Chapter 51 [second half]

[How Beltenebros's song came to be sung in the court of King Lisuarte, and what was understood of it there.]

[An illustration of a queen and musicians from De mulieribus claris, written by Giovanni Boccaccio in 1374, from a French version published in 1405.] 
 
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After Mass was said, they carried the lady to Amadis's chamber and laid her in an exceptionally rich bed they had made there. She was weeping and wringing her hands over the great sorrow that she suffered. Beltenebros, when he saw her like that, asked the damsels, who had picked up their instruments to give her solace, what had happened and why she seemed so anguished.

They told him:

"Friend, this lady is very rich and of great nobility. She is beautiful, although now her illness has diminished that. Her anguish, although it is not told to others, we shall tell you if ye keep it secret. Know that her torment is over a very great love, and she is going to look for her lover in the court of King Lisuarte. May God help her find him there so that some of her suffering may be lessened."

When he heard them speak of the court of King Lisuarte and how the lady was dying of love like him, tears came to his eyes and he told them:

"I ask you, my ladies, to tell me the name of the man she loves."

"That knight whom we told you of is not of this land," they said, "and he is one of the best knights in the world, except for two who are very esteemed."

"Now I ask you," he said, "by the faith that ye owe to God, that ye tell me his name and these two that you speak of."

"We shall only if ye tell us if ye are a knight, which ye fully seem to be, and what your name is."

"I shall do so," he said, "to know that which I ask you."

"In the name of God," they said. "Now know that the knight that the lady loves is named Sir Florestan, brother of the good knight Amadis of Gaul and of Sir Galaor, and he is the son of King Perion of Gaul and the Countess of Selandia."

"May God be praised! Now I know that ye tell me the truth about his estate and skill, and I believe that ye could not tell all of how good he is, for he is better than anything ye could say."

"What?" they said. "Do you know him?"

"I saw him not long ago," he said, "in the court of Briolanja, and I saw the battle that Amadis and his cousin Agrajes fought with Abiseos and his sons, and I saw how after it was over, Florestan arrived, and he seemed to me to be very even tempered. I have heard his brother, Sir Galaor, speak often about his great skill at arms, for he had fought with him."

"That battle is why Florestan left," the damsels said, "because during it they found out they were brothers."

"What?" he said. "Is this the lady of the island where they had fought each other?"

"She is," they said.

"I believe her name is Corisanda," he said.

"That is true," they said.

"Now I feel less sorry for her illness," he said, "for I know well that he is so moderate and of such good will that he will always do what she orders."

"Now tell us who ye are," the damsels said.

"My good ladies," he said, "I am a knight, but I was more involved than I am now in the vain things of this world, which I am paying for, and my name is Beltenebros."

"May God have mercy on you," they said. "Now place yourself in His hands, and we must go to console our lady with these musical instruments."

And so they did, and entered her room and having played and sung a while, they told her everything that Beltenebros had heard about Sir Florestan.

"Oh," she said, "call him to me at once, for he must be a fine man since he saw Sir Florestan and met him."

And one of the damsels brought Beltenebros to her, and the lady told him:

"These damsels tell me that ye saw Sir Florestan and ye love him. I ask you, by the faith that ye owe God, to tell me what ye know about him."

He told her all that he had told to the damsels, and that he knew that he and his brothers and his cousin Agrajes had gone to Firm Island, and after that he did not see them again.

"Now tell me," Corisanda said, "if ye please, whether ye have some kinship with him, because to me ye seem to love him."

"My lady," he said, "I love him greatly for his valor and because his father made me a knight, for which I am much obliged to him and his sons. I am very sad over some news about Amadis that I heard before I arrived here."

"And what is this?" she said.

"When I was coming to this place," he said, "I saw a damsel in a forest next to the road I was traveling on, and she sang a song very pleasurable to hear. I asked her who had written it."

" 'It was composed," she said, "by a knight whom God ought to give more happiness than He had at the time, for according to its words, he had received a great affront in love and he was suffering deeply for it.'

"I stayed two days with the damsel until I had learned it, and she told me that Amadis had taught it to her weeping and mourning."

"I beg you," she said, "teach this song that ye speak of to my damsels so that they can play it on their instruments and sing it."

"It would please me to do it," he said, "for your love and for he whom ye most love, although now is not the time for me to sing or do things that are happy or pleasurable."

Then he went with the damsels to the chapel and taught them the song, and he had a very rare voice and his great sadness made it more sweet and agreeable. The damsels learned the song well and sang it to their lady, who took great pleasure in hearing it.

Corisanda was there for four days, and on the fifth she bid farewell to the hermit and Beltenebros, and asked him if he would be there for a long time.

"My lady," he said, "until I die."

Then they got on their ship and continued their voyage to London, where they hoped to hear news there sooner than anywhere else about Sir Florestan. She was well received by the King and Queen and all others, who knew that she was a lady of high estate, and they had her stay in the palace. The Queen asked why she had come, and said she would be willing to help, along with the King, if there was anything they could do.

"My lady," Corisanda said, "I am in your debt, but my quest is to find Sir Florestan, and because news from everywhere comes to your court, I want to be here for some time until I learn something about him."

The Queen said:

"My good friend, you can remain here as long as ye please, but, until now nothing is known about him except that he has left in search of Amadis, his brother, of whom it is not known why he has disappeared."

She told her how Sir Guilan had brought her Amadis's arms but had not learned anything about him. When Corisanda heard this, she began to weep fiercely, saying:

"Oh, God, my Lord, what will become of my beloved lord Sir Florestan, for the way he loves his brother, he may well also be lost if he does not find him, and I shall never see him again."

The Queen consoled her and regretted having given her that news. Oriana, who was next to her mother listening to the lady tell how she loved Sir Florestan, brother of Amadis, felt the desire to honor her, and accompanied her to her room, where she learned everything about her situation.

Speaking with her about many things, Corisanda told her and Mabilia how she was at Poor Rock and found a knight doing penance who taught her damsels a song that Amadis had composed about himself in his hour of great anguish, and he must have suffered deeply judging by the words of the song.

Mabilia told her:

"My good friend and lady, I ask you to please have your damsels to sing it for us, for I would have great pleasure to hear it because it was written by a knight who is my cousin."

"I shall do this willingly," she said, "for my heart shall be lifted to hear it because of the kinship that my lord Sir Florestan has with him."

Then the damsels came and played it and sang very sweetly, in keeping with its beauty, but to the pain of whoever heard it. Oriana thought about these words and saw well that due to her error, Amadis complained very rightly, and a great pain came to her heart so that she could not remain there and went to her room, ashamed of the many tears that had come to her eyes.

Mabilia said to Corisanda:

"My friend, ye have seen how Oriana is suffering, and she was here to give you pleasure and honor longer than she should have. I want to go to give her some remedy, and I beg you to tell me who the man is on Poor Rock who taught this song to your damsels, and if he has any news about Amadis."

She told how she had found him and what he said, and that she had never seen a suffering and weak man so handsome and so elegant in his poverty, and that she had never seen such a young man who was so well educated. Mabilia immediately thought that he was Amadis, who in his great desperation had gone to a place hard to get to and distant from everyone in the world.

She went to Oriana, who was in her room lost in thought and sobbing, and arrived laughing and in a good mood, and told her:

"My lady, by asking a man sometimes learns more than expected. Know that, according to what I have learned from Corisanda, the suffering knight who is called Beltenebros and who is at Poor Rock logically ought to be Amadis, who has gone there to be away from everyone in the world, and wished to fulfill your order not to appear before you or anyone else. Therefore be happy and take consolation, for my heart tells me that without out a doubt it is him."

Oriana raised her hands and said:

"Oh, Lord of the world, my it please You that this be true! My good friend, tell me what to do, for I am in such a state that I have no good judgement nor wisdom, and, by God, have mercy on me, an unfortunate wretch who by my madness and thoughtless ire have lost all my goods and pleasures."

Mabilia felt great sorrow for her, and tears came to her eyes. She turned her head so they would not be seen and told her:

"My lady, my advice is that we wait for your damsel, and if she does not find him, let me look, for I know how we learned about him and I am convinced that he is the one called Beltenebros."
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Amadis's angry song: three English translations

We have the words, now we need the music. 

Text from the 1526 edition printed in Seville by Jacobo and Juan Cromberger.

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Who knew that Amadis could sing, let alone compose music? We still have the lyrics but the tune is lost — that is, the tune awaits someone to write it anew. As ye might expect, though, the English translations vary.

First, here is the original Spanish:

Pues se me niega vitoria
do justo m'era devida,
allí do muere la gloria
es gloria morir la vida.

Y con esta muerta mía
morirán todos mis daños
mi esperança, mi porfía,
el amor y sus engaños;
mas quederá en mi memoria
lástima nunca perdida,
por me matar la gloria
me mataron gloria y vida.

Here is my translation. I've taken the liberty to switch some lines to preserve the meter and rhyme:

Being denied the victory
that I justly deserved,
wherever dies that glory,
death with glory is served.

And with that I shall die
and with me die my woes,
love and all its lies,
my struggles and my hopes.
But this one thought remains
from sorrow never free:
that with my glory slain,
glory and life killed me.

Robert Southey, in his 1803 translation, for some reason used a French translation of Amadis for his lyrics, although he used a Spanish edition for the text. Here is the French version and Southey's translation:

Pues qu'a grand tort la victoire
meritee on me denye,
Alors que fine la gloire,
Gloire est de finir la vie.

Et aussi par mièsme mort
Maurent mes plus grands malheurs,
Mon espoir et mon confort,
Amour me fine et ses chaleurs.

Mas toujours t'auray memoire
De perpetuel esmoy:
Car pour fin meure á ma gloire,
On meuririst ma gloire et moy.

Sith that the victory of right deserved
By wrong they do withhold for which I served,
Now sith my glory thus hath had a fall,
Glorious it is to end my life withall.
By this my death, likewise my woes release,
My hope, my joy, my inflamed love doth cease.
But ever will I mind my during pain,
For they, to end my glory and my gain,
myself have murdered, and my glory slain.

Finally, Edwin Place and Herbert Behm translated Amadis in 1974, and here is their version:

Since victory is denied me
Where rightly it was owed to me,
There where glory dies
It is glory for life to die.

And with this death of mine
Will die all my hurts
My hope, my striving,
Love and its deceits.
But there will remain in my memory
A lament never lost,
For in order to kill my glory
My glory and life have been slain.
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Chapter 51 [first half]

Which tells how, while Beltenebros was at Poor Rock, a ship docked that brought Corisanda in search of her lover Florestan, and of the things that happened and what she recounted at the court of King Lisuarte. 

[The hermitage of Saint John on the island of Gaztelugatxe on the coast of Biscay. Photo by multisani.] 
 
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While Beltenebros was at Poor Rock, as we have already told you, one day the hermit had him sit next to him on a stone bench at the door of the hermitage, and said:

"My son, I ask ye to tell me what made you shout in your sleep when we were at the Spring of the Meadow."

"I shall tell you willingly, my good lord, and I ask you by God to tell me what of it that ye might understand, be it to my pleasure or sadness."

Then he told him the dream that ye have already heard about, although Beltenebros did not tell him the names of the damsels. The good man, after he heard it, spent a long time thinking, then turned to him laughing and said kindly:

"Beltenebros, good son, what you have said has given me much happiness and great pleasure, and know that it rightly out to be so, and I want ye to know how I understand it. Know that the dark room where ye found yourself and could not leave represents the sorrow which ye are now in, and the damsels who opened the door are some of your friends who will speak with she whom ye most love in your life. In that way they shall take you from here and from the sorrow which ye now have. The ray of sunshine that came before them means that they will send happy news with which ye shall leave here.

"The fire that ye saw surrounding your beloved signifies the great distress that your love for her will be for you, as her love for you shall be for her. That fire means love and her suffering before she sees you, from which ye shall take her. The beautiful garden where ye shall take her shows the great pleasure that she shall receive by seeing you.

"I know well that being a priest I ought not to speak of such things, but I understand that it is a better service to God to tell you the truth with which ye shall be consoled than to remain quiet and let your life remain close to hopeless death."

Beltenebros knelt before him and kissed his hands, thanking God that in such great distress and pain He had given him a person who could knew how to advise him, and he prayed, weeping, that God would have pity and make the words of that holy man, His servant, come true.

Then he asked the good man what he could say about the dream he had had the night before Durin gave him the letter when he was on Firm Island. The good man told him:

"This clearly shows you all that ye have already had happen to you. I tell you that the tall hill covered with trees in which ye found yourself and the many happy people around you represents Firm Island, which ye had won and where ye had given great pleasure to all who lived there. The man that ye saw with the box containing bitter medicine is the messenger from your beloved who gave you the letter, and the great bitterness of her words ye know better than anyone, for ye have tasted them.

"The sadness that ye saw in the people who had been happy are the people of the island again, who are alone and in great sorrow because of you. The clothes ye took off are the arms that ye left behind. The rocky place in the middle of water where ye hid yourself represents the rock on which ye are now. The man in the religious order that spoke to you in a language that ye do not understand is myself, who spoke the holy words of God to you, which before that ye did not know nor bear in mind."

"Certainly," Beltenebros said, "ye have told me very truthfully about this dream because all of that did happen to me, so I take great hope in what may come."

But that hope was not so certain nor so great that it fully eased the great anguish that he had been placed in by his desperation over his lady. He looked long and often at the land, remembering the pleasures and great honors he had had there, but they had all been changed into the opposite with cruelty, thus he frequently arrived at such straits that if it were not for the advice of that good man, his life would have been in great danger.

To help distance him from his deep meditations and sorrows, the good man often put him in the company of two boys, his nephews, whom the good man had with him, to go to fishing in a river near there with poles, where they caught fine fish.

So as ye hear Beltenebros did his penance and always had with him great pain and deep concerns, believing that if God in His mercy did not help him with the favor of his lady, he was always much closer to death than life.

Most nights he spent beneath some thick trees that were in the garden near the hermitage so he could mourn and weep without the hermit or his boys hearing him. And he thought about the things that he had done to serve her for which he had been give such a poor reward without cause or justice. In his anger, he composed this song:

Being denied the victory
that I justly deserved,
wherever dies that glory,
death with glory is served.

And with that I shall die
and with me die my woes,
love and all its lies,
my struggles and my hopes.
But this one thought remains
from sorrow never free:
that with my glory slain,
glory and life killed me.


After he had written this song that ye hear, one night while he was beneath those trees as usual, mourning deeply and weeping fiercely, after much of the night had passed he heard some instruments being played very sweetly nearby, which he felt great pleasure to hear. He was surprised, for he had thought that there was no more company there than the hermit and himself and the two boys. He got up and went stealthily to see what it was, and he saw two damsels next to the fountain who had musical instruments in their hands. He heard them play and sing happily.

After he had listened for a while, he told them:

"Good damsels, may God be with you, for with your very sweet playing, ye have made me miss matins."

They were surprised that a man was there, and they told him:

"Friend, please tell us what place this is where we have docked and what man ye are who speaks with us."

"My ladies," he said, "this place is called the Rock of the Hermitage, after a hermit and a hermitage here, and I am a very poor man who stays and lives with him, doing severe penance for my great evil deeds and sins."

Then they said:

"Friend, might we find some house here in which a very ill lady we bring could dwell and rest for two or three days? She is high born as well as rich, and she has been laid low by love."

When Beltenebros heard this, he said:

"There is a small house where I dwell, and if the hermit gives it to her, I shall sleep in the field, which I do many nights, if it would make you happy."

The damsels gave him many thanks for what he had said and held him in great favor. As they were speaking, the dawn broke, and Beltenebros saw beneath some trees the lady they had spoken of in a beautiful and very rich bed, along with four armed knights on the seashore who were waiting on her and sleeping, and five men who lay next to them who did not bear arms. He saw a ship at anchor in the sea well stocked with everything it could need. The lady appeared exceptionally young and very beautiful and it gave him pleasure to look at her.

Then he went to the hermit, who was dressing to say Mass, and told him:

"Father, we have strangers among us. It would be good if ye saw them before Mass."

"I shall do that," the good man said.

Then together they left the hermitage and Beltenebros showed him the ship and they saw that the knights and other men were carrying the ill lady toward them, the damsels with her. They asked the hermit if there was a house where they could put her, and he said:

"There are two houses here, one where I stay, and by my will no woman shall ever enter. This good poor man lodges in the other. He is doing penance here, and I shall not order him out against his will."

Beltenebros said:

"Father, ye may give it to her, for I shall stay beneath the trees, which I am often accustomed to do."

Then they all entered the chapel to hear Mass, and Beltenebros, who looked at the damsels and knights and thought about himself and his lady and his past life, began to weep fiercely and knelt before the altar and prayed to the Virgin Mary to rescue him from the great trouble that he was in.

The damsels and knights who saw him weeping from his heart thought that he was a man of good breeding, and they were amazed by his youth and handsomeness, and wondered why he had come there over any sin, no matter how grave, for everywhere the mercy of God reaches where men are truly repentant.
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The Hebrew translation of Amadis of Gaul

More than a mere translation, Jacob Algaba's 1541 version tells us about the complex relationship between Jewish and Spanish cultures.

 

The Theodosian Walls of Constantinople near the Golden Gate. Photo by Sue Burke.

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A recent post at the website of David A. Wacks, Associate Professor of Spanish at the University of Oregon, discusses the Spanish influences on the Sephardim. After the Jews' expulsion from Spain in 1492, many moved to Constantinople, where they changed Jewish culture in that city. That culture in turn affected the Hebrew translation of Amadis of Gaul — a translation also tells us a lot about the Spanish original and why it became popular.

"Reading Amadís in Istanbul" at:
http://davidwacks.uoregon.edu/2011/10/29/amadis/

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Chapter 50

How Guilan the Pensive took Amadis's shield and arms, which he had found without anyone watching over them at the Spring of the Meadow, and brought them to the court of King Lisuarte. 

[The tower of the 12th-century castle at the Ucero River near Soria, Spain. Photo by AnTeMi.] 
 
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After Sir Guilan the Pensive left the spring where he had found the arms of Amadis, as has been told to you, he traveled for seven days on the road to the court of King Lisuarte, and he always wore Amadis's shield on his neck. He never took it off, except twice when he was forced to fight, then he gave it to his squires and took his own.

Once was when he met two knights who were cousins of Arcalaus. They recognized the shield and wanted to take it, saying that they would either bring it or the head of the knight who wore it to their uncle. But Sir Guilan, when he learned they belonged to the family of such an evil man, said:

"Now I hold you for less."

And then they fought bravely, for the two knights were young and hardy, but Sir Guilan, though older, was more valiant and experienced at arms. Although the battle lasted some time, in the end he killed one of them and the other fled toward a mountain. Sir Guilan was injured but not badly, and continued down the road as before.

That night he lodged in the house of a knight he knew, who did him many honors and in the morning gave him a lance, for his had been broken in the joust he had just had. And then Guilan traveled down the road until he came to a river called Guinion. It was wide, and it had a wooden bridge broad enough that two knights on horseback could pass each other. At its near end he saw a knight who wanted to cross the bridge who had a green shield with a white bar on it, and he knew it was Ladasin, his cousin. At the far end was a knight who defended the bridge and who shouted:

"Knight, do not get on the bridge unless ye wish to joust."

"Even if I must joust with you," Ladasin said, "I shall not fail to cross."

Then, raising his shield, he rode onto the bridge. The other knight who guarded the bridge rode a large bay horse and wore a white shield with a brown lion on it, with a matching lion on his helmet. The knight was big of body and rode very well. When he saw Ladasin on the bridge, he charged at him as fast as his could and they met at the entrance of the bridge. Ladasin and his horse fell from the bridge into the water, but as he fell he reached for one of the willows and grabbed it, and with great difficulty he got to the riverbank, for he had fallen far and his armor was heavy.

The knight who had knocked him down turned around and returned to where he had been. Sir Guilan went to his cousin, and he and his squires pulled him from the water and took off his shield and helmet. Guilan told him:

"Truly, cousin, ye would have died except that your great courage saved you when ye grabbed for these branches. All knights ought to avoid jousts on bridges because those who guard them have already trained their horses for it, and they win honor more because of that than because of their courage. I would prefer to go around and look for another road, but due to what has happened to you, I must avenge you if I can."

Meanwhile Ladasin's horse had swum to the other side and the knight ordered his men to put it into a tower in a beautiful fortress in the middle of the river, reached by a stone bridge.

Sir Guilan took off Amadis's shield and gave it to his squires, took his and his lance and went to the bridge. The other knight who guarded it immediately came at him, and both charged as fast as their horses could go.

They struck each other so hard that the knight was knocked from his saddle and fell into the river, and Guilan fell on the bridge and would have fallen in the water if he had not held onto the timbers. The knight who had fallen into the water grabbed Guilan's horse, which had fallen on him, and pulled it out. Guilan's squires took the knight's horse, and Guilan looked and saw the knight at the end of the bridge, and he had Guilan's horse by the reins, which was shaking off the water. Guilan said:

"Order your squires to give me to give me my horse, and we will go."

"What?" said the knight. "Do ye think you can leave here with just that?"

"With that," Guilan said, "because we have jousted with each other as we ought to."

"That cannot be," he said, "because we both fell, so the battle is not finished until we have at each other with swords."

"What?" said Sir Guilan. "First you forced me to fight with you, and the offense ye did us is not enough, since bridges are common for all to cross?"

"I do not care about that," he said, "Ye still must feel how my sword cuts, either by agreement or by force."

Then he jumped onto the horse without putting a foot in a stirrup, so easily that it was amazing to see, and quickly straightened his helmet and went to place himself in the road where Guilan would have to pass, and told him:

"Lowly knight, tell me before we fight if ye are from the land of King Lisuarte or in his retinue."

"Why do ye ask?" Guilan said.

"May God grant that I had King Lisuarte where I have you!" the knight said. "For I swear on my head that he would reign no more."

This made Sir Guilan angry, and he said:

"Truly, if my lord King Lisuarte were here as I am, he would quickly punish your madness. As for myself, I tell you that I am his subject and dwell in his court, and for what ye just said, I want to fight you, though I did not before, and if I can, I shall make it so that the King shall receive no further offence or disloyalty from you."

The knight laughed disdainfully and said:

"And I promise thee that before noon thou shalt be put in such straits that I shall dispatch thee with great dishonor. I want thee to know who I am and what gifts thou shalt be given from me."

Sir Guilan, who was furious and wanted to fight, forced himself to wait and find out who he was.

"Now," the other knight said, "know thou that my name is Gandalod, and I am the son of Barsinan, the lord of Saxony, whom King Lisuarte killed in London, and the gifts that thou shalt bring are the heads of four other knights of his court that I have imprisoned in my tower, one of them being his nephew Giontes, along with thy right hand cut off and hanging from thy neck."

Sir Guilan put his hand on his sword and said:

"Thou art brave in thy threats, if those could frighten me."

And he charged, as did the other knight, and they met with great wrath and began their battle with such bravery and cruelty that it was amazing to see. They attacked each other on all sides with such hard and fierce blows that they could take no moment's respite at all. Ladasin and his squires watched, frightened, and thought that neither of them would escape death, even if he were to win. But what saved them was that while both were well experienced in arms, they fended off many blows, and although their weapons cut, their flesh did not feel it.

And while they were fighting, thinking only of killing the other, a horn sounded from the top of the tower. Gandalod was startled and tried harder to bring the battle to an end to find out what had happened. He came close to Sir Guilan, reached out and grabbed him so hard that both were pulled from their saddles and fell from their horses onto the ground. They spent some moments grappling with each other and rolling on the ground, but each one held tight to his sword with his hand.

Sir Guilan broke free, stood up first, and gave him two blows. But the knight stood up and began to fight more fiercely and dangerously than before because, on foot, they could reach each other much more easily than on horseback, and both wanted to finish the fight. Sir Guilan thought that the horn had sounded to call for help for Gandalod, and Gandalod thought that some treachery was underway in the tower.

So each one, without pausing or resting, tested all his strength against the other. But now that they were on foot, Sir Guilan began to fight much better, which gave great pleasure to Ladasin and the squires who watched because Gandalod could not cover himself as well with what remained of his shield nor fend off damaging blows with his sword because he was too tired.

Sir Guilan, when he saw this, waited for his chance, struck him on his open arm, and cut off his hand, which fell to the ground along with the sword he held in it. Gandalod shouted and tried to flee to the tower, but Guilan reached him and pulled so hard on his helmet that he tugged it from his head and threw him on the ground. He put the sword in his face and said:

"Ye must to go to King Lisuarte with these gifts ye told me about, but they will be different from what ye had planned, and if ye do not, your head will be separated from your body."

"I shall do it," said Gandalod, "for I would prefer the mercies of the King to dying here and now."

Guilan took that promise. He heard a great revolt at the tower and went there, mounted and with Ladasin. They found that the imprisoned knights had gotten loose and left the dungeon, and had armed themselves with the weapons they found at the top of the tower. They had sounded the horn, and one of them stayed with it while the others descended and killed all that they could reach.

When Sir Guilan and Ladasin arrived, they saw their companions at the tower gate and a knight with seven footmen fleeing the tower to take refuge in a woods. The knights in the tower told Guilan and Ladasin to kill them, especially the knight, so they immediately went after them, and soon they had killed four footmen and the other three escaped, but the knight was taken prisoner and brought to the knights who had escaped from the dungeon.

Sir Guilan told them:

"My lords, I cannot stay here for I am going to the Queen, but stay with my cousin Ladasin, and take these knights to King Lisuarte so he may do with them as he thinks best. Put the tower under my command."

"We shall do so," they said.

Then Sir Guilan took off his shield, which now was worthless for it had been cut in many places, and took Amadis's, weeping silently. The knights, who recognized the shield and saw him weeping, were surprised and asked him how he came to have it. He told them how he had found it at the Fountain of the Meadow with all Amadis's other arms, and how he had looked for Amadis throughout the entire region and could learn nothing about him. They felt deeply sorry to think that something very bad had happened to him.

With that, Guilan departed, and without incident he soon arrived to where the King was, who had already learned how Amadis had passed in all the tests of Firm Island and won lordship of it, and how he had departed secretly in great sorrow, but no one knew why, except for those whom ye have already been told about. When Sir Guilan arrived, all came to see Amadis's shield and learn some news about him. The King said:

"By God, Sir Guilan, tell us what ye know about Amadis!"

"My lord," he said, "I do not know a thing and did not hear a thing, but how I came to find the shield I shall tell before the Queen, if ye please."

Then the King went with him to see the Queen, and when Guilan arrived, he knelt before her, weeping, and said:

"My lady, I found all the arms of Amadis at a spring called the Spring of the Meadow, where this shield was unguarded, which gave me great sorrow to see. I put it in a tree, leaving some damsels who I had in my company to guard it, and traveled all about the region looking for Amadis. It was not my fate to find him nor hear news of him, and I, knowing the valor of that knight and that his desire was to be in your service until death, thought that if I could not bring him, then his arms would give testimony to you of what I am obligated to do for you and for him. Order them to be put somewhere where all may see them, so that when people from all parts come to your court they can learn something about their owner. They can be an example to those who wish to be fine knights, for they should seek the great fame that their master in his time won among so many other knights."

The Queen said:

"I am very sorry at the loss of such a man who shall leave the world so much diminished. And I deeply thank you, Sir Guilan, for what ye have done, and I shall do so with all who bear arms if they labor to find Amadis, for the order of chivalry and ladies and damsels were so esteemed and defended by him."

This news weighed heavy on the King and all those of the court, believing that Amadis was dead, but above all on Oriana, who could not remain there with her mother and went to her room, where with many tears she cursed her fate for having caused so much evil that nothing but death awaited her. But all Mabilia's consolation, and the hope that when her damsel returned she would bring good news, gave her some solace.

Five days later the knights and damsels that Sir Guilan had taken from prison arrived at the court, and they went to the King and Queen to ask their favor to thank Guilan for freeing them. And the damsels came who told of the mourning they had seen Gandalin make, and while they did not know his name, they said he was a squire who had asked about the owner of the shield and the arms.

Then the knights arrived who brought Gandalod as prisoner, and they told the King about the battle between him and Sir Guilan and why they had fought, and all the words that had been spoken between them, and how he had held them prisoner and how they had gotten free.

The King told Gandalod:

"This is the place where I killed thy father for the great treachery he did me, and here thou shalt die for the treachery thou hast wished to do to me."

Then he ordered both him and the knight who had fled to be thrown from the tower at the foot of which Barsinan, his father, had been burned, as the first book has recounted.
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