
50.
"You are far dearer now than when at court
You libelled us. Now friends, what do you say--
Straight to the fire, or shall we first have sport?"
"Had I may hands," said Lunette, "you would pay
With skin and eyes." Then one, "Yes, let us play;
The fire, though hot, I think will wait its turn
More willingly than I, who also burn."
51.
Now as the chamberlains hold her upright,
The seneschal with quick and eager hand
Tears off her linen shift, and leaves her white
And naked as a slender ivory wand.
But as they gaze, she gazes too--beyond,
Toward a sound she half-way thinks she hears.
"The wind, perhaps, or echo of my fears."
52.
Now she tries to hide herself, and tries to raise
her hands, but finds them bound. But then, "Ah yes,
I heard aright." And now the others gaze
Around as well. And Lunette, "Time grows less;
Turn back and look upon my nakedness,
For there comes death; he rides here to a feast,
And your split marrowbones shall feed his beast."
53.
Owain now leaps from his spent horse and draws,
As do his enemies. But as they close
With him, the lion rushes in and falls
Upon the seneschal. And he, "God knows,
It was quite other terms than these we chose--
Your lion shall not fight." The lion then
Owain locked up in Lunette's stone-hewn pen,
54.
And went back to the fight. And now those three
Come at him, one before, one left, one right,
So that he has to spar defensively.
So long it goes, and they wear down the knight,
Yet are not bold enough to press the fight.
The lion, meanwhile, with an angry roar,
Throws all his weight against the heavy door.
55.
It falls, and furious the lion springs
Upon the men, and pulls one to the ground,
And tears his entrails out. Then as one swings
About, distracted by the sudden sound,
Owain is on him with a single bound,
And slices off his head. The last one dies
beneath a paw, as he for mercy cries.
56.
So all Lunette's accusers now lie dead,
And Owain goes to her and cuts the cords
That bind her wrists, and gives her now instead
of her torn shift, his cloak. And she, "My Lord,
A longer sleep, and I'd not need your sword."
But let us make a long story short--they ride
into the town, the lion at their side.
57.
And all the citizens came out to stare,
And throng the streets as they ride through the town.
At last they reach the castle gate, and there
The lady waits, for she had heard the sound
Of shouting in the street, and hurried down.
And when she saw those two she miled,
And gave her hand, and they were reconciled.
58.
Then after several weeks of happiness,
To Carleon for Pentacost they go,
And leave the fatheful lion to possess
The spring, Lunette, the town. I do not know
What happens afterward with her, for though
She loves Owain, I think she's one of those
Who likes her lovers best when not too close.
59.
There is one other feat of consequence--
How Owain frees three hundred damsels caught
To labor for the devil's son, but since
I found no place for that, I left it out.
So anyone who'd care to learn about
That deed may read Yvain, for this is quite
As much romance as I intend to write.
