23

The Lay of Yonec: The maiden in the tower

NOW I’ve begun creating lays,

I’ll labour on, and every phrase

Of those adventures that I know

Here, in rhyme, to you I’ll show.

I think that I, tis my wish of late,

The tale of Yonec should relate,

Where he was born; of his father,

How he first did meet his mother.

He who engendered this Yonec,

Was called by name Muldumarec.

In Britain, long ago, it appears

There lived a rich man, old in years;

He was acknowledged in Caerwent,

And lord of that region, by assent.

That city lies on the Duelas,

Once deep enough for boats to pass.

Now, he was in his ripe old age,

And so to hand on his heritage,

He took a wife, one who might bear

A child to him, to be his heir.

The maid was of noble family,

Prudent, courteous and lovely,

Whom they wed to this rich man.

He loved her for her beauty and,

As she was beautiful and noble,

He immured her in his castle,

Shutting her in a tower, alone,

In a chamber paved with stone.

The rich man had an aged sister,

Widowed, so without a master,

And he placed her with the lady,

To guard her all the more surely.

Other women, I think, were there,

In some other room, elsewhere,

But she spoke not to them, I trow,

Unless the crone did so allow.

For more than seven years was she

Held there in close captivity,

Produced no heir; and for no friend,

Or relative might she descend.

When he came to sleep with her,

No chamberlain or officer

Dared make entry to that tower,

Or light a torch, despite the hour.

The lady lived in great distress,

Wept, and sighed with loneliness,

Of her beauty lost full measure,

Carless of her youthful treasure;

As for herself, she wished dearly

That death might take her nearly.

The Lay of Yonec: The maiden makes a wish

THE changing year did April bring,

When all the birds do sweetly sing,

Thus her lord arose one morning,

For he’d set his heart on hunting;

And so the crone he did arouse,

Who after him would lock the house.

He commanded, and she obeyed,

Then, with his men, he rode away.

The crone had taken her psalter,

To mumble the psalms thereafter,

While the lady sunk in deep distress,

Woke in tears to the sun’s brightness.

The old crone, as the lady saw,

Had issued from the chamber door,

And so she sighed and tormented

Herself, and wept as if demented.

‘Alas, cried she, my birth was ill!

Harsh and cruel, my destiny still!

In this tower he’s imprisoned me,

And only death can set me free.

Old and jealous, what is it though

That he can fear, to treat me so?

So foolish a husband, so afraid,

Well-nigh asks to be betrayed.

I cannot go to church to pray,

Or listen to the Mass this day.

If I could speak with others, go

Outside at times, I would show

Him a far more pleasant seeming,

Though still of freedom dreaming.

Oh, cursed be all my family,

All those folk who longed for me

To marry ancient jealousy,

Forcing me to wed his body!

I tug hard at my leash, and cry:

Oh, will that devil never die!

He was ne’er baptised, instead,

In Hell’s flood they dipped his head;

His sinews leathery as reins,

Life’s blood still fills his veins.

And yet often folk would tell me,

How, long ago, in this country,

Many a fine adventure befell,

The wretched rescued, all made well;

Knights found lovely maidens where

E’er they wished, noble and fair,

And ladies they found lovers too,

Handsome, courteous, brave and true.

Nor were they blamed for it, what’s more,

Since they alone their lovers saw.

If such could be, if such there were,

If such to any maid might occur,

God, who have power over all,

Hear my wish and heed my call!’

The Lay of Yonec: The hawk and its transformation

AS she uttered that final word,

Came the shadow of some large bird,

Across the narrow window’s light.

She, knowing not what this might

Be, into her room watched it fly,

Jesses on its feet, a hawk to the eye,

Moulted perhaps five times or six.

It settled; on her its gaze did fix.

After the hawk had rested there,

After she had returned its stare,

It became a fine and noble knight.

The lady marvelled as well she might.

Her blood rose, she trembled apace,

And seized by fear, she hid her face.

The knight proved most courteous,

For he addressed her, speaking thus:

‘Lady,’ said he, ‘you need not fear.

A noble bird this hawk; though here

All seems mysterious and obscure,

Be certain you may rest secure,

If you take me for your friend!

For this is the reason I descend

Here; long have I loved you so;

And in my heart desired you; know

That I have loved no other, ever,

And none but you will love forever.

Although I could not fly at will,

Not leave my own country, until

You so requested; yet, in the end,

I may indeed be your true friend!’

Now, in answer to what he’d said,

After first unveiling her head,

The lady, reassured, replied,

Her love would ne’er be denied

If in God he believed, and there

True love might indeed be theirs;

For he was of such great beauty,

Her eyes had never, in verity,

Gazed at so handsome a knight,

None could ever match that sight.

‘Lady,’ said he, ‘you speak well,

Nor would I wish that it befell

That I gave the least occasion

For mistrust or for suspicion.

For I believe in the Creator,

Who from that sin, our begetter,

Adam, caused by his injurious

Bite of the apple, did redeem us.

He was, and is, and will be ever,

Light and life, to every sinner.

Should you not believe me, dear,

Then summon your chaplain here,

Say that you’ve a sudden ailment,

And you’d receive the sacrament,

That God to the world revealed,

By which the sinner may be healed;

Then I’ll assume your form and face,

Receive Christ’s body, in your place,

And speak the Creed for you as bid;

That of all doubt you may be rid!’

He, for she liked all that he said,

Lay down beside her on the bed,

And yet he refused to kiss her,

To embrace her, or caress her.

The Lay of Yonec: The two lovers

THE old crone for home did make.

She found the maiden wide awake,

And, saying twas no time to hide,

Sought to draw the curtains aside.

The maid called out she was unwell

The woman must the chaplain tell,

And bring him swiftly, by and by,

She was afraid that she might die.

The old crone said: ‘Suffer away!

My lord’s off to the woods today,

There’s none here except for me.’

The maid looked at her, fearfully,

And seemed as if about to swoon.

The crone hurried from the room

In dismay, and locked the door,

Went for the priest, did him implore

To bring the Body of Christ, and he

Came as soon as ever might be;

And yet it was the knight was fed

The wafer, and after, in her stead,

Drank of the cup, the chaplain then

Left, and the door was locked again.

The maid lay beside him as before,

And a fairer couple you never saw.

When they had laughed and toyed

Enough, and sweet words enjoyed,

The knight took his leave swiftly,

So as to fly to his own country.

Knowing he could not remain,

She begged him to return again.

‘Lady, he said, ‘whene’er you please,

Thus may I come to you with ease,

But be sure to take such measures

That none perceive our pleasures.

That old woman may betray us,

For night and day she’ll survey us,

She our love, may well discover,

And go and tell all to her master.

If it should happen as I say,

And our love she doth betray

I would not depart from here

Except to my own death, I fear.’

The Lay of Yonec: The husband sets the crone to spy on them

THUS she and the knight must part;

He leaves, yet she feels joy at heart.

Next day she rises, and she is well,

For all that week love casts its spell.

She holds her body dear once more,

Regains her looks, fair as before.

Now she’s happy with her chamber,

For now no other place seems fairer.

She often longs to see her knight,

And in him seeks her true delight.

As soon as her lord quits the tower

Then day and night, at any hour,

She has all she wishes, or may;

God grant them many a long day!

From the joy she now possessed

Seeing him often, she was blessed

With altered looks, and by and by,

Her husband, being shrewd and sly,

Knowing at heart that what he saw

Proved her much altered from before,

Began to doubt his aged sister,

And one day put a question to her,

Saying that he was much amazed

At how his wife dressed these days,

And he wondered why this was so;

The crone said she did not know,

For none could speak to the lady,

Neither friend nor lover had she,

Except one thing she might report,

That she her privacy much sought.

This thing alone she had perceived.

From him this answer she received:

‘I’faith, I think that well might be!

Now you must do a thing for me.

In the morning, when I’ve risen

And she is pent up in her prison,

Then make as if to go somewhere,

Leave her alone and sleeping there.

Hide then in some secret quarter

Where you might thus regard her,

And see what and whence is this

That brings her such joy and bliss.’

With this counsel he left the hall.

Alas! What evil must now befall

Those for whom this ambuscade

Is set, deceived, and so betrayed!

The Lay of Yonec: The husband plans to slay the knight

THREE days later, or so I heard,

Her lord departed, leaving word

That he must go to see the king

Who, by letter, commanded him;

But that he’d be returning swiftly.

The crone had risen, then did she

Lock the door, and hide behind

A curtain, where she might find

A place to see and hear, and so

Discover all she sought to know.

The lady lay there, unsleeping,

For her lover she was longing,

He comes, the air he doth climb,

Hindered not by space or time.

Together now their joy is great,

Looks and words seal their fate,

And now it is the time to rise,

And he must take to the skies,

Yet the crone espies him so,

Sees how he cometh, and doth go.

Indeed she trembles now with fear

For man and hawk he doth appear.

When her lord returned, then he,

Arriving there more than swiftly,

Heard from her thus, in verity,

Of hawk and knight, the whole story.

Then he pondered, in deep thought,

On how the knight might be caught,

And swiftly slain, and plans he made.

He readied many an iron blade,

And every blade tipped with steel,

Never one sharper did any feel.

Once he’d prepared them all,

He had them fixed to the wall,

About the window; the tips met,

In rows together, closely set,

There where the knight must pass

When he repaired to her. Alas!

If he but knew what was wrought,

What, by this, foul treachery sought!

The Lay of Yonec: The knight-hawk is mortally wounded

ON the morrow, at early morn,

The husband rose ere the dawn,

Saying he would hunt that day,

The old crone saw him on his way,

Then back to her bed she yawned,

Until the day had fully dawned.

The lady lay waiting, anxiously,

For he whom she loved faithfully,

Praying that he might come to her

And be with her then at his leisure.

As soon as she uttered her prayer

He waited not, at once was there.

In at the window he came flying,

But those spikes entry denying,

One now pierced his body deeply,

And from it the blood flowed redly.

Knowing the wound spelt his doom

He freed himself, entered the room,

And fell to the bed beside his lady,

Such that the sheets he did bloody.

She saw the wound, she saw it bleed,

Much anguished was she indeed;

Then he spoke: ‘My sweet friend,

Through our love my life doth end;

As I once said, so it comes to pass,

Your beauty’s slain us both, alas!’

The Lay of Yonec: The lady enters a faerie hill

ON hearing his words, she fainted,

With death well-nigh acquainted;

Sweetly he comforted her again,

Saying all grief was now in vain;

She’d prove of child before long,

And bear a son, noble and strong,

Who would prove her solace yet,

Kill their foe, and exact the debt;

And she must name him, Yonec,

He who’d avenge Muldumarec,

Her love, who can no longer stay,

For his wound doth bleed alway.

In deepest anguish, he did fly;

She followed him, with a great cry,

From the window she leapt in pain,

Twas a wonder she was not slain;

For twenty foot high was the wall

There, where that lady did fall.

She was naked but for her shift,

A trail of blood she followed, swift

Behind her lover, that in flowing,

Had marked the way he was going.

This trail she followed close until

Before her eyes there rose a hill,

And, behold, an entrance therein,

And traces of blood lay within,

Though she could see no further.

Thinking that indeed her lover

Must have entered the hill there,

She followed, trembling like a hare.

Within there was no trace of light,

Yet she pressed onwards, aright,

Until she issued from the mound,

Into a fair field, where she found

His blood had stained the green grass,

Which grieved her, yet she did pass

Through the meadow, in his wake;

Toward a city his trail did make.

The Lay of Yonec: The castle of silver, and the prophecy

HIGH walls did that keep surround,

And not a house or spire she found

But was constructed all of silver;

So richly ordered its every tower.

Marshlands lay before the town,

Forests, and cultivated ground.

Near the keep, on the other side,

There flowed a river deep and wide;

Many a vessel might anchor there,

Three hundred ships it would bear.

The gate lay open to this city,

Through it entered in the lady,

Still following the trail, bright red,

That through it to the castle led.

None spoke to her, in the street,

No man or woman did she meet.

She came thus to the palace yard,

With his bloodstains it was marred.

She found a chamber in the keep

Wherein lay a fair knight asleep.

She knew him not, so on she went,

And in a larger chamber pent,

She found a bed, where as before,

A knight slept, and nothing more.

She passed through, into another,

And entered now a third chamber,

Where she found her lover’s bed;

Of finest gold its foot and head;

All priceless did its sheets appear;

The candlesticks, and chandelier,

That were lit both night and day,

Were worth a city’s gold, I’d say.

As soon as ever she caught sight

Of him, she recognised the knight.

Swiftly now she went towards him,

And then fell swooning before him.

He clasped her in his arms again,

And cried aloud in deepest pain.

When her fainting fit had passed,

He comforted her, and said: ‘Alas,

Sweet friend, may God have mercy!

Now go from here, for you must flee!

I soon must die, before the dawn,

The people here will grieve and mourn,

Such that if e’er they caught you,

To the torture they would put you.

My folk know that, to their cost,

Through love of you am I lost.

It is of you that I am thinking.’

The lady said: ‘To you I cling,

For I would rather die with you

Than suffer with my lord anew.

If I return now he will slay me.’

The knight reassured his lady,

By placing in her hand a ring,

And telling her that this thing

Would keep her safe from harm;

Her lord would forget, the charm

Would wipe out every memory,

And thus guarantee her safety.

Then his sword he handed her,

And he begged and conjured her,

That she should yield it to no man,

Ere she set it in their son’s hand.

When the lad should be full-grown,

His courage and skill well-known,

Then to a feast, one day, she’d go

Her husband and her son, also,

And to an abbey they would come,

And there they’d behold a tomb,

And hear again of his last breath;

How he was wrongly done to death.

Then she must place it in his hand,

That blade; give him to understand

The tale of his birth, his father too,

Then all will see what he will do.

Once he had finished his address,

He gave to her a fine silk dress,

That he commanded her to wear,

And then he sent her from his care.

With the sword she left the palace,

Bore the ring to grant her solace.

When, but half a league or less

From the city, to her distress,

She heard the mournful passing bell,

And sad cries from the streets as well;

And her heart so drowned with grief,

It made her faint four times at least.

Her faintness caused her brief delay,

Yet to the hill she made her way,

Entered in, through it did journey,

And so regained her native country.

The Lay of Yonec: The abbey and tomb at Caerleon

FOR many a day thenceforward,

She dwelt together with her lord.

And he, concerning what she’d done,

Ne’er reviled her. And so her son

Was born, and cared for lovingly,

Cherished, and so reared in safety.

Yonec, the name they gave him,

Nor was any youth fairer than him,

Or half as noble and courageous,

Or e’er as open and generous.

Now when he was of age, outright,

They chose to dub him a knight.

And what occurred that very year,

I will tell you, and you shall hear!

When the feast-day of Saint Aihran,

Was celebrated at Caerleon,

As in many a place in that land,

The lord received his command,

To attend, with all his company;

Such the custom of the country.

With him went his wife and son,

Rich their apparel, under the sun.

Hence they went, and so did fare,

Yet, knowing not the true way there,

They took with them a youth who knew

The right road, the straight and true,

And he led them to the citadel;

Of none finer could that age tell;

And since a well-endowed abbey,

Of pious folk, lay in that city,

The youth who had been their guide

Now found them lodgings inside.

Within the abbot’s own chamber

They were welcomed with honour.

They went to Mass on the morrow,

And took their leave, about to go,

But the abbot did their steps delay,

Asked that they prolong their stay;

He’d show them the refectory,

Chapter-house, and dormitory,

And fair lodgings, of the best,

Thus they accepted his request.

Later that day, after dining,

They set out to view the building,

And to the Chapter-house did come

And there they found a mighty tomb,

With a wheel of silk covering all,

A gold-embroidered banded pall.

At head and foot and all around

Twenty candlesticks they found,

Of gold, their candles all alight.

Of amethyst were the censers bright,

Where the incense burned that day,

All set above, in honoured array.

They enquired and made demand

Of all the folk there of that land,

Whose tomb this tomb might be,

What man lay there, who was he?

The Lay of Yonec: The lovers reunited in death

THEN these folk began to cry,

And weeping thus, by and by,

They told the tale of a fair knight,

The finest, bravest in a fight,

The handsomest, most loved of all

Born in that age, yet born to fall.

Of all that land he had been king,

Most courteous in everything.

At Caerwent had he been ta’en,

And so, for love of a lady, slain.

‘Since then we have had no master,

Though, for many a day thereafter,

We have awaited that lady’s son,

For twas said that he would come.’

When she had heard all the story,

The lady to her son cried she:
‘Dear son, now do you but hear

How God above has led us here!

Here lies your father, and my true

Love, this wretch wrongly slew.

Yet you shall wield his sword anew,

That I have long guarded for you.’

She told the tale, before everyone,

That he was born of him, was his son,

And how her love had come to her,

And how her lord played the traitor.

All the tale she told him, in verity,

Then fainting on the tomb fell she.

And in that swoon she passed on,

And spoke no more ere she was gone.

The son, on seeing she was dead,

Did that vile husband then behead,

Avenging, with the sword, his father,

And the grief that killed his mother.

When all the news was swiftly known

Throughout the city, she was shown

Great respect, and thus they laid her

There, in the tomb, beside her lover.

Ere leaving, Yonec they did afford

All honour, and made him their lord.

Who heard the tale, they made a lay

A long time after, nearer our day,

All the pain and woe to record,

That for love those two endured.

The End of the Lay of Yonec