Otuel a Kniȝt

Herkneþ boþe ȝinge & olde, {f.268ra}

Þat willen heren of batailles bolde,

And ȝe wolle a while duelle,

Of bolde batailles ich wole ȝou telle

Cristine men and Sarrazins kene.

¶ Þere was sumtime a king in Fraunce,

A douȝty man wiþ spere and launce,

And made Sarazins ful tame;

And was born in seint Denys

Nouȝt bote a litel fram Parys,

And was a wol treu kniȝt,

And meintenede Cristendom ariȝt.

An heþene þat vncristned was,

Þat was king of Lumbardie,

And was yhoten king Garsie.

Marsile was his also,

A swiþe gret lord he was,

In his time non suych þer nas,

On Ihesu crist ne leuede he nouȝt

Þat him hadde so dere abouȝt.

And forsok God & seinte Marie.

In alle londes þere he wente

He slouȝ al þat euere he hente

Þat wolde on Ihesu Crist bileue

Niȝt and day it was his þout

To bringe Cristendom to nout.

¶ In heþenesse þer nas no king,

Þat ne hel[d] of him sum þing,

Suich a miȝty king was he,

Alle þei scholden to him bouwe.

He was lord of londes ynowe,

And ȝit he þouȝte wit maistrie,

Al Cristendom, more & lasse,

He þouȝte to maken heþennesse.

¶ Whan he wolde hauen a parlement,

Þere com to his comaundement,

Fiftene heþene kinges;

And alle þei were togidere sworn

Þat Cristendom scholde be lorn,

And maden alle here ordenaunce

For þei herden alle tidinges

Þat he was chef of cristene gynges,

And þe king wiste it wel.

Nou schulle ȝe here hou it bifel,

Soþ to segge wiþouten nay,

Þat king Charles of sein Denys,

Wente him toward Parys.

Hise duzzeperes wit him he nam,

And token alle here consail þare,

Þat þei wolden wiþ alle fare,

Into Marsile riden and gon,

And werren þere wiþ Godes foon,

To wenden þider wiþouten delay;

Bote ar þei þiderward ferden,

Suiche tydinges þei herden,

Of a Sarasin, douȝti and good,

¶ Þere com a Sarazin ful of rage

Fram king Garsie in message,

Into Paris þe wei he nam,

And to þe kinges paleis he kam.

Of no man afered he nas,

Into þe paleis þo he cam, {f.268va}

A skwier be þe hon[d] he nam

And seide ‘ich am comen her,

To speke wiþ Charles, king of þis lond,

And wiþ a kniȝt þat heet Roulond,

And a noþer hatte Oliuer -

Kniȝtes holden wiþouten peer.

Þat þou telle me whiche þei be.’

¶ Þe skwier þouȝte wel by siȝt,

Þat Otuwel was a douȝti kniȝt,

And for he was in message come,

And ladde him into þe halle,

Among þe grete lordes alle,

And þere þei stoden oppon her feet.

He schewede him where þe king seet

Þere þei seten oppon a rowe,

Roulond and Olyuer

And þe gode kniȝt Ogger.

¶ Anon as Otuwel hadde a siȝt

For eye of no man he ne leet

Bote wente to him þere he seet.

Hit was þe boldeste Sarazin

Þat euere þorte drinke win,

Þo he spak wiþ Charles þe king.

He seide to him amydde his halle

‘Sire king, foule mote þe falle.

Þou art aboute for to greue

Þerefore haue þou maugre.

So þe greteþ Garsie bi me

Þat me haueþ in message sent

To seggen his comaundement.

Nou ich knowe þe be siȝt,

May ich mete þe in þe feeld,

Wiþ þi spere and wiþ þi scheld,

Ich wole wyte, so mote ich þe,

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‘Þat þou makest offe þis bost,

Tel me nou ȝef þou wost.’

Quaþ Otuwel ‘so mote ich þe,

I nelle nouȝt hele for eie of þe.

In Aueril before þe May

King Garsie þe weie nam,

To þe Cite of Rome he cam,

Twenti þousende was þe sawe,

Corsouse m[i swerde ful] harde fel,

And bot þere Freinche flechs fol wel.’

¶ Estuȝt of Leggers, a Freinshe kniȝt,

He sterte op anonriȝt

A gret muche fir-brond,

And to Otuwel a strok hadde ment,

And Roulond bynam him þe dent.

¶ Þanne seide Charles þe king

Þat noman be so wood,

For to don hym oþer þan good,

A kinges messager for he is,

He ne schal habbe non harm, iwis.’

And ani of hem be so wod

To drawe to me swerd or knif,

Certes he schal lesen his lif.’

¶ Þe kinges kniȝtes hadden tene

Wiþ þat word anonriȝt

Op starte a Freinsche kniȝt,

Bihinden Otuwel he cam

And be þe hod Otuwel nam

And braid adon þat heþene kniȝt,

And anon out wiþ a knif, {f.269ra}

And wolde haue reued him his lif.

And þat Sarazin Otuwel

Þat he ne dede him nouȝt bote good,

Ne drouȝ of his bodi no blood.

¶ He starte op and was wroþ.

To ligge longe him was loþ,

And þe kinges kniȝt he slouȝ

And amang hem alle he stood

And lokede as he were wood.

Þe kinges kniȝtes were agramed,

Þat Otuwel in þe halle

Slouȝ a kniȝt among hem alle,

And bigunnen op to stonden

And þouȝte to leggen on him honden.

And in his herte it him bar

Þat þei nere aboute no good,

And seide to hem þere he stod

‘Bi þe louerd sire Mahoun,

For ȝef ani of ȝou so hardi be

Þat any strok munteþ to me,

Mahoun mi god ich here forsake

ȝef he sschal euere ordres take

Bot of Corsouze mi gode brond.’

¶ Þei behelden Otuwel alle,

Kniȝtes and skwieres in þe halle,

Þer nas non þat þere stood

And euere he held his swerd ydrawe

And ȝaf nouȝt of hem alle an hawe.

¶ King Charles stood vpriȝt

And comaundede anonriȝt

To do þe messager nouȝt bote good.

¶ Kniȝtes and sweines in þe halle

Were wol glade þerof alle

Þat þe king so bad,

And þei wiþdrowen hem echone, {f.269rb}

And euere stod Otuwel alone

And biheld hem as þei ȝede,

ȝef ani him wolde strok dede.

‘Bi God þat made alle þing,

Sarasin nere þou messager,

Wroþerhele come þou her.

I rede þou ȝeld op þi brond,

¶ Quaþ Otuwel, þat Sarazin

‘Bi Mahoun, þat is louerd myn,

I nelle take it out of min hond

To noman of al þi lond

Þat wind þou hauest ilore.’

¶ ‘Sarasin’ quaþ Roulond

‘Tak me þi swerd in myn hond,

And ichc wole saue þe bi mi blod,

And whan þou art redi to fare

For soþe þi swerd sschal be ȝare.’

¶ Quaþ Otuwel þe Sarazin

‘Bi Mahoun, þat is louerd min,

Ich wole bere myn swerd miselue.

Holte o roum! Ich wolde rede

And þanne dostou a god dede.’

¶ ‘Sarazin’ quaþ Charles þe king,

Tel me nou alle and some

In what message artou come?’

Otuwel, þat noble kniȝt,

Answerede anonriȝt

Spaine is his, an[d] Lumbardie,

And manye londes name-couþe

Þat I ne mai nouȝt nemne wiþ mouþe;

Bi me he sente þe to segge,

And maken þin men in eche toun

For to leuen on sire Mahoun,

And þou and alle þine barons bolde

Of him ȝe sschulle ȝoure londes holde.

Þat þou hauest Mahoun agult.

And certes bote it so bifalle,

Garsie wele ȝiue þine londes alle

To Olecent of Esclauenye,

Þat haueþ his .o. douȝter to wif,

Þat he loueþ as his lif;

Þous sschal al þi murþe adoun,

Bote þou leue on sire Mahoun.’

‘Certes, while we moun ride & go

Fraunse sschal he neuere ȝiue

To noman while we moun liue.

Sire king, his wille nou þou wost,

And let vs oppon Garsie wenden

Alle hise londes for to sschenden;

Of wordes þat he haueþ ispeke,

For soþe we reden þou be awreke.’

‘Þine Freinsche kniȝtes kune ȝelpe wel,

And whan þei beþ to werre ibrouȝt,

Þanne be þei riȝt nouȝt.

¶ Þauȝ þou bringe wiþ sscheld & spere

To werren vpon [k]ing Garsie,

Certes alle þei sscholden deie.

And þou art king, and old kniȝt

And hauest iloren al þi miȝt

Þou nere neuere douȝti of dede.’

¶ Þo was þe king was agramed

And alle hise duzzeperes asschamed

Þat Otuwel, þat heþene kniȝt,

¶ Roulond bi þe king stood,

And ameuede al his blod,

And seide in wraþþe anonriȝt

To Otuwel þat heþene kniȝt

In bataille, and I mete þe þare,

And I may mete þe ariȝt,

Bi Ihesu þat is ful of miȝt,

Þou ne sschalt neuere after þat day, {f.269vb}

¶ ‘Ouȝ’ quaþ Otuwel and louȝ

‘Wherto makestou it so touȝ,

To þrete me in anoþer lond?

Nam ich [nouȝt] here at þin hond,

Whaneuere þou wolt let þe diȝte,

And þou sschalt finde me redi diȝt,

In þe feld to bide fiȝt.’

¶ ‘Bi God’ quaþ Roulond ‘ich wolde be ȝare

And euele mote he þriue & þe

Þat ferst failleþ of me and te.’

¶ ‘ȝe, leue, ȝa’ quaþ Otuwel þo

‘Wheþerso failleþ of us two,

Ich wile be redi erliche tomorwe.’

¶ Quaþ Roulond þar he stod on grounde

‘Selpe me Gode.’ feere ifounde

Riȝt before þe kinges eien,

Eiþer oþer his trewþe pliȝte

Vppon morwen for to fiȝte.

¶ King Charles stod al stille,

And biheld his gode wille,

Þat þou nost what follaut is;

ȝef þou woldes follaut take

And þine false godes forsake,

Ichc wolle make þe, so mote ihc þe,

A riche man in mi lond,

Þat ich wille sikere þe on hond.’

¶ Otuwel, þat hardi kniȝt,

Answerede anonriȝt

Þat me radde such a red,

To forsake mi god Mahun;

I nelle nouȝt leue þi false sarmon.’

¶ Þauȝ Otuwel speke outrage,

King Charles þat was heende and god

Nolde soffre him habbe nouȝt bote god,

Bote seide to him anonriȝt

‘Be þou skwier, be þou kniȝt,

Of what linage þou art come.’

¶ Otuwel answerede þis

‘A kinges sone ich am, iwis,

Soþ to segge & nouȝt to lye,

Fernagu myn eem was,

Þat neuere ouercomen nas.

S[i]r Roulond þi cosin him slouȝ,

Þerefore wole rise wo inouȝ,

To fiȝte wiþ Roulond sikerliche.

Ich wille tomorewen in þe day

Awreken his deþ ȝef ich may;

ȝou he haueþ iseid his sawe

Þat we schule boþe fiȝten ifeere.

Nou ich wille þat þou it here,

Min emes deþ ich [wille] awreke

Or myn herte sschal tobreke.’

Bot naþeles he was hende & good

And nolde for hise wordes heȝe

Don Otuel no vileinie,

Bote comaundede anon a swein

A ȝing kniȝt ant nouȝt old

Þat was wel norssched and bold;

And seide to him ‘sire Reiner,

Tak here þis messeger

Þat for no word ne for no dede

Þat he haueþ don and seid

Þat non hond be on him leid;

And loke þat he be wel idiȝt

¶ Þe chamberlein anon dede

Als þe king him hadde ibede

And ladde him hom to his in.

And whan he was icomen in

And wente to þe king aȝein.

Littel slep þe king þat niȝt

For ferd of Roulant þat gode kniȝt

Of þe bataille he hadde inome, {f.270rb}

For þe king hadde sein fol wel,

Þe kuntenaunse of Otuel;

Þe king wiste wel a fin

Hit was a bold Sarazin,

Þo he sauȝ him slen his kniȝt.

¶ On morwe þo þe dai sprong

And þe larke bigan hire song

King Charles wente to cherche

Roulond, his cosin, wiþ him ȝede,

Of Godes help þat hadde nede;

Þei wenten anon to here masse,

For here sinnen sscholde be þe lasse.

And þe uestement doun ileid,

Þe king and Roulond ifere

Wente forþ as ȝe moun here

Riȝt to þe paleis ȝate

Otuel, armed and idiȝt,

Al redi to bide fiȝt.

Þo seide þat Sarazin

‘Sire king, where is þi cosin,

Þat he wolde wiþ me fiȝte?

He was þo fol heie of mod,

Is he nou ilete blod?’

¶ Roulond stod al and herde

And answerede anonriȝt

‘By Ihesu þat is fol of miȝt

Þin heued sschal fele vnder þin hood,

Þat I nam nouȝt laten blood.’

And turnde his stede and made him go,

And to þe place þo rod he

Þere þe bataille sscholde be.

Al aboute þe water ran,

Þat miȝte in riden no gon

At no stede bote at on,

And þere Otuwel in rood; {f.270va}

No lengere he ne abood.

Was fol hasteliche idiȝt

And his stede he bistrod

And no lengere he ne abood.

Er þe dai idon it were,

¶ Anon als Roulond beheeld

Otuwel houede in þe feel[d].

Roulond was so egre to fiȝte,

Þat for al þe world he ne miȝte

Þere Otuwel rod in ate;

He þoute þe nekste weie to ride,

And no lengere he nolde abide.

He smot his stede wiþ spores briȝte

Ouer þe water þe stede swam

And to londe saf he cam.

¶ Anonriȝt als Roulond

Hadde ikauȝt þe druye lond

Þei riden togidere wiþ speres kene,

Þat were ste[r]ne and nouȝt longe;

And þe kniȝtes were boþe stronge

And smyten eiþer in oþeres sscheld

And risen aȝein op fram þe grounde,

And boþe kniȝtes were hole & sounde.

¶ Þo þe stedes were risen boþe,

Þe kniȝtes woxen boþe fol wroþe,

And eiþer huȝ on oþer faste.

Roulond to Otuwel smot

A strok þat fol sore bot;

He wolde haue smiten Otuwel,

And Roulond smot þe stede broun

And clef þe heued al adoun,

And þe stede fel to grounde,

Bot Otuwel was hol & sounde.

And houede oppon his stede stille,

To smiten made he semblant non {f.270vb}

Er Otuwel was risen and gan.

¶‘Roulond’ quaþ Otuwel ‘what was þe?

Wil ich oppon mi stede sat?

Whi sscholde mi stede habbe þat?

It hadde be more honour to þe

For soþe, to habbe ismite me.’

Bi sen Geme, ihc habbe isouȝt.

Otuwel, ich hadde yment,

Þat þou sscholdest haue ifeled þat dent.

Ich hadde wel leuere, so mote ich þe,

¶ Otuwel was wroþ his stede was slawe,

And wiþ his swerd he bar idrawe

He smot to Roulond wiþ good wille,

Þat [h]ouede oppon his stede stille.

And he failede of his dent

And smot Roulondes gode stede,

Þat neuere eft on erþe he ne ȝede.

¶ Otuwel þoute on errore deede,

Hou Roulond houede stille as ston,

Til he was risen and gon;

And he stod al stille

And leet Roulond risen at wille

Þat strok ich mente to þe,

And nou it is on þi stede istunt,

Let nou stonde dunt for dunt.’

¶ Þo þei sien non oþer bote

And strokes ȝeden bitwene ham so kene

Þat þe fer sprong out bitwene.

¶ King Charles wiþ hise kniȝtes bolde

Was come þe bataille to biholde

He sscholde saue Roulond his kniȝt.

¶ Boþe kniȝtes were gode & stronge,

And fouȝten togidere swiþe longe.

Roulond was a hende kniȝt

And þat myȝt was in his arm, {f.271ra}

And þoute to sauen him fram harm,

And seide ‘Otuwel, let þi fiȝt

And leue on Ihesu ful of miȝt

Þat þou sschalt wedde Belecent,

Þe kinges douȝter, mi nese þat is;

I rede, Otuwel, þat þou do þis.’

¶ Quaþ Otuwel to Roulond

Al þi preching is for nouȝt,

Hit ne cam neuere in my þout;

Me ne stant nouȝt of þe swich awe

Þat þou sschalt make me reneie mi lawe

So nis nouȝt mi wille iwent.’

¶ Þo þei ne miȝte nouȝt acente

Aȝein to bataille þei wente

And fouȝten harde togidere beie;

¶ Roulond bigan to meuen his blood

Þat Otuwel so longe stood,

And for tene vp wiþ þe brond

Þat he bar in his hond,

Otuwel, bote nouȝt he ne spedde.

Otuwel starte o side

And lette þe swerd bi him glide,

And Roulond wiþ þe swerdes ende,

Als he wolde þe dent fle,

Otuwel fel on kne.

¶ Otuwel asschamed was

Þat he knelede oppon þe gras,

And þouȝte Roulond for to quelle;

In þe heued he hadde him ment,

Bote Roulond bleinte for þe dent,

As swete Ihesu Crist wolde,

Biside þe heued þe dent wente,

And þe hauberk he torente,

Fram þe hepebon an heiȝ,

Þat alle þe pece out fleiȝ.

And was fol dreri in his mood,

And was swiþe sore afriȝt

To lese Roulond his gode kniȝt,

For Otuwel smot so heterliche

Þat Roulond sscholde been ylore,

And was a sori man þerefore.

¶ As þe king stod in doute

He spak to his folk aboute

‘Lordinges, doþ as ich ȝou lere,

Sitte eche man oppon his kne,

And biddeth to God in trinite,

For his grace and for hise miȝtes,

And ȝiue Otuwel wille today,

For to reneien his lay.’

¶ Euerichone þei token here red,

And deden as þe king ham bed.

And swete Ihesu herde ham sone.

A whit coluere þer cam fle,

Þat al þe peple miȝten se,

On Otuweles heued he liȝte

And Otuwel, þat douȝti kniȝt,

Wiþdrouȝ him anoonriȝt

Fram Roulond and stod al stille,

To fiȝte more he ne hadde wille

Wiþdrau þin hond and smiȝt namore.

ȝef þou wolt holden þat þou me het,

Þat I sschal wedde þat maiden swet,

Þe kinges douȝter, Belesent,

ȝef I sschal wedden þat faire may,

Ich wille bileuen oppon þi lay,

And alle myne godes forsake,

And to ȝoure God ich wille take.’

And answerede Otuwel

‘I þonke it Ihesu ful of miȝt,

Þorou wham þat grace is in þe liȝt.’

¶ Otuel caste of his hond {f.271va}

And Roulond his also,

And togidere þei gune go.

Eyþer forȝaf oþer his loþ,

Nas non of hem wiþ oþer wroþ,

As eiþer hedde been oþeres broþer.

¶ King Charles rood þidere anon,

And kniȝtes wiþ him many on.

Anon as he þider cam

And seide ‘Roulond, for Godes erþe,

Hou is þe and þis man iwurþe?

So harde strokes as ȝe habben ȝiue,

Hit is wunder þat ȝe liue.’

Noþer of vs ne haueþ wounde.

Otuwel haueþ his conseil nome

Þat he wile Cristene bycome,

And ich habbe granted bi ȝoure acent

¶ ‘Certes’ quaþ Charles þo

‘Nou þou wolt þat it be so,

I grante wel þat it so be,

For whi þat he wille dwelle wiþ me.

Otuwel, and gode Ogger.

In al þe world in lenkþe & brede,

Þer nis king þat nolde me drede.’

¶ Þe king took Otuwel anon

And makeden murþe and meloudie

Of alle maner of menestrausie

For þe miracle þat was wrouȝt,

Þat Otuwel hadde iturnd his þouȝt.

Þei ladden to churche þat noble kniȝt,

Bisschop Turpin was bisschop þo,

He follede him þat day and nammo.

¶ Þo Otuwel hadde follauȝt nome,

Þe king beed him his douȝter anon,

And feire londes mani on.

¶ Otuwel to þe king saide {f.271vb}

‘Sire, keep me wel þat maide,

No neuere wiþ hire go to bedde

Er þi werre to þe ende be brouȝt

And sumwhat of þi wille wrouȝt;

Whan king Garsie is slawe or take,

¶ Quaþ king Charles to Otuwel

‘Nou I se þou louest me wel,

And ȝef I leue, so mote I þe,

Þou ne sschalt nouȝt lese þi loue on me.’

Alle hise duzzeperes echon.

‘Lordinges’ he seide ‘what is ȝoure red?

King Garsie seiþ I sschal be ded,

And as ȝe habbeþ iherd segge,

Wheþer wole we wenden oppon him anon,

Oþer abide til winter be gon?’

Þe duzzeperes acentenden þerto,

To bide til winter were ido,

Lette maken his purueianse.

Al þat winter at hom he bod,

And in somer to werre he rod.

Lordinges, boþe ȝinge and olde,

Hou þe werre was fol hyȝe,

Bitwene king Charles & king Garsie.

Anon as winter was ygon,

Þe king asemblede his host anon,

Out of mani diuerse lond.

Aueril was comen an[d] winter gon,

And Charles tok þe weie anon,

And drouȝ him toward Lumbardie,

Þere was set wiþouten faille

Certein day of bataille.

¶ Anoon as Charles was icome,

Niȝ honde þar þe bataille was nome,

Þe kinges pauilons were ipiȝt,

Vnder an hul bisides a riuere, {f.272ra}

And bifel as ȝe moun here.

Fol nyȝ þe water þe king lay

And vppon þat oþer side

He miȝte seen hise enemis ride,

And þere nas brugge ne forde non

Þat man miȝte ouer riden ne gon.

Tok carpenters anonriȝt

And lette make a brugge anon

Þat men miȝten ouer gon.

¶ Þo þe brugge was al ȝare,

Hit bitidde vppon a day,

Wil Charles in his bed lay,

Þat Roulond an[d] Oliuer

And þe gode kniȝt Oger

Auntres for to sen and here.

And þo þei ouer passed were,

Such auntres þei funden þere,

For al þe good vnder sonne

¶ Of Garsies ost foure heþene kinges

Wenten for te here tidinges,

For alle cas þat miȝte bitide,

Wel i-armed bataille to bide.

As we finden in romaunse write:

¶ Turabeles hatte þet o king -

A stout Sarazin, wiþouten lesing;

¶ Þat oþer Balsamun het -

¶ Astaward was þe þriddes name,

He louede werre and hatede game;

¶ Þe ferþe king hiȝte Clarel,

Þat neuere ȝite ne dede wel.

Þat on seide as ȝe moun here

‘Mahoun leeue ous ȝit abide

Into Fraunce þat we moun ride,

And ich miȝte Roulond mete

Þat traitour he slouȝ mi broþer, {f.272rb}

Ne gete ich neue[r] eft such a noþer.’

¶ Roulonde herde and Oliuer

And þe gode kniȝt Ogger

And þratten Roulond to die;

And Roulond was so nyȝ

Þat alle foure kinges he syȝ.

¶ ‘Felawes’ quaþ Rouland anon

Þei beþ foure and we bote þre,

Daþeit habbe þat hem fle;

Nou we habben founden game,

Gawe to hem a Godes name.’

He seide ‘oure enemys beþ nyȝ,

Ich se bi here cuntenaunse

Þei beþ Cristene men of Fraunce.

Charles ost liþ here biside

And þese beþ of hise men, iwis,

Þerfore mi reed is tis,

Þat we hasteliche to ham ride

And loke wheþer þei wole abide.’

Touchede here stedes & made hem gon

And toward þe Cristene kniȝtes þei riden,

And þei douȝtiliche abiden.

¶ Astaward wiþ Roulond mette,

Bot smot him wiþ his spere anon,

Þorou þe sscheld he made hit gon.

And Roulondes spere, ywis,

Was wel betere þan was his,

And caste him doun of his stede.

‘Aris’ quaþ Roulond ‘and tak þe bet,

At þis time þou art ilet.’

¶ Curabeles no lengere ne abood,

Ogger was a strong kniȝt,

And rod to him wiþ gret miȝt,

And bar ado[u]n hors and pak,

And þe Sarazins nekke tobrak.

Eyþer neiȝede oþer ner;

Þo Balsamum bigan to ride

Oliuer nolde no lengere abide,

He pingde his stede wiþ spores kene

He ne (ne) miȝte þo no bette do

Bote gurde þe nekkebon otwo.

¶ Þus Roulond and Oliuer

And þe gode kniȝt Ogger

And ȝit nolde nouȝt Clarel fle.

To þe duk Roulond he rood,

And Roulond his strok abod.

For wraþþe hise felaus were islein,

And bar a spere greet and long;

And þe Sarazin was strong

And in þe sadel sat faste

And Roulond to grounde he kaste.

Tobarst þat o sschanke bon.

Roulond vppon his feet stood,

And ne hadde nouȝt bote good.

¶ Ogger sauȝ fol wel þo

Ogger þat was douȝti of dede

Smot doun Clarel of his stede.

Oliuer tok þe stede anon

And to Roulond he gan gon.

‘Þis þe sente good Ogger,

And Clarel he haueþ to grounde iþrowe

For he brouȝte þe so lowe.’

¶ Rouland þat hadde his stede ilore

And was þe gladdeste man vnder sonne

Þat he hadde an hors iwonne.

¶ Clarel vppon his feet stood

And fauȝt as he were wood,

Bot fauȝt aȝein hem alle þre.

¶ Þe þre kniȝtes were fol stronge,

He ne miȝte nouȝt dure aȝein ham longe,

And seide to hem alle þre {f.272vb}

To ȝou it were lutel honour

To sle me þat nabbe no socour.’

To fiȝte more he forsook,

And Roulond his swerd tok;

And of Clarel his swerd he tok.

¶ ‘King Clarel’ quaþ Ogger

‘Worþ vp bihinden me her.’

Þo was king Clarel glad

And was staleworþe and liȝt,

And lep vp anonriȝt.

Þo wenten þei forþ wiþouten targing

And þoute presente Charles þe king

And hopeden to ben welcome.

And of here weie þei were let,

And swiþe harde þei were met.

Þei sien of Garsies men a feerd,

Bitwen hem and þe pauiloun

Þere þei sscholden wenden adoun.

Þei ne miȝte skapen in neuere a side,

Þoruout hem þei mosten ride.

To Roulond and Oliuer bo

‘Ich wene er we hom come,

Clarel ous worþ bynome;

Lordinges, what is nou ȝoure red?

¶ Quaþ Roulond ‘so mote ich þe,

At þat red nel ich nouȝt be.’

‘No ich noþer’ quat Oliuer,

‘Bi þe louerd sein Richer,

And ne do we him nammore wo.

Such cas may fallen in sum neede

He mai quiten vs oure mede.’

¶ ‘Bi God’ quaþ Ogger ‘þat is soþ,

Hit where sschame to ous, iwis,

To sslen a man þat ȝolden him is;

I rede we leten him gon his wey, {f.273ra}

For we mot entenden to anoþer pley.’

And leten Clarel on liue gon.

Clarel nolde no lengere abide,

He ne askede non hors onne to ride,

Bote on fote dede him go,

¶ ‘Nou, lordinges’ quaþ Ogger

To Roulond and to Oliuer

‘Ich wole triste to my sswerd,

And fonde for to passe þis ferd.

To se mi lord Charles þis niȝt.

ȝef ani Sarazin wiþ eie

Comeþ to lette me of mi weie,

Selp me God and þis day,

¶ ‘Nou’ quaþ Roulond, þat douȝti kniȝt,

‘And ich wille helpe þe bi mi miȝt;

I nele today bi sein Martin

ȝilde me to no Sarazin.’

In mani peril ich habbe ibe,

And ȝef ich faille at þis nede,

God ne lete me neuere eft spede;

I nele, ȝef God halt me sound,

¶ Þei markeden hem alle þre

To him þat þolede deþ on tre

And no lengere þei ne abiden,

Anon into þe ferde þei riden.

And of his weie Roulond lette;

He cam out of al þe here,

And bar to Roulond a gret spere -

A bold kniȝt þat hatte Byoun -

¶ Oliuer, þat was his broþer,

He mette wiþ anoþer,

A douȝti kniȝt, an heþene man,

A strong þef þat heet Bassan.

And bare a spere kene & fel,

And smot him riȝt vnder þe sscheld {f.273rb}

Þat þere he lay amidde þe feld.

¶ And þe gode kniȝt Ogger

And wolde him habbe doun ibore,

And Ogger was wroþ þarfore

And smot þe Sarazin so sore,

Þat he ne spak neuere more.

Among þe Sarazins stureden here hond

Þoru help of God þat is aboue

Þat ham hadde þat grace iȝoue.

Þorou þe ferd as þei riden,

Þei were maimed for eueremore.

Þe douȝti kniȝtes þei smiten so sore

Þat wiþinne a litel stounde

Þei felden mani on to grounde.

On of Garsies duzzepeers,

Þat hatte Karmel of Tabarie;

Oppon þe Sarasins he gan crie

‘Recreiede kniȝtes, whi nele ȝe fiȝte?

It is sschame bi god Mahon

Þat oure folk goon þus adoun.’

¶ Wiþ þis word Carmel anon

Pingde his stede and made him gon,

And þoute he sscholde his lif forlete;

And was strong, and ful of tene,

And smot sore, and þat was sene.

He smot Ogger in þe sscheld

Sore he fel oppon þe grounde

And hadde a fol luþer wonde.

¶ Þe duk Roulond þat seyȝ,

For wraþþe he was wod wel nyȝ,

Þat he ne spak neuere eft more.

¶ Þo cam Anwe of Nubie,

On of kinges kniȝtes Garsie,

And felde Oliuer to grounde,

¶ Roulond was fol wroþ wiþ alle, {f.273va}

Þo he sauȝ Oliuer falle,

And Anawe of Nubie he smot

Þat neuere eft crouste he ne bot.

Al hol wiþouten wo[u]nde,

And anon his stede he nam

And to Roulond sone he cam.

¶ Þo was Roulond fol fawe

Þo þei were togidere imet.

Þo were þei harde biset,

Amang Sarasins þat were kene,

And þei smiten sore for tene.

Heuere stode þe gode Ogger,

And hadde lorn his gode stede,

And his wounde gan faste blede;

And ȝit he fauȝt þere he stod

¶ Whil Ogger þat douȝti kniȝt

Aȝenes Sarazins stod in fiȝt,

Oppon a stede Clarel come driue,

Þat Ogger halp to sauen o liue

And anon he knuȝ Ogger

‘Ogger’ he seide ‘hit is my red,

ȝilte to me ore þou art ded;

Þou holpe to saue mi lif a day,

¶ Ogger sauȝ wel wiþ his eye

Þat he was in point to deye

And to Clarel he gan gon

And tok him his swerd anon.

Clarel hadde a fair lemman

Þat was hoten Aufanye,

And was born in Ermenie.

¶ Clarel anonriȝtes

And seide to hem anon

‘To mi lemman ȝe schulle gon

And segge þat ich sente hire þis kniȝt

And þat his wounde be heled ariȝt;

To sauen him til mi tocome.’

¶ Þe kniȝtes deden as he hem bad,

To his lemman he was lad,

Þat was hoten Aufanye,

And ȝo was glad of þat present,

To do Clareles comaundement.

Roulond and Oliuer fouȝten,

Þat of here liues nouȝt ne rouȝten.

Þei ne miȝte no lengere dure to fiȝte,

An[d] anon turnden here steeden,

And flowen for þei ne myȝten nouȝt speden.

¶ To Otuwel it was told

Oliuer and Ogger bo,

Were ouer þe water go.

¶ Otuwel anonriȝtes

Leet armen him and alle hise kniȝtes;

He wente to þe king anonriȝt

And seide ‘sire, I dwelle to longe.

Roulond, Oliuer an[d] Ogger þe stronge

Oue[r] þe water alle þre

To loke wher þei miȝten spede

To don any douȝti deede

Among þe Sarazins bolde,

And I sscholde be couward hoolde;

To sechen hem ich wole ride.

Þauȝ þei habben envie to me

Ich wille for þe loue of þe

Fonden whoþer I miȝte comen

And ȝif hem any harm bytit,

Let ham witen hare oune wit.’

¶ Quaþ þe king ‘par charite,

Otuwel, ich biseche þe,

And fonde to sauen hem o liue

Er þei be slawe or nome,

And þe sschal sone socour come.’

¶ Otuwel no lengere ne abood, {f.274ra}

And alle hise kniȝtes bi his side,

And toward þe ferd he gan to ride.

¶ Anon as Otuwel was goon

Þe king leet diȝte his host anon

As a God king and hende.

¶ As Otuwel bigan to ride,

He lokede abouten in eche side

And he sauȝ ate laste

Otuwel touchede his stedes side

An[d] aȝein hem he gan ride

And seide ‘turneþ aȝein anon

And helpeþ to wreke ȝou on ȝoure fon;

Þat makeþ ȝou so faste fle.’

¶ Þo þei herden Otuwel speken

Þat þei sscholden ben awreken,

Þo were þei ferchs to fiȝte,

¶ ‘Lordinges’ quaþ Otuel þo,

‘Whuder is god Ogger go?’

And þei answereden sikinge sore

‘For soþe we ne sien him nouȝt ȝore,

Wheþer he is islawe oþer nome.’

¶ ‘Allas! allas!’ quaþ Otuwel

‘Þis tiding likeþ me nout wel;

Sire Charles, my lord þe king,

For Godes loue, hie we bliue,

And loke we whoþer Ogger be aliue.’

Otuwel and Oliuer,

And Roulond þat douȝti bacheler,

Þei bigunnen for to hie

Toward king Garsies host

For to abaten of hare bost.

¶ Þere was a Sarazin strong

And was hoten Encumbrer,

And bigan to neiȝen hem ner

Oppon a muche blak stede; {f.274rb}

And Otuwel took of him hede

And knuȝ him anonriȝt.

And no lengere he ne abod,

Otuwel to him rood,

And bar him doun hors and man,

¶ Estuȝt of Legers, a noble kniȝt

Þat wiþ Otuwel cam to fiȝt,

Bar a spere of tre fol fin

And smot a bold Sarazin

And þere he lay det in þe feld.

Oliuer ho slouȝ anoþer,

And þe ferþe Roulond his broþer.

¶ Þo þe Freinche kniȝtes seien

Þei nolden þo no lengere abide;

Þei smiten to in eche side

And felden Sarazins faste,

And þei flowen ate laste.

Oppon Cristene men to lein,

And he leide on faste,

And þe þef ate laste

Slou Dromer of Alemaine;

¶ Erpater king of Ynde was,

He cam wiþ a mase of bras,

And Otuwel on þe helm he reiȝte

So harde þat al þe heued toqueiȝte.

Ich ne þoute nauȝt boruwe þat strok of þe;

Bi min heued vnder myn hat,

I nele nouȝt longe ouwe þe þat.’

Otuwel wiþ a fauchoun

And he fil vnder his horse feet.

Quaþ Otuwel ‘þat ich þe biheet.’

¶ Þo was Otuwel fol of mood,

And fauȝt as he were wood.

Foleuweden Otuwel echon,

Roulond and Oliuer, {f.274va}

And maden a foul larder.

Þe kniȝtes leiden on so faste,

¶ Þo neiȝede it toward eue,

Þo moste þe ost bileue

And dwellen þere al þat niȝt

Til on morwe þe dai was briȝt.

To resten hem, as is þe lawe,

King Clarel kam in fourme of pees

Wiþ tweie felawes, mo ne lees,

Toward Charles ost þe king,

Otuwel aȝein him wente

To wite who him þidere sente.

¶ Þanne seide king Clarel

To þe douȝti Otuwel

Tel me what þi name be;

Þou art so douȝti man of dede,

And mani a kniȝt hauest maked blede,

Ich wolde fol fain bi myn eye

¶ ‘Bi God, felawe’ quaþ Otuwel

‘Er þis þou kneuwe my name fol wel;

So God sschilde me fram sschame,

Otuel is my Cristine name.

And to Ihesu ich habbe me take.’

¶ ‘Allas!’ quaþ Clarel ‘whi destou so?

So wrecheliche hauestou do.

ȝit I rede þou turne þi mood,

And ich wole pese, ȝef þou wilt,

Þat þou hauest Garsie agult.’

¶ ‘Fiȝ’ quaþ Otuel þo

‘On Mahoun and on Garsie bo,

Y nele neuere oppon ȝou leue.

Bi Ihesu þat is fol of miȝt,

And ich may mete him ariȝt,

Þere sschal no Sarazin skape o liue,

¶ ‘Otuwel’ quaþ Clarel þo {f.274vb}

‘Were we sumware bitwene vs two -

Bi Mahoun, þat ich onne bileue -

Oppon þi bodi ich wolde preue

Þan he þat þou art to itake.

He nis nouȝt half, be mi croun,

So miȝty as is sire Mahoun.’

¶ Quaþ Otuwel ‘bi Godes miȝte,

Whaneuere þou wolt hit schal be,

Euele mote he þriue þat fle.’

¶ Quaþ Clarel anonriȝt

‘Bi Mahoun þat is fol of miȝt,

Þat no man of king Charles lond

Schal do me no vileynie?

By þe deþ þat I sschal deye,

Mi conseil is anon inome,

¶ Quaþ Otuwel ‘ne doute þe nouȝt.

Bi God þat al þe world haueþ wrouȝt

And þe deþ þat I schal deie,

Þou ne sschalt hente no vileinie

Bote riȝt of myn oune hond.

Bi him þat made leef & bouȝ,

þeroffe þe sschal þinken ynouȝ.’

Quaþ Clarel ‘þo do þi best,

¶ Þus þe[i] were þere boþe at on

Er þei wolden o twinne gon.

Eyþer oþer his treweþe pliȝte

Oppon morwen for to fiȝte.

Clarel þe king þouȝte long

To þe pauiloun til he cam

To holde þe day þat he nam;

Oppon a stede wel idiȝt

¶ King Charles wiþ hise kniȝtes bolde

Comen out Clarel to biholde,

Hou he com al redi diȝt

Boldeliche to bide fiȝt.

For [O]tuwel sikerede him on hond

Þat no man of flechs and blood

Ne sscholde doon him nouȝt bote good,

Bot hemselue tweien fiȝte

Þo was Clarel fol trist

For to segge what him lust.

¶ King Charles was an old man

And Clarel hede þeroffe nam,

Who made þe nou so bold

To werren oppon king Garsie

Þat is cheef of al Painie?

Al paynime he haued in wold;

¶ King Charles waryþede anonriȝt

Þat Clarel tolde of him so liȝt

And hadde iment þo fol wel

To habben ifouȝten wiþ Clarel;

And wolde armen him anonriȝt,

And seide in wraþþe ‘by Godes miȝte,

Ich miself wole wiþ him fiȝte.’

¶ Roulond bi þe king stood

And sede to þe king anon,

‘Þou hauest, sire king, mani on,

Gode douȝti kniȝtes of deede,

To fiȝte þiself þou ne hauest no nede.’

‘Hit sscholde springe fer or ner

To putte þin oune bodi to fiȝt,

And hauest so mani a douȝti kniȝt.’

¶ King Charles swor his oþ

And seide ‘for ouȝt þat man may speke,

Miself, ich wile ben on him wreke.’

¶ ‘A sire!’ quaþ Otuwel þo

‘For Godes loue sei nouȝt so.

Þat we sschole togidere fiȝte,

And ich wole telle þe wiþoute faille

Wherefore we habbe taken bataille.

¶ He wolde habbe maked me ȝusterday {f.275rb}

And seide þat ich was ilore

And God nas nouȝt of Marie bore;

And seide algate he wolde preue

Þat ich am in misbeleue.

To wite wheþer is more of miȝt,

Ihesu þat is louerd min

Or Mahoun and Apolyn.

Þous we habbeþ þe bataille inome

¶ Quaþ þe king Charles þo

‘Otuwel, whan it is so,

Tak þe bataille a Godes name,

And Ihesu schilde þe fram sschame.’

Lette armen him anonriȝt,

And his gode stede bistrod

And no lengere he ne abood

Bote to þe stede he rood fol riȝt

¶ Anon as Otuwel was icome

Here conseil was anon inome;

No lengere þei ne abiden,

Anonriȝt togidere þei riden,

Bote gode stronge speres & kene.

Nas neuer noþer of oþer agast

And eiþer sat in his sadel fast,

Þat boþe stedes ȝeden to grounde,

And boþe stedes wenten forþ,

Þat on souþ, þat oþer norþ.

Þe kniȝte on fote togidere ȝede,

An[d] drowen hare swerdes gode at nede;

Eyþer on oþer bigan to legge.

¶ Þei were boþe swiþe stronge,

And fouȝten togidere swiþe longe.

King Clarel was wel neȝ wood

In gret wraþþe Otuwel he smot,

And his swerd felliche bot,

And þau þe swerd [nere] neuere so good, {f.275va}

Þe gode helm it wiþstood.

Þere he stood vpon þe gras.

¶ Quaþ Otuwel ‘so mote ich go,

He ne louede me nouȝt þat smot me so;

Ich warne þe wel, so mote ich þe,

¶ Otuwel for wraþþe anon

Areiȝte him on þe cheke-bon

Al þe fel of þat was þare

And made his teþ al bare.

He ȝaf Clarel a skorn anon

And seide ‘Clarel, so mote þou þe,

Whi scheuwestou þi teþ to me?

I nam no toþ-drawere,

¶ Clarel felede him wounded sore,

And was maimed for eueremore,

An[d] smot to Otuwel wiþ al his miȝt;

And Otuwel, þat douȝti kniȝt,

Þat Clarel him hadde iment,

And ȝit þe dent glood adoun

And smot Otuwel oppon þe croun.

¶ Quaþ Otuwel ‘bi Godes ore,

Suþen þi berd was ischaue

Þou art woxen a strong knaue.’

¶ Otuwel smot Clarel þo

O strok and nammo

And so Otuwel his tene wrak.

¶ Þo was Charles glad ynouȝ

Þat Otuwel king Clarel slouȝ,

And ȝaf Otuwel, þat douȝti kniȝt,

Al þat in þe ost was

Maden murþe and solas

Þat Otuwel hadde so bigunne

And hadde so þe maistri wonne;

Þei maden alþer ioye most.

¶ Þer cam a messager & browȝte tiding {f.275vb}

To Garsie þat riche king

Þat Otuwel his cosin in lawe

¶ Þo Garsie it vnderȝat

He was swiþe sori for þat,

And for wraþþe þere he stood

Corsede hise godes as he were wood

Nou is gode Clarel go.

Certes myn herte it wile tobreke,

Bote ich mowe Clarel awreke.’

¶ Þo lette Garsie asem[b]len anon

And þouȝte þoruout alle þing

To ben awreken on Charles king

And on his cosin Otuwel;

And on himself þe wreche fel.

Þat Garsie þratte him to die

And he asemblede hise kniȝtes echon

And sede to hem alle anon

‘Lordinges, Garsie þinkeþ to ride,

Þe king armede him anon

And alle hise kniȝtes echon;

Þe king gurde him wiþ his swerd

And wente himself wiþ his ferd.

And Garsie cam wiþ gret bost.

Þo þe ostes neiȝeden nieȝ

Þat eiþer ost oþer sieȝ,

Out of Garsies ost cam ride

¶ Roulond was good and hende,

And aȝenes him gan wende.

Þe Tourkein no lengere nabod,

To Roulond anon he rood,

Þat wel couþe a strok bere;

And as douȝti as he was,

His o stirop he las.

¶ Roulond was aschamed þarfore,

And wiþ Dorendal þat was good, {f.276ra}

He smot þe Tourkein oppon þe hood,

And he sey doun of his stede;

So Rowlond quitte him his mede.

Þou nult namore stonden on þi feet;

Min o stirop þou madest me tine,

Nou hauestou lose boþe þine.’

¶ Þer cam anoþer stout Sarazin,

Þat hiȝte Myafle of Bagounde,

And wiþ a litel stounde

He made his stede swiþe to goon

And smot Oliuer anoon;

He woundede sore þat gode kniȝt.

¶ Roulond sauȝ be contenaunse,

His broþer was hurt wiþ þe launce;

His wardecors anon he fond

And made his hors make a sturt

To him þat hadde his broþer hurt,

And touchede him wiþ þe speres ord

Þat neuere eft he ne spak word;

And sette Oliuer þeron.

¶ Þere was a noble Sarazin,

A king þat heet Galatyn,

And cam wiþ a compainie,

¶ Otuwel was war of þat,

Oppon his stede þere he sat,

Hou king Galatin cam wiþ wille

Cristene men for to spille.

To Galatyn þe king he kam.

Þorou þe bodi he him bar

And bad he scholde eft be war

Of such a strok whan it kam.

Bote rood forþ oppon his stede

And leet þe Sarazin ligge & blede.

¶ Þo smiten þo ostes togidere anon

And fouȝten faste and good won,

Mani a bodi lay in þe feld.

¶ Þo cam ouer þe doune ride

An heþene king fol of prude,

And browȝte wiþ him al ferche þo

And fouȝten faste a good stounde

And felden Cristene men to grounde.

¶ A douȝti bacheler cam ride

Oppon king Charles side,

Of no man he nas aferd;

Fiue hundred men wiþ him he brouȝte

Þat of hare lif litel þei þouȝte.

Nas non twenti winter old,

He hadde ichosen hem fol wide,

Bolde men bataille to bide.

Þei fouȝten faste wiþinne a stounde

And brouȝten Sarazins to grounde.

Þe Sarazins flouwen ate laste.

Roulond & Oliuer hulpen wel,

And þe douȝty Otuwel.

¶ Coursabex, þe king, cam þo

‘Traitours’ quaþ Coursabex þe king

‘Certes þis is a foul þing

Þat ȝe schule fle for ferd;

Traitours, tourneþ aȝein þe berd,

And we wole make þe Freinche fle.’

Þous Coursabex himself allone

Made tourne hem aȝein echone.

¶ Þe ȝinge kniȝt þat was so bold,

Wiþ Coursabex wel sone he mette

And wiþ his swerd anon he sette

Such a strok oppon his croun

Þat of his stede he fel adoun.

And Coursabex o liue nam

And sente him Charles þe king.

Þo was he glad of þat tiding.

¶ Þo þe Tourkeins seien alle {f.276va}

And Cristene men smite sore,

Þei flouwen and nolde fiȝte namore.

And þe gode ȝinge kniȝt

Suwede and leid on dounriȝt.

Þe Tourkeins ȝeden faste adoun.

¶ Þo kam Poidras of Barbarin

And wiþ him mani a Sarazin.

Poidras oppon þe ȝunge kniȝt

And here men togidere huwen,

And heþene hornes faste blewen;

Poidras and þe ȝinge kniȝt,

Bitwene hem was strong fiȝt;

And hadde wel neiȝ þe kniȝt slain.

¶ Otuwel, þat douȝti kniȝt,

Was war of þat anonriȝt.

Otuwel no lengere nabood,

And smot Poidras of Barbarin

Þat þere he lay as a stiked swin.

¶ Otuwel rood into þe feerd,

And leide on faste mid his swerd.

Ne[i]ȝeden Otuwel ner,

And þe berdles kniȝt,

And slowen Sarazins adounriȝt.

¶ King Garsie herde wiþinne a stounde

King Garsie hadde a conseiler

And anon he took him neer

And seide to him ‘sire Arperaunt,

Aȝenes Otuwel myn herte stant,

And sleþ mine men niȝt and day.

Sire Arperant, what is þi reed

Þat þe þef traitour nere ded?

Certes Fraunce hadde be wonnen

¶ ‘King Garsie’ quaþ Arperaunt

‘Bi Mahoun þat ȝonder stant,

Al þe while þat Roulond {f.276vb}

Mai bere Durendal in his hond

For no þing þat may betide,

Þou ne schalt neuere Otuwel winne,

For nouȝt þat euere þou kans[t] biginne.’

Þo was Garsie wel nyȝ wood

¶ Þere was an Affrikan gent,

Þat hatte Baldolf of Aquilent,

King Garsie seide to him anoon

‘Certes, Baldoff, þou most goon,

And tourne þe Cristene men aȝein;

And ich miself wole after come

And helpe þat Otuwel were nome.’

¶ Quaþ Baldolf ‘bi sire Mahun,

And com þou after and tak hede

Wuche maner þat we spede,

And ȝef þou sest þat nede be

Com and help us er we fle,

Bote socour come it is schent.’

¶ Baldolf took his compainie

And to þe bataille he gan heye,

And wiþinne a litel stounde

¶ Otuwel, douȝti of dede,

Where þei comen he took hede

And no lengere he ne bood

Bote hasteliche to ham he rood.

Neiȝeden Otuwel ner,

And þe gode ȝinge kniȝt

Þat was so douȝti man in fiȝt.

Þo þei foure weren ifere,

Harde strokes dele and diȝte

And wiþ Sarazins boldeliche fiȝte.

¶ Þer cam out of Garsies ost

A man þat made muche bost,

And muchel onour þere he les.

¶ Þer kam a kniȝt of Agineis, {f.277ra}

A bold man and a courteis,

And wiþ Carnifees he mette

King Karnifees him haueþ istunt,

And slouȝ him ate forme dunt.

Þo Karnifees hadde þous do

He wende to seruen ham alle so.

To Karnifees anon he rood.

Karnifees knuȝ Otuwel

By hise armes swiþe wel

And seide to þe gode gome

Bi Mahoun’ quaþ Karnifees

‘Þou schalt hoppen heuedles.’

¶ Otuwel wiþoute targing

Answerede Karnifees þe king

Þa[t] þou schalt ȝiue me þat dunt.’

Þei nolden no lengere abide,

Anon togidere þei gunde ride.

Karnifees smot Otuwel,

A corner of Otuweles scheld

He gurde out amidde þe feld.

¶ Quaþ Otuwel ‘Good it wite,

Þat strok was wel ismite.

Preuen a strok of myn.’

Otuwel Karnifees smot

Wiþ Corsouse þat wel boot

Þat Karnifees souȝte þe ground,

¶ Þo þe Sarazins wisten alle

Þat Karnifees was ifalle

And þat he nolde namore arise

Þo bigan ham alle to agrise,

Nas such a man to handle a swerd.

Þo tournde þei to fliȝt,

Þe Sarazins anonriȝt.

¶ Þous þe gode Otuwel {f.277rb}

Þoru þe help of Godes miȝt,

Maden þe Sarazins tourne to fliȝt

Þorou swete Ihesu Cristes grace,

And þei suweden faste þe chasse.

Into þe water manye fledde,

Summe swumme & summe sunke,

And coold water ynouȝ þei drunke.

Til Roulond and Oliuer þe gode

Godde Ogger in prisoun lay,

Boþe bi niȝt and eke be day.

Herkneþ what hede Good to him nam,

And hou he out of prisoun kam.

Ogger was bitaken to holde,

And þe foure Ogger slouȝ,

And ȝit he skapede wel inouȝ.

¶ Þere was a noble skuier

Swiþe priueliche and stille

He brouȝte Ogger, to his wille,

His swerd and his armure briȝt,

And Ogger armede him anonriȝt.

Þe squier brouȝte him a good stede.

Ogger no lengere ne abood,

Þe goodde stede he bistrood.

Þe squier was armed and wel idiȝt

And also stille as a ston

Þe squier lep to horse anon

And to þe porteres windou he kam,

And in his hond his mase he nam

Þat þe windou al todrof.

¶ Hit was abouten midniȝt

And þe porter was afriȝt

And askede anon who was þare

¶ ‘Porter’ quaþ þe squier þo {f.277va}

‘Vndo þe gate and let us go.

We here tellen, bi sire Mahoun,

Þat Cristene men goon alle adoun,

We wole witen hou it is;

And ȝef we ani good winne,

For soþe þou schalt parten þerinne.’

And he dude op þe ȝate wide,

And steek aȝein þe ȝate fast,

And þere þei sien Ogger last.

¶ Ogger rood al þat niȝt

Til on þe morewen þe day was briȝt;

Er he hadde his felawes founde.

¶ Þo Roulond and Oliuer

Weren war of gode Ogger,

Þei were fol glad of þat siȝt

¶ Þo Roulond and Oliuer

[H]adden imet wiþ gode [Ogger]

Þei were also fous to fiȝt

As euere was a foul to fliȝt,

And fouȝten faste and good won

And made þe Sarazins agaste,

And Otuwel nas nouȝt þe laste.

¶ Þo alle foure weren ifere

Þo douȝti kniȝtes smiten so sore,

As þauȝ þei ne hadden nouȝt fouȝten ȝore,

Þat wiþinne a litel stounde

Sarazins ȝeden alle to grounde.

Hou his folk to grounde ȝede

And no lengere he ne abood,

Toward his pauilons he rood.

¶ And Otuwel anoon byheld,

And warende fore anon þo

Roulond and Oliuer bo,

And Ogger þat douȝty kniȝt,

Þat king Garsie was tornd to fliȝt.

And þe gode kniȝt Ogger

Sien where king Garsie rood,

Þer nas non þat lengere abood,

Hasteliche þe wey þei nomen

¶ King Garsie was afered to deye

And bigan mersi to crie

And seide for soþe þat he wolde

Of king Charles his lond holde,

Redi at his comaundement.

¶ King Garsie seide þis

‘For his loue þat ȝoure Good is,

Takeþ me on liue and sle me nouȝt.

And let me as a prisoun goon

Bifore king Charles anoon,

And don him omage wiþ myn hon[d],

To holden of him al mi lond.’

Þat was douȝti kniȝt and snel,

To Roulond and to Oliuer

And to þe gode kniȝt Ogger

‘Nou he haueþ þis ȝift iȝiue

Bifore þe king he schal be brouȝt,

For Gode, we nulle slen him nouȝt.’

An[d] þei acenteden þerto

And seiden ‘it wile be wel ido.’

Þei ladden him bifore þe king.

¶ Þanne seide Otuwel, þat gode kniȝt,

To king Charles anonriȝt

‘Sire’ he seide ‘her is Garsie

He wile nou, ȝif þi wille be,

Do þe omage and feaute

And ben at þi comaundement,

And at eche parlement

And holden of þe al his lond,

And for his lond rente ȝiue,

Wiþ þe noue he mote liue.’