Legends & Romances of Brittany Part 24

"Seigneur Saint Michael, in the name of G.o.d I pray thee do me no harm!"

The knight laughed loudly. "Why, lad," he said, "I am no more Saint Michael than I am a thief, but merely a belted knight, such as one may meet with by the score in this land of chivalry."

"I have never seen a knight," replied Morvan; "and what may that be which you carry?"

"That is called a lance, my boy."

"And what are these that you wear on your head and breast?"

"The one is a casque and the other a breast-plate. They are intended to protect me from the stroke of sword and spear. But tell me, lad, have you seen any one pa.s.s this way?"

"Yes, Seigneur, a man went by this very road not half an hour agone."

"Thank you, boy," replied the knight. "If you are asked who spoke to you, say the Count of Quimper," and with these words he spurred his horse and set off down the road in the direction which the little Morvan had indicated.

Morvan returned to his mother, who had been sitting some distance away, and began to tell her of his meeting. He was so full of the gallantry of the knight he had met, his grace and martial bearing, that the good dame could not stem the torrent of words which flowed from him.

"Oh, mother," he babbled on, "you never saw anyone so splendid as him whom I have seen to-day, a man more beautiful than the Lord Michael the Archangel, whose image is in our church."

His mother smiled and patted him fondly on the cheek.

"Come, my son," she said, "there is no man so beautiful as the Archangel Michael."

But little Morvan shook his head.

"Saving your grace, there are, my mother," he said gravely. "There are many men more splendid than Saint Michael, and they are called knights. How I wish that I might grow up and become a knight too!"

At these words the poor lady, who had lost her husband in battle and who dreaded that her only son might be taken from her, was seized with such dismay that she sank to the ground unconscious. The little Morvan, without turning his head, entered the stables and led out a fresh horse. Jumping lightly on the steed's back, he turned its head in the direction in which the splendid cavalier had gone and rode hastily after him.

_The Return of Morvan_

Ten years pa.s.sed--years full of martial achievement and adventure for young Morvan. Then a desire to return to the ancestral mansion seized upon the youth, and he made his way homeward. But great was his dismay when he entered the courtyard of the manor and looked about him, for the blackberry bushes and the nettles were growing round the threshold of the house and the walls were half ruined and covered with ivy. As he was about to enter he observed a poor old blind woman standing in the entrance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MORVAN RETURNS TO HIS RUINED HOME]

"Pardon me, dame, but perhaps you can give me hospitality for the night," he said.

"Alas! sir, we have but little," she replied. "This house has been allowed to go to ruin since its son and heir quitted it."

As she ceased speaking a young damsel descended the broken stone steps, and after regarding Morvan for a moment burst into tears.

"How now, maiden," said Morvan, "wherefore do you weep?"

"Alas, Seigneur," replied the maiden, "I have a brother who left us ten years ago to lead the life of a warrior, and every time that I see a youth about his age I feel myself compelled to weep."

"Tell me, my child," said Morvan, "have you no other brother?"

"None in the world, Sir Knight."

"And your mother, what of her?"

"Alas! sir, she too is gone. There is no one but myself and my old nurse in the house. My poor mother died of grief when my brother rode off to become a knight."

On hearing these words Morvan was deeply affected.

"Alas!" he cried, "wretch that I am, I have slain her who gave me birth!"

When he spoke thus the damsel turned deadly pale.

"In the name of heaven, sir, who are you?" she cried. "How are you named?"

"I am Morvan, son of Conan, and Lez-Breiz is my surname, my sister."

The young girl stared for a moment, sighed, and then fell into his arms; but soon she opened her eyes and praised G.o.d that she had found her long-lost brother.

_The King's Cavalier_

But Lez-Breiz could not remain long at home. The tented field was his fireside, the battle his sport. Adventure followed adventure in his full and stirring life. One day he said to his young squire:

"Arouse you, my squire, and furnish my sword, my casque, and my shield, that I may redden them in the blood of the Franks, for with the help of G.o.d and this right arm I shall carry slaughter into their ranks this day."

"Tell me, my lord," asked the squire, "shall I not fight along with you to-day?"

Morvan smiled at the lad's eagerness, perhaps because he remembered his own on the day he met the Count of Quimper, then a grave shadow crossed his face.

"Think of your mother, lad," said he. "What if you never return to her? Think of her grief should you die this day."

"Ah, Seigneur," entreated the stripling, "if you love me, grant my prayer; let me fight along with you."

When Morvan rode out to battle an hour later his squire rode beside him, knee to knee. Pa.s.sing near the church of St Anne of Armor they entered.

"O Saint Anne, most holy dame," prayed Morvan, "I am not yet twenty years old and I have been in twenty battles. All those I have gained by your aid, and if I return again to this land I shall make you a rich gift. I shall give you enough candles to go three times round the walls of your church, and thrice round your churchyard--aye, thrice round your lands, when I come home again; and further I shall give you a banner of white satin with an ivory staff. Also shall I give you seven silver bells which will ring gaily night and day above your head. And three times on my knees will I draw water for your use."

The enemy saw Morvan coming from afar. He was mounted on a small white a.s.s with a halter of hemp, to signify his contempt for them. Lorgnez, his chief foe, came against him with a troop of warriors, while Morvan had only his little squire behind him. The foemen came on, ten by ten, until they reached the Wood of Chestnuts. For a moment the little squire was dismayed, but a word from his master rallied him, and, drawing his sword, he spurred forward. Soon they came front to front with Lorgnez and hailed him in knightly fashion.

"Ho! Seigneur Lorgnez, good day to you."

"Good morrow, Seigneur Morvan. Will you engage in single combat?"

"No; I despise your offer. Go back to your King and tell him that I mock him; and as for yourself, I laugh at you and those with you.

Return to Paris, stay among your women, take off your mail and put on the silken armour of fops."

Lorgnez's face flamed with anger.

"By heaven!" he cried, "the lowest varlet in my company shall hew your casque from your head for this!"