From Belt and Spur, Stories of the Knights of the Middle Ages from the Old Chronicles, by E. L. S. (Emma L. Seeley), New York: Scribner and Welford, 1883; pp. 238-259.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE SIEGE OF ROUEN.
As men have made romances of the sieges and battles and great deeds that have been done in old time, so now I have taken upon me to tell how our liege King Harry the Fifth laid siege, with great array, to the rich city of Rouen, and ended it according to his will. There hath been no greater siege since Troy and Jerusalem were taken. And I may tell it better than another, for I lay there with my liege, and I took right good notice of everything, as far as I was able.
Now after Pont de l’Arche was won, and the passage of the Seine was forced, the noble lord, the Duke of Exeter, was sent by our King to Rouen, and heralds with him, to the city, to see if they would yield, and also to reconnoitre the ground round about the city, and see how they might best lay siege to it, if they would not obey our liege. And when that renowned duke came before the town he displayed his banners and sent heralds to the city, and warned them, upon pain of death, that they must not withstand our King in his right, but must deliver up the 239 city. Also he did them to wit how the King would go no further till he had it; but before he went from the place, by God’s grace he would win it. To this the Frenchmen gave no answer, but bade them go their way, and signed to us that we should stay no longer. Their guns burst forth upon us fiercely and pitilessly, and out came knights on horseback in bright armour keen for battle; and the Duke mustered his men again, and many were taken and slain. When this was done, without delay he rode back to Pont de l’Arche, and told the King of the city, and how it stood.
And now I will tell you of a right cursed deed that the French men did there before our King came to them, for all the suburbs of that fair town, the churches and houses, they pulled down, for they came out by the gate of St. Hilary and pulled down a parish church — St. Hilary it was called, for the gate was named after it; and by the Caux gate they pulled down the church of St. Andrew, and an abbey of St. Gervais; and at the gate of the Bridge they threw down a church of our sweet Lady, and another of the meek maid St. Katherine and St. Saviour. St. Matthew’s they pulled down, leaving neither stick nor stone standing, and a fine church of St. Michel at Martinville, and another of St. Paul a little way off. The hedges of their gardens and their trees they carried home, and burnt the bushes and briers, and made it as bare as my hand. But the gay city was well prepared for defence, and the walls were strong and the ditches deep and defensible. The dyke that 240 was along outside the wall was deep and full wide. The trench was made with a deep descent to defend the ditch, so that no one could come near without danger of death, for no one who fell into the trench could get out again unharmed; and all along the ditch there were pitfalls, and every pitfall was a spear in height, so that no man should be able to stand to fight in them, and so they might know that there were no enemies about them. From the pitfalls up to the wall was a great height. Also it was as full of caltrops as a net is of meshes, and within town before the wall it was counterwalled with earth so thick and broad that a cart might go along it. This they ordered that the guns might do them no mischief, and they had besides many other contrivances. The city had but five gates, but there were many a score of towers about it, and between each tower there was but the space of six rods, and in every tower lay three guns to shoot diverse ways; and in the wall between each tower all round that fair city there was laid low a strong ‘fowler,’ with the earth for it to throw; and between every tower were eight small guns to shoot often, and at every ward was set an engine or else a trebuchet, and at some wards there were set more. St. Hilary was one of those. Thus they made their preparation for huge and strong defence.
The Friday before Lammas Day King Harry came before the proud city in rich array, and took up his lodging beside it. On the Saturday he assigned to the chieftains their places round the city, and on Monday he caused it to be proclaimed that every man 241 should take up his position. At the east end of the city, in a house of the Chartreux, was lodged the King with many lords. At the end, to the west, the Duke of Clarence took up his position before an abbey that had been pulled down and sore injured near to the gate of Caux. There he kept in the Frenchmen with great power, and won worship and great honour.
At the other side Exeter, that bold knight, lay at the gate Beauvicine, where, as the Frenchmen came out every day, he beat them back manfully, and won him worship, as he was wont. Between him and Clarence lay the Earl Marshal, next the castle gate, and kept it both early and late; and next him, when he came from Domfront, lodged Talbot and Lord Harington, and when he was dead Sir William of Harington took his retinue. The Earl of Ormond, with a fair train of knights, lay next by Clarence, and that comely knight, Cornwall, was with Clarence always, and many other knights whom I cannot number. Between Exeter and the King lay the Lords Ros and Willoughby, and with them Lord Fitz-Hugh, who was held to be a good and true knight, and Sir William Porter before the gate of St. Hilary, where the war was fiercest, and ever as they came out of the gate he drove them in again with might and main, and won great worship and praise. And until St. Katherine’s was yielded up, the bold Earl of Montaigne lay between the town and the abbey, and did much mischief to the Frenchmen. The Earl of Salisbury lay on the other side, and also 242 a comely knight, Sir John de Gray. On Mount St. Michel he lay between the abbey and the town, and Sir Philip Leche between the abbey and the Seine, and kept ward under the hill. Carew, that bold baron, kept ward by the water with a worthy squire, Janyco, above him. On the other side of the Seine lay Huntingdon, warring manfully and winning much worship; and with him lay Nevill and Umfraville and Sir Richard Arundel, and the Lord Ferrars at the gate of the bridge, winning worship every day.
Our King had a great chain made, and fastened by strong piles across the river below the bridge, so that no ships should pass that way; and over the chain he made a bridge, that both man and horse might cross hastily, if need were. And when Warwick was come from Domfront to the King, our liege commanded him to go to Caudebec and lay siege to it. But when he came before the town they began to treat at once, and a composition was granted that they should do as Rouen did, and sealed with this condition, that our ships should pass the Seine with their freight without let or hindrance. So our ships passed up and cast anchor full near to Rouen, as thick in the Seine as they might stand; and so it was besieged by land and water. And when Warwick had ended that he rode to Rouen and took up his lodging between St. Katherine’s and the King, until by God’s grace the abbey was yielded; and then he lay before the gate of Martinville, where the war was fierce, and manfully repelled their sorties. And when Gloucester was 243 come from the siege of Cherbourg he lodged before the gate St. Hilary, dreading no peril of stones or quarrels, but lay much nearer the enemy than any other lord by forty roods and more. The Earl of Suffolk and Abergavenny, that comely knight, lay with Gloucester.
Now the Prior of Kilmainham was by this time come to the mouth of the Seine, and landed at Harfleur with fifteen hundred fighting men. They were well arrayed for the war, after the fashion of their country. He hied to the siege full fast, and was welcomed by our liege. But a rumour was spread that the French King, with the Burgundians, would come down by the open plain upon the north side of our host, so the King assigned the Prior and his men to lodge by the wood and keep the highway; and they lodged under the wood and made good their watch and ordinance. Three leagues outside the army was his charge, and the knight gave speedy assent and prepared to receive the first brunt of the attack. Thus our siege was set all round that fair city.
And now I will tell you of the captains of the city. Monsieur Guy le Bouteiller was the chief captain both of the castle and the town, a man of great renown; Monsieur de Termagon was captain of the Gate of Caux, and Monsieur de Roche of the Gate of Beauvicine, with Monsieur Antony for his lieutenant; Henri de Chauffour was captain of the Gate of the Bridge of Seine; John de Matryvers of the Gate of the Castle, and Monsieur Peneux of the Gate St. 244 Hilary, and the Bastard of Thian at the Gate of Martinville. Graunde Jakes was captain of all the sorties and skirmishes without the city. Each of these captains had five thousand men and more to lead; but of the commonalty there were many thousand men arrayed beside. When our siege first began, those within the city were numbered at four hundred thousand men, women, and children, — a proud store of people for a king to lay siege to. And they were as proud men as ever I saw, skilled in many points of war, and bold in deed, both on foot and horseback. And when they would make an attack they did not come out in one party, but at two gates, or at three, or at all at once suddenly, and at each place there would be ten thousand, royally arrayed, and ready, and daring. It was very pleasant to lead them, but to encounter them was terrible, for much of the war came from the wall, and I never saw greater injury done by shot of guns and quarrels. And when they came out and made an affray there would be shot from at least a hundred guns in the space of an hour, and the quarrels in a little space no tongue could number. And other times they would ride out into the field with shield and spear. Then our King had a ditch made and set full of sharp-pointed stakes, with a prickly hedge all round the city. Sir Robert Bapthorp was comptroller under our King, and he arranged the hedge and ditch. And afterwards they would come out on foot, for on horse it was no longer possible. Our men met them ever on water or land; but many of our men were slain 245 by running too near the walls, and nothing but God’s grace could bring them back alive from the thick rain of shot and quarrels, trebuchets, espringales, and other engines, which wrought our men much harm, — especially to Gloucester, for he was lodged so near.
Tidings came again and again that the Burgundians were coming to rescue them, which made the bells ring out full shrill in the city; but they rang not at all after the siege was set until it was taken. But when the tidings reached us that they were close upon us our King said, ‘Now, fellows, let every one be merry, for we shall have some fighting soon.’ But the news came that they were gone back to Paris. Then again, within a few days, it was said they were at Ponthoise, and that there were of them four hundred thousand fighting men following the Duke; upon which our King commanded it to be proclaimed that every man should lie down in his armour, and outside the camp was made a great ditch, in which were fixed stakes and sharp pikes to wound the horses, and guns were carried and fixed ready to receive an attack. All this work was overlooked by the comptroller; a worthy knight he was, and a busy. Then came tidings they were within twenty miles, and on Thursday it was said they would certainly come on Friday, and the story reached the city. Thereupon our King bade the Earl of Huntingdon try a stratagem. He prepared a company armed with bows, marshalled with their backs to the town, and out of the wood came another 246 company with banners bearing the Burgundian arms; and the two companies fought together, and they cried for succour from the town to come out to them, but they durst not, for they feared it was a trick, and that they would be slain.
But the war went on with sorties and assaults, and the city waited for help from Burgundy until it drew towards Christmas, and bread and drink began to fail in the city. They had nothing but water and vinegar to drink; the bread was nearly gone, and meat, save horseflesh, they had none. They ate also cats and dogs, and rats and mice; and a quarter of a horse, fat or lean, was worth one hundred shillings and a horse’s head, half a pound. A dog sold for ten shillings, and a cat for two nobles, while a rat cost forty pence and a mouse sixpence, though there were but few left in any house. A piece of bread, half as big as the hand, was worth a franc of that country, and it was made neither of wheat-meal nor oats, but of bran; leeks and onions sold at a shilling, and glad was a man to get them; an egg at ninepence, and an apple at tenpence. And in the market might be found many a careful heart, not bent on making good bargains, but sad for lack of food, and driven to eat roots and bark and any grass they could find. Then they began to die in that rich city, and they died so fast every day that they were left unburied. Now where once had been pride and joy, with feasting and song, could be heard sorrow and sore weeping, hunger and wailing. Love and kindness fled away; children would give nothing to their 247 mothers, and mothers hid the bread from their children, and ate it in secret; so did hunger prove stronger than love.
Still they made a brave show on the walls, that our men might not find out their state; and though many of them stole out of the town, and when they were taken by our watch told us of their misery, we did not believe them, because the defence was still so stout. But in a little space, out of every gate they drove hundreds of poor people. It was a pitiful sight to see women with their children in their arms and old men, making a doleful wailing, and on their knees crying to us, ‘Have mercy on us, ye English men!’ Our men gave them some of their bread, and we did them no harm, but made them go back again to the ditch, lest they should see the secrets of our watch. Many said they had as lief be slain as go back to the city, and there rose up from them a loud murmur of curses, deep and bitter, against their own nation; and in truth it was full great a sin, for many died there of cold, it being now Christmas time. But on Christmas Day our King sent into Rouen his heralds in rich array, and bade them proclaim to all within the city, and without, that because of the high feast he would provide with meat and drink all that lacked victuals, and give them safe-conduct to come and go. They answered lightly, ‘Gramercy!’ as if they set little price by it; and to the poor people whom they had put out, they would scarce grant leave that two priests and three servants should bring them food, 248 and swore, ‘If any more came to their help they should be shot.’
The poor people were set all in a row, and the priests came and brought them meat. They ate and drank full fair, and as they sat eating so they talked among themselves. ‘The Englishman is tender of heart,’ they said; ‘for see this excellent King whom we have been withstanding, and would never obey nor do homage to him, and yet he hath more compassion on us than our own countrymen; and therefore, Lord Jesus, full of mercy, grant him grace to win his right.’
But when they had eaten and gone their way the truce was at an end, and war took his way. Watch and ward was kept close to keep them in day and night. But hunger broke the hard stone wall, and the captains of the city, the mayor, burgesses, and yeomanry, took counsel together to treat. And on the night of New-year’s Eve from every gate a knight called, but no man heard save on Huntingdon’s side, at the gate of the Bridge of Seine. A knight asked them what they would have, and they answered, ‘We would have a knight of our lineage, or else some baron.’ Forsooth,’ he said, ‘I am a knight;’ and then they asked what his name was. ‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Umfraville.’ Then they thanked God, ‘for ye are come of the old blood of Normandy, help us now with your worthy King.’ He answered, ‘What is your will?’ They said, ‘We have been at every gate, and have called many times; first for the excellent Lord Clarence, then for the good Lord Gloucester. 249 Often we called, and waited long; and then to the gate where Exeter lies, but there was none that would hear us. And for Warwick we called more than three times, and for the Earl Marshal. And now help us, and pray all these lords, for God’s sake, Who made heaven and earth, and all things, and because they are dukes of great dignity and chieftains of chivalry, they will pray for us to the King, that we may find him gracious. And we beg that we may go to your King ourselves, and beseech him for his knighthood and his princeliness (for he is an emperor, a royal king, and a conqueror), that he would grant us life and his great grace; and that, notwithstanding our offence, twelve of us may come into his presence, for we will tell him that will give him great pleasure.’ Quoth Umfraville, ‘I will assent.’ And he went unto the Duke of Clarence and told him all the matter. And he answered that with right good will he would speak for them to the King; for he was a commendable prince, manful while war did last and merciful when it was over. We find few such lords now. He lacked nothing a lord should have.
And Umfraville took his leave and went forth on his message to Gloucester and the Duke of Exeter, and they thanked God and said they would help to make a good end of it. And Umfraville went to the earls and the lords, and they all said the same to him. God of His great grace show mercy to these chieftains of chivalry, who so soon fell in charity.
250Then on New-year’s Day in the morning, Sir Gilbert Umfraville came to the King, and told him all the matter, and prayed for the city. And the King, of his own will and by good advice, granted the city her will, and said, ‘Let twelve of them come to me.’ And for the King thus showed them mercy when they had so greatly grieved him, and lost him many of his people, and put him to so great cost, he proved himself a right merciful prince and God’s own child, for he did good in return for evil.
And when the King had granted, as I have told, ‘My liege,’ said Umfraville, ‘when shall it be?’ ‘To-morrow,’ said the King, ‘let me see them.’ So Umfraville took his leave and went to the city, and when he was come to the gate he found the estates of the city gathered together thereat; to whom he said, ‘I have been with our King, and he has granted your request. To-morrow betimes twelve of you shall go to him, and I will counsel you how ye shall do, for I wot that to-morrow ye shall see the royallest prince of Christendom. Ye never spake with such a prince ere now, nor so soon will again. Think well before ye speak, lest your words be too long; speak but few words and set them well, for a word out of place may bring you all into a bad case. So say nothing without good advice.’ They thanked him courteously for his good counsel, and he said adieu, and went his way.
This was Sunday and New-year’s Day; and the next day at prime, Sir Gilbert Umfraville, with some 251 of the King’s squires, and some yeomen of the crown, went to St. Hilary’s Gate. And there came out to them twelve men — four knights, four clerks, and four burgesses, wise men, all clothed in black. And when they came to the house of the Chartreux, the King was at mass, and they waited within the house of the Chartreux until mass was over. Then the King came forth as he had kneeled in his closet, with so high a look and lordly a cheer, and so solemn and grave a semblance, that all men rejoiced to see him. And when the Frenchmen saw him they fell upon their knee, and with meek language held out to him a writing. The King bade Exeter take it, and turned somewhat towards them. In it they besought him, for God’s sake, Who made heaven and earth, and all things east and west, and north and south, that he would let them speak to him by word of mouth.
The King bade them ‘Say on;’ and they were glad, and said, ‘We beseech you, for His love Who died on Good Friday, and for His mother dear, listen to us now for charity. Have pity on the poor people who lie in the ditches, and die for lack of bread, and give them leave to go hence.’
The King stood still with grave countenance, and neither did laugh nor smile, but with a lordly presence, neither too mild nor too strange, and gave answer to them. ‘Into the ditch of the city I put them not, and that ye know. They were not put there at my ordinance; neither will I suffer them to pass my lines. And as to you, ye know right 252 well ye have kept me from my own city, which is my heritage, when ye should have been my true liegemen.’
And they answered and said, ‘As for this city, which we defend, we have a charge from our sovereign liege to keep it from assault, and we are his liegemen, born and sworn to him; and we have also had a strong charge from the Duke of Burgundy: but if ye will grant us our lives and time, that some of us may go and tell our King of our misery, and excuse us of our faith, we will yield up our city, and many of us will become your liegemen.’
To this the King answered, ‘Know well, I will not go without my city; and as touching your French liege, he knows, and the Duke of Burgundy too, that I am besieging you; for all the while I have been here messengers have gone between us, and if they like to meet me, they know well they can find me here. And neither for friend nor foe will I go hence without my right. Therefore to send such a message to them now would be no news to them and superfluous for us There is no need; I will send no such message.’
So when the King had given this answer, they spake no more of that matter; but a knight said it would be fair to win Rouen.
‘Rouen,’ said the King, ‘is my own land, and I will have it whoever withstands me; and those within shall be rewarded as they deserve.’
At that word they were afraid, and a clerk began to speak. ‘My Sovereign Lord, it is written in 253 history how that two chieftains had set a day, and were met with their armies, and were arrayed in the field ready for battle. But the weaker party brought to the bigger bread and wine, in token that they should show mercy and pity; and now we bring you bread and wine — even the fair city of Rouen.’
‘Rouen,’ said the King, ‘is my heritage; and from this time I counsel you to do so that ye may find favour; and I grant you now a truce, and if ye will, ye may have grace.’
Then they said, ‘Sir, for charity, what will ye do for our poor people who are lying in the ditches and dying like swine? Have some pity upon them, and let them go home.’
To which the King answered, ‘I will take advice thereof, and as God shall put it into my heart so will I have pity on them.’ And with that he said adieu, and went his way.
Then these Frenchmen went back to the city with Sir Gilbert Umfraville, and as they went they talked of our noble King. ‘In our judgment,’ they said, ‘he is the wisest of all earthly kings. By his princely carriage, his beauty, and his lordly person; by his great discretion and humanity (for he asks nothing but what is right, and is merciful even in war), he is a worthy conqueror. He should be held in great honour, for well we wot God loveth him!’ Thus the Frenchmen went talking of our King on their way to Rouen, and there they took leave of Umfraville, and returned into the city.
254On the next day, early, the King commanded two tents to be pitched in Gloucester’s trench, one for the English and the other for the French, so that they might keep dry, however great the storms were. And as soon as the pavilions were ready they began to treat with all their might — the wise Earl Warwick and the true Earl Salisbury, with Lord Fitz-Hugh, and the King’s steward Hungerford, with others whom I cannot name; and from that city came twelve Frenchmen that were counted discreet. It was a solemn sight to behold — the rich in their array and the people on the walls. The King’s heralds and pursuivants in coats-of-arms, — the flower of France, the beast of England, and the castle and tower of Portugal, and the coats-of-arms of each lord in his degree, the gold of them shining as the sun fell on them, while full near was a sight of sorrow and pain. For the poor people that had been put out had scarce a clout on their backs to keep them from the weather, and all that time the rain fell much. There you might see a child of two or three years going about begging his bread, for both father and mother lay dead. The water stood all about, and they lay on the ground crying out for food: some starved to death, some mere skin and bone; here a woman holding in her arms a child cold and dead, and there a living babe in a dead woman’s lap. And between two dead men you might have found one alive; and they had died silently, without noise or cry, as if they fell asleep, so that he knew not of it. These were sights of difference — one of joy and one of suffering, as if 255 heaven and earth had parted, one for weal and the other for woe.
But let us leave these people and talk of the treaty. We asked much and they offered little; so, though they treated for a fortnight, they could not agree, and they broke up and the tents were pulled down. But the Frenchmen bethought themselves that they had wrought to themselves ill, and as they took their leave they prayed our lords, ‘For the love of God continue the truce till midnight!’ And the English lords assented, and went their way to the King, and told him how the matter stood.
But in the town it was soon heard how the treaty was broken off, and the poor people rose against the rich, and came upon them with shouts and clamours. ‘Ye false churls! ye murderers and man-killers! will ye have no regard to us, who are suffering here, and dying every day? You will have to answer before that Judge Who suffered on Calvary, and bought us with His precious blood. If ye would submit to our liege lord he would soon raise the siege. But for your goods, and your pomp, and your pride, ye will not yield to our King, but would rather we should perish by hunger. But if ye withstand we will kill you, and he shall come into his right.’ To this they answered cunningly, ‘that it was but a feint, that they might make the King ask for less money.’ Then they assembled all the city, and every man agreed that there was no way but two — to deliver up the city or die.
So they went to the gate of St. Hilary, and 256 called aloud, and a knight named Sir John Robsart answered them, and they said, ‘We beseech you, for charity and the honour of chivalry, that ye will speak for us to the Duke of Gloucester, that he may pray the King to let us treat again. We will yield us to his will, our persons and our possessions.’ Then the Dyke went in haste to the King, and the King granted their request.
Now the Archbishop of Canterbury lay at St. Katherine’s, and he went to the King and besought him to give him leave to go to the city and speak with the clergy of it, to bring about a peace. And the King granted him leave, and the pavilions were pitched again in the trench, and the Archbishop set up his between. They treated for four days by day and night, by the light of candles and bright torches, and, by God’s grace, they made an end. And, when all was concluded the French prayed that, to save their honour, they might have eight day’s grace in which they might send to the French King and the Duke of Burgundy, and tell them how they stood. It was a point of chivalry, and the King granted it willingly. Now the treaty was that, in eight days, if no rescue came, they should deliver up the city and all the burgesses to be English subjects, and pay to our King 50,000l.; and, moreover, they should undertake to make a castle for our King on the Seine in three half-years’ time. And they were to have their franchise as in old time, and no man might sell within the city but the citizens who dwelt there; and every one in the town who was born a Norman and would not be 257 sworn an Englishman, should be given to the King to punish. And all the soldiers were to lose their goods and lay down their armour, and go out of the town in their doublets, but the King gave every man a gown.
Graunde Jakes was sent to beg for the rescue, and he was glad of the message, and came back no more to Rouen. But he sent a messenger to bid them make an end, for there was no rescue for them that he wot of. So on Thursday, the eighth day, on the feast of St. Wolston, our King sat in royal state in the house of the Chartreux to receive as conqueror the keys of the city. Monsieur Guy le Botellier, with the burgesses of the city, brought the keys to the King, and besought leave to be his liegemen. Our sovereign King commanded the keys to be given to the Duke of Exeter, and made him captain of the city, and charged him to enter in his name and take possession. And the Duke, without delay, took horse and rode forth to the gate that he had lain before so long. With him went many a man, and there was neighing of many a steed and waving of many a banner. And when the gate was opened the trumpeters blew a blast, and the pipes and clarions sounded, and as they entered they shouted with a mighty noise, ‘Saint George! Saint George! Our King’s right!’ The French people were gathered in thousands to see them, and cried them welcome. But, to tell the truth, that people were a pitiful sight; many of them were nothing but very skin and bone, with hollow eyes and sharp visages, but just able to breathe, in colour wan 258 as lead. In every street lay some dead men, and hundreds crying for bread. For long after they died as fast as they could be carried away.
The Duke of Exeter rode first to the castle, and then all through the length and breadth of the city, and set up rich banners in all parts. On the Gate of St. Hilary he set a banner of the Trinity; at the Gate of Caux a banner of Our Lady; and at the Gate of Martinville a banner of St. George. On the castle he set up the arms of France and England.
On Friday, in the morning, came our King into the city, and all the bishops in their robes; and seven abbots with their crosses, with a procession of regulars and seculars with forty-two crosses, came out to meet him, and gave him holy water, and blessed him as he passed. He entered by the wide Gate of Caux without pride, without pipe, or blast of trumpet, thanking God Almighty in his heart; and all the people cried, ‘Welcome to our lord! Welcome to thine own right!’ And with that they cried, ‘Nowell!’ He rode on a black horse clothed in black damask, with a breastplate of gold, and pendants behind him so long that they hung down on either side to the ground. And those who had never seen him before knew by his look which was he. To the minster he went, and there lighted off his horse. His chaplains met him at the door, and went before him, singing, in response, ‘Quis est magnus dominus?’ — ‘Who is so great a god as our God?’ And after he had heard mass and made his offerings he went to the castle, 259 which is a palace of great beauty. There he took up his lodging in great state and splendour. And into the town came fast to the people bread and wine, and fish and flesh. So our gracious liege lord made an end of this great siege.
For online additions, corrections, notes & design:
Copyright © 2007
by Elfinspell