Chapter LV: Part IV: The Moor of the King

Said to his lords the Frankish king,
The Frankish king one day:
“True homage he will render who
For me shall Lez-Breiz slay.
Naught doth he but my warriors kill,
And aye, with all his might,
My power withstands, nor ceaseth he
Against me still to fight.”

Now, when the king’s Moor heard these words,
Before the king spake he:
“True homage have I rendered oft
And pledge of loyalty;
But since another pledge you crave
And warranty, O sire,
The knight Lez-Breiz shall furnish me
With that which you desire.
And if to-morrow I should fail
Sir Lez-Breiz’ head to bring,
With pleasure offer I mine own
Unto my lord the king.”

Now, scarcely had the morrow dawned,
When swift the young squire ran
To find his master. “O my lord!’
(The trembling page began,)
“The giant Moor defiance flings
Against my lord to-day.”
“Defiance? be it so: I’ll answer
Him as best I may.”

“Ah! my dear lord, then know you not
He fights with demon charms?”
“He doth? Then Heaven’s aid be ours,
And blessing on our arms.
Haste thee, equip my good black steed,
Whilst I my armor don.”
“Pardon, my lord, your charger black
You will not fight upon.

“Within the royal stables stand
Three steeds, and from the three
One must you choose: pray listen to
A secret thing from me.
I learnt it from an ancient clerk,
Right holy, sooth, was he,
A man of good and saintly ways,
If any such there be.

“Do not thou take the charger white,
Nor yet take thou the bay,
But the black steed between them both
Take forth and lead away;
For that the king’s own Moor himself
Hath tamed with his own hand:
Trust me, and mount it when you go
The giant to withstand.

“And when into the royal hall
The Moor shall enter, he
Will throw his mantle on the ground:
Let yours suspended be:
If under his your garment lay,
Doubled his might would be.

When the black giant draws anear,
Then fail not with your lance
To make the sign of holy cross,
Or ever he advance.
And when he rushes full of rage
And fury on my lord,
Receive him on its point, the lance
Will break not, trust my word.
By aid of heaven and your two arms,
Naught will avail his paynim charms.”

By aid of Heaven and his two arms,
The trusty lance brake not
When they against each other rode
In fierce encounter hot:
When in the hall they dashed amain
To onset, breast to breast,
Steel against steel, as lightning swift,
With lances firm in rest.

The Frankish king sat on his throne,
’Mid lords of high degree,
To watch the fight. “Hold firm,” he said,
“Black Raven of the Sea!
Courage! hold firm, thou Raven bold,
And plume this _merle_ for me.”

Then, as the tempest breaks upon
The corsair, so the Moor,
With furious might and giant weight,
Down upon Lez-Breiz bore;
His lance in thousand splinters flew,
And, with one mighty bound,
Unhorsed by that dread shock, he fell
And rolled upon the ground.

And when they found themselves afoot,
Then each, with all his might,
Fell on the other furiously
In close and deadly fight.
The sword-strokes, falling thick as hail,
Rang through the palace halls,
With sounding blows upon the mail
That shook the very walls.

At every clashing of their arms
A thousand sparks leapt out,
Like red-hot iron from the forge,
Beaten by armorer stout.
At last, through one unguarded joint,
The Breton’s sword made way
And pierced the giant’s heart. He fell,
And bled his life away.

Forthwith, when Morvan Lez-Breiz saw
His Moorish foe lie dead,
His foot he placed upon his breast,
And straight cut off his head.
He hung it by the grisly beard
His saddle-bow unto;
And, for its stains of Moorish blood,
His sword away he threw.

Upon his good steed then he sprang,
He sprang without delay,
And, followed by his page, went forth
Upon his homeward way.
When home, he hung aloft,
Upon his gateway high,
The hideous head with grinning teeth
In sight of passers-by.

And now the warriors said, Behold!
A mighty man indeed
Is Lez-Breiz, stay of Brittany
In every time of need.
Whereto Lord Lez-Breiz answered straight:
“I twenty fights have seen,
And twenty thousand armèd men
By me have vanquished been;

“Yet never was I so beset,
So hardly pressed before,
Until this last encounter when
I slew the giant Moor.
S. Anne, my dearest mother, thou
Dost wonders work for me,
Wherefore, ‘twixt Ind and Léguer, I
A church will build to thee.”