The Philippide translation, part II

This is a continuation of the AI translation of The Philippide, a contemporary history of King Philip Augustus of France, in particular his participation in the Third Crusade, and his long-running battle with Richard the Lionheart. You can find part I and commentary about the chronicle at the first episode here.

The translation of Book V follows.

CANTO FIFTH.

ARGUMENT.

This fifth canto contains massacres and particular battles. — The king chases the enemies from Vaudreuil, and makes them lift a siege after having made an eight-day march in three days. Richard, having seized Vierzon, torments the inhabitants of Brittany, but these, however, refuse to surrender Arthur to his uncle. — Philip destroys the castles of Dangu and Aumale. There King Richard, wanting to lift his camp, is defeated, and then he is wounded at Gaillon by a dart that hits him in the knee. — The French take the Count of Namur and massacre three thousand Welshmen. — Richard, having captured the Bishop of Beauvais, suddenly wants to undertake to seize Philip’s person while the latter marches towards Courcelles, followed only by a small number of knights; but filled with indignation, Atropos cuts the thread of Richard’s days.

MEANWHILE Count John was besieging Vaudreuil and making vain efforts to reduce it under the domination of his brother. He had with him Count David1, the Archbishop of York2, the lord of Arundel3, a babbling multitude come from the superb city of Rome, the people of the Pays d’Auge, who drink hard cider; those of Lisieux, who have no fountain, and who, instead of spring water, content themselves with drinking the water of muddy marshes, in which toads are piled one upon the other, while the frog mates with its male whose body is all spotted; the people of Vexin, who produce much grain; the hardy inhabitants of the Pays de Caux, and those of Hiémois, who are distressed at occupying only sterile mountains. All these peoples and many others united made concerted efforts to seize the castle.

But all the knights and the people, children of France, as many as could be gathered from the neighboring places, had united and set up their camp on the banks of the beautiful river Eure. King Philip went to them in great haste, from the city of Bourges. In three days (oh miracle!) he made an eight-day march, without dismounting from his horse, without taking a single moment of rest to refresh himself. Drenched in sweat, and covered in dust, he was still the first to cross the Eure at the ford. No delay held back the French; immediately they rushed with their accustomed lightness against the enemy, already troubled by their approach, who no longer considered it shameful for him to cowardly turn his back, and who preferred to flee and hide in the nearby forest, rather than defend himself in combat. The English knights therefore fled, throwing down their weapons, in order to save themselves more lightly, and the foot soldiers were taken prisoner, unable with their feet alone to escape the pursuit of the victor.

When the king had returned anew to the territory of Berry, John went to besiege Bressoles, but he suffered the same fate, and the inhabitants of the country alone drove him out, to his great shame.

I return to this journey of the king, to be astonished again that he could, like a giant, make in three days this march of eight days. And who would not be astonished that this king, followed by troops and laden with arms, flying in some sort with winged speed, rather than walking on foot, could, in so little time, accomplish so many days of march? What runner, or what winged-footed pilgrim, burning with the desire to return to his homeland, after having accomplished a vow, can boast of having done so, in three days, a march of one hundred forty miles? We are not told that formerly the great Alexander pursued with rapid flight Narbazan and Bessus, when they hastened to return to Bactriana, after the death of Darius. Thus, as it is recounted, Caesar, having left the city of Sens, arrived in Paris in one day’s march, when the Parisians, having driven the Romans from their homes, claimed to give themselves Camulogenus as king, whom Neustria sent to them from the city of Rouen, which caused Lutetia to be besieged and taken once again.

After this, King Richard and King Philip found themselves again in each other’s presence and prepared to fight; but Richard renounced remaining armed, and without any other warning, if not from him who holds in his hands the hearts and arms of powerful men, he placed himself at the disposal of his lord and declared himself ready to obey him in all things. He therefore renewed his oaths of fealty. and loyalty, and swore that he would be faithful to his lord, in peace and good friendship; but a short time later he even renounced this peace. However, as he could not violate it by an open enterprise, fearing the reproaches of renown if he showed himself openly rebellious towards his lord, and without any motive, he applied himself to secretly doing what he could not do by force, and inserted a fraud into the writing by which he committed himself. Thus, by this hidden artifice, he provoked a cause for war such that Philip was forced to undertake it first, and that this insult provided him, Richard, with a kind of right, by virtue of which he was permitted to repel the attacks directed against him.

A port situated on the bank of the river Seine, and which is called Porte-Joie, serves for the passage of those who go to the country of Vexin and to Vaudreuil. There is an island that cuts the riverbed in two, and which, situated in the middle of the current, is common to both banks. King Richard had a high citadel built on this island, fortified with ramparts, in contempt of the stipulations of the peace he had sworn; and as Philip wanted to reprimand him on this subject, he excused himself with as much perfidy as skill, trying to hide his injustice under the appearance of good right, and seeking to palliate his fraud with an art full of subtlety. Although the king had well demonstrated and exposed this perfidy, he did not want to take up arms again for this fact. He therefore remained calm; and Richard then resorted to new means. He initiated a lawsuit against the lord of Vierzon, and disregarding all rules, making himself the once judge and party, he summoned him before him for this unjust trial, concerning an affair which, according to law, belonged to Philip’s jurisdiction. The brave lord, his heart filled with indignation, could not bear this insult, and went to Paris to present his complaints to the king. But before he could return to his properties, Richard suddenly invaded all that belonged to him, completely stripped and plundered Vierzon, set fire to all the houses, and carried off rich spoils.

Oh, what sorrow! This castle of admirable beauty, abundant in all things that could contribute to the adornment of a castle, was reduced to nothing by an unforeseen stratagem and by an enemy who was not even suspected, and whom by right one should not have feared at all. Throughout the territory of Berry, which the sun burns with its rays, one could not find any castle more beautiful than that one, and whose lands were more fertile. To its right it was embellished by the plains of Sologne, whose land is fertile in grains; and the left side was adorned by the Cher, which flows gently through verdant meadows, whose banks are made more pleasant by the trees and the well-cultivated lands that surround it, which carries boats and gives the inhabitants of the country fish and all sorts of other advantages.

The king, when he was informed of an act of perfidy, such as he had experienced several times before, sent many servants and knights to fortify the places in Berry, so that Richard could not master them by such stratagems, and went, with many troops, to besiege Dangu. Richard having attempted several times to chase him away, and not being able to succeed, crossed the river Eure, and Nicolas, seduced by his gifts, delivered to him the castle of Nonnancourt which he was charged to guard. Then, having recognized how criminal it was to thus violate his engagements towards the one who had trusted his faith, and to deliver the castle of his lord, Nicolas took the habit of a Templar, and fled to the shores of Syria.

But the king, after having first seized Dangu, indefatigable, headed towards the castle of Nonnancourt, and reduced it under his domination. Those whom Richard had left in this castle, the king had them all loaded with irons and imprisoned them in the tower of Mantes, where they were guarded by Josselin, a man of brilliant valor, very zealous in chivalry, full of strength and courage, magnificent, and bearing in his heart a tender compassion for the afflicted. He therefore generously gave drink and food to his prisoners, and very often he allowed them to sleep before the tables with him, without precaution for himself; while he drank among them, he was killed by these men, children of Satan, who struck him with a dagger in the heart, at the very moment he was drinking. This act of treason, long meditated, being thus consummated, the prisoners who, by a secret fraud, had also long since filed their chains, then opened the doors, descended to the ground, by a steep slope, through the rough parts of a staircase, and thus found themselves outside the tower. While, counting on the darkness of a very thick fog, they were already preparing to leave from various sides through the false gates, suddenly a great noise arose throughout the castle enclosure, the inhabitants rushed, closed the gates before these men, all trembling, and soon they arrested almost all of them. The next day, raised head in the air at the top of a gallows, they were justly offered in sacrifice to Jupiter, and rightly removed from the earth, without however being received into the abode of the heavens; for, equally detestable to earth and sky, they deserved to be welcomed neither by the one nor by the other, and barely did the mobile air allow them to sway in its bosom. A punishment doubtless less great than the crime, if it were the only one inflicted for such a misdeed, but much less formidable than the punishment reserved for souls, when they have shed the flesh.

Richard, however, having invaded the Bretons, struck them with all sorts of calamities, overturned several castles, and devastated many towns and cities, sparing neither children nor grown men. Moreover, on the very day when the adorable Passion of Christ is celebrated, he caused many men to perish by the sword, and, preparing in his cruelty an unheard-of kind of death, he forced many others to perish in the flames and smoke, after they had entered caves, and even into the bowels of the earth, to flee death: but death pursues in all places those who flee it, and reaches them in all their retreats. However, with all his ferocity, Richard could not turn the Bretons from their obedience to Philip and their loyalty to the French; nor could he make them consent to hand over his nephew Arthur, for whom they suffered so much evils, Arthur, still a child, whom Guidenoc, bishop of Vannes, guarded at that time, whom he then returned safe and sound to King Philip, who was raised during his childhood at the court of Paris with Louis, a child like him, and who lived several years at this court, without experiencing any harm: he perished by the hand of his uncle, as soon as he fell into his power, having lived in safety among strangers, and was assassinated by the hands of a friend4.

Without further delay Richard left the territory of Bretagne, and followed by all his banners gathered in a crowd, passing through the fields of Bayeux, all covered with rye-grass, and the plains of the Caux region, then leaving Beauvais behind him, he led his troops in a rapid march, boasting of his plan to fight King Philip if the latter did not hasten to lift the siege of Aumale castle, whose ramparts he had invested six weeks earlier, established on the summit of a hill and amidst rocks. Richard therefore chose the best among his brave knights, those whose courage and fidelity inspired him with the most confidence, to lead them with him to attack the besiegers’ camp by surprise. Among these knights, the most valiant in war was Gui de Thouars, who became Duke of the Bretons a short time later, by marrying Arthur’s mother and receiving this duchy from her. With them were also Hugues le Brun, hero of La Marche, and Guillaume de Mauléon, followed by many knights.

Richard, carried away by the ardor of war, hoping with such auxiliaries to triumph over all his enemies, rushed with a rapid march towards the camp. Coming out of the same camp, and flying to meet him with no less ardor, then advanced Count Simon5, the Baron des Barres, Alain the Breton of Dinant, from whom King Richard had recently unjustly and by force taken the only one of his ancestors who still remained to him; with them are young men of elite, whose courage is indomitable, and whose arm is accustomed to war. Richard ceaselessly repeats that there is nothing to fear, and urges his men to always push for the most difficult enterprises. But as soon as the vigorous lion saw before him these warriors of indomitable courage, he recognized them successively by the banner of each of them. Like a lion of Libya transported by anger against the bulls he sees advancing in the middle of the pastures, raising their horns, standing tightly united and all ready to defend themselves: the lion dares not present his back to flee, and yet he dares not approach them either, being unable to hope for victory. Likewise, the noble king remains struck with stupor upon seeing his enemy so close to him; he dares not rush upon him, and the pride of his soul does not allow him to retreat either. This last course of action would make him fail in honor, but there would be more safety; in the other there is no safety, but also, and above all, there is honor. Finally, the valiant king, jealous of preserving his honor as much as possible, prefers this honor to the party that offers him more security. Filled with ardor, lowering his sword, and pressing his spurs into the flanks of his steed, he rushes upon the warriors with a transport of rage, and the warriors also rush towards him. Both sides fight with varying fortunes; lances break, swords are blunted under repeated blows, and soon a fierce combat engages with daggers drawn from their scabbards. According to his custom, the knight des Barres rages against the enemies, clearing a path with his sword to reach the king, with whom he ardently desires to come to blows; the knight unhorses three knights from their horses, without stopping to shackle them, and seeking only to unhorse others still.

Meanwhile, Count Simon’s arm was not inactive, and the other lords fought with no less valor. On its side, the troop of Poitevins showed no inferiority in courage, and performed no less praiseworthy exploits. They strike the enemy and are struck; they are unhorsed and unhorse; they take prisoners and are in turn taken prisoner. It is still uncertain on which side victory will settle, to which of the two parties fortune will grant its favors; both sides fight with varied chances, until the moment when the king saw, amidst thousands of enemies, Alain alone in the plain, who had withdrawn to repair his broken helmet. Having recognized him, the king leaves the fray, and, straightening his lance, rapidly heads into the plain, towards the place where he could rejoin Alain. As soon as he saw the king advance towards him, the Breton rejoiced no less to see him animated by the same desire that possessed him. But the king’s lance, striking against a pierced shield, breaks and refuses to fulfill its master’s wish. Similarly, the Breton’s lance cannot pierce the king’s shield, but sliding over the shield and advancing further, it penetrates the horse’s entrails, between its two thighs; with its well-sharpened point it cuts the horse’s tail at the point where it is attached, and finally breaking at this spot, it stops. The king and the animal then fall; but the king rises with admirable lightness, and leaps more quickly than one might have hoped onto another horse. Already the troops were shamefully turning their backs and fleeing, already the king himself could no longer withstand such fierce assaults. Gui, who was to become Duke of the Bretons, is taken prisoner with many others. The French, however, pursue the fugitives, the plain is cleared, and those who flee leave behind precious hostages, thirty knights and fifty other less considerable warriors. In the entire troop of the children of France, no one was taken prisoner or struck by death.

Following such a great triumph, the French indulge in transports of joy in their camp, and after having besieged the castle of Aumale for forty-nine days, and finally taken it, not without great efforts, they completely destroyed it, so that scarcely a trace of it remains. King Richard then sadly withdrew, unable to bear in his heart, overwhelmed with grief at having lost so many of his knights and abandoned the plain by a shameful flight, without even, amidst the vicissitudes of this harsh combat, having dealt death to a single one of all the French, without taking even one into captivity.

A short time later, Richard, wishing to besiege and invest the walls of Gaillon, having approached the ramparts of this castle, and carefully searching for the paths by which he could most easily ascend to penetrate into the citadel, the lord of this castle, Cadoc, having seen him from the top of a tower, launched a bolt from his crossbow, and the bolt struck the king in the knee and lodged in the horse’s flank. The animal rolled over immediately, and mortally wounded, barely had the strength to carry his master to the midst of his own men, who at the same time uttered a thousand threats against the lord of Gaillon, if he at least preserved his life. At the end of a month, when his wound had been healed with the help of powerful remedies, and by the care of a skilled hand, the king, stronger and more irritated than ever, resumed all his fury; having regained his vigor, he trembled and burned to take up arms, like the snake which, having shed its old skin, presenting its glistening back to the sun, works to arm its teeth with their poison, awaiting the one against whom it will launch its dart, or whom it will wound with its freshly composed venom.

Soon the king called to him from the extremities of England an immense troop of Welshmen, so that they might spread throughout the forest-covered lands, and that with their natural ferocity they devastate the territory of our kingdom by iron and fire; for here are the particular habits of the Gallois, among all the indigenous peoples of England, habits to which they remain faithful from the first times of their existence: instead of houses they live in the woods, they prefer war to peace, they are quick to anger and light-footed in running in places where there are no paths; their feet are not shod with soles, nor their legs with boots; they are trained to suffer cold and do not shrink from any fatigue; they wear short clothing and do not burden their bodies with any kind of armor; they do not wrap their flanks in a cuirass, they do not cover their head with a helmet, they carry no other weapons than those with which they can give death to the enemy, the club with the javelin, spears, pikes, a two-edged axe, a bow, arrows, knotty darts or the lance. They delight in constantly taking plunder, in shedding blood, and rarely do they die otherwise than by a violent death, following wounds; if someone has the right to reproach another that his own father died unavenged by death, it is for this one the height of dishonor. Cheese, butter and poorly cooked meats are considered by the most important among them the most delicious feast; they press their meats several times in the half-open trunk of a tree, and often eat them after having only expressed the blood. Meats serve them as bread, instead of wine they drink milk. These men therefore, ravaging our territory on all the points where they found free access, horribly tormented the old men and young people, the children and their parents. However, at the entrance to the valley of Andely, our army, having wisely deployed its squadrons in front and behind the valley, so tightly hemmed in these Gauls, that in a single day three thousand four hundred were seen to perish.

This event violently moved King Richard, and he could not contain in his heart the terrible anger that agitated him. At that moment he happened to have three Frenchmen chained in his prisons: as soon as he learned of the slaughter of his own, in his fury he had these three men thrown from the bank of the Seine, from the top of a rock on which he later had the ramparts of Château-Gaillard built, and plunging them by an iniquitous judgment into the abyss of death, he had these men perish who had deserved nothing of the sort, and who, falling, had all their bones and nerves of their bodies broken. Then, and in the same prison, he had the eyes of fifteen more men torn out, giving them as a guide a man to whom he had left one eye, so that he might lead them in this state to the King of the French. The latter, animated by a just anger, had the same torture inflicted on an equal number of Englishmen, and having them released from prison at the same time, sent them to the King of the English, under the guidance of the wife of one of them, and he also had three others thrown from the top of a rock, so that no one might believe him inferior to Richard in strength or courage, or think that he feared him. He also took care of those who had lost their sight because of him, and their gave them, to help them, the things they might need, so that they would have enough of what is necessary for the sustenance of life.

From there Richard, crossing well-watered valleys, went to cross the river Epte at the ford, entered the territory of Beauvais, and after having killed many people, carried off immense booty in men and beasts. The Bishop of Beauvais6 rushed to meet him, and with him the noble Guillaume, lord of Mellot, wishing at least to try to defend their homeland; but they were so enveloped by the band of Mercadier, that both of them, fighting thus for their country, were taken prisoner, loaded with chains, and thrown into a prison, where they suffered for a long time all sorts of torments. This same bishop was the illustrious son of Robert7, who was himself a royal scion of Louis the Fat, so that this son was the king’s first cousin; but neither his dignity as a prelate of the church, nor the sacred order to which he was bound, nor his personal valor, nor the renown of such a birth, were of any help to prevent him from being confined like the lowest soldier of the common people in a prison for criminals, and from languishing miserably for several years.

A short time after these events, the brother of the Count of Flanders, who was himself by his own right Count of Namur, while he was traversing the environs of Sens with many knights of his country, was taken prisoner, and with him sixteen knights who accompanied him. The king’s friends, who defended this region in his name, defeated them in a battle and forced them to receive chains.

However, the King of England, unable to contain all the joy he felt at the capture of the bishop, burned with the desire to give battle to his lord, whatever the decree of fate might be. Having with him fifteen hundred armed knights, forty thousand lower-ranking combatants and Marchader’s innumerable bands, and having learned with certainty that the king was heading almost alone towards the walls of Gisors, Richard flooded the plains and valleys surrounding Courcelles with his knights, all armed with helmets, and arranged his armed cohorts in good order in the fields of Vexin, so that Philip could find no open path to reach Gisors, as he had planned.

The latter, unaware of this stratagem, and not even knowing where the King of England was, had left all his troops in the castle of Mantes, and, fearing nothing for himself, had taken with him only forty-four knights and a hundred men-at-arms. They had already passed Courcelles, whose ramparts the King of England had overthrown and taken captive the lord, named Robert, who had received a terrible wound to the head. As soon as the French saw the valleys all filled with warriors, whose glittering arms redoubled the sun’s brilliance in the fields, they were seized with stupor, and could find no way out of their predicament, neither to the right nor to the left. The king, always intrepid, followed the path he saw before him, when Manassé de Malvoisin, a strong man in the council, and even more strongly in combat, stopped him by the bridle of his horse, and, his soul filled with fury, addressed these words to him:

“Where are you rushing, O you who will perish? What help can our arms lend you? Why do you seem to want to deliver yourself with all your men to the blows of blind fortune? How will such a weak troop dare to fight so many thousands of men, in such a way as to defend its life for only an hour? Alexander did not lead so many Greeks to battle; Xerxes (although it is reported that his army exhausted rivers when it took a meal) did not cross the sea near Mount Athos with as many ships as there are men waiting for you there. Do you not see then how all the paths are already occupied, and that there is no way out in the valleys or in the fields for us to pass? So then, as soon as possible, while we are allowed to do so, and before the enemy does not yet surround us on all sides, let us turn back quickly, and retreat to a place of safety. Or rather, go away alone, without any feeling of shame stopping you, while we will fight to resist the enemy. Our death will be only a slight loss, but in you rest the hope and glory of the whole kingdom; you alone remaining safe and sound, France has nothing to fear.”

He would have said more, but the king, transported with anger:

“Far from me,” he cried, “that I abandon my enterprise for any enemy whatsoever, or that I turn my back to march as a fugitive. This royal road must lead me to Gisors. Far be it from us that, in our kingdom, a stranger could frighten us! If all paths are refused to us, if the fields and valleys are closed to us, so that we can find no way to go further, let each one make his way with his sword through the enemies. Let our swords be our guides to accomplish the journey we have undertaken. Far be it from us that a fault could be reproached to the King of the French! Valor is not measured by number, but by the heart of the warriors.”

He spoke, and rushed with brilliant courage into the midst of the battalions; all the children of France advanced with similar agility, moving as one man: each one cleared a passage with his gleaming sword; and in a short time, putting the enemies to flight, overthrowing and killing a great number, they led the king, who always marched along his straight path, as he had promised, into the plain. So while the king went on, without having received any wound, the enemy fled, discontent, and seeing only with sorrow their defeat and the triumph of the latter, who continued his march.

Meanwhile, the most illustrious of the children of the French nation continued to fight, doing much harm to the enemies, and staining the grass with their blood. But, while such a small number of men cannot triumph over so many thousands of adversaries, and although they know well that they cannot trust the deceptive face of fortune, most of them, not knowing how to yield, stubbornly fight, unwilling to be vanquished, and are held prisoner by the enemy. Thus were captured Matthieu de Marle, Philippe de Nanteuil, Pierre, nicknamed “the Sow”, Gautier, who was known as “de la Porte”, and ninety-two other great, young men illustrious in war, all decorated with the rank of knights, of distinguished birth, and bearing famous names. Furthermore, the bridge of Gisors, by which one reaches the iron gate, being unable to support all those who rushed upon it in a rapid charge, collapsed, and carried several warriors into the river. The king’s horse crossed the river, and arrived with the king on the opposite bank, without any accident: of all those who followed him, the king lost no one, either drowned in the river, or killed on the battlefield. As for the King of England, regarding himself as a victor with his ninety-two captive knights, after taking a few moments of rest, he headed towards Château-Gaillard, joyful and triumphant, and barely able to contain his excitement.

Oh! how ignorant is the heart of man of the things to come! Alas! how blind he is, he who never remembers past events, who never fears those of the future, who takes no precautions against what must happen, and cares only for the present! This very victory, O Richard, will turn to ill for you; soon it will come to pass that you will regret having won it, and having fought in one way or another against your lord (with which your mother had instructed you never to come to blows, teaching you on the contrary to render him honor respectfully), when a rough bolt having struck you in the middle of the body, death will knock at your door, since neither the Passion of Christ, nor the sacred time of Lent, can turn you away from combat. Such is the death that awaits you before Chalus8 he who must be your murderer! Why do you rejoice imprudently? why do you pride yourself on your victory? Fool, what are these transports? what vain glory seduces you? you burst with joy for the present, and you do not consider what the hour of tomorrow may bring you, what end can put a stop to your momentary joy, how deceptive glory is, how mobile is the destiny of man! wisdom alone measures the end of all things. Why do you not offer fervent thanks to the Lord? Why do you attribute to yourself alone what he has granted in his good will for you? You are foolish if you think that the same thing can return ceaselessly, that present circumstances never change, as if fortune remained obstinately in the same place! Do you not know the whims of this sovereign? those whom she raises highest, all of a sudden she makes them fall lowest by a more terrible fall. Mobile fate always leaves in obscurity him who has fallen behind him. The heart swells and exalts before the ruin that overwhelms the imprudent, and when he has fallen unexpectedly, he is delivered to a torment that the man who, by his own actions, has prepared for himself all these evils, so that he who trusts too much in himself, and has not wanted to become wise through his faults, may learn finally through punishment how humble he should have shown himself in triumph. But pride above all must be repressed more severely, when the mercy of God has subjected an enemy to us, when God has given to those who do not deserve them the honors of a fragile world, for fear that we may not lose at once both the gifts of him who gives, and him who alone gives and takes away all these things. This king, to whom you boast rashly of having inspired fear, whom you believe to have vanquished, has rather vanquished yourself; and when he made his way himself with his sword through the army that sought in vain to stop him, striking with confusion you and yours, and triumphant, invincible in war, over you and yours, he truly gained much more honor by escaping all your forces with so few knights, than you could acquire by stopping a few knights with such a large number of men. It is therefore to him that this triumph belongs, and it is no longer yours.

Already some time had passed since these events; it was beyond mid-Lent, and the faithful people were preparing to celebrate the venerable Passion of Christ, when, far away, in the territory of Limoges, a prodigious event occurred. In the land of Chalus, a certain peasant, placed under the orders of a lord named Achard, was tilling the land with his plow, to sow vetch or millet there, when he found a hidden treasure in the plowed field; and having found it, he went to reveal it to his lord. The latter secretly took the gold, having with him only a small number of witnesses, according to what those who love to tell false stories report. This event became known to Richard, through the accounts of gossiping fame, which always adds great things to lesser things, and which delights, in its chatter, in mixing the false with the true. Delighted by these agreeable reports, Richard, neglecting all other care, applied himself solely to this matter, in order to bring Achard, in one way or another, either by force or by affection, to hand over the treasure he had discovered. First, therefore, he wrote to him, but without obtaining any result. Then he gathered his cohorts, and arrived with great clamor beneath the ramparts of Chalus, uttering horrible threats, and declaring that he would destroy everything if Achard did not deliver the gold he had found as soon as possible.

However, Achard begs and asks for a truce for the holy days, until at least the solemnity of Easter has passed. He declares himself perfectly innocent of the crime and ignorant of the fact that the king imputes it to him; but he promises that he will very willingly submit to whatever the court of France, which must govern according to its laws the great men of the kingdom and Richard himself, decides on this subject. The king, more and more furious, remains deaf to all these propositions, does not even accept reasons, and listens neither to justice nor to equity. What pleases him is also what he judges just, and at the same time he makes the greatest efforts to seize the castle. Already the greater part of the walls has fallen; the tower itself is shaken, and Achard will soon have nothing left to to defend themselves. But they have reached the point where despair gives strength, which happens when the last misfortune overwhelms the unfortunate, and when they can finally fear no greater misfortunes. Six knights and nine servants still fight in the tower, and deploy all their forces to defend the castle. The more they see that it becomes impossible for them to escape death, the more audacious they show themselves in resisting death by fighting; no fear manifests itself where there is no longer any hope of salvation. If they find no other projectile under their hands, they throw planks, beams, debris from the tower, and, by throwing all sorts of things, they constantly reduce the number of their enemies. Meanwhile, Atropos addresses these words to her two sisters, Clotho and Lachesis:

“Why, Clotho, why do you provide Lachesis with so much to spin for the use of King Richard? What good is it to have taken so much trouble for one who does not deserve it? For one whom our patience, as I see it, makes too proud, whom our good deeds make rebellious towards us, who hopes too much to abuse our gifts, as if he were always to conquer, as if I should never have the power to break, when I wish, the thread you spin; he who, driven by his excessive greed, dares to despise the most holy days and the blessed time that the Father who thunders in the heavens consecrated with the blood of his own Son, and who gave us to be his ministers; he, finally, who has so many times broken the treaties he had concluded with his lord, and who but recently still wished to seize his person. I pass over in silence the frauds committed by him in the land of Syria and in the kingdom of Palermo; I keep silent about the grievance of having so often disregarded the rights of nature. What are, Clotho, these murmurs that answer my voice? you, who are nothing but the force by which the sovereign Father calls everything into existence, in its time, and as it pleases Him; so that you only have the power to hold the distaff, and nothing beyond. And you, Lachésis, what are you other than the fate by which this same Creator guides what is already produced, makes it vegetate, and directs it through existence? But in me, who dominates over all things, there is no change, nothing can hinder me: my force strips of existence all that comes into existence through you, or traverses existence. But enough, the irrevocable word of the Father urges me. Make, Clotho, make your distaff learn to stop; make, Lachésis, that this spindle you turn with your thumb ceases to swell. You can more usefully furnish your spindles for this Philip, who respects both us and our Father, who presents his homage everywhere, and honors his ministers everywhere. Why do you tremble, Achard? why are you afraid? your tower is at its last extremity, it fears the fall, and already it is delivered. Behold, I come to your aid: what do you say, that there are no more arrows? look at the wall; under this still firm beam, next to you, hangs a short arrow, with a square point, that Richard sent. against you, desiring to strike you with a sudden death. Present this arrow to Gui9, who carries a crossbow, so that he may send back to Richard what Richard has sent: I want Richard to perish from this death, and not from another, so that he who first showed the children of France the use of the crossbow, may himself experience it, and feel within himself the force of the instrument whose practice he taught to others.”

Atropos has spoken; her words pleased her two sisters; Clotho leaves her distaff, and Lachesis renounces her thoughts.

Meanwhile, Richard continues to go back and forth incessantly around the walls of the fort: Gui, having recognized him from the top of the citadel, turns the nut of his crossbow with his left thumb, presses the trigger with his right hand; the string vibrated, and behold, the fatal arrow entered the king’s shoulder. Suddenly, a sound of mourning spreads throughout the camp; every knight sadly returns to his tent; the young men, laying down their arms, abandon themselves to lamentations; they carry the king back to his royal couch, and the soldiers, overcome by grief, attack only weakly. Forgetting the battles, they shed tears and no longer arrows. The besieged give themselves over to transports of their joy; already Achard no longer hides; having no more fear, he delights in walking the ramparts with his companions in arms, for already the enemy had withdrawn.

Meanwhile, the troops pressed pell-mell around the king. The doctors applied soothing balms, the surgeons cut into the wound to remove the iron with less danger. The blow was not mortal; but the king refused to listen to the salutary advice of the doctors and his friends, and preferring the evil joys of pleasure to the counsels of the wise, he drew death upon himself without suspecting it. Already Atropos had broken the thread of his life. So, the invincible king was dissolved by death, this king, such that none of those who had borne the scepter of the English would have been better than him if he had taken care to keep his faith to the king to whom the law obliged him to submit, and if he had had the fear of the supreme king. The clergy of the church of Rouen enclosed his heart in gold and silver, deposited it amidst the sacred bodies of saints, in the edifice consecrated to this use, and rendered him devoutly the greatest honors, so that the devotion of such an illustrious church might publicly attest how much it had cherished during his life the one whose manes it still deigned to honor. The head and the rest of the body were buried at Fontevrault, next to the king his father. Oh! how changeable is the state of kingdoms, and how often dissimilar are the chiefs who fall to empires! Richard was succeeded by John, a man such that none in the world was worse than him, and who was devoid of all good sentiment. Brother of Richard, he succeeded his brother by an injustice of fate, for Arthur should rather have succeeded Richard, since he was the son of John’s elder brother. Blind fate was against him, for often the decrees of destiny show themselves opposed to the judgments of men.

Here my muse, complaining of the weariness of these odious cares, said to me:

“I am tired and want to rest again. This song wants to be finished at the same time that such a great king finishes: so make this song and Richard have the same end. My fatigue invites me to take a few moments of rest.”

Remove one year, and the death of King Richard is marked in the year twelve hundred since the birth of Christ.

The laziness of the spirit always finds words of excuse for the lazy, and does not seek to present to it cares for which it would want to renounce its softness and endure fatigues, nor which could make it the host always eager for courage, which, exempt from softness, delights in being the companion of fatigue. Let us therefore take a moment of rest; but let this moment be short, for fear that, if too long a delay turned into habit, the spirit might become languid and finally be captive and dominated by laziness.