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The White Knight:  Tirant lo Blanc, by Robert S. Rudder


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The White Knight:  Tirant lo Blanc

written and copyrighted by Robert S. Rudder

December, 1995  [Etext #378C]


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The White Knight:  Tirant lo Blanc
written and copyrighted by Robert S. Rudder



Joanot Martorell and Marti Johan d'Galba.  The White Knight:
Tirant lo Blanc.  etext number 378C; filename whitk10.txt or .zip

Robert S. Rudder.  1556 Lafayette Rd.  Claremont, CA. 91711. 
rrudder@lausd.k12.ca.us



 THE WHITE KNIGHT: TIRANT LO BLANC





by

Johanot Martorell

and

Marti Johan d'Galba

 Edited and Translated

by

Robert S. Rudder

 For

Jose Rubia Barcia

Friend and colleague at UCLA

A true "caballero andante"

 TABLE OF CONTENTS:

INTRODUCTION 



CHAPTER I.  COUNT WILLIAM OF WARWICK 
CHAPTER II.  THE TOURNAMENT 
CHAPTER III.  SICILY 
CHAPTER IV.  CONSTANTINOPLE 
CHAPTER V.  THE BATTLEFIELD 
CHAPTER VI.  A TRUCE 
CHAPTER VII.  IN THE PRINCESS'S BED 
CHAPTER VIII.  THE BETROTHAL 
CHAPTER IX.  WIDOW REPOSE 
CHAPTER X.  THE BARBARY COAST 
CHAPTER XI.  PLAERDEMAVIDA 
CHAPTER XII.  CONQUEST 
CHAPTER XIII.  THE WEDDING 
CHAPTER XIV.  DEATH 
CHAPTER XV.  AFTERMATH DEO GRATIAS



INTRODUCTION

 "Tirant lo Blanc is the best European novel of the fifteenth
century," says Damaso Alonso in his excellent study.(1)    Miguel
de Cervantes, writing from the 17th century, affirms: "as far as
style is concerned, this is the best book in the world."(2)  If
this is so, why has the novel all but disappeared from view?

Some place the blame on the language of the original: Catalan,
whose literature is not widely read in the original tongue. 
Others say it is the fault of the erotic scenes ~~ too shameful
for the polite society of earlier times.  To my mind, a heavily
contributing factor is its rhetoric.  As Joseph Vaeth says:
"Within this work may be found religious and philosophical
discourses, speeches and disputations...; formal debates...;
documents and papers...; formal challenges and replies...;
dramatic lamentations; long and fervent prayers; and allusions to
classical Latin authors, to biblical characters and to figures
prominent in medieval literature."  He goes on to say that if the
novelist had omitted many of these elements, "his book would in
that case have been reduced to approximately one-fourth of its
present size, but quite probably it would now be considered a
masterpiece of narration and dialogue."(3)

Such has been the aim of this translation:  The story line has
been slightly abridged, but the most dramatic change is that most
of the rhetoric has been eliminated.  If the reader's literary
palate is tickled by this version, and if he would like to read
the entire manuscript in English, he is referred to the version
by David Rosenthal or to the even more complete translation by
Ray La Fontaine.(4)  

Who was the author of this spicy, brutally realistic novel of
kings and knights of the fifteenth century?  We know that Joanot
Martorell, son of the king's chamberlain, Francesc Martorell, was
born in Valencia in about 1413.  He lived in England during the
years 1438 and 1439, and also traveled to Naples.  Death came to
him in 1468.  During his life he wrote several letters of combat,
and he began to write his novel Tirant lo Blanc in about 1460. 
Whether or not he actually finished the book is still a matter of
debate, for it was not published during his lifetime.  Another
writer, Marti Joan de Galba, adds his name as a second author,
and says that he wrote the last one-fourth of the book.  But he
died six months before it was published, and his contribution, if
any, is questionable.

And what was the success of this novel?  Only 715 copies were
printed on its initial run in 1490, and apparently all were sold. 
A second edition did not appear until 1497.  An abridged
translation into Spanish was finally produced in 1511, and no
further Spanish editions appeared until the 20th century.(5)  It
was translated into Italian in the 16th century, into French in
the 17th century, and finally into English late in the 20th
century.

Of interest is the fact that soon after the appearance of Tirant
lo Blanc, and throughout the 16th century, Spain was flooded with
novels of chivalry.  But these were of quite a different nature. 
Although the major characters are also knights highly instilled
with the code of chivalry, they become involved in fantastic
adventures filled with dragons, enchanters, and the like,
following the lead of the French romances that were translated
into Spanish beginning in the 13th century.  These Spanish novels
of chivalry were produced in such great numbers and read so
widely that no less than Spain's great mystic, Saint Teresa of
Avila, was for a time a voracious reader of them.

While Tirant lo Blanc had no literary followers until Cervantes
more than one hundred years later, it does have the honor of
being "the earliest existing romance of chivalry printed in the
Peninsula."(6)  This being so, from where did Joanot Martorell
receive his inspiration?  Although Professor Henry Thomas notes
that "the tracing of sources...(may be only) one degree higher
than the hunting of cats,"(7) we feel impelled to relate some of
the more important discoveries of literary scholarship.  The
first section of the book is in imitation of an English romance,
"Guy of Warwick", in which England fights off a Danish invasion. 
When Tirant lo Blanc appears for the first time, asleep on his
horse, and stumbles upon the hermit who explains at great length
the order of chivalry, the entire section (which this present
translation omits) is taken from Ramon Lull's Libre del Orde
d'Cauayleria.(8)  Tirant himself may be an amalgamation of
several historical figures: Roger de Flor, Richard Beauchamp,
Louis IX, Peter II of Aragon, Joan Hunyadi lo Blanch of Hungary,
etc.  Tirant's adventures in Africa closely parallel many people,
events and place names from Ramon Muntaner's Chronica.(9)

More important than any of these "sources", however, is this
question:  What did Martorell do with the material that came to
him from books, from life, and from his imagination?

Cervantes, writing more than one hundred years after Tirant lo
Blanc was published, was sufficiently impressed to talk about it
in his Don Quixote not once, but on two separate occasions, in
fairly glowing terms.(10)  Furthermore, some readers have pointed
out scenes that appear to be similar in both books: both Philippe
and Don Quixote find holes in their stockings, which leads one
into great searching for a lost needle, and the other into even
deeper depression; there is a cat-howling episode in both books,
etc.  And there is one other way that Tirant lo Blanc points the
way toward the Quixote: in the framework.  Cervantes uses a
device often found in the novels of chivalry that preceded his
work, stating that his book is no more than a "translation" from
another language.  (While, in fact, the authors of those books
are simply advertising the next novels they intend to write in
the series, much as the "Hardy Boys" or "Nancy Drew" series
advertise in the final pages of each novel.)  But in the Quixote
the device has a far deeper purpose: Cervantes informs us that
Don Quixote is a flesh and blood figure whose real-life
adventures appear in several Arabic histories, and one in
particular, by a certain Cide Hamete Benengeli.  With the aid of
a translator, Cervantes says, he is now bringing the story of Don
Quixote's life back into the Spanish tongue.  What we have here
is, of course, a ploy to make the characters seem more real, and
Cervantes makes this assertion with a broad wink, for while we
are "suspending our disbelief," we also know that it is nothing
more than his artistry.

And what of Tirant lo Blanc?  According to Martorell's
dedication, his book is also a translation: from the English
original, he is translating into Portuguese, and from the
Portuguese into Catalan.  But where is the English original from
which this book is simply a translation?  There is no character
in English literature or history named Tirant lo Blanc, and
discounting the beginning pages, taken from the "Guy of Warwick"
romance, there is no book in English from which this one has
been translated.  As for the translation into Portuguese, there
is no book about Tirant in that language.  So why does Martorell
tell us all this?  (Although, as we have noted, other novels of
chivalry speak of themselves as "translations", all were printed
after the publication of Tirant lo Blanc.)  Is this novel then,
which Cervantes so admired, also presenting us with a "true
history" which has been "translated" in a way similar to the
Quixote?  Within Tirant lo Blanc we also find allusions to
historians who have "originally" set these words down.  For
example: "Here the book returns to the emperor..." 
"Hippolytus... performed singular acts of chivalry which this
book does not relate, but defers to the books that were written
about him."  Is there any difference between this and the
statements of Cervantes about his characters?  ("Here Cide Hamete
Benengeli leaves him for an instant and returns to Don
Quixote..."  "The history goes on to tell that when Sancho
saw...")  But we are given no broad wink from Martorell.  It is
all true, he tells us, and there is nothing more to be said. 
That Martorell died before the work was published, and that Marti
Joan de Galba may have made some additions before it was finally
published, does not clarify the matter.  For De Galba also
affirms that the book is no more than a translation from the
English to the Portuguese, and from that language into the
Valencian tongue, and that he is merely finishing what Martorell
was unable to complete.

There are no broad winks.  But the characters belie the
"history": They come to life as no straight-forward, factual
history can bring its subjects to life.  As Damaso Alonso so
accurately puts it: this fifteenth century work "is precisely
that whip that could excite Cervantes' imagination.  Tirant was
not yet the modern novel, but in it were many elements, and
furthermore, essential elements of what would become the modern
novel."(11)

Having read this novel, who could forget the characters that
Martorell has brought to life?  Who would not feel grief at the
death of Tirant and the princess, no less united in soul than
Calisto and Melibea in Spain (making their appearance a few short
years later in Fernando de Rojas' masterpiece, La Celestina),
than Romeo and Juliet in England, and no less tragic.  And in
remembering Tirant, who would not smile at the thought of him
serving as a go-between for Prince Philippe and the infanta,
Ricomana.  Could anyone be more delightful than the forthright
Plaerdemavida (whose name translates literally as
"Pleasure-of-My-Life") -- surely one of the best delineated
characters in any literature.  Or anyone more villainous than the
odious Widow Repose -- a figure stamped indelibly on our minds,
wearing her ridiculous red stockings and hat in the bath.

As Cervantes says:  "In (Tirant lo Blanc) knights eat and drink,
sleep and die in their own beds, and make their wills before they
die..."  And his praise for Tirant is also borne out by the
characters in the Quixote.  For in many of that book's most
memorable episodes, they too eat and drink (and regurgitate),
they sleep (when someone or something does not awaken them to a
new adventure), Don Quixote makes out his will (to the
contentment of some of the beneficiaries), and finally he dies in
his bed (and Cervantes warns us that no one should try to revive
him: "For me alone Don Quixote was born, and I for him... We two
alone are as one."  This identification of the author with his
work was felt no less keenly by Martorell.  As he says in his
dedication: "And so that no one else may be blamed if errors are
found in this work, I, Johanot Martorell, knight, alone wish to
bear the responsibility, and no one else with me, for this work
has been set down by myself alone..."

If Don Quixote's Dulcinea did not exist until she took form in
his (or in Cervantes') mind, or the windmill that was a giant, or
the Cave of Montesinos, they have now come into existence in the
mind of every reader of that novel.  So may Tirant and his men,
the princess, the emperor, Plaerdemavida, also come to life
alongside the gentle and not so gentle folk of Cervantes, in
every reader's imagination.  Let me leave the reader with these
words about Tirant lo Blanc by Cervantes: "Take him home and read
him, and you will see that what I have said of him is true." (12)

Finally, a word about this English translation which brings
Martorell's work full circle, back into the English language from
which he says he has translated it.  My work was begun in 1976,
and completed in 1982.  Shortly afterward, the English
translation by David Rosenthal appeared, which includes most of
the "philosophical discourses, speeches", etc. that I have
purposefully omitted.  So my translation lay unmolested in a box
during these past several years while the computer has been
developing at breakneck speed, now allowing this great 15th
century novel to be read, electronically, throughout the world. 
(What would Joanot Martorell say...?)  And more "finally",
thanks to the many people who have supported me on this project
and on others in the past: To Walter Pattison who awakened me to
the excitement and beauty of Spanish literature; to my late
friend, Arturo Serrano Plaja, who made a valiant attempt to
refine my taste, and who guided me throughout the years; to my
many colleagues and friends at the University of Minnesota; and
also to good memories of several of my colleagues at UCLA: my
dear friend, the late Richard Reeve, John Crow, the late Donald
Fogelquist, Julio Rodgriguez Puertolas, Enrique Rodriguez Cepeda,
Carlos Otero, Paul Smith, and of course the incredibly fine man
to whom I dedicate this translation, and who helped me in my
darkest hours: Jose Rubia Barcia.  There being so many, if I have
neglected anyone in particular, I pray and know that they will be
more than understanding.  Vale

Robert S. Rudder Claremont, California Nov. 1995



NOTES

 (1) Primavera de la literatura europea (Madrid: Ediciones
Guadarrama, 1961). p. 237.

(2) Don Quixote.  Tr. Walter Starkie.  (London: Macmillan, 1957),
pp. 89-90.

(3) Tirant lo Blanc: A Study of Its Authorship, Principal Sources
and Historical Setting (N.Y.: AMC, 1966), pp. 159-60.

(4) David H. Rosenthal (N.Y.: Shocken, 1984). Ray La Fontaine
(New York: Peter Lange, 1993).  Although Rosenthal's translation
appeared in print first, the fact is that La Fontaine's more
complete translation preceded it, lying in hibernation, much as
my own manuscript, since 1974.

(5) Madrid: Alianza, 1969.  Tr. by J. F. Vidal Jove. 
Introduction by Mario Vargas Llosa.  Also, further editions of
the 1511 translation by Martin de Riquer (1947-49; 1974) and by
F. Buendia (1954).

(6) Henry Thomas, Spanish and Portuguese Romances of Chivalry
(Cambridge: University Press, 1920), pp. 32-33.  It should also
be noted that El cavallero Cifar, although not in print until
1512, was probably composed at the beginning of the 14th century. 
Amadis de Gaula, the model for so many imitations, and not
printed until 1508, was in manuscript form in the 14th century.

(7) p. 277

(8) See the English translation by William Caxton: The Book of
the Ordre of Chyualry. Westminster: William Caxton, 1484?  And
reprinted several times.  For these and other medieval
translations from the Spanish, the reader may wish to consult my
bibliography: The Literature of Spain in English Translation. New
York: Ungar, 1975.

(9) See the English translation by Lady Goodenough: The Chronicle
of Muntaner. London: Hakluyt Society, 1920-21.

(10) After his initial words of praise ("a treasure of delight, a
mine of entertainment,... the best book in the world"), Cervantes
adds this puzzling phrase: "the author deserves to be praised,
for he did not deliberately commit all these follies, which had
they been intentional would send him to the galleys for the rest
of his life." [Starkie's trans., p. 90]  Here, he is apparently
condemning the book, although, in the next breath, the curate
recommends the book to the barber: "Take him home and read
him..."  And in a later chapter Cervantes speaks of "the never
enough to be praised Tirante the White."  So what are we to make
of this apparently condemnatory phrase about the "galleys"? 
Scholarship has provided some ingenious theories to negate the
condemnation, to wit: it is not a statement, but a question; the
galleys are less a punishment than a death sentence would be; it
is not Cervantes' opinion, but the curate's; the word galleys
actually refers to "galley-proofs" and mean that the work should
remain in print forever, etc.  (See, for example, Patricia J.
Boehne, The Renaissance Catalan Novel [Boston: Twayne, 1989],
Antonio Torres Alcala, El realismo del Tirant lo Blanch y su
influencia en el Quijote [Barcelona: Puvill, 1979?], and the
studies by Martin de Riquer.)  Very interesting theories, but we
are no more certain of the meaning behind Cervantes' words than
when we first read them: they remain a puzzle.  However, the
novel Tirant lo Blanc also speaks to us: Do we feel that the
novel is utter nonsense and badly written, or is it moving, at
times exciting, often humorous?  In short, is it good literature? 
Through our own eyes we can make a judgement about the meaning of
those apparently incongruous words of Cervantes.

(11) Footnote: pp. 203-204.

(12) p. 90.



CHAPTER I

COUNT WILLIAM OF WARWICK

 In the fertile, rich and lovely island of England there lived a
most valiant knight, noble by his lineage and much more for his
courage.  In his great wisdom and ingenuity he had served the
profession of chivalry for many years and with a great deal of
honor, and his fame was widely known throughout the world.  His
name was Count William of Warwick.  This was a very strong knight
who, in his virile youth, had practiced the use of arms,
following wars on sea as well as land, and he had brought many
battles to a successful conclusion.

The count found himself at the advanced age of fifty-five, and
moved by divine inspiration he decided to withdraw from the
practice of arms and make a pilgrimage to the holy land of
Jerusalem.  This virtuous count wanted to go, because he felt
sorrow and contrition for the many deaths he had caused in his
youth.

That evening he told the countess, his wife, about his plans, and
although she was virtuous and discreet, she became very upset at
the news because she loved him so much.  In the morning the count
had all his servants, both men and women, come to him, and he
said:

"My children and most faithful servants, it is the will of His
Divine Majesty that I should leave you, and the time of my return
is uncertain.  Since the journey will be very dangerous, I want
to pay each of you now for all the good services you have
rendered to me."

He had a large chest full of money brought out, and to each of
his servants he gave much more than he owed, so that they were
all very satisfied.  Then he gave the countess all his land and
all his rights.  And he ordered that a ring of gold be made with
his and the countess's coat of arms on it, and this ring was made
in such away that it was divided into two parts.  Each part was a
complete ring in itself, showing half the coat of arms of each of
them, and when the two halves were joined together the entire
coat of arms could be seen.

When all this had been done, he turned to the virtuous countess,
and said kindly:

"I know that you will accept my departure with love and patience,
and if it is God's will, my journey will soon be over.  I am
leaving in your charge everything I have.  And here is half of
the ring I had made.  I beg you dearly to hold it in my stead,
and to guard it until I return."

"Oh, dear!" cried the countess.  "Then it's true, my lord, that
you are leaving without me?  At least allow me to go with you so
that I can serve you.  I would rather die than go on living
without you.  Just when I was thinking that all my misfortunes
were over, I see that my unhappiness is only increasing.  I'm
left with only this poor son as a pledge from his father, and his
sad mother must be consoled with him."

She seized her small son by the hair and pulled it, and then
slapped his face, saying:

"Cry, my child, for your father's departure, and you will be good
company to your mother."

The tiny infant, who had been born only three months before,
burst out crying.  The count, seeing both mother and child in
tears, felt deeply grieved, and he could not hold back his own
tears.  And for some time he could not speak, while all three of
them wept.

The count took his leave of her, kissing her again and again,
tears running freely from his eyes.  He said farewell to the
other ladies, and when he left he took only one squire with him.

Leaving his city of Warwick, he boarded a ship, and sailed with a
good wind, and as time passed he arrived safely at Alexandria. 
There he disembarked and made his way to Jerusalem.  When he
reached Jerusalem he confessed his sins, and with great devotion
he received the precious body of Jesus Christ.  Then he entered
the holy sepulchre of Jesus Christ and prayed there fervently and
tearfully, with great contrition for his sins.

After visiting all the other sanctuaries, he returned to
Alexandria.  Then he boarded a ship and went to Venice.  When he
was near Venice he gave all the money still in his possession to
his squire who had served him well, and he arranged a marriage
for him so that he would not want to return to England.  Then he
had his squire spread the news that he had died, and he arranged
for merchants to write to England that Count  William of Warwick
had died while returning from the Holy Land of Jerusalem.

When the countess heard the news, she felt deeply grieved, and
went into mourning, and she arranged for the funeral rites that
such a virtuous knight deserved.  With the passing of time, the
count returned alone to his own land, having let his hair grow
down to his shoulders, while his beard, completely white, reached
to his waist.  He was dressed in the habit of the glorious Saint
Francis, and lived from charity, and he secretly entered a devout
hermitage of Our Lady which was very close to his city of
Warwick.

This hermitage was in a lovely spot on a high mountain, with a
dense thicket of trees, and a clear running spring.  The count
retired to this solitary place, and lived alone to escape the
materialistic world and to do penance for his sins.  Living from
charity, he went to his city of Warwick once a week to beg for
alms.  With his thick beard and long hair the people there did
not recognize him, and he went to the countess, his wife, to beg. 
When she saw him asking for charity so humbly, she made them give
him more than they gave any of the others.  And he spent his
poor, miserable life this way for some time.

Some time later the great King of Canary was filled with anger
because some pirate ships had plundered a village that belonged
to him.  He left his land with a large armada, and sailing with a
favorable wind he reached the fertile, peaceful shores of
England.

In the dark of night the entire fleet entered the port of
Southampton and all the Moors went ashore very quietly.  When
they were on land, they put their troops in order and began to
attack the island.

When the peace-loving king received the news, he gathered as many
men as he could to put up a resistance, and went into battle with
the Moors.  The fighting was great, indeed: many men died,
especially the Christians.  Because the Moors were greater in
number, the forces of the English king were destroyed.  He had to
retreat with his remaining men, and he took refuge in a city
called Saint Thomas of Canterbury where that holy body now rests.

The King of England mustered more men, and he learned that the
Moors were conquering the island, killing many Christian men and
dishonoring the women and young girls, making captives of them
all.  When this Christian king discovered that the Moors held the
pass near a watercourse, he placed his forces in a passage at the
hour of midnight.  But he did not do it very secretly, and the
Moors heard of it, and held back until it was broad daylight. 
Then they pressed them in a very cruel battle where many
Christians died, and those whose lives were spared fled with the
unfortunate king, while the Moorish king remained in the camp.

Great was the misfortune of this Christian king who lost nine
battles, one after another, and had to withdraw to the city of
London.  When the Moors learned of it they laid siege to the
city.  Every day there was heavy fighting until finally the poor
king was forced to leave London, and he went toward the
mountains, passing through the city of Warwick.

When the countess heard that the king was fleeing to that city,
she had food and everything necessary prepared for the night. 
The countess, who was a very prudent woman, began to think of how
she could strengthen her city so that it would not be lost so
quickly, and as soon as she saw the king she said to him:

"Virtuous king, I see that your grace, and all of us on this
island, are in great danger.  But Sire, if Your Highness would
like to remain in this city, you will find it abundant in
provisions and everything necessary for war.  My lord and
husband, William of Warwick, who was count in this land,
provided this city and his castle with arms as well as bombards,
cross-bows and culverins, and many other kinds of artillery.  And
divine Providence, in its mercy, has given us a great abundance
of fruit from the land for the last four years.  So your grace
may be safe here."

"I am very happy", said the king, "to stay here, and I pray you,
countess, to arrange things so that my army will have everything
they need."

The countess and two of her ladies immediately left the king, and
went with the magistrates of the city through the houses, making
them bring wheat and barley and everything necessary.  When the
king and his men saw what a great abundance there was of
everything, they were very pleased.

When the Moors discovered that the king had left the city of
London, they pursued him until they learned that he had taken
refuge in the city of Warwick.  On the way the Moors attacked and
took a castle called Killingworth, two leagues from where the
king was.  Since they had now conquered a great part of the
kingdom, the Moorish king appeared with all his forces before the
city of Warwick.  The wretched Christian king, seeing that there
was no hope, did not know what to do: he climbed to the top of a
tower in the castle, and watched the huge body of Moors burning
and destroying villas and castles, killing as many Christians as
they could, both women and men.  Those who were able to escape
came running and shouting toward the city.  Their terrible
screams could be heard a good half league away, and it would have
been better for them to die than to become captives of the
infidels.

As the king watched the immense suffering and destruction, he
thought he would die from all the grief he felt.  Unable to look
any longer at the desolation, he came down from the tower and
went into a small chamber where he began to sigh deeply.  Tears
ran from his eyes, and he lamented more gravely than any man had
ever done.  The stewards were outside the chamber listening to
the king's agony, and when he had cried and lamented at length,
he said:

"Lord, Thy compassion and pity will not allow for this.  Thy
mercy will not allow Thy Christian people, great sinners though
they may be, to be afflicted by the scourge of the Moors. 
Rather, defend and preserve them and let them be returned to Thy
holy service so that they may serve Thee and praise Thee and
return glory unto Thee."

While the poor king was lamenting, he put his head down on the
bed, and it seemed to him that he saw a very beautiful lady
coming through the doorway to his chamber, dressed in white
damask, holding a small child in her arms.  Following her were
many other ladies, all singing the Magnificat.  When he had
finished his prayer, the lady walked toward the king, and placing
her hand upon his head, she said:

"Oh, king, be doubtful of nothing.  Be very confident that the
Son and the Mother will help you in this great trial.  The first
man you see with a long beard who asks you for alms in the name
of God, kiss him on the mouth as a sign of peace, and beg him
graciously to put aside the habit, and make him captain over all
the people."

The poor king awoke and saw nothing.  He was astonished at the
dream, and he thought about it a great while, remembering
everything he had seen.  Then he left the chamber, and there
stood all the principal knights, who told the king:

"Your grace, all the Moors have set up their tents in front of
the city."

The king did everything possible to have the city well guarded
that night.

The following morning the hermit-count climbed the high mountain
to gather herbs for his sustenance, and he saw the great number
of Moors teeming over all the land.  He left his desert
habitation and went into the city.

The poor old man, who had spent several days on a diet of nothing
but herbs, saw that the city was in deep sorrow, and he went to
the castle to beg alms from the countess.  When he was inside the
castle he saw the king coming from mass, and when he saw him so
nearby, he sank to his knees and begged him in God's name to give
him alms.  The king remembered the dream and helped him up.  Then
he kissed him on the mouth, took hold of his hand and led him
into a room.  When they had sat down, the king said to him:

"I beg you to help and advise us in our time of need, for I see
that you are a holy man and a friend of Jesus Christ.  I beg you
dearly, if you love God and if you have charity in your heart,
cast off the clothing you are wearing for penance, and dress
yourself in the clothes of charity, which are arms.  For with
God's help and your command we will have a glorious victory over
our enemies."

When the king had finished these words, the hermit began to
speak:

"My lord, I am astonished that your grace is asking me, a poor,
weak man, for advice and help.  As Your Excellency can see, my
old, weak body is in a state of decrepitude because of its many
years and the harsh life I've led so long on the mountain, eating
only herbs and bread.  I don't have the strength to bear arms.  I
beg Your Excellency to allow me to decline."

The king became very pained at this answer, and said:

"Reverend Father, I kneel at your feet and with these tears I
again beg you, if you are a steadfast Christian, to have
compassion on me, a miserable king, and on all Christians.  All
their hope and mine is in the mercy of God and in your great
virtue.  Don't refuse me this."

The painful tears of the king moved the hermit to pity, and his
heart softened.

After a brief pause while the hermit made the king rise, he said:

"Out of love for you, my king, I will obey your commands and try
to save you and your kingdom.  And, if necessary, I will place
myself in the thick of battle, old as I am, to defend
Christianity and bring the haughty Mohammedan sect to its knees,
with the understanding that Your Excellency will be guided by my
advice."

The king answered: "Reverend Father, since you grant me so much
grace, I promise you, on my word as king, that I will not go one
step beyond your orders."

"Now, my lord," said the hermit, "when you are outside in the
great hall, show a happy and very content face to the knights and
all the people, and speak to them very complacently.  And when
you dine, eat well and enjoy yourself, and show much more
happiness than you ordinarily do, so that all those who have lost
hope will regain it.  For a lord or a captain should never wear a
sad face, no matter how great an adversity there may be, so that
his people will not be discouraged.  Have some Moorish garments
brought to me, and you shall see what I am going to do.  When I
was on my way to the Holy Land of Jerusalem I stayed in
Alexandria, and in Beirut they taught me the Moorish tongue,
because I was there many days.  In Beirut I learned to make
explosives of certain materials that delay six hours before they
ignite, but when they do, they could burn up the entire world,
and all the water in the world would not be able to extinguish
them, unless oil and pine resin is used."

"It is astonishing," said the king, "that they can only be
extinguished with oil or pine resin.  I thought water would put
out any fire in the world."

"No, my lord," said the hermit.  "If your grace will allow me to
go to the castle gate, I will bring you a special substance, and
with clear water or wine you will be able to light a torch."

"In faith," said the king, "I will take great pleasure in seeing
it."

The hermit immediately went to the castle gate since, when he
entered, he had seen quicklime there, and he picked up a little
sod and came back to the king.  Then he took some water, and
throwing it on the quicklime he lighted it the way a straw lights
a candle.

The king said: "I would never have been able to believe such a
thing if I had not seen it with my own eyes.  Now I am certain
there is nothing that men cannot do.  I beg you, Reverend Father,
please tell me what we need to make the explosives."

"My lord," said the hermit, "I will go and buy it, because it is
much better to know if the materials are good, and I have made
them many times with my own hands.  When they are made, Sire, I
will go to the Moors' camp alone, and put the explosives near the
king's tent.  At the hour of midnight the explosives will ignite
and all the Moors will run there to put out the fire, and your
grace will be armed and waiting with all your men.  When you see
the huge fire, attack them with all your forces, and your
lordship may be sure that ten thousand of your men will cause
confusion among one hundred thousand of theirs."

The hermit's words pleased the king, and he gave deep thanks for
his offer, and was very happy.  He immediately gave orders that
everything the hermit had commanded should be carried out.

The hermit, who had left the king, soon returned with the things
they needed for the explosives, and he said to the king:

"My lord, there is only one element we lack, but I know that the
countess has it.  When her husband, William of Warwick, was
alive, he had a great deal of it since it can be used for many
things."

The king said: "Then I want both of us to go to the countess now
to get it."

The king sent word to the countess that he wanted to speak with
her.  When the countess came out of her room she saw the king and
the hermit.

"Countess," said the king, "by your grace and virtue, be so kind
as to give me a little sulfur, the kind which causes heat and
does not burn itself up, the kind that the count, your husband,
put into the torches so that no matter how much the wind blew
they would not go out."

The countess answered: "Who told your grace that my husband,
William of Warwick, could make torches like that with that kind
of flame?"

"Countess," said the king, "this hermit standing here."

And the countess quickly went to the weapons chamber, and she
brought back so much of it that the king was highly pleased.

When the king had returned to the great hall where the meal was
already prepared, he took the hermit by the hand and sat down at
the table, making the hermit sit at his side, honoring him as he
deserved.  The king's courtiers were astonished at the great
honor the king was bestowing upon the hermit, and the countess
was even more astonished because she was accustomed to giving him
alms.  And she said to her ladies:

"Oh, how angry I am at my great ignorance!  Why did I not honor
this poor hermit much more?  Now I see that he must be a man who
has led a very holy life."

Rising from the table, the King of England gave the hermit
permission to go and make the explosives.  A few days later, when
they were finished, the hermit went to the king and said to him:

"Sire, if your grace will give me leave, I will carry out our
plan.

Your Excellency should have all the men get ready."'

The king said that he would.  In the dark of night the hermit
changed into the Moorish clothing that was prepared for him.  He
went out through a back door of the castle very secretly, and no
one saw him.  Then he went into the Moors' camp.

When he thought the time right, he threw the explosives into the
camp, near the tent of a great captain who was a relative of the
Moorish king.  And when it was almost midnight the fire broke
out, and it grew so great and so terrible that everyone was
astonished at the enormous flames.  The king and the other Moors,
unarmed, hurried to where the fire was greatest in order to put
it out.  But instead of being extinguished, the more water they
threw on it, the more brightly it burned.

When the King of England saw the huge fire, he went out of the
city, armed, and with the few men he still had he attacked the
Moors.  And they brought such great destruction to them that it
was fearful, and they spared no one.

When the Moorish king saw such a large fire and so many of his
men dead, he mounted a horse and fled.  He took shelter in a
castle he had taken, named Killingworth, together with all those
who had escaped the camp, and they recovered their resolve.

He and all the other Moors were astonished at how they had been
defeated, and they could not understand what had caused such a
great disaster, because their forces were fifty times greater
than those of the Christians.  When the Moors fled, the
Christians pillaged their camp, and day was upon them when they
entered the city victoriously.

After four days had passed, the Moorish king sent his emissaries
with a letter challenging the King of England, and it said the
following:

"To you, Christian king who rules the isle of England, I, Abraim,
king and lord of Canaria, say that if you wish the war between
you and me to end, and the killing between your people and mine
to cease, let us have a joust, king against king, under the
following pacts and agreements:  If I should defeat you, you will
hold all England under my power and command, and you shall give
me two hundred thousand pieces of gold in tribute each year.  And
if fortune decides that you are the conqueror, I shall return to
my own land, and you will remain in yours in peace, and you and
all your people will enjoy full peace and tranquility.  And in
addition I shall restore to you all the cities and castles that I
have won and conquered by my own victorious hand.

"These words are not spoken for vainglory or out of disdain for
the royal crown, but so that God Who is great may give to each
that share which, by his merits, he will deserve."

Two great Moorish knights, whom the King of Canary was sending to
the city of Warwick as envoys to the King of England, left the
castle of Killingworth, and before they departed, they sent a
messenger to the city to request safe conduct.

When the messenger came to the gates of the city the guards told
him to wait a little while, and they would return with the reply. 
One of the guards quickly went to the king to tell him.  After
the king had held a brief counsel, he told the guard to let him
in.  When the messenger was inside the city, the Count of
Salisbury spoke to him and said:

"Messenger, on behalf of His Majesty, the king, I can tell you
that the envoys may come without danger and in safety, for they
will not be harmed in any way."

And the count gave him a silk garment and one hundred pieces of
gold.  The messenger departed, very content, and before the
envoys came, the hermit said to the king:

"My lord, let us put fear into the hearts of these Moors.  Your
Majesty should order two grandees to go out to the gate and
receive the envoys.  And let many men, very well armed, but
without helmets, go with them.  Have three hundred men at the
gate to guard it, armed like the others.  And let all the ladies
and maidens who are able, old as well as young, hang banners in
the windows and on the roofs, as tall as the women's chests, and
each of these women should put armor on her head.  When the
envoys pass by they will see the coats of mail shining, and will
think they are all warriors.  Have the three hundred guarding the
gate follow them by other streets, and let them appear in the
square and on the corner.  Then, after the envoys have passed by,
let them do the same again and again until they reach Your
Highness.  And you may be sure that they will be frightened when
they see so many soldiers after the battle they have lost. 
Seeing the great number of men, they will believe that many have
come from Spain or France or Germany to help us."

The king and all his council thought very highly of the hermit's
words.  It was decided that the Duke of Lancaster and the Count
of Salisbury should receive the envoys, and that four thousand
men should go with them, each wearing a garland of flowers on his
head.  They went a good mile out of the city to receive the
envoys.

Then the Duke of Bedford said:

"Tell us, Father, since there are so many ceremonies to be
performed for the envoys, how should they find the king, clothed
or naked, armed or unarmed?"

"That would be a good question," said the hermit, "if there were
not so much anger behind your words.  But I see the meaning of
your words, and that they are intended more for malice than good. 
It is because I am old and a hermit that you are trying to
besmear my advice and belittle me before my lord the king.  Hold
your tongue.  If you do not, I shall put a bridle in your mouth
that will make you stop at every turn."

At this, the duke rose to his feet, drew his sword, and said:

"If it were not because you are so old and you wear the habit of
Saint Francis, I would take this sword and cut your skirts right
up to the waist."

Then the king rose angrily to his feet, seized the duke and took
the sword out of his hand, and had him imprisoned in the tower. 
All the other noble lords there calmed the hermit, telling him
that because of his age and the habit he wore he should be
forgiving, and he was content to forgive.  But the king would
not, in spite of all the pleas of the hermit and the other noble
lords.

In the midst of these troubles, news was brought to the king that
the Moorish envoys were approaching, and those who had been
chosen went out quickly as they had arranged.

When the envoys stood before the king, they gave him the letter,
and the king commanded that it be read in everyone's presence. 
The hermit drew near to the king and said to him:

"Your Highness, accept the challenge."

Then the king said:

"I agree to the battle, in accordance with the conditions your
king sets down."

He begged the envoys to remain there until the following day when
he would give them the formal reply.  He showed them to very
comfortable chambers and gave them everything they needed.

Then the king convoked a general council, and while it was being
prepared, the hermit, along with the other lords, went to the
king.

He knelt at the king's feet and kissed his hands and feet, and
very humbly begged him to give him the keys to the tower so that
he could release the duke.  The hermit pleaded so much, as did
the other lords, that the king was obliged to give them to him. 
Then the hermit went with the others to the tower where the duke
was imprisoned, and there they found a friar hearing his
confession, because he was certain he would be killed.  When he
heard the door open he was so startled that he felt he was losing
his mind, for he thought they were coming to take him out to
execute him.

When the hermit saw him he said:

"My lord, duke, if you and I have spoken harmful words to each
other, I beg you to forgive me, for I most willingly pardon you."

When they had made their peace they all returned to the council
where the king and all the dukes, counts and marquis were, and
they read the letter from the Moorish king once more.  Because
the king and all the others loved and revered the hermit and they
saw that he led a saintly life, and that he expressed himself
well and was knowledgeable about arms, they all agreed that he
should be the first to speak, and this led to the following
discourse.

"I will tell you my opinion, although I realize that I am not
worthy to speak of such things since I know little of the use of
arms.  Because of the weak disposition of my lord, the king, who
is young and has a weak constitution and is sickly, although he
has the courage of a virtuous knight, it would not be fitting or
just for him to do battle with a man as robust as the Moorish
king.  Instead, let the Duke of Lancaster, who is the uncle of my
lord king, undertake this battle, and let our king grant to him
the scepter and the royal crown so that the Moorish king will not
be deceived and so that he may combat a true king."

Scarcely had the hermit spoken these last words when three dukes
sprang to their feet in great anger: the Duke of Gloucester, the
Duke of Bedford, and the Duke of Exeter.  And they began to cry
loudly that they would not consent for the Duke of Lancaster to
enter into battle and be made king, because each of them was more
closely related to the king, and it was more just for them to do
battle than the Duke of Lancaster.

The king would not permit any further discussion, and he said:

"It is not my pleasure that any of you should take my place in
battle.  Since I have accepted, I wish to carry it out alone."

A baron stood up and said the following:

"Sire, may Your Excellency forgive me for what I am about to say. 
We will never consent to what Your Highness has said.  If our
Heavenly Father has indeed given you the desire, he has taken
from you the strength.  We all know that Your Highness is not
ready for such a formidable and arduous battle as this will be. 
Let your grace be ruled by our counsel and will.  If we believed
that Your Excellency were disposed for such an undertaking, we
would very willingly have agreed to what Your Highness has
commanded."

All the other barons and knights praised what this baron had
said.

"My most faithful vassals and subjects," said the king, "since it
is not to your liking, and you see that I am not fit to combat
the Moorish king, I give you my thanks for the great love you
have shown me, and I submit to your will.  But it is my wish and
my command that no one, under pain of death, shall be so bold as
to say that he will take my place in battle, except the one I
shall choose.  Unto him I shall give the crown, the kingdom and
the royal scepter."

Then the king said:

"Dukes, counts and marquis, and all the rest of my most faithful
subjects, I am relinquishing my station, the scepter and the
royal crown, and my title to my beloved father hermit."

He removed the garments, and said:

"As I relinquish these royal robes, and put them on the father
hermit, in the same way I relinquish my throne and my station to
him.  I beg him to accept, and to do battle for me with the
Moorish king."

When the hermit heard the king say these words, he arose quickly
because he wished to speak, and all the great lords who were
there also stood and gathered so closely to the hermit that they
would not let him speak, but instead removed the habit he was
clothed in and made him dress in the royal robes.  As the king
turned over all his power to the hermit, it was duly noted in the
presence of all the council and with the consent of all the
barons.  When the hermit king heard the pleas of all those in the
council, he accepted the kingdom and the battle, and quickly
asked them to bring him armor that would fit him well.  They
brought him many suits of armor, but of all the ones they
brought him there was none he was pleased with.

"In faith," said the hermit king, "nothing will stop this battle,
even if I have to go dressed in only my shirt.  I beg you, my
lords," said the hermit king, "to be so good as to go to the
countess and entreat her by her great virtue and kindness, to
lend me the armor of her husband, Sir William of Warwick, which
he wore when he went into battle."

When the countess saw so many dukes, counts and marquis, and the
entire council of the king approaching, and she heard the reason
they had come, the virtuous countess gave them a suit of armor
of little value.  When the king saw it, he said, "This is not the
one I asked for.  There is another that is much better."

All the barons returned once more to the countess and asked for
the other armor, and the countess told them that there was no
other.  When the king heard the answer, he said:

"My lords and my brothers, let us all go, and we shall try our
luck."

When they were all before the countess, the king said:

"Countess, out of your great kindness and gentility, I beg you to
lend me the armor of your husband, Sir William of Warwick."

"Sire," said the countess, "may God take this child from me, for
I have no other dear thing in the world: I have already sent the
armor to you."

"That is true," said the king, "but this is not what I asked for.
Lend me the armor that is in the small chamber in your bedroom,
covered by green and white damask."

The countess knelt, and said:

"Sire, by your mercy and your grace, I beg Your Majesty to tell
me your name and how you came to know my lord and husband, Count
William of Warwick."

The king answered: "My lady, because you wish me to tell you, I
will.  I was in his company continually, for in the wars we were
brothers in arms."

The countess immediately replied:

"I beg your lordship to forgive me for not doing all that I could
have for Your Highness when you were a hermit.  If I had known
how close you were to my lord, William of Warwick, I would have
honored you much more and given you more of my possessions than I
did."

The king was very content with the words of the countess:

"Where there is no error there is no need to beg forgiveness.  I
only ask you, out of your great virtue and genteelness, to lend
me the armor I have asked you for."

The countess immediately had other armor brought to him, covered
with blue brocade.  When the king saw it, he said:

"Countess, my lady, how well you have kept the arms of your
husband!  In spite of all the supplications that these lords and
I have made to you, you have been unwilling to lend them to us. 
These are the ones which William of Warwick used in tournaments;
the ones I want are hanging in the alcove, and are covered with
white and green damask, with the emblem of a lion wearing a
golden crown.  And if my entering there would not anger you,
countess, I am sure that I would find them."

"Oh, wretched me!" said the countess.  "It's as though you had
been raised in this house!  Your grace may indeed go in and look,
and take everything you wish."

When the king saw her willingness he thanked her, and they all
went into her chamber and saw them hanging there.  The king had
them brought to him, and he had them repaired.

The battle was arranged for the following day.  In the evening
the king went to the main church and stayed there all night,
kneeling before the altar of the holy Mother of God, Our Lady,
with all his armaments upon the altar.  When it was full
daylight, he very devoutly heard mass.  After mass he had himself
fitted with armor inside the church, and ate a partridge in order
to fortify himself.  Then he went out to the field.

When the hermit king was in the field he saw the Moorish king
with all his foot soldiers and horsemen.  All the Moors climbed
to the top of a hill to view the battle, and the Christians
remained near the city.  The hermit king held a well sharpened
lance and had a small shield on his arm, along with his sword and
a dagger.  The Moorish king had a bow and arrow, a sword, and on
his head was a helmet wrapped with a turban.

When the two brave kings were in the field, they charged at each
other.  The Moorish king quickly shot an arrow which hit the
center of the hermit king's shield, passing freely by him near
his arm, and at once the Moorish king shot another which hit him
in the thigh, but with the armor the hermit king was wearing the
arrow could not penetrate it completely.  The hermit king hurled
the lance at him when they were near.  The Moorish king was very
skillful with his arms: when he saw the lance coming he deflected
it with his bow.  By this time the hermit king had drawn so near
that the Moorish king could not shoot more arrows.  When he was
so close that he could almost touch him with his hand, the hermit
king cried out in a loud voice:

"If You help me, Lord, it will not matter if all the Moors in the
world attack me."

When the Moorish king saw him so near, and realized that he could
not shoot any arrows, he felt that he had lost.

After the hermit king had thrown the lance, he quickly reached
for his sword, and drawing as close to the Moorish king as he
could, he gave him a mighty blow on the head.  But he did him
little harm because of the thick turban the Moorish king wore! 
Then the hermit king struck him a mighty blow with his sword,
cutting off his arm, and as he plunged his sword fully into his
side the Moorish king fell to the ground.  As quickly as he
could, the hermit king cut off his head.  Then he picked up his
lance and stuck the head on the end of it, and rode back into the
city in triumph.

Imagine what rejoicing there was among the Christians, the women
and the young girls, when they thought they were now released
from their captivity!  When the king was inside the city he had
the doctors brought to him, and they ministered to his wounds.

On the morning of the following day the king held his council in
the bed where he lay, and it was decided that two knights would
be sent as envoys to the Moors, to tell them that they wished to
observe the pacts they had all agreed to and sworn to, and that
they could go to their own lands in safety, with all their ships
and clothing and jewelry, and that no one in the kingdom would
harm them.

The envoys departed, and when they were with the Moors they
explained their mission to them.  They were given lodging, and
were asked to await the reply.  The Moors told them this in order
to do them great harm, for they were now very vengeful because of
the death of their king.

Among them a great dispute arose over whom they would make king. 
Some wanted Cale-ben-Cale, others wanted Aduqueperec,
cousin-german of the dead king.  Cale-ben-Cale was chosen king,
and he immediately ordered the envoys seized, along with all who
had come with them, and he had them put to death.  They cut off
their heads, put them inside a packsaddle, and sent them to the
city on a mule.  The guards who were in the city towers saw two
horsemen driving the mule on.  When they were near the city they
abandoned the mule and galloped away.  The captain of the guards
saw them and ordered ten men on horseback to go and see what it
was all about.  When they got there they wished they had not gone
out to see such a terrible thing, and they immediately went to
tell the king and his entire council.  When the king heard the
news he was very much taken aback, and he said:

"Oh, cruel infidels: you who have little faith, for you cannot
give what you do not have!  Now I make a solemn vow, wounded as I
am, never to enter a covered building, except to hear mass at a
church, until I have driven these Moors from the entire kingdom."

He quickly had his clothing brought to him, and he left his bed
and had the trumpets sound.  The first to leave the city was the
king, and he had all the men who were more than eleven years old
and less than seventy summoned, and under penalty of death they
all had to follow him.  That day his tents were raised on the
very spot where the Moors had been defeated, and the king had a
great deal of artillery for war brought out.

When the virtuous countess learned that the king had proclaimed
such a summons, and that those who were more than eleven years
old were to follow him, she was very upset, for she realized that
her son was included.  So she hurried to where the king was, and
fell to her knees on the hard ground.  Then, with a grieving
voice, she began to say:

"Have pity on me.  I have nothing of value except this son who is
so young that he cannot help you.  Grant me this favor in memory
of your great friendship and love for my virtuous husband.  And
let me remind your grace of the alms that I used to give you when
you were a hermit.  Please hear my supplications, and leave my
son with me.  His father is dead, and the only thing I have to
console me is this poor son."

The king saw the countess's error, and quickly replied:

"I would very much like to obey you, Countess, if your petition
were honorable and just.  But it is well known that men must
learn to use arms, and they must know the practice of war, and
the gentle ways of this blessed order of chivalry.  It is
customary for men of honor to begin to use arms when they are
very young, for they learn better at that age than at any other. 
And because he is now at the best age in the world to see and
understand the great honors that knights achieve, I wish to keep
him in my company as my own son.  He must come with me, and
tomorrow I shall dub him a knight so that he may imitate the
virtuous actions of his father, William of Warwick."

"I am called mother only by this son of mine," said the countess,
"and if he dies in battle, what will become of me, for I shall
have lost my husband and my son and all that I had in this
miserable world?"

When the countess had finished, her son began to speak:

"Madam, I beg you, please do not cry for me.  You know that I
have now reached an age when I have to leave the protection of my
mother's wings, and that I am worthy of bearing arms and going
into battle to show the mettle I am made of, and who my father
was.  If it is God's will, He will keep me from harm and will
allow me to carry out such actions that He will be pleased, and
they will give consolation to my father's soul, and your grace
will be made happy."

When her son had gone, the countess went into the city, weeping,
and many virtuous women of the city went with her, consoling her
as best they could.

That night the king had the camp well guarded, and he allowed no
one to take off their armor.  In the morning, when the sun came
out, he had the trumpets sound, and they moved the camp to within
half a league of where the Moors were.  When the tents were set
up he let the men rest.  This happened after the noon hour.

When the Moors learned that the Christians had come out of the
city, they were astonished, because a short time before they had
not dared take a step outside the city, and now they came looking
for them.  Some captains said this was because of the great
cruelty of their king, Cale-ben-Cale, who had killed the
Christian ambassadors so cruelly, and they said that they might
be recruiting men from Spain or France:

"That is why they are coming so near, and you can be sure that
any of us they capture will be cut to shreds."

One of the ambassadors who had taken the letter to convene the
joust, said:

"They paid us many honors, and as soon as we were in the city we
saw great numbers of men in the towers, the squares, in the
windows and on the rooftops.  It was astonishing to see so many
armed men.  By Mohammed, I would guess there were two hundred
thousand soldiers.  And this wicked king killed their ambassadors
without reason."

After all the captains had heard the words of this ambassador,
they talked to the other Moors who had gone into the city with
him, and when they knew the truth of the situation, they killed
Cale-ben-Cale and chose a new king.  Nonetheless, they armed
themselves for battle and went in sight of the Christians.

The sun was nearly down, but they still decided to go up a nearby
hill.  When the hermit king saw them, he said:

"In faith, they're afraid of us.  That's why they've gone up to
such a high place.  Let everyone do what I do, and with Divine
help we will have vengeance on our enemies."

He took a basket in one hand, and a spade in the other, and went
in front of them all.  When the great lords saw the king do this,
each of them did the same, and followed him.

Before leaving the city, the virtuous king had procured
everything necessary for the war.  Around the palisade he dug a
deep ditch that led to a large water hole, and they left a great
entryway in the middle, through which one hundred fifty men could
pass at one time.  On the other side they dug another ditch that
led to a high cliff.

The king said:

"Since we've finished, and there are only two hours left till
dawn, you, Duke of Gloucester, and you, Count of Salisbury, go
quickly to the countess, and ask her to give me two large barrels
that belong to William of Warwick.  They are full of copper
spikes, and she will find them upstairs, in the weapons room."

They went there quickly and begged and commanded her, on the
king's behalf, so that she gave them to them, even though she was
upset with the king because he had not given her son back to her. 
But she realized how great their needs were, and so she did it,
although she could not help saying:

"Lord, have mercy on me!  What's going on that this king knows so
much about my house?  There's nothing I have that has to do with
weapons or war that he doesn't know about.  I don't know if he is
only guessing or if he's a wizard."

The barons had the barrels of spikes loaded onto carts, and took
them to the camp.  When they were before the king, they told him
everything the countess had said, and the virtuous king burst out
laughing, and he smiled and joked with them at length.

Afterward he had the spikes taken to the gate, and they placed
them on the ground so that when the Moors came through, they
would stick into their feet.  He also had many holes, like wells,
dug, so that if they escaped one danger they would fall into
another.  And the Christians worked at this all night long.

When daylight broke, the Moors began to beat drums, and they blew
trumpets and pipes, and shouted their battle-cries, and with
great joy they streamed down the mountain to attack the
Christians.  The hermit king ordered all the men to lie down on
the ground, and pretend to be asleep.  When they were almost
within range of bombards they all got up, and gave signs of being
unprepared for battle.  When the Moors were inside the entryway,
the king said:

"Gentlemen, do not dismay, I beg you.  Let's turn our backs, and
pretend to run away."

When the Moors saw them fleeing, they rushed forward as quickly
as they could.  They ran inside the entryway which, as we have
mentioned, they could not pass through because the copper spikes
stuck into their feet.  When the virtuous hermit king saw the
Moors inside the entryway he made his men slow down, like an
expert in war and weaponry, and he saw the Moors stopping because
of the wounds from the spikes, while others were falling into the
wells that were covered by branches with dirt piled on top.  Then
the king began to shout with a loud voice:

"Oh knights of honor, take your eyes from the city, and turn your
faces to the enemies of the Christian faith.  Let us attack with
great courage, for this day is ours.  Give them a cruel battle,
and grant mercy to no one!"

The king was the first to strike a blow; then the others
followed.  The Moors saw the Christians doing battle savagely
while they were all unable to move because of their wounds, and
so they were forced to die, and great destruction was wrought
unto them.  Those who were coming behind saw how the Christians
were slaughtering the Moors, and they fled back to the castle
they had come from, without offering resistance.

The king pursued them, killing and beheading as many as he could
catch.  When the king was worn out from his wounds, he stopped
for a moment and they captured a very tall Moor of enormous
proportions.  After the king had knighted the countess's son, he
wanted him to kill that Moor.  And very bravely the boy stabbed
him with his sword until he killed him.  When the king saw that
the Moor was dead he took the boy by the hair and threw him on
top of the Moor, and rubbed him hard against the man, filling his
eyes and face with blood, and he made him stick his hands into
the wounds, and in that way he baptized him in the blood of the
Moor.  He grew up very bravely, and in his time in a large part
of the world there could not be found so worthy a knight.

When the good king saw that the battle was won, he began to
pursue the Moors, and he killed all those he caught.  This was
the greatest destruction and slaughter of men that took place in
that time, for ninety-seven thousand Moors died in the space of
ten days.  Since the king could not walk well because of his
wounds, they brought him a horse so he could ride.

"In truth, I shall not," said the king.  "All the others are
going on foot, and if I went on horseback it would be very
unjust."

They went along slowly until they came to the castle where the
Moors had barricaded themselves, and here they made camp and
rested that night.  In the morning, when it was broad daylight,
the king ordered the trumpets blown, and all the men armed
themselves.  The king put on his royal tunic and went in front of
all the rest, and they charged the castle.  They were met by
cross bows and spears and rocks that were thrown down on them
from the top of the castle.  And the king pressed on so hard
that he went ahead alone, without anyone being able to help him. 
The countess's son shouted loudly:

"Run, knights of honor!  Let us run and help our king and lord
who has placed himself in great danger!"

And he took hold of a small shield that a page was carrying, and
jumped into the moat to go to where the king was.  The others,
seeing the small boy going by, all rushed forward at the same
time to get to the other side, and many knights died or were
wounded.  But the small boy, with the aid of Our Lord, suffered
no harm.

When they had all crossed over they gathered a great deal of
wood, and they set fire to the door of the castle.  The boy began
to shout as loudly as he could, and he said:

"Oh, English ladies!  Come out, and regain your lost liberty: the
day of your redemption has come."

Three hundred nine women were inside the castle.  When they heard
that voice they all ran to the back door of the castle, for there
was a huge fire at the other one and all the women were welcomed
by the Christians, and among them were many noblewomen.

When the Moors saw the great fire, and that the entire castle was
burning, they wanted to surrender, but the valiant king would not
permit it.

Instead, he wanted them all to die by fire and the sword.  And
those who came running out of the castle were either quickly
killed, or the spears forced them back inside.  In this way
twenty-two thousand Moors were killed and burned that day.

The hermit king left the castle with all his men, and they went
through all the kingdom to those places the Moors had taken. 
They did not find one Moor that they wanted to spare, and they
went all the way to the port of Southampton where they found all
the vessels and ships on which they had come.  Afterward the king
ordered that any Moor who came to the island of England, no
matter what his business might be, should die without mercy.

When they had retaken the entire kingdom, the king's vow was
fulfilled and all the people went into the city of Warwick.  When
the countess learned that the king was coming she went out to
welcome him with all the ladies and maidens of the city, since
not one man had stayed there except the sick and wounded.  When
the countess was near the king, she fell to her knees, and all
the other women shouted with a loud voice:

"Welcome, victorious King!"

The virtuous gentleman embraced them all, one by one, and took
the countess's hand, and they walked along, talking, until they
were inside the city.  The countess thanked him profusely for all
the honor he had bestowed on her son, and then she thanked all
the other great lords.

Having rested for a few days, the hermit king was in his chamber
one day, thinking to himself.  Since he had ended the war, and
the entire kingdom was at peace, he decided to reveal who he was
to his wife, the countess, and to all the others, so that he
could return the royal scepter to the first king, and go back to
his penance.

He called his chamberlain, and giving him the half-ring he had

divided with the countess before going to Jerusalem, he told him
to speak to her and give her the ring.  The chamberlain quickly
went to the countess, and kneeling before her, he said:

"My lady, one who has loved and continues to love you sends you
this ring."

The countess took the ring, and when she looked at it she turned
pale.  She ran into her chamber and opened a box where she kept
the other part of the ring.  She put the two parts together, and
saw that they were one piece, revealing the family arms.  She
understood that it belonged to her husband, the count, and she
cried out:

"Tell me, sir, where is my husband, the Count of Warwick?"

And she tried to find the door to leave the chamber, but in her
confusion she could not.  Then she fell to the floor in a faint.

When the chamberlain saw what a state the countess was in, he ran
to the king in fright.  The king said:

"My friend, what's wrong?  What news do you bring me?"

The chamberlain fell to his knees before him, and said:

"I dearly wish you had not sent me.  I don't know what special
power that ring has, or if it was made by sorcery and your
worship took it from the Moors, because as soon as the countess
placed it on her finger she fell to the floor, dead."

The king got up from his seat and quickly went to her chamber
where he found her more dead than alive, with all the doctors at
her side.  As soon as the countess regained consciousness, and
saw her husband and king, she quickly got up and knelt before him
to kiss his feet and his hands.  But he would not allow it, and
instead he took her arm and lifted her from the floor, and
embraced and kissed her many times.  Then he revealed who he was
to all the lords in the kingdom, and to the entire town.  And all
the lords and ladies came to honor the king and their new queen. 
When the son learned that the king was his father, he hurried to
the chamber and knelt and kissed his hands and feet many times
over.

There were great celebrations, and after nine days four hundred
carts arrived, loaded with gold and silver, jewels, and very
valuable items which they had found in the Moors' possession. 
The king ordered the jewels, the gold, and the silver to be given
to four lords: the Duke of Gloucester, the Duke of Bedford, the
Count of Salisbury, and the Count of Stafford.

After this had been done the king called a general council for
the following day.  When they were all present, the king came
into the council chamber in his royal robes, the crown on his
head and the scepter in his hand, and sitting down, he said:

"My lord and king, Your Highness must be content with the grace
that almighty God has given you, for with the help of your
vassals you have recovered the entire isle of England.  And so,
in the presence of all these worthy lords, I return to you the
kingdom, the crown, the scepter and the royal robes."

He immediately removed the garments and dressed again in his
habit.

The king and all the barons recognized his great virtue and
gentility, and gave him many thanks.  The king asked him to
remain in his court, and offered to make him Prince of Wales, but
he excused himself, saying that he would not leave God's service
for the vanities of this world.  Then he left the king and those
in the court, and went to his village, about a league from the
city, and there he rested for a few days.

When the countess learned that her husband had gone, she left the
castle without saying a word to the king or to anyone, and went
with her ladies and maidens to be with her husband.

Within a few days the king and his people were ready to leave. 
Then the hermit-count told his son to go with the king, and to
serve him fully.  And if disagreements arose in the kingdom, in
no case should he turn against his king and lord.

After the king had left for London, the countess begged her
husband:

"My lord, let me stay with you so that I may serve you.  Let us
make a hermitage separated into two parts, with a church in
between."

So much did the countess implore him that the count was forced to
obey her.  The countess then wanted to go to another site that
was lovely, with many trees and a beautiful, clear spring, and in
the middle of that fine meadow was a pine tree of striking
beauty.  And everyday all the wild beasts of the forest came to
drink from that clear spring.

When the hermitage was finished, and the count and countess were
about to go and live in it, the Count of Northumberland arrived,
as an ambassador of the king, to ask them to go to London, for
the king was to marry the daughter of the King of France.  And if
the count could not go, the countess was requested to go, for she
was needed to teach the queen the customs of England.

The count-hermit answered:

"Ambassador, tell His Majesty, the king, that I would he very
happy to serve His Excellency, but I cannot abandon the vow I
have made to serve God.  As for the countess, her presence there
can take the place of both of us."

The countess would have preferred to remain behind and serve her
husband, but when she saw her husband's wishes, and realized her
duty to the king, she agreed to go.  The count left them with
many tears and went to the hermitage.  And every day, after
prayer, he went underneath the beautiful tree to see the animals
drink from the clear spring.



CHAPTER II

THE TOURNAMENT

 Day after day the English knights were languishing.  Abandoning
themselves to idleness, they spent many days in peace,
tranquility, rest and enjoyment.  So they would not be completely
idle and fall into languor, the King of England decided that as
the wedding had been arranged he would invite everyone to his
court and have a display of arms.  The news of the great
celebration that the king was preparing was spread throughout all
the Christian kingdoms.

It happened that a gentleman of ancient lineage, a native of
Brittany, was traveling in the company of many other gentlemen
who were going to the celebration.  He fell behind the others,
and went to sleep on his horse, because he was so weary from the
long journey he had made.  His horse left the road and took a
path that led him to the delightful spring of the hermit, who at
this moment was finding pleasure in a book entitled Tree of
Battles.  As he read this book he constantly gave thanks to God,
our Heavenly Father, for the singular favors he had won in this
world by serving the order of chivalry.

While he was at this task he saw a man coming along the plain on
horseback, asleep.  He stopped reading, and decided not to wake
him.  When the horse was in front of the spring and saw the
water, it drew closer, wanting to drink, but because the reins
were tied to the saddle bow, it could not.  And it struggled so
much that it was inevitable that the gentleman should awaken.  As
he opened his eyes, he found himself confronted by a hermit with
a very long and completely white beard, his clothing torn,
revealing a thin body.

The gentleman was astonished at such a sight, but with his good
sense he realized that it must be some man who led a saintly
life, and who had withdrawn to that place to do penance and save
his soul.  He quickly dismounted and bowed deeply to him.  The
hermit received him cordially, and they sat down in the
delightful, green meadow.  The hermit began to speak:

"Gentle sir, I beg you upon your courtesy and gentility to tell
me your name and upon what business you have come to this lonely
spot."

The gentleman quickly answered:

"Reverend Father, since your holiness wants to know my name, I
will be very happy to tell it to you: I am called Tirant lo
Blanc.  My father was lord of the March of Tirania, which faces
England along the sea, and my mother was daughter of the Duke of
Brittany, and her name is Blanca, and so they decided to name me
Tirant lo Blanc.  The news has spread among all the Christian
kingdoms that the King of England has called for a court to be
held in the city of London, and that he has arranged a marriage
with the daughter of the King of France, who is the most
beautiful maiden in all Christendom and has qualities that no one
else possesses.  I can give you an example: While I was in the
court of the King of France, in the city of Paris, last
Michaelmas, the king was holding a great celebration because that
day the wedding had been agreed to.  The king, the queen and the
infanta were all eating at the same table, and I can tell you
truly, sir, that as the infanta drank red wine, it could be seen
as it passed down her throat because her skin is so very fair,
and everyone there was astonished.  Afterward it was said that
the King of England wishes to become a knight, and that he will
then make knights of everyone who wishes to enter the order of
chivalry.  I asked kings-of-arms and heralds why the king had not
been made a knight during his wars with the Moors.  And I was
told that it was because he had been defeated in all the battles
he undertook against the Moors until the appearance of that
famous knight and conqueror, Count William of Warwick, who
quickly defeated the Moors and put all his kingdom at peace. 
They say, moreover, that on Saint John's day the queen will be in
the city of London and great celebrations will be held that will
last a year and a day, and so we thirty gentlemen in name and in
arms have left Brittany, prepared to enter the order of chivalry. 
And as I came along the road, fortune decided that I would fall
somewhat behind because of my horse's weariness and because of
the great hardships I have endured on the long journeys I have
made--for I left after the others.  As I was thinking to myself I
fell asleep, and my horse left the main road and brought me
before your reverence."

When the hermit heard the gentleman say that he was going in
order to receive the order of chivalry, he heaved a deep sigh and
began to think, remembering the great honor chivalry had bestowed
upon him for so long.

"I tell your lordship," continued Tirant, "even if there were
many more dangers in it than there are, that would not stop me
from receiving the order of chivalry.  No matter what happens to
me, I will consider my death worthwhile if I die loving and
defending the order of chivalry and serving it with all my
strength so that I won't be reprimanded by good knights."

"My son," said the hermit, "because you so desire to receive the
order, do it with renown and fame.  On the day you receive it
perform a show of arms so that all your relatives and friends
will know that you are ready to maintain and serve the order of
chivalry.  Now because the hour is late and your company is going
far ahead, I think you should leave: you are in a foreign land
and do not know the roads, and you run the danger of becoming
lost in the great forests hereabouts.  I beg you to take this
book and show it to my lord, the king, and to all the good
knights so that they may know about the order of chivalry.  And
when you return, I pray you, my son, come by here and tell me who
have been made new knights, and about all the celebrations and
festivities that take place, so that I will know about them, and
I will be very grateful to you."

And he gave him the book, taking his leave at the same time.

Tirant took the book with great joy, giving him many thanks and
promising to return, and Tirant said, as he left:

"Tell me, my lord: if the king or the other knights ask me who is
sending the book, what shall I say?"

The hermit answered:

"If you are asked such a question, say that it was someone who
has always loved and honored the order of chivalry."

Tirant bowed deeply to him, mounted his horse, and went on his
way.

Meanwhile his companions were wondering what could have become of
him and why he was delayed.  They were afraid that he might have
become lost in the forest, and many of them turned back to look
for him.  They found him on the road, reading about the
chivalresque acts written down in the book, and of all the order
of chivalry.

When Tirant reached the town where his companions were staying,
he told them about the beautiful adventure Our Lord had taken him
on, and how the saintly hermit had given him that book.  And they
read all that night until morning when it was time to leave.

They traveled a day at a time until they reached the city of
London,where the king was with many knights.  Many had come, both
from his own kingdom and from foreign lands, and no more than
thirteen days remained before the celebration of Saint John's
day.

When Tirant and his friends had gathered together they went to
pay homage to the king, who received them very cordially.  The
infanta was two days journey from there in a city named
Canterbury where the body of Saint Thomas of Canterbury lies.  On
Saint John's day the celebrations began, and that day the king
was seen with the infanta, his bride.  These celebrations lasted
a year and a day.

When the celebrations were over the king was married to the
infanta of France, and all the foreigners took their leave of the
king and queen and returned to their own lands.

After Tirant left the city of London with his companions, he
remembered the promise he had made to the hermit, and when they
were near the place where he lived, he said to them:

"Gentlemen, my brothers, I must go to where the hermit is."

And everyone in his company begged him to let them go too, for
they had a great desire to see the saintly hermit.  Tirant was
most content that they should, and they all set out on the road
toward the hermit.  At the time they arrived, the hermit was
under the tree, in prayer.

When he saw so many people arriving he wondered who they could
be.  Tirant drew closer than the others, and when he was near he
dismounted, and all the rest with him, and they approached the
hermit with deep humility, kneeling and paying him the honor he
deserved.  Tirant wished to kiss his hand, as did all the others,
but he would not permit it.

The hermit, very attentive and courteous, paid them great honor,
embracing them all and begging them to sit on the grass near him. 
And they answered that he should sit down and they would all
remain standing, but the valorous gentleman would not allow it
and made them all sit next to him.  When they were all seated,
they waited for the hermit to speak.  The hermit, understanding
the honor they were paying him, said:

"I could not possibly tell you, magnificent gentlemen, how
content I am at seeing so many good people.  Please tell me if
you are now coming from the court of my lord, the king.  I would
like to know who became new knights, and about the celebrations
that have taken place.  And I beg you, Tirant lo Blanc, tell me
the names of all these gentlemen here."

And he paused.  Tirant turned to his companions, for there were
many of higher lineage and wealth, and he said to them:

"Oh, valiant knights!  I pray you to answer the questions that
the reverent hermit has asked us.  I have told you many times of
his wisdom and holiness; and he is a father of chivalry and
deserves great honor, so I beg you to speak to him."

They all answered:

"You speak, Tirant.  Speak for us all, for the holy father met
you first."

"Then, since that is your pleasure," said Tirant, "and the father
commands it, if I am wrong about anything, please correct me."

They all said they would.

Then the hermit said:

"I beg you, please tell me who was judged the best of the knights
and who was given the honor of this festive occasion?"

"My lord," said Tirant, "many gentlemen of great authority and
power came to these celebrations.  There were kings, dukes,
counts and marquis, nobles and knights and many gentlemen of
ancient lineage; and almost all those who were not knights were
given the order of chivalry.  The Duke of Acquaviva put on a
display of arms with great knightly spirit and many men were with
him, and from among them more than sixty gentlemen were knighted. 
This duke jousted on foot and on horseback, and he was always
victorious.  The brother of the Duke of Burgundy went into battle
with great courage like the virtuous knight that he is.  Next the
Duke of Cleve jousted, and he was highly praised.  Many other
gentlemen who came jousted like noble knights, and I can tell
you, sir, in all truth, that more than one hundred fifty knights
were killed.

"And I will tell your grace something astonishing: One day a boy
(It looked to me like he was no more than fourteen or fifteen
years old, and everyone honored him, including the king, and they
called him the high constable of England) came to the lodging of
these gentlemen here and asked for me.  He did not know my name,
but he recognized me, and he begged me very graciously to lend
him my horse and arms because the king and the countess, his
mother, did not want him to joust on foot or on horseback on
account of the danger.  He begged me so much and with such good
grace, that I could not refuse him, and I told him that I would
be very pleased to give them to him.

"I tell you, sir, of all the knights who took up arms, there was
no one who performed as beautifully or as well as he did.  The
first time he went out he caught his adversary in the middle of
the headpiece so that most of the lance went through him.  When
the knight was dead and the king heard that it was his constable
who had jousted so well, he sent for him.  And the constable was
so frightened that he made excuses not to go, but finally he went
to the king, and the king reprimanded him severely.  His
Excellency showed that he loved him very much, indeed, telling
him that he had fought without his permission against a man of
enormous strength, the Lord of Escala Rompuda.  And furthermore,
he told him not to dare to joust anymore without his permission."

When the constable saw how severely the king was reprimanding
him, he angrily said: 'Well, my lord, is it true then that even
though I've received the order of chivalry, I must be held as the
least of all knights because Your Majesty will not let me joust
for fear that I might die?  Since I am a knight I must do the
works of a knight, the same as all good knights.  If Your Majesty
doesn't want me to face the danger of weapons, order me to go
around dressed like a woman with the queen's maidens.  Doesn't
Your Majesty know that when my father and lord, William, Count of
Warwick, held the royal scepter he conquered the Moors?  And he
took me by the hair and made me kill a Moor even when I was
young, because he wanted to make me a conqueror, soaked with
blood, and leave me that for a legacy?  My lord, if I want to
imitate my father in chivalry, Your Highness should not stop me. 
I beg Your most serene Majesty to give me leave to combat a
knight tomorrow, hand to hand, to the death.'

"Then the king said:

"'I truly believe that this will be the best knight in the world,
or he will be the worst, because his life will not last long. 
And by the faith I owe to chivalry, I will not allow that to
happen.  Since fortune has allowed you to be victorious, you
should content yourself with the battle prize.' And he would not
hear another word."

Then the hermit said:

"Tell me, since you have spoken so much about this constable, who
was honored above all the knights?"

Tirant was quiet,and would not reply.

"Tirant, my son," said the hermit, "why don't you answer my
question?"

A knight named Diafebus stood up and said:

"Sir, I will tell you the truth: the one judged best of all the
battles was Tirant lo Blanc.  He was also the first to receive
the order of chivalry from the king, and he was the first to
joust.  On that day he was taken to a hall and given a chair made
entirely of silver.  Then the Archbishop of England came before
him, and with the king and all the others there, he said:

"'You, sir, who are receiving the order of chivalry, do you swear
that you will defend ladies and maidens, widows, orphans, and
even married women with all your power if they should ask your
aid?'

"When he had sworn the oath, two great lords, the mightiest
there, took hold of his arms and led him before the king.  The
king laid the sword on his head and said: 'May God and my lord,
Saint George, make you a good knight' And he kissed him on the
mouth.

"Then seven maidens came in, dressed in white, representing the
seven joys of Virgin Mary, and they strapped his sword on him. 
Then came four knights, the most dignified to be found,
representing the four evangelists, and they put spurs on him. 
Afterward the queen came, and she took him by one arm, and a
duchess took the other, and they led him to a beautiful platform
and seated him in the royal chair.  Then the king sat on one
side, and the queen on the other, and all the maidens and knights
sat around them, below.  Next a very abundant collation was
brought.  And this, sir, is the procedure that was held for all
those who were made knights."

"Tell me, if you will, about the jousts Tirant participated in."

"My lord, on the eve of the appointed day, Tirant went to where
the twenty-six knights were.  When he was at their door he
delivered a document stating that any knight who wanted to joust
against him would have to battle until one of them had drawn
blood twenty times, or until either of them gave up.  His
conditions were immediately accepted, and we returned to our
lodging.  The next day all the maidens came for him and took him
to the list, fully dressed in his armor.  The king and queen were
already on the cenotaphs when Tirant came in completely covered
with armor, except for his head.  In his hand he held a fan that
had the crucifixion of Jesus Christ painted on one side, and the
figure of Our Lady painted on the other.

"When Tirant was in the middle of the field he made a deep bow to
the king and the queen, and then he went to each of the four
corners of the list, and made the sign of the cross at each
corner with the fan.  He found the defender at the far end of the
list, and Tirant went to the other end of the field.  When
everyone was quiet the king ordered them to begin.  Quickly they
dug in their spurs, lances in the sockets, and they clashed so
fiercely that their lances flew to pieces.  Afterward they turned
and charged many times with many singular encounters.  On their
twentieth turn the defender struck the beaver of Tirant's helmet
and bent it, wounding him in the neck, and if the lance had not
broken our knight would be dead.  He and the horse fell to the
ground.  Tirant quickly got up and another horse was brought to
him that was better than the first, and he begged the judges to
give him permission to get another lance.  Tirant had a very
thick lance brought to him, and the other man did the same, and
they clashed with a mighty blow, and Tirant's lance passed
completely through the other man so that he fell to the ground,
dead.  The maidens took Tirant's horse by the reins, and led him
with honor back to his lodging.  They removed his armor and
looked at the wound on his neck, and they made the doctors come
to care for him.  The maidens tended to Tirant very well because
they were very happy that the first knight to joust for a maiden
had been the victor.

"The king and all the great lords went into the palisade where
the dead knight lay, and with a great procession they carried him
to the Church of Saint George where they had made a chapel for
those who died jousting.  And in this chapel only knights could
be buried.

"My lord, when Tirant was well again, he gathered all his company
once more, and we went to the twenty-five knights.  He gave them
a written document stating that he wished to fight a knight on
foot and to the death, and they accepted.  Tirant went into the
list armed in the normal fashion, with an ax, a sword, and a
dagger.  When they were inside the pavilion everything necessary
was prepared.  The sunlight was divided so that it would not
shine into one man's eyes any more than into the other's.

The king came with the other assistants and they went up to the
cenotaphs, while each of the knights stood armed at the gate of
his pavilion, their axes in their hands.  When they saw the king,
they knelt to the ground on one knee, paying deep reverence to
the king and queen, which showed plainly that they were very
worthy knights, and all the maidens knelt on the ground and
begged our Lord to give victory to their knight.

"When the people were quiet, the trumpets sounded and the heralds
cried out that no man or woman should dare speak, cough, or make
any noise at all under penalty of losing their life.

"When the announcement had been made, the two men came at each
other, using their weapons so valiantly that it was impossible to
know who was winning.  The battle lasted a long time, and
because the defender was so hard pressed he grew short of breath. 
Finally he reached a point where he could no longer hold up his
ax, and his face showed that he would prefer to make peace rather
than do battle.  When Tirant saw the condition his adversary was
in, he took his ax with both hands, and gave him such a blow on
the helmet that he stunned him and the man could not keep his
footing.  Then Tirant went up to him and gave him a mighty push
that knocked him to the ground.  When he saw him in such a
pitiful state, he removed the helmet from his head, using his
dagger to cut the cords it was tied with, and he said:

"'You can see, virtuous knight, that your life is in my hands, so
you command me.  Tell me if you want to live or die.  I will have
more consolation from good than from evil, so command my right
hand to have mercy on you and forgive you, and not to harm you as
much as it could."

"'I am more hurt,' said the knight, 'by your cruel words, full of
vainglory, than I would be of losing my life.  I would rather die
than ask forgiveness from your haughty hand.'

"'My hand is accustomed to forgiving conquered men,' said Tirant,
'and not to harming them.  If you wish, I will very willingly
free you from all the harm I could cause you.'

"'Oh, what a wonder it is,' said the knight who was lying on the
ground, 'when men are victorious because of luck, or someone
else's misfortune.  Then they're loose with all kinds of words. 
I am the knight of Muntalt, reproachless, loved and feared by
many, and I have always had mercy on men.'

"'I want to use these things you've mentioned in your favor,'
said Tirant, 'because of your great virtue and goodness.  Let us
go before the king, and on your knees, at my feet, you will have
to ask me for mercy, and I will forgive you.'

"In a great rage the knight began to speak:

"'God forbid that I should commit an act that's so shameful to me
or mine, or to that eminent lord of mine, Count William of
Warwick, who gave me this bitter order of chivalry.  Do whatever
you please with me, because I would rather die well than live
badly.'

"When Tirant saw his ill will, he said:

"'All knights who want to use arms to acquire renown and fame are
cruel, and have their seat in the middle of hell.'

"He pulled out a dagger and stuck the point of it in his eye, and
with his other hand he gave a mighty blow to the hilt of the
dagger that made it come out the other side of his head.  What a
valorous knight this one was, preferring death to shame and the
vituperation of the other knights!

"After some days it happened that their Majesties, the king and
queen, were resting in a meadow near the river, dancing and
enjoying themselves.  A relative of the queen, named Fair Agnes,
was there.  She was the daughter of the Duke of Berri, and the
most graceful maiden I have ever seen.  My lord, on that day this
Fair Agnes wore a very pretty bauble between her breasts.  When
the dances were over, in the presence of the king and queen and
all the knights, Tirant went up to the genteel lady and kneeling,
he said:

"'My lady, knowing of your great worth in lineage as well as
beauty, grace and wisdom, and all the other virtues that can be
found in a body more angelical than human, I would like to serve
you.  I would consider it a great favor if you gave me the bauble
you're wearing between your breasts.  If you give it to me, I
will accept it and wear it in your honor and service.  And I
swear before the altar and on the order of chivalry, to combat a
knight on foot or on horseback, to the death, armed or unarmed.'

"'Oh Holy Mary be with me!' said Fair Agnes.  'You want to joust
to the death for such a small thing of so little value?  So that
you will not lose the prize of your good works and the order of
chivalry, I shall willingly consent in the presence of the king
and the queen.  Take the bauble with your own hands.'

"Tirant was very happy with the reply of Fair Agnes.  Since the
bauble was tied on with her dress straps, it could not be removed
without untying them, and when he did, his hands could not help
touching her breasts.  Tirant took the bauble in his hand and
kissed it.  Then he fell to his knees, and said:

"'I give you many thanks, my lady, for this great gift.  I am
happier with it than if you had given me the entire kingdom of
France.  And I swear to God that whoever takes the bauble from me
will leave his life in my hands.'

"And he put it on the crest of the cap he wore.

"The next day, while the king was at mass, a French knight named
Lord Vilesermes came.  He was a very brave man and very
experienced in weapons, and he said to Tirant:

"'Knight, wherever you are from, you have been far too daring in
touching the glorified body of Fair Agnes, and no knight in the
world ever made such a wicked request.  You must return the
bauble to me willingly or by force.  It is my right to possess it
because since infancy I've loved, served and venerated this lady. 
And if you will not give it to me, your life will not last long.'

"'To my way of thinking,' said Tirant, 'it would be a great
offense if I gave away what was given to me freely, and what my
own hands untied.  In truth, I would be considered the most vile
knight ever born if I did such a thing.  And yet, knight, your
evil tongue shows that you are far too haughty, and I will have
to pull you down.'

"The knight attempted to take the bauble away from him, but
Tirant was ready.  He pulled out a dagger he carried, and all the
others lay hold of their weapons.  A fight broke out, and before
they could be separated twelve of the knights and gentlemen were
dead.  The queen, who was nearest to them and heard the noise and
the loud cries the people were making, placed herself between the
men to separate them.  And I can give you a good account because
I was wounded four times and many others were wounded too.  When
the king found out about it, everything had quieted down.  But
before three days had gone by, the French knight sent a page with
a letter for Tirant, and it said the following:

"'To you, Tirant lo Blanc.

"'If you dare to confront the danger of weapons that are
customary among knights, let us make an agreement: armed or
unarmed, on foot or on horseback, dressed or naked, in whatever
way you feel most comfortable, your sword and mine will fight to
the death.  -- Written by my hand and sealed with the secret seal
of my arms.

"'Lord Vilesermes.'

"After Tirant had read the letter, he took the page into a room,
and giving him one thousand gold coins he made him promise not to
tell anyone about this.  When the page had gone, Tirant went
alone to see a king-of-arms, and he took him three miles away and
said to him:

"'King-of-arms, by the trust that has been given to you and by
the oath you swore on the day you were given this office, you are
bound to hold secret what I am going to tell you, and to advise
me well and faithfully about the use of weapons.'

"The king-of-arms, whose name was Jerusalem, answered:

"'My lord, Tirant, I promise you by the office I hold and by the
oath I have sworn, to keep everything you tell me secret.'

"Then Tirant showed him the letter, and made him read it.  When
he had finished, Tirant said to him:

"My good friend, Jerusalem, I will be very honored to satisfy the
desire of that virtuous knight, Lord Vilesermes.  But since I am
young and I know nothing about the practice and custom of
chivalry (for I've just turned twenty years old), and I trust
your great discretion, I want your advice.  And don't think that
I've told you this out of cowardice or fear.  I wouldn't want to
be condemned by the king who has instituted certain laws about
the jousts in his kingdom, or by good knights for being weak in
this matter.'

"The king-of-arms answered:

"Oh, knight, virtuous young man, beloved by everyone!  I will
give you the advice you are asking me for.  You, Tirant lo Blanc,
can fight this knight without any reproach from the king, judges
or knights, since you are the defender and he is the one who
began this wickedness.  Do you know when you would be at fault? 
If you had been the challenger.  So perform like a good knight,
and always show the bold spirit of a knight to the people.  Go
into battle quickly, and have no fear of death.'

"'I feel very comforted by your advice,' said Tirant.  'Now I
want to beg you earnestly, Jerusalem, by the office you hold, to
be judge of the battle between Lord Vilesermes and me, and to
have jurisdiction over it all so that you will bear true witness
about everything that happens between him and me.'

"Jerusalem said:

"'I will be very happy to arrange it.  But according to the
requirements of our office I could not be your judge, and I will
tell you why: No knight, king-of-arms or herald who gives advice
can be a judge.  Not even my lord, the King of England, if he is
the judge of a battle, should say favorable words about anyone. 
And if he did he could be called an unjust judge, and that battle
should not take place.  But so that neither you nor he will lose
the battle prize, I will find you a competent judge who will be
suspect in nothing.  He is a member of our office, and his name
is Claros of Clarence--a man who is very knowledgeable about
arms.'

"'I know him well,' said Tirant, 'and I am satisfied with him if
Lord Vilesermes agrees, because he is a good king-of-arms and he
will give the honor to the one who earns it.  I want him to be
informed about everything because Lord Vilesermes sent a page to
me with this letter, and if I sent him an answer in the same way
it could be found out easily and the battle would not come to the
conclusion that he and I want.  So let us do this: let us go back
to my lodgings, and I will give you a 'carte blanche' signed by
my hand, and sealed with my coat of arms.  And you will arrange
the battle so that it's all to his advantage.  Since he is the
challenger and I am the defender, and he is giving me the choice
of weapons, as he says in the letter, I willingly renounce the
choice, and I will let him choose whatever pleases him most.  I
will do only what you say and order.  And no matter how cruel the
weapons he chooses, you will tell him that I agree: that way my
glory will be even greater.'

"Tirant went back to his lodging with the king-of-arms, and he
immediately drew up the 'carte blanche.' That is, it was signed
by his hand and sealed with his arms; and he gave it to
Jerusalem, the king-of-arms.

"The king-of-arms departed to arrange the battle, and he searched
throughout all the king's and queen's estates.  When he saw that
he could not find Lord Vilesermes he went into the city and found
him in a monastery of friars, where he was making confession. 
After he had confessed, Jerusalem called him aside and asked him
to come outside the church so that they could talk, for in such a
place it is not fitting to speak of criminal things.  They left
the church and the consecrated ground at once, and Jerusalem
began to speak:

"'Lord Vilesermes, I would feel very honored if I could arrange
peace and harmony between you and Tirant lo Blanc.  But if you do
not wish to come to an agreement, here is your letter and his
answer, a 'carte blanche,' sealed and signed by his hand.  He
commanded me, as part of my office, to come to you to arrange the
battle in this way: concerning the weapons, he says that you are
to be given the power to choose whatever pleases you, provided
they are equal and without trickery.  And the battle should take
place this evening, if possible.'

"'I am very satisfied,' said Lord Vilesermes, 'with Tirant. 
Nothing but complete virtue could be expected of him.  I accept
the power that you give me on his behalf to choose the weapons
and the battle.  It will be this way:

"'It is my decision that the battle will be on foot, in shirts
made with cloth from France, both of us having paper shields, and
on our heads a garland of flowers, with no other clothing at all
on our bodies.  The offensive weapons for both of us will be
Genoese knives with a cutting edge on both sides, and very sharp
points.  In this way I will combat him to the death.  And I am
astonished at you, king-of-arms, when you try to make peace out
of discord.  Our minds are made up to go into battle, and you
talk to me of peace.'

"'What I said,' said the king-of-arms, 'is part of my office: not
to want the death of any honorable knight.'

"'Since we agree, I accept the battle with Tirant.'

"'I am happy that you are in agreement,' said the king-of-arms. 
'Let us go get the weapons and everything you need before
nightfall.'

"They both went immediately to buy the knives, and they had them
well keened, with very sharp points.  Then they found cloth from
France, and they quickly had the shirts cut and sewn.  They made
them a little long, and the sleeves cut short--up to the
elbow--so that their movements in battle would not be hindered. 
Then they took a sheet of paper, and cut it down the middle and
with each half they made a shield.  Imagine what sort of defense
a half sheet of paper could make!

"When they had finished it all, the knight said to the
king-of-arms:

"'You have arranged the battle, and you are here on Tirant's
behalf.  But I want no one to take my side except God alone, and
my own hands which are used to bathing themselves in the noble
blood of war.  So you take some of the weapons, and I will take
the ones you've left.'

"'Lord Vilesermes, I'm not here to take anyone's side.  Even if
you were to give me all that you have, I wouldn't defraud my
honor or my office.  Let's do what we have to do; otherwise, give
me my leave and find someone else you trust.'

"'Upon my Lord and Creator, king-of-arms, my words didn't have
the meaning you're giving them.  I only wanted us to go to
battle, because I see nighttime coming on.  Since you're our
judge, arrange things quickly.'

"'My lord, I'll tell you how it's going to be,' said the
king-of-arms, 'I can't be a judge between you since I've advised
you and Tirant, and I could be reprimanded as an unjust judge if
I did.  But I'll get another competent judge that both you and he
can trust, whose name is Claros of Clarence.  He's a
king-of-arms, and he knows a great deal about war and arms.  He
came a short while ago with the Duke of Clarence, and he is a man
who would rather die than do anything against his honor.'

"'I'm satisfied with everything,' said the knight, 'as long as
the matter is equal and it is secret.'

"'I give you my word,' said the king-of-arms, 'not to tell this
to anyone at all except to Claros of Clarence.'

"'Now,' said the knight, 'take the weapons and give them to
Tirant, and let him choose the ones he likes best.  I will wait
for you in the hermitage of Saint Mary Magdalene.  So that if
anyone in my company should see me, I can pretend that I'm there
to pray.'

"Jerusalem left and went looking everywhere for Claros of
Clarence, king- of-arms.  When he found him he told him
everything, and the man said he was very willing to do it.  But
the sun had already gone down, and it was growing late now, and
he did not want to endanger two knights in the dark night. 
Instead he would be willing to be judge the morning of the next
day, when the king was at mass and everyone was resting.

"Jerusalem went back to Tirant and told him how the battle was to
take place and about the weapons he had chosen, and he said that
he was to take whichever of the two he liked better.  And in the
morning while the king was at mass, the battle would take place.

"'Since the battle will not take place this evening,' said
Tirant, 'I don't want to have the weapons in my possession.  If I
should defeat or kill him I would not want people to say that I
had performed some trickery on the weapons while I had them
during the night, and that that was the reason I defeated him. 
Give them back to Lord Vilesermes, and tomorrow when the battle
takes place, have him bring them.'

"When Jerusalem heard Tirant speak that way, he looked into his
face and said:

"'Oh, virtuous knight, versed in arms!  You are worthy of wearing
a royal crown: I cannot believe that you will not be victorious
in this battle.'

"The king-of-arms left Tirant and went to the hermitage where the
other knight was, and he told him that the hour was growing late,
and the judge could not decide the battle well if it was not
daytime, but that they had arranged it for the following day when
the king would be at mass.  Lord Vilesermes said that he was
satisfied with that.

"Early in the morning the kings-of-arms got the two knights and
took them to the middle of a forest where no one would be able to
see them.  When they saw that they were ready, Jerusalem said:

"'Knights of great virtue, this is your death, and your
sepulcher.  These are the weapons chosen by this knight and
accepted by Tirant.  Let each take whichever ones he pleases.'

"And he placed them on the lovely meadow grass.

"'Now,' said Claros of Clarence, 'gentlemen of great nobility and
chivalry, you are in this isolated place.  Expect no help from
relatives or friends.  You are at the point of death, so place
your hope only in God and in your virtue.  I want to know who you
wish to serve as judge of this battle.'

"'What?' said Lord Vilesermes.  'Didn't we agree that it would be
you?'

"'And you, Tirant, who do you want to be judge?'

"'I want it to be the one Lord Vilesermes wants.'

"'Since you want to have me as your judge, you must swear by the
order of chivalry to obey all my commands.'

"They swore that they would.  After the oath, the knight said to
Tirant:

"'Take the weapons you like and I will go into battle with the
ones you leave behind.'

"'No,' said Tirant.  'You have been holding them, and they were
brought here in your name.  You are the challenger, so you choose
first, and then I will take mine.'

"And the knights stood there, arguing about ceremony; the judge
picked up the weapons to put an end to the dispute.  He put some
of them on the right side and the others on the left.  Then he
picked up two straws, one of them long, and the other short.  The
judge said:

"'Whoever gets the longest one, take the weapons on the right;
and whoever gets the short one, the weapons on the left.'

"When they had each picked up the weapons, they quickly took off
all their clothes and put on the painful shirts that could well
be called hair-cloths of sorrow.  The judge made two lines on the
field and he placed one of the men on one line and the other man
on the other, and he ordered them not to move until he said to. 
They cut a tree's branches so that the judge could be on a sort
of cenotaph.  When everything was ready the judge went to Lord
Vilesermes and said:

"'I am judge by the authority you have given to me, and it is my
duty to warn you and beseech you not to come to such a narrow
strait as this.  Remember God and don't die so desperately.  As
you know, the justice of our Lord does not pardon a man who
brings on his own death, and he is condemned for all eternity.'

"'Let's stop all the talk now,' said the knight.  'Each of us
knows his worth and what he can do, both in the temporal life and
in the spiritual one.  Have Tirant come here to me, and it might
be possible for us to come to an understanding.'

"'I don't think that what you're asking is reasonable,' said the
judge.  'You are equals: why should he come to you?  But in any
case, Jerusalem, go and ask Tirant if he wants to come and talk
to this knight.'

"Jerusalem went to Tirant, and asked him if he wanted to go
there.  Tirant answered:

'"'If the judge is commanding me to go, I will, but for that
knight over there I wouldn't take a step backward or forward for
everything he's worth.'

"Jerusalem told him how the judge was obligated to do everything
possible to make peace between the knights.  Then Tirant said:

"'Jerusalem, tell the knight that I see no reason why I should
have to go to him.  If he wants something from me, let him come
here.'

"He took the answer to him, and then the judge said:

"'All right.  It seems to me that Tirant is doing what he should
do.  But, knight, you can go to the middle of the field, and
Tirant will come there.'

"So it was done that way.  When they were facing each other, Lord
Vilesermes said:

"'Tirant, if you want to have peace with me, and if you want me
to forgive you because of your youth, I'll do it--on condition
that you hand over the bauble of that illustrious lady, Dona
Agnes of Berri, to me, along with the knife and the paper shield
so that I can show it to the ladies.  Because you know very well
that you're not worthy of having anything at all from such a
lofty and virtuous lady as she is.  Your station, lineage and
condition aren't good enough even to allow you to take off her
left slipper.  They're not even enough to raise you to my rank;
in fact, it was out of kindness that I decided to do combat with
you.'

"'Knight,' said Tirant, 'I'm not unaware of who you are, or what
you can do.  But this is not the time or place for us to discuss
the merits of our lineages.  I am Tirant lo Blanc: when a sword
is in my hand, no king, duke, count, or marquis can deny me. 
That is known throughout the world.  But anyone can easily find
the seven capital sins in you.  Let's go to battle and do what we
came here for, and let's not go on with unnecessary and worthless
words: if even one of my hairs fell to the ground, I wouldn't
surrender it to you, much less allow you to pick it up.'

"'Since you don't want to reach an agreement,' said the judge,
'do you want life or death?'"

Lord Vilesermes said:

"'I am very sorry about the death of this haughty young man. 
Let's go to battle, and let each one go back to his place.'

"The judge got up on the cenotaph that had been made with
branches, and he shouted:

"'Go now, knights, and let each of you act like a valiant and
good knight!'

"They went at each other in a fury.  The French knight carried
his knife high, in front of his head, and Tirant held his just
above his chest.  When they were close to each other, the French
knight struck hard at the middle of Tirant's head.  Tirant
parried and struck back, and he dealt him a blow on top of his
ear that almost dug into his brain.  The other man struck Tirant
in the middle of his thigh, and the wound gaped about a
handsbreadth.  He quickly stabbed him again in his left arm, and
the knife sunk in as far as the bone.  They both fought so hard
that it was dreadful.  And they were so close to each other that
with every swing they took they drew blood.  It was a pitiful
sight for anyone who saw the wounds of the two men: their shirts
had become completely red from all the blood they lost. 
Jerusalem repeatedly asked the judge if he wanted him to make
them stop fighting, and the cruel judge answered:

"'Let them come to the end of their cruel days, since that's what
they want.'

"'I am convinced that at that very moment both of them would
rather have had peace than war.  But since they were very brave
and very courageous knights they fought ceaselessly, without
mercy.  Finally Tirant saw that he was near death because of all
the blood he was losing, so he drew as close to the other man as
he could, and stabbed him in the left breast, straight into his
heart.  The other man dealt him a mighty slash to his head,
causing him to lose the sight of his eyes, and he fell to the
ground before the other one.  And if the Frenchman had been able
to hold himself up when Tirant fell, he could easily have killed
him if he had wanted.  But he did not have enough strength, and
he immediately fell dead on the ground.

"When the judge saw that the knights were lying there so still,
he got down from the cenotaph, and going up to them, he said:

"'Upon my word, you two have behaved like good and very honorable
knights: no one could find fault with you.'

"And he made the sign of the cross twice over each of them, and
taking two sticks he made a cross and laid it over the two
bodies.  Then he said:

"'I see that Tirant's eyes are still open a little, and if he
isn't dead he's very near to it.  Jerusalem, I charge you to stay
here and guard these bodies, and I'll go to the court to give the
news to the king.'

"He found the king leaving mass, and in everyone's presence, he
said:

"'My lord, in truth, there were two most valiant knights in Your
Majesty's court in the morning, and now they are so near death
that there is no hope for them.'

"'Who are these knights?'

"'My lord,' said Claros of Clarence, 'one is Lord Vilesermes and
the other is Tirant lo Blanc.'

"'I am very displeased,' said the king, 'by this news.  Let us go
out there before we eat to see if we can help them.'

"'In faith,' said Claros, 'one has already departed from this
world, and I believe the other will soon join him--that is how
badly they were wounded.'

"When the relatives and friends of the knights heard the news
they gathered up their arms and rushed as quickly as they could,
on foot and on horseback, and our Lord God gave us the grace to
get there before the others.  We found Tirant so covered with
blood that he was unrecognizable, and he had his eyes slightly
open.

"When the others saw their lord lying dead, they quickly ran
toward our knight, wanting to take his life, and we defended him
very well.  We split our group into two parts, and, with our
backs to each other, we kept his body between our lines.  There
were many more of them than of us, but every place they advanced
they found their way blocked.  At the same time they shot arrows
and one of them struck poor Tirant, who was lying on the ground.

"The high constable arrived immediately, with many men, and he
separated us.  Soon afterward the king came with the tournament
judges.  When they saw the knights, one dead and the other
seemingly in the throes of death, they ordered no one to move
them until they had held counsel.

"While the king was in council, listening to the tale of Claros
of Clarence and Jerusalem, the kings-of-arms, the queen arrived
with all the ladies and maidens.  When they saw them they wept
for the deaths of two such singular knights.  Fair Agnes turned
to Tirant's relatives, and said:

"'Knights who love Tirant, are you doing so little for your good
friend and relative that you let him leave life like this? 
That's the way he'll die, lying on the cold ground, his blood
pouring out.  A half hour more, and he won't have a drop of blood
left in his body.'

"'My lady, what would you have us do?' said a knight.  'The king
has commanded, under penalty of death, that no one should dare to
touch them or move them from here.'

"'Oh, poor me!' said Fair Agnes.  'Our Lord does not want a
sinner to die, and the king does?  Have a bed brought, and put
him on it until the king finishes his counsel: the wind is
getting into his wounds and will make him worse.'

"The relatives immediately sent for a bed and a tent.  While they
were getting it, Tirant was continually nauseous because of the
wounds and because of all the blood he was losing.  When Agnes
saw how much pain Tirant was in, she said:

"'In all conscience, I should not be blamed by father or mother,
by brothers and sisters, or other relatives, or by our lords the
king and queen, because I am doing this with pure intentions.'

"She removed the clothes she was wearing, which were of white
velvet, and she put them on the ground, and had Tirant placed on
top of the clothing.  Then she begged many of her maidens to take
off their clothes and lay them over Tirant.  When Tirant felt the
warmth of the clothes he opened his eyes wider than before.  Fair
Agnes sat down and took his head and put it in her lap, saying:

"'Oh, poor me, Tirant!  What an unlucky bauble it was that I gave
you.  If I had known that something like this would happen, I
wouldn't have given it to you for anything in the world.  I beg
you, knights, bring the body of Lord Vilesermes here, next to me. 
Even though I did not love him while he was alive, I do want to
honor him in his death.'

"They quickly brought him to her, and putting his head on the
left side of her lap, she said:

"'Lord Vilesermes spent seven years of his life trying to win me,
and this is his reward.  He performed extraordinary acts of
chivalry out of love for me, and he wanted to marry me.  But I am
of greater lineage and wealth, and I refused to consent to
something that was for his ple