'I shall marry this maiden,' replied the king defiantly, 'whether you like it or not!'
The old queen turned angrily for home, and refused to attend the ceremony.
...
The King of France at this time was beset by enemies and found himself in some difficulty. He sent frantic messages to the King of Wales and to other noble and worthy lords. The King of Wales responded to this urgent plea by gathering as many men as he could, in bright armour. Then the king instructed Sir Cadore, and other lords who were to remain behind, to look after his kingdom for him: 'And take especially good care of my queen,' he said.
The King of France summoned everyone he could and the steward was charged to keep the queen safe in the king's absence. And in due course, the queen gave birth to a healthy little boy bearing a distinctive and royal birthmark. He was christened Segramour.
The steward, Sir Cadore, wrote a letter bearing this good news and hurriedly gave it to an envoy to take to the king. The messenger set off at once and rested for the night at the residence of the king's mother. He foolishly spent the night at her castle.
He was received richly and was asked how the queen was. 'Madam,' the envoy replied, 'she has given birth to a handsome little boy and is resting in her bed.' For this news the king's mother gave him a fine robe and forty shillings, and some other expensive gifts. Then she plied him with as much beer and wine as he could drink and got him very drunk. When she could see that he was fit for nothing but sleep, she led him to his chamber. And when he was unconscious, she rifled through his personal belongings, found the letter and threw it into a fire. Then in her wickedness she wrote another letter, saying how the queen had given birth to a devil and that no one dared approach her. The child has three heads – she wrote – one of a lion, one of a dragon and another of a bear! This devilish woman has given birth to a monstrous fiend!
The next morning the messenger set off, somewhat the worse for wear, taking all sorts of paths and roads until he came to the king. He coughed and spoke softly to his lord, believing himself to be the bringer of good news. He gave the king the letter; the king read it and began to cry, then fell down onto the floor, sobbing and weeping.
Some barons who were standing nearby took him up and put him on his feet again but the king would not stop weeping. 'Alas that I was born!' he cried. 'Alas that I was made a king and married to the most beautiful woman in the world who has brought forth a monster from our union!'
When he saw that there was no way of changing the situation and that crying would do little good, he wrote a letter and sealed it with his seal. In it, he commanded that the queen should be well looked-after until she had recovered from her confinement. Everybody was to do as she instructed. The envoy took this letter and followed the same route back with it as he had come, via the castle belonging to the king's mother.
When he arrived there to rest for the night, he was welcomed as before and given gifts as befit a royal messenger. He had no inkling that any treason was afoot. His comfort was well attended to, he was given bread and ale, and wine, and again became very intoxicated. And when he was fast asleep the king's mother searched for the letter he was carrying, found it and cast it into the fire. Then she commanded that another letter be written, instructing the king's counsellors to put the queen into a boat and cast her on the ocean, wearing only her costly robe of diamonds and jewels and carrying her little boy; and she was to be given no money, and no food and no drinking water: 'But let her be gone!' wrote the king's mother. 'Upon pain of death upon yourselves, your elders, your children, and your wives, let she and her son be exposed to the harsh salt spray and to the icy chill.'
'My lord has sent a letter,' the steward replied, truthfully, 'and it is for this reason that we are distressed.' Egaré took the letter from him in anguish and read of her fate.
...
The war is won, the siege is broken and the king returns to Wales. Knights of great wealth, dukes, earls ,and barons all ride merrily by his side.
Sir Cadore quickly rode out to meet them, and began to inform the king of everything that had happened during his absence and of which he might be unaware; all the domestic affairs of state.
'In Heaven's name!' cried the king, interrupting him. 'Why are you telling me all this? Why do you not tell me how my lady Egaré is – is she well?'
The steward was quite taken aback. 'Sir, why do you say this?' he asked, suddenly rather frightened. 'My lord, do you expect that we should have ignored your command? Look, here is the letter you sent to me. What we have done was at your own bidding. See for yourself!'
The king took the letter, and when he saw what it contained, the blood drained from his face. 'Sir Cadore, I swear that this letter did not come from me. I tell you this now.'
They both wept and were hardly able to stand for grief and shock. Dukes and earls ran to the king and held him for pity. The king took out the letter he had received.
'I never wrote anything like that! cried Sir Cadore. 'Alas, what has been happening?'
They sent for the messenger and ordered him to tell them at once which route he had taken with his letters. 'Via your mother's castle,' he explained.
'Alas!' cried the king. 'By my sovereignty, she shall be burned alive! There can be no other course!'
The king's mother was punished for her crime.
The king ruled with a heavy heart and much sadness. He sighed and mourned for his fair Egaré. And when he saw children play, he would weep silently to himself. Seven years passed, and nobody could relieve him of his grief and sadness.
....
Translation and retelling by Richard Scott-Robinson, 2016 - Galys is translated as Wales.
All key passages:
The messenger set off at once and rested for the night at the residence of the king's mother. He foolishly spent the night at her castle.
For this news the king's mother gave him a fine robe and forty shillings, and some other expensive gifts. Then she plied him with as much beer and wine as he could drink and got him very drunk. When she could see that he was fit for nothing but sleep, she led him to his chamber. And when he was unconscious, she rifled through his personal belongings, found the letter and threw it into a fire.
The next morning the messenger set off, somewhat the worse for wear, taking all sorts of paths and roads until he came to the king. He coughed and spoke softly to his lord, believing himself to be the bringer of good news. He gave the king the letter;
...
The envoy took this letter and followed the same route back with it as he had come, via the castle belonging to the king's mother.
When he arrived there to rest for the night, he was welcomed as before and given gifts as befit a royal messenger. He had no inkling that any treason was afoot. His comfort was well attended to, he was given bread and ale, and wine, and again became very intoxicated. And when he was fast asleep ...
...
'I never wrote anything like that! cried Sir Cadore. 'Alas, what has been happening?'
They sent for the messenger and ordered him to tell them at once which route he had taken with his letters. 'Via your mother's castle,' he explained.
Translation and retelling by Richard Scott-Robinson, 2016 - Galys is translated as Wales.
I particularly liked that the messenger in the morning here in this version was "somewhat the worse for wear!" I like this realistic detail. Veisalgia -AKA hangovers-! The original poem only says...
On the morn when hyt was day,
The messenger wente on hys way,Young man, wet your whistle,
quaff even quicker...
Ere your lively nights and
summer days turn to foam!
CASSIO (doubtfully sipping):
This real amber nectar of a liquor
will thrust bright reason off
her rightful throne!
IAGO:
One li'l sip can you hold
under our pennant;
who dares wins, Lieutenant!
Drink now with me!
Drink now with me!
Drink, Lieutenant...
(Throughout the refrain, Cassio is gradually encouraged more and more to drink hard, gradually drinking deeper and deeper draughts, draining two or three tankards, as Iago refills the lieutenant's cup from the flagon.)
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