They stole inside the prison, they picked the prison’s locks,
2260 Then rounded up Sir Sanson, Berart and Aumagon,
And led them to their vessel, with Aye of Avignon.
The trio had no knowledge of any plan or plot,
So when they saw our hero they got a fearful shock!
The vessel left its harbour, and as they sped along,
They recognised, to starboard, the coasts of Africa
And Spain upon the port-side, its Main a medley of
Both small and larger islands they passed without a stop.
Through day and night they journeyed with every sail aloft
Until on the eleventh they came to Graillemont.
2270 The tidings spread like wildfire through every court and croft
That Garnier had rescued fair Aye of Avignon,
And every man and woman ran up till both were mobbed!
The clerics and the bishops, aligned before the throng,
Gave Garnier a welcome as fair as it was fond.
The noble duke’s companions requested him to drop
His anger at Sir Sanson and wretched Aumagon,
And so he did, not seeking redress for any wrong –
Indeed he gave his sisters, whose peerless beauty shone,
In marriage, one to Sanson and one to Aumagon,
2280 With Graillemont as dowry together with La Roche.
When this was done both Garin and Hernaut of Gironde
Returned to their own kinsmen, whose hearts rejoiced that God
Had rescued them from prison and from the cruel wrath
Of men whose minds were careless of boundary or bond.
Fair Aye, beside her husband, returned to Avignon,
Where both were glad to settle, for both had suffered long.
They had a son called Guyot, so wild of will anon
He warred with Charlemagne – but that’s another song!
❦
AYE OF AVIGNON – II
1. How Aye was pursued
THE SONG OF AYE you know was NOT the way it ended –
And if I sang no more, you’d miss the bit that’s better:
It tells of Ganor’s woe and all the blows it led to
When he discovered how his bride-to-be had left him!
So listen once again to lovely Aye’s adventures.
King Ganor of the Moors returned at last from Mecca,
Where, as you may recall, he’d gone for Mahom’s blessing.
An envoy stopped him first, on Florimonda’s meadows,
And said: “My royal lord, I’ve dreadful news to tell you:
Your trust has been betrayed by him who led the Frenchmen:
10 His name was Garnier, Lord Doon’s son, and wedded
Already to fair Aye! He only came to get her!
And that he’s done, my lord; and, what is more, he rescued
The hostages you took – they’ve sailed away together!”
On hearing this, the Moor, bereft of all his senses,
Fell faint upon the ground, his sorrow was so heavy.
“Alas,” he cried, “it seems all Christian men are felons!
What kindly heart can warm to minds of such deception?”
“FAIR AYE,” he cried again, “so virtuous and winsome!
By all the gods, you are the worthiest of women!
20 I’d rather walk unshod the length of Charles’s kingdom
Than know Sir Garnier is boasting that he’s tricked me!”
WHEN GANOR started forward, the heart in him was dead.
He almost lost his senses, his grief was so intense.
He stumbled to his palace and for a year from then
He never changed his clothing or bathed himself again.
He wouldn’t have his hair cut, and left his beard unkempt:
And yet his face still glimmered with his innate prowess –
His limbs were still as handsome, his build as noble yet,
His waist and hips were slender, his shoulders squarely set,
30 His pallid hands were shapely, his neck was full of strength.
At last he planned a journey, together with a friend
Attending him, a linguist, whose help would be immense:
He first acquired the clothing they needed for their quest:
The cotton smocks of pilgrims, with arm-holes right and left,
And shortened cloaks provided with hoods to hide their heads.
He also found them breeches cropped off at ankle length
AT LAST THE KING was ready to leave upon his venture:
A trip to France the sweet, allegedly on penance.
40 So, leaving Aigremore, that war no longer threatened,
They hastened to the port, and soon were on the jetty.
In French the linguist sought their passage on a vessel
Whose crew was all on board, and which was called Saint-Clement.
The captain said he’d place his boat at Ganor’s pleasure,
For in his face he saw a rank to be respected.
THE SAILORS CAME from Pisa and Genoa alike,
And rich they were from travel and trading through the isles
Of Pagandom, in cities and strongholds far and wide,
Obtaining Eastern spices and herbs of many kinds,
50 From cinnamon and ginger to liquorice and thyme,
And every sort of plant-root for medicines you’ll find
In many Lombard markets on any day or night.
Their captain said to Ganor – that’s Ganor in disguise –
“My lord, where do you come from?” “From Saint-Denis,” replied
The king, “I am a brother of wealthy Baron Guy.”
The salty-bearded captain, Boydell his name, replied:
“If God in Heaven lets me, and winds on earth comply,
Then you should see that city in fifteen days and nights.
You must have heard the story of Garnier of Nanteuil,
60 Whose noble valour rendered, then rent him from his wife.
Well, when she was recovered, upon this very isle,
They went back to her city of Avignon the fine
And held a fair they promised, while either was alive,
Would be exempt of taxes and any toll or tithe!
So that is where I’m headed – with thousands more, belike!”
On hearing this, King Ganor said softly, with a smile:
“And I, so help me Mahom, will purchase me a life!”
THEIR talking stopped the moment the deck beneath them rocked
From such a breeze arising as every sailor wants.
70 Their craft was fully loaded with everything they’d stocked,
And every sail and lanyard was straining to be off –
As soon they were, like fury, through foamy wave and trough.
Upon their right they followed the coast of Aquilant.
Through night and day so swiftly the current swept them on
No single sail was lowered for ten days of the watch.
From faraway they sighted Saint-Gilles inside Provence,
Then Aix, the lovely city, and noble Avignon.
Where Rhône, the peaceful river, relieves the ocean’s wrath,
And sailors’ hearts are happy to hear the anchors drop,
80 Saint-Clement and her cargo of men and spices docked.
SAID GANOR TO the sailors: “Now, what’s the payment due?
Whatever wealth I carry I’ll gladly give to you.”
And with a smile he offered a golden mark in proof.
“My lord, you owe us nothing,” replied the worthy crew,
Who put the pair ashore there, among the shallow dunes.
Dear God, how great a pity the city never knew
The trouble it was
in for, the sorrow and the rue
The morrow was to bring them, and Aye the duchess too!
KING GANOR AND his party approached the town in haste:
90 “My lords,” he said, “this duchy is such a lovely place!
If I had known how lovely before I came away,
I would have brought my navy to win it by blockade!
I would have filled this harbour so full of masts and sails
You’d not have seen between them a foot of any wave!
That’s what I’ll do the next time, if this time I should fail.”
On saying this, they entered the city’s postern-gate
And stopped upon the steps of the palace, in the shade.
From vespers just returning, they saw the Lady Aye,
And Ganor, spurred to action, approached her straightaway:
100 “God save you, lovely lady, and fill you with His grace!
We’ve come to ask for lodging, in loving Jesu’s name,
But only for this evening; we need no further aid,
For with the dawn tomorrow we must be off again.”
Aye looked at him, observing the flowing, snowy spray
Of beard that in a twelvemonth had flourished to his waist.
The paleness of his body belied a glowing face
She thought she knew – though, clearly, a year had run its days
Since last she had been near it, in Ganor’s hideaway.
She said: “I’ve seen you, brother, but where I cannot say.”
110 “At Laon,” he said, “my lady! I saw your wedding-day.
I heard that men were fighting, soon after, for your sake.”
The men with Ganor muttered: “Our plan’s about to fail!
If she remembers Ganor, our beds will be our graves!”
THE KING WAS very happy to be with Aye at last,
And, as they talked together, he stood there more entranced
With her than all the treasures of Alexandria.
When Ganor paused from talking, again the duchess asked:
“So you were born, good pilgrim, at royal Laon in France?”
“My lady, no,” said Ganor, “I come from Vermandois.”
120 “But you are on a penance – how did that come to pass?”
“At Bouillon, in a tourney, the iron of my lance
Went through one of my brothers and slew him by mischance.
I’ve been to Rome in penance, then Saint-Gilles in Provence,
And now it’s to St Martin’s at Tours, along the Pass
That crosses Mount St Mary’s and sets me on my path.
I seek our Lord’s forgiveness, Who loves the sorry heart.”
King Ganor’s constant talking increased his friends’ alarm,
Who said: “What devil in him is forcing him so far?
We’ll hang when she remembers exactly who we are!”
130 KING GANOR WAS as gracious and kind as he was bold.
In one hand he was holding a pilgrim-staff of oak,
But took off from the other a glove with stitches sewn.
The graceful hand beneath it was long, and pale as snow,
And, on its little finger, displayed a ring of gold
From mines in Almerīa, the finest carat known.
No man who ever wore it, or woman, so I’m told,
Would ever die of hunger or from a thirsty throat.
Aye showed it to her escort, a Spaniard called Ramōn.
“This pilgrim’s of good breeding, by all the faith I owe!”
140 She said, and, moving closer, she took the ring in hold
And slipped it from his finger: “You’re worried now!” she joked.
But Ganor answered calmly: “Indeed, my lady, no!
In truth, I’d gladly give you my ring and glove, you know,
For I was in your service before the son of Do!
I would be now, and will be, but I am under oath
To forfeit horse and weapons till I have cleansed my soul!
Please give me leave, my lady! I must prepare to go.”
“My friend,” fair Aye responded, “not right away, I hope!
You’ve sought the boon of shelter, which gladly I’ll bestow,
150 So you can leave tomorrow as fresh as April’s rose!
What’s more, I’ll gladly give you provisions for the road,
For even the most noble can’t live on air alone!”
“Upon my faith,” said Ganor, “We can’t accept a groat,
But would be very grateful to find a willing host.”
When this was said she led them to Garin Bonnefoi’s home,
The provost of her city, and Gui her son’s abode –
As pupil of the provost, where nobly he had grown.
Alas she ever looked at the ring and glove he showed,
Which earned their owner entry, and turned her weal to woe!
160 IN GARIN’S HOME, the provost, King Ganor’s men were lodged,
Beside the outer gate of the walls of Avignon.
“Where is the duke, good provost?” King Ganor asked anon.
“My lord, he’s led an army of workers to Nanteuil,
To bolster its defences with taller walls across.”
The king was very angry to learn the duke had gone,
And so he called two rascals whom he had brought along,
Called Baratron and Margot, to hatch another plot:
This Margot had a plant-root whose properties were strong:
No mortal man who tasted the slightest bit thereof
170 Could keep his eyelids open; he’d close them on the spot
And slumber like a dead man until he’d slept it off.
So, when they sat at dinner, a little later on,
And Gui presented Ganor, with courteous aplomb,
A plover-pie his mother had sent them in a pot,
This Margot crushed the plant-root and sprinkled it on top,
While everyone was eating and drinking loud and long.
The smell was most enticing, the pie was piping hot –
So young and old together, both gluttonous and not,
Attacked the pie with gusto, then fell asleep like logs!
180 At this, the Pagans looted whatever served their want,
And little Gui was kidnapped by Ganor in his wrath!
They left the house, ensuring that every door was locked.
Conducting from their stables three horses tawny-blond,
They swiftly put their bridles and shining saddles on,
Then galloped through the district to reach a distant dock.
The trading-fair had finished, the stallholders had gone,
But soon they found a sailor preparing to cast off.
King Ganor’s gold persuaded the tar to take them on
And heed the monarch’s wishes to speed his craft along.
190 KING GANOR STEPPED aboard, but, as he did, he spied
A labourer, a man, in fields above the tide,
Whose back was bent in work upon the track he plied.
King Ganor halted step and called the man aside:
“Friend, take this piece of gold, and go before tonight
To Aye in Avignon beneath her shady pines.
Then tell her this: ‘Although he knows that you are wise,
King Ganor of the Moors, whose heart is also high,
Has, in his pilgrim’s garb, outwitted you this time
And taken your son Gui to Aigremore the wild!
200 He says you’ll never see your son again in life
Until the lad has learned the language of his isle.
As surety, receive his ring and glove alike.’”
THE MASTS WERE RIGGED and ready without the slightest noise.
King Ganor asked the captain, before they left the shore:
“My friend, are your provisions sufficient for us all?”
“We have,” replied the captain, “a year’s supply on board
.”
“Good brother,” Ganor asked him: “In what land were you born?”
“In truth,” replied the captain, “I’m from the island shores
Belonging to King Ganor, who in the song that’s called
210 ‘The Duchess Aye’ held lately that lady in his thrall!”
“Good brother,” answered Ganor, “then speed for Aigremore,
For I’m that very monarch, your countryman and lord,
Who truly held the duchess of Avignon before
Sir Garnier deceived me and took her from my court.
I have this day, however, returned him fit reward
By taking, through deception, young Gui his only boy!”
On saying this, he lifted the youngster’s blanket forth
To show the lad, well clad in a tunic lined for warmth
Beneath a gown of crimson in silk and cotton wrought.
220 The sobbing youngster begged them: “Please take me back, my lords!
If we’re away much longer, my mother will be fraught!”
To cheer him Ganor gave him a moulted sparrowhawk,
Then told the captain swiftly to sail them out of port.
While all of this was passing, fair Aye was in her hall,
Inside a chamber painted by Salemon of yore.
She drowsed, and in her dreaming it seemed to her she saw
Her town ablaze with flashes that lit it like a torch.
Upon the porch, all naked, her little son was stalked
By two bears and a lion, who caught him with a roar!
230 The bear-cubs tossed the youngster inside the lion’s maw,
Then from the sky a griffin came roaring down and caught
Both beast and boy together and soared away towards
Tall Aufalerne the tower, by which it let them fall.
This vision woke the duchess, who shuddered in her thoughts,
Then hurried to St Simon’s to pray to God the Lord.
FAIR AYE AWOKE in worry and dressed herself in fright,
Then hurried to St Simon’s to pray to Jesus Christ.
She sent men to the hostel in search of Gui her child,
But none could wake the sleepers to let them get inside,
240 Where all were drugged too deeply for anyone to rise!
Her messengers turned quickly and told the duchess why:
“There’s crime a-foot, my lady, that cannot be denied!
Your little son’s been kidnapped and taken in the night!
Those pilgrims that you welcomed were Pagans in disguise!”