Arthurian Romances (36 page)

In this way they sought to trick and deceive her, but to no avail for she
had no use or desire for the service they promised her; all their efforts were in vain. And when the physicians saw that no amount of cajoling or begging would achieve anything, they took her out of the coffin and beat and struck her. But this was madness, for they could not get a word from her. Then they threatened her and tried to frighten her, saying that if she refused to speak she would soon regret her folly because they would do to her such unbelievable things the likes of which had never been done to a wretched woman's body.

‘We are positive that you're alive and will not deign to speak to us. We are positive that you are faking death in order to deceive the emperor. Don't be afraid of us! You have already felt our anger so now, before we've hurt you more, tell us your plans, for your behaviour is reprehensible. And we will help you in any undertaking, whether wise or foolish.'

But it was no use, for she would not be moved. Then they struck her again with their straps, raising welts all down her back, and beat her tender flesh until the blood poured forth. When they had beaten her with their straps until her flesh was raw and the blood was flowing freely from her open wounds, still they could not get even a moan or word from her, nor did she stir or move. Then they said they must go to fetch lead and fire; they would melt down the lead and pour it in her palms rather than fail to break her silence. They sent for and procured fire and lead, lit the fire, and melted down the lead. And so these coarse scoundrels tortured and abused the lady by pouring the hot, boiling lead straight from the fire into her palms. But it was not enough for them that the lead burned right through her palms; no, the dastardly cowards said that if she did not talk soon they would put her on a grate until she was grilled to a crisp. Still she remained silent and sacrificed her body to their beatings and abuse.

They were about to stretch her over the fire to be roasted and grilled when more than a thousand ladies who had been waiting outside the great hall came to the door and saw through a small crack the torture and suffering being inflicted upon the lady by those who were martyring her with the coals and flame. They brought axes and hammers to break down and pulverize the door, and there was a great racket as they attacked the door to hammer it down and destroy it. If they can get their hands on the doctors, they will not be kept waiting for their just deserts!

The ladies rushed into the great hall as one, and among the crowd was Thessala, who had no other thought than to reach her mistress. She found her naked over the fire, severely injured and greatly abused. She placed her back in the coffin and covered her with the shroud, while the ladies went to
give the three doctors what they justly deserved. Without summoning or awaiting the emperor or his seneschal, they flung them out of the windows down into the courtyard, and all three had their necks, ribs, arms, and legs broken. No ladies ever did better!

This was how the ladies paid the three doctors the gruesome fee that they were owed. But Cligés was very distressed and troubled when he heard tell of the extreme torment and martyrdom his sweetheart had endured for him. He nearly went out of his mind, for he was very afraid – and rightly so – that she might be seriously injured or dead from the tortures inflicted on her by the three doctors who were now dead for their efforts. While he was deep in despair and affliction, Thessala came with a most precious ointment which she spread gently over the body, closing the wounds. The ladies laid her back in the same coffin, wrapping her this time in a white Syrian shroud, but leaving her face uncovered.

All night long they made unbroken lamentations. Throughout the town rich and poor alike, noble and commoner, were beside themselves with grief, as if each one were vying to outdo every other in his sorrow and would not willingly cease. All through the night the moaning continued unabated.

John came to court the next day and was summoned by the emperor, who earnestly implored him: ‘John, if ever you have created a masterwork, employ all your skill now in building a tomb of unsurpassed beauty and design.'

And John, who had already completed it, said that he had a very beautifully carved one ready, though when it was begun he had intended it only for the body of a saint. ‘Instead of a holy relic, let the empress now be placed within it, for I believe she is a saintly woman.'

‘You have spoken well,' said the emperor. ‘She shall be interred at the church of Saint Peter in the outside cemetery where other bodies are generally buried, because before she died she begged and implored me to be buried there. Now go about your business and set up your tomb in the most beautiful spot in the cemetery, as is right and proper.'

‘Gladly, my lord,' replied John. John left at once and set about preparing the tomb with all his skill. He placed within it a feather bed because of the hard stone, and more especially because of the cold; and to give it a pleasant odour he scattered flowers and leaves over it. But these were intended most particularly to hide the mattress he had put within the grave. Services had already been held at all the churches and parishes, and bells were being rung continuously, as is proper for the dead. They gave orders for the body to be brought and laid in the tomb, which John with all his skill had made very splendid and magnificent.

Everyone in all Constantinople, commoner and noble alike, processed after the body in tears, cursing and blaming Death. Knights and squires fainted, the ladies and maidens beat their breasts, finding fault with Death. ‘Death,' they all said, ‘why did you not take a ransom for my lady? Truly your gain was little, while for us the loss was great.' Cligés certainly bore his share of grief, for he suffered and languished more than all the others, and it was a wonder he did not kill himself. But he deferred until the time and hour would come when he could lift her from her tomb, hold her in his arms and know if she is alive or not. The barons who placed her body in the grave stood over it, but they did not stay to help John seal the tomb; and since they had all fallen in a faint they could not even observe John, who had all the time he needed to make the necessary preparations. He placed the coffin on its own in the tomb, then sealed it carefully, closed and joined it. Anyone who could remove or undo any of John's work without destroying or breaking it could be proud of such an achievement.

Fenice lay in the tomb until the dark of night came. But there were thirty knights guarding her and ten large candles burned at the head of her sepulchre with a great light. The knights were weary and exhausted from the mourning, so that night they ate and drank until they all fell asleep. At nightfall Cligés crept away from the court and all the company – not a knight or servant knew what had become of him – and came straight to John, who advised him as best he could. He prepared arms for him, though he was not to have need of them. Once armed, they both spurred onward to the cemetery. Since it was surrounded by a high wall and they had locked the gate from the inside, the sleeping knights were convinced that no one could enter. Unable to enter by the gate, Cligés did not see how he could get in; but get in he must, for Love was calling to him and urging him on. He gripped the wall and climbed up: he was strong and agile. Inside was an orchard of many trees, one of which was planted so near to the wall that it touched it. Cligés had all he wanted, for he could let himself down by this tree. Once inside, the first thing he did was to open the gate for John. They saw the sleeping knights and extinguished the candles so that the place remained in darkness. John quickly uncovered the grave and opened the tomb, being careful not to leave any mark. Cligés climbed into the grave, lifted out his sweetheart, who was unconscious and lifeless, and hugged, kissed, and embraced her. He did not know whether to be joyful or sad, for she did not stir or move. As rapidly as he could John resealed the tomb, so that there was no sign whatever that it had been touched.

They hurried to the tower as quickly as they could. As soon as they had
placed her in the underground chambers of the tower, they unwrapped her shroud; and Cligés, who knew nothing of the potion she had taken that made her unable to speak or move, thought she was dead. He suffered torment and despair as he sighed deeply and wept. But the hour would soon come when the potion would lose its power.

Meanwhile Fenice, who could hear his grief, struggled and fought for some way to comfort him by word or glance. Her heart nearly burst to hear the sorrow he expended.

‘Ah, Death,' he said, ‘how cruel you are to spare and reprieve the base and lowly! You let them survive and live on. Were you mad or drunk, Death, to kill my sweetheart but not me? I cannot believe what I see; my sweetheart dead and me alive. Ah, my sweet love, why does your lover live on when he can see you dead? People would be right to claim, since you died serving me, that it was I who murdered and killed you. Sweetheart, then I am the death that murdered you – is this not wrong? – for I have taken my life from you and kept yours with me. Did your health and life not belong to me, sweet friend? And was mine not yours? For I loved no other except you, and the two of us were as one. Now I have done what I must, for I keep your soul in my body, though mine has gone from yours; but the two of them, wherever they are, should keep one another company, and nothing should hold them apart.'

At these words Fenice heaved a sigh and said in a weak and low voice: ‘Dear love! I am not quite dead, though nearly so. I no longer value my life! I thought I could deceive and trick Death, but now I am truly to be pitied for Death did not like my joke. It will be a miracle if I escape alive: the doctors have injured me severely, ripping and tearing my flesh. But in spite of that, if it were possible to bring my nurse Thessala here to me she could heal me completely, if anyone's efforts could do it.'

‘Don't you worry about that, my love,' said Cligés, ‘for I shall bring her here this very night.'

‘Send John for her instead, dear love.'

John left and searched until he found her. Then he explained to her how he wished her to accompany him and let no care detain her, for Fenice and Cligés had summoned her to a tower where they were waiting for her. Fenice's condition was very serious, so she must come with ointments and electuaries, and she should know that Fenice would not survive long unless she quickly came to succour her. Thessala hurried at once to gather ointments, plasters, and electuaries she had prepared. She met up with John again and they stole out of the town and came straight to the tower. When Fenice saw her nurse
she felt she was already fully recovered, so much did she love, believe, and trust in her. Cligés embraced and greeted her, saying: ‘Welcome, nurse, whom I love and respect so much! Tell me, as God is your witness, what your opinion is of this girl's malady. What do you think? Will she recover?'

‘Yes, my lord, you need have no doubt that I will heal her fully. Before two weeks have passed, I shall have her healthier and in better spirits than ever she was before.'

While Thessala set about healing her, John went to provision the tower with everything that was needed. Cligés came to the tower and left it boldly and openly, for he had placed a moulting goshawk there, which he said he was coming to see, and no one could tell that he came there for any purpose other than the goshawk. He spent many hours there, both night and day. He set John to guard the tower, so no one could enter there against his will. Fenice no longer suffered from any pain, for Thessala had quite cured her. If Cligés were duke of Almería, Morocco, or Tudela,
²¹
he would not have thought it worth a hawthorn berry in comparison with the joy he felt. Truly Love did not lower himself in bringing them together, for it seemed to the two of them when they embraced and kissed that all the world must be better for their joy and solace. Don't ask me any more about this: there was nothing the one wanted that the other did not approve. So their desire was mutual, as if the two of them were one.

Fenice spent all of one year and over two months of the next, I believe, in the tower. In the early summer, when flowers blossom and trees leaf out and when little birds make merry, gaily singing their songs, it happened that Fenice heard the nightingale sing one morning. Cligés was tenderly holding her with one arm around her waist and the other at her neck, and she was holding him in like embrace as she spoke: ‘My dear, sweet love, an orchard where I could relax would do me good. I haven't seen the moon or sun shining for over fifteen months. If it were possible I really would like to go outside: I feel confined within this tower. It would often do me much good if there were an orchard nearby where I could go and walk.'

Then Cligés promised to seek John's advice as soon as he saw him. John arrived almost immediately, for he often came to the tower, and Cligés spoke to him of what Fenice desired.

‘Everything she asks for,' said John, ‘is ready and provided for. What she desires and seeks is in plentiful supply here at this tower.'

Hearing this, Fenice was overjoyed and asked John to take her there, and he said that he would be glad to do so. Then John went to open a door, the likes of which I am incapable of describing or explaining. No one but John
could have made it, and no one could have known or recognized there was a door or opening there as long as the door remained closed, since it was so well hidden and concealed.

When Fenice saw the door open and the sun come shining in, which she had not seen for a long while, her blood surged with joy and she said that she was perfectly happy: now that she was no longer confined to her underground cell she could not wish for another place to stay. She stepped through the door into the pleasant and delightful orchard. In the middle of the orchard stood a grafted tree, covered with leaves and flowers, with a wide-spreading top. The branches were trained into a sort of bower, hanging down and nearly touching the ground, except that the upper trunk from which they sprang grew straight and tall. It was all that Fenice could want! Beneath the tree grass grew fair and soft, and even when the sun was at its hottest at noon no ray could penetrate the bower, so skilfully had John trained and arranged the branches. Fenice went there for her repose, and by day they set up her bed beneath the tree where the lovers had their joy and pleasure. The orchard was surrounded by high walls connected to the tower and no one could enter there without first passing through the tower. Fenice was very contented, with nothing to disrupt her pleasure and all her desires fulfilled now that she could embrace her lover whenever she wished beneath the leaves and flowers.