The lady felt that he spoke truly, but in an evil moment she came to attach a sinister meaning to the words Equitan had employed regarding her husband. Day and night she brooded on them, for well she knew that did her husband die Equitan would surely wed her. By insensible degrees she came to regard her husband's death as a good rather than an evil thing, and little by little Equitan, who at first looked upon the idea with horror, became converted to her opinion. Between them they hatched a plot for the undoing of the seneschal. It was arranged that the King should go hunting as usual in the neighbourhood of his faithful servant's castle. While lodging in the castle, the King and the seneschal would be bled in the old surgical manner for their health's sake, and three days after would bathe before leaving the chamber they occupied, and the heartless wife suggested that she should make her husband's bath so fiercely hot that he would not survive after entering it. One would think that the seneschal would easily have been able to escape such a simple trap, but we must remember that the baths of Norman times were not shaped like our own, but were exceedingly deep, and indeed some of them were in form almost like those immense upright jars such as the forty thieves were concealed in in the story of Ali Baba, so that in many cases it was not easy for the bather to tell whether the water into which he was stepping was hot or otherwise.

The plot was carried out as the lady had directed, but not without much misgiving on the part of Equitan. The King duly arrived at the castle, and announced his intention to be bled, requesting that the seneschal should undergo the same operation at the same time, and occupy the same chamber by way of companionship. Then after the leech had bled them the King asked that he might have a bath before leaving his apartment, and the seneschal requested that his too should be made ready. Accordingly on the third day the baths were brought to the chamber, and the lady occupied herself with filling them. While she was doing so her lord left the chamber for a s.p.a.ce, and during his absence the King and the lady were clasped in each other's arms. So rapt were the pair in their amorous dalliance that they failed to notice the return of the seneschal, who, when he saw them thus engaged, uttered an exclamation of surprise and wrath. Equitan, turning quickly, saw him, and with a cry of despair leapt into the bath that the lady had prepared for the seneschal, and there perished miserably, while the enraged husband, seizing his faithless wife, thrust her headlong into the boiling water beside her lover, where she too was scalded to death.

_The Lay of the Ash-Tree_

In olden times there dwelt in Brittany two knights who were neighbours and close friends. Both were married, and one was the father of twin sons, one of whom he christened by the name of his friend. Now this friend had a wife who was envious of heart and rancorous of tongue, and on hearing that two sons had been born to her neighbour she spoke slightingly and cruelly about her, saying that to bear twins was ever a disgrace. Her evil words were spread abroad, and at last as a result of her malicious speech the good lady's husband himself began to doubt and suspect the wife who had never for a moment given him the least occasion to do so.

Strangely enough, within the year two daughters were born to the lady of the slanderous tongue, who now deeply lamented the wrong she had done, but all to no purpose. Fearful of the gossip which she thought the event would occasion, she gave one of the children to a faithful handmaiden, with directions that it should be laid on the steps of a church, where it might be picked up as a foundling and nourished by some stranger. The babe was wrapped in a linen cloth, which again was covered with a beautiful piece of red silk that the lady's husband had purchased in the East, and a handsome ring engraved with the family insignia and set with garnets was bound to the infant's arm with silken lace. When the child had thus been attired the damsel took it and carried it for many miles into the country, until at last she came to a city where there was a large and fair abbey. Breathing a prayer that the child might have proper guardianship, the girl placed it on the abbey steps as her mistress had ordered her to do, but, afraid that it might catch cold on such a chilly bed, she looked around and saw an ash-tree, thick and leafy, with four strong branches, among the foliage of which she deposited the little one, commending it to the care of G.o.d, after which she returned to her mistress and acquainted her with what had pa.s.sed.

In the morning the abbey porter opened the great doors of the house of G.o.d so that the people might enter for early Ma.s.s. As he was thus engaged his eye caught the gleam of red silk among the leaves of the ash-tree, and going to it he discovered the deserted infant. Taking the babe from its resting-place, he returned with it to his house, and, awaking his daughter, who was a widow with a baby yet in the cradle, he asked her to cherish it and care for it. Both father and daughter could see from the crimson silk and the great signet ring that the child was of n.o.ble birth. The porter told the abbess of his discovery, and she requested him to bring the child to her, dressed precisely as it had been found. On beholding the infant a great compa.s.sion was aroused in the breast of the holy woman, who resolved to bring up the child herself, calling her her niece, and since she was taken from the ash giving her the name of Frene.

Frene grew up one of the fairest damsels in Brittany. She was frank in manner, yet modest and discreet in bearing and speech. At Dol, where, as we have read, there is a great menhir and other prehistoric monuments, there lived a lord called Buron, who, hearing reports of Frene's beauty and sweetness, greatly desired to behold her.

Riding home from a tournament, he pa.s.sed near the convent, and, alighting there, paid his respects to the abbess, and begged that he might see her niece. Buron at once fell in love with the maiden, and in order to gain favour with the abbess bestowed great riches upon the establishment over which she presided, requesting in return that he might be permitted to occupy a small apartment in the abbey should he chance to be in the neighbourhood.

In this way he frequently saw and spoke with Frene, who in turn fell in love with him. He persuaded her to fly with him to his castle, taking with her the silken cloth and ring with which she had been found.

But the lord's tenants were desirous that he should marry, and had set their hearts upon his union with a rich lady named Coudre, daughter of a neighbouring baron. The marriage was arranged, greatly to the grief of Frene, and duly took place. Going to Buron's bridal chamber, she considered it too mean, blinded with love as she was, for such as he, and placed the wondrous piece of crimson silk in which she had been wrapped as an infant over the coverlet. Presently the bride's mother entered the bridal chamber in order to see that all was fitting for her daughter's reception there. Gazing at the crimson coverlet, she recognized it as that in which she had wrapped her infant daughter.

She anxiously inquired to whom it belonged, and was told that it was Frene's. Going to the damsel, she questioned her as to where she had obtained the silk, and was told by Frene that the abbess had given it to her along with a ring which had been found upon her when, as an infant, she had been discovered within the branches of the ash-tree.

The mother asked anxiously to see the ring, and on beholding it told Frene of their relationship, which at the same time she confessed to her husband, the baron. The father was overjoyed to meet with a daughter he had never known, and hastened to the bridegroom to acquaint him with Frene's story. Great joy had Buron, and the archbishop who had joined him to Coudre gave counsel that they should be parted according to the rites of the Church and that Buron should marry Frene. This was accordingly done, and when Frene's parents returned to their own domain they found another husband for Coudre.

_The Lay of Graelent_

Graelent was a Breton knight dwelling at the Court of the King of Brittany, a very pillar to him in war, bearing himself valiantly in tourney and joust. So handsome and brave was he that the Queen fell madly in love with him, and asked her chamberlain to bring the knight into her presence. When he came she praised him greatly to his face, not only for his gallantry in battle, but also for his comeliness; but at her honeyed words the youth, quite abashed, sat silent, saying nothing. The Queen at last questioned him if his heart was set on any maid or dame, to which he replied that it was not, that love was a serious business and not to be taken in jest.

"Many speak glibly of love," he said, "of whom not one can spell the first letter of its name. Love should be quiet and discreet or it is nothing worth, and without accord between the lovers love is but a bond and a constraint. Love is too high a matter for me to meddle with."

The Queen listened greedily to Graelent's words, and when he had finished speaking she discovered her love for him; but he turned from her courteously but firmly.

"Lady," he said, "I beg your forgiveness, but this may not be. I am the King's man, and to him I have pledged my faith and loyalty. Never shall he know shame through any conduct of mine."

With these words he took his leave of the Queen. But his protestations had altered her mind not at all. She sent him messages daily, and costly gifts, but these he refused and returned, till at last the royal dame, stung to anger by his repulses, conceived a violent hatred for him, and resolved to be revenged upon him for the manner in which he had scorned her love.

The King of Brittany went to war with a neighbouring monarch, and Graelent bore himself manfully in the conflict, leading his troops again and again to victory. Hearing of his repeated successes, the Queen was exceedingly mortified, and made up her mind to destroy his popularity with the troops. With this end in view she prevailed upon the King to withhold the soldiers' pay, which Graelent had to advance them out of his own means. In the end the unfortunate knight was reduced almost to beggary by this mean stratagem.

One morning he was riding through the town where he was lodged, clad in garments so shabby that the wealthy burgesses in their fur-lined cloaks and rich apparel gibed and jeered at him, but Graelent, sure of his own worth, deigned not to take notice of such ill-breeding, and for his solace quitted the crowded streets of the place and took his way toward the great forest which skirted it. He rode into its gloom deep in thought, listening to the murmur of the river which flowed through the leafy ways.

He had not gone far when he espied a white hart within a thicket. She fled before him into the thickest part of the forest, but the silvern glimmer of her body showed the track she had taken. On a sudden deer and horseman dashed into a clearing among the trees where there was a gra.s.sy lawn, in the midst of which sprang a fountain of clear water.

In this fountain a lady was bathing, and two attendant maidens stood near. Now Graelent believed that the lady must be a fairy, and knowing well that the only way to capture such a being was to seize her garments, he looked around for these, and seeing them lying upon a bush he laid hands upon them.

The attendant women at this set up a loud outcry, and the lady herself turned to where he sat his horse and called him by name.

"Graelent, what do you hope to gain by the theft of my raiment?" she asked. "Have you, a knight, sunk so low as to behave like a common pilferer? Take my mantle if you must, but pray spare me my gown."

Graelent laughed at the lady's angry words, and told her that he was no huckster. He then begged her to don her garments, as he desired to have speech with her. After her women had attired her, Graelent took her by the hand and, leading her a little s.p.a.ce away from her attendants, told her that he had fallen deeply in love with her. But the lady frowned and seemed at first offended.

"You do not know to whom you proffer your love," she said. "Are you aware that my birth and lineage render it an impertinence for a mere knight to seek to ally himself with me?"

But Graelent had a most persuasive tongue, and the deep love he had conceived for the lady rendered him doubly eloquent on this occasion.

At last the fairy-woman, for such she was, was quite carried away by his words, and granted him the boon he craved.

"There is, however, one promise I must exact from you," she said, "and that is that never shall you mention me to mortal man. I on my part shall a.s.sist you in every possible manner. You shall never be without gold in your purse nor costly apparel to wear. Day and night shall I remain with you, and in war and in the chase will ride by your side, visible to you alone, unseen by your companions. For a year must you remain in this country. Now noon has pa.s.sed and you must go. A messenger shall shortly come to you to tell you of my wishes."

Graelent took leave of the lady and kissed her farewell. Returning to his lodgings in the town, he was leaning from the cas.e.m.e.nt considering his strange adventure when he saw a varlet issuing from the forest riding upon a palfrey. The man rode up the cobbled street straight to Graelent's lodgings, where he dismounted and, entering, told the knight that his lady had sent him with the palfrey as a present, and begged that he would accept the services of her messenger to take charge of his lodgings and manage his affairs.

The serving-man quickly altered the rather poor appearance of Graelent's apartment. He spread a rich coverlet upon his couch and produced a well-filled purse and rich apparel. Graelent at once sought out all the poor knights of the town and feasted them to their hearts'

content. From this moment he fared sumptuously every day. His lady appeared whenever he desired her to, and great was the love between them. Nothing more had he to wish for in this life.

A year pa.s.sed in perfect happiness for the knight, and at its termination the King held a great feast on the occasion of Pentecost.

To this feast Sir Graelent was bidden. All day the knights and barons and their ladies feasted, and the King, having drunk much wine, grew boastful. Requesting the Queen to stand forth on the das, he asked the a.s.sembled n.o.bles if they had ever beheld so fair a dame as she.

The lords were loud in their praise of the Queen, save Graelent only.

He sat with bent head, smiling strangely, for he knew of a lady fairer by far than any lady in that Court. The Queen was quick to notice this seeming discourtesy, and pointed it out to the King, who summoned Graelent to the steps of the throne.

"How now, Sir Knight," said the King; "wherefore did you sneer when all other men praised the Queen's beauty?"

"Sire," replied Graelent, "you do yourself much dishonour by such a deed. You make your wife a show upon a stage and force your n.o.bles to praise her with lies when in truth a fairer dame than she could very easily be found."

Now when she heard this the Queen was greatly angered and prayed her husband to compel Graelent to bring to the Court her of whom he boasted so proudly.

"Set us side by side," cried the infuriated Queen, "and if she be fairer than I before men's eyes, Graelent may go in peace, but if not let justice be done upon him."

The King, stirred to anger at these words, ordered his guards to seize Graelent, swearing that he should never issue from prison till the lady of whom he had boasted should come to Court and pit herself against the Queen. Graelent was then cast into a dungeon, but he thought little of this indignity, fearing much more that his rashness had broken the bond betwixt him and his fairy bride. After a while he was set at liberty, on pledging his word that he would return bringing with him the lady whom he claimed as fairer than the Queen.

Leaving the Court, he betook himself to his lodging, and called upon his lady, but received no answer. Again he called, but without result, and believing that his fairy bride had utterly abandoned him he gave way to despair. In a year's time Graelent returned to the Court and admitted his failure.

"Sir Graelent," said the King, "wherefore should you not be punished?

You have slandered the Queen in the most unknightly manner, and given the lie to those n.o.bles who must now give judgment against you."

The n.o.bles retired to consider their judgment upon Graelent. For a long time they debated, for most of them were friendly to him and he had been extremely popular at Court. In the midst of their deliberations a page entered and prayed them to postpone judgment, as two damsels had arrived at the palace and were having speech with the King concerning Graelent. The damsels told the King that their mistress was at hand, and begged him to wait for her arrival, as she had come to uphold Graelent's challenge. Hearing this, the Queen quitted the hall, and shortly after she had gone a second pair of damsels appeared bearing a similar message for the King. Lastly Graelent's young bride herself entered the hall.

At sight of her a cry of admiration arose from the a.s.sembled n.o.bles, and all admitted that their eyes had never beheld a fairer lady. When she reached the King's side she dismounted from her palfrey.

"Sire," she said, addressing the King, "hasty and foolish was Graelent's tongue when he spoke as he did, but at least he told the truth when he said that there is no lady so fair but a fairer may be found. Look upon me and judge in this quarrel between the Queen and me."

When she had spoken every lord and n.o.ble with one voice agreed that she was fairer than her royal rival. Even the King himself admitted that it was so, and Sir Graelent was declared a free man.

Turning round to seek his lady, the knight observed that she was already some distance away, so, mounting upon his white steed, he followed hotly after her. All day he followed, and all night, calling after her and pleading for pity and pardon, but neither she nor her attendant damsels paid the slightest attention to his cries. Day after day he followed her, but to no purpose.

At last the lady and her maidens entered the forest and rode to the bank of a broad stream. They set their horses to the river, but when the lady saw that Graelent was about to follow them she turned and begged him to desist, telling him that it was death for him to cross that stream. Graelent did not heed her, but plunged into the torrent.

The stream was deep and rapid, and presently he was torn from his saddle. Seeing this, the lady's attendants begged her to save him.

Turning back, the lady clutched her lover by the belt and dragged him to the sh.o.r.e. He was well-nigh drowned, but under her care he speedily recovered, and, say the Breton folk, entered with her that realm of Fairyland into which penetrated Thomas the Rhymer, Ogier the Dane, and other heroes. His white steed when it escaped from the river grieved greatly for its master, rushing up and down the bank, neighing loudly, and pawing with its hoofs upon the ground. Many men coveted so n.o.ble a charger, and tried to capture him, but all in vain, so each year, "in its season," as the old romance says, the forest is filled with the sorrowful neighing of the good steed which may not find its master.

The story of Graelent is one of those which deal with what is known to folk-lorists as the 'fairy-wife' subject. A taboo is always placed upon the mortal bridegroom. Sometimes he must not utter the name of his wife; in other tales, as in that of Melusine, he must not seek her on a certain day of the week. The essence of the story is, of course, that the taboo is broken, and in most cases the mortal husband loses his supernatural mate.

Another incident in the general _motif_ is the stealing of the fairy-woman's clothes. The idea is the same as that found in stories where the fisherman steals the sea-woman's skin canoe as a prelude to making her his wife, or the feather cloak of the swan-maiden is seized by the hunter when he finds her asleep, thus placing the supernatural maiden in his power. Among savages it is quite a common and usual circ.u.mstance for the spouses not to mention each other's names for months after marriage, nor even to see one another's faces. In the story under consideration the taboo consists in the mortal bridegroom being forbidden to allude in any circ.u.mstances to his supernatural wife, who is undoubtedly the same type of being encountered by Thomas the Rhymer and Bonny Kilmeny in the ballads related of them. They are denizens of a country, a fairy realm, which figures partly as an abode of the dead, and which we are certainly justified in identifying with the Celtic Otherworld. The river which the fairy-woman crosses bears a certain resemblance to the Styx, or she tells Graelent plainly that should he reach its opposite bank he is as good as dead. Fairyland in early Celtic lore may be a place of delight, but it is none the less one of death and remoteness.