XII. Eliduc 
I shall tell you a Breton lay,
or at least as much of it as I may
remember and understand. There was
a knight (many begin as this does),
courtly, valiant, and of some fame.
Eliduc was this person’s name.
He and his wife, who was wise and of
an excellent family, were in love
and had lived together for many years
contentedly, but it appears
that when he went in search of paid
martial service he found a maid
he was unable to ignore.
“Beautiful” is but a poor,
inadequate adjective. Guilliadun
was her name and there was none
to rival her. Meanwhile, his spouse
remained at home and kept his house.
Her name was Guildelüec. And the lay
is about these rival women, for they
are its true subject. (But “Eliduc”
is shorter and that title took.)
I shall now tell the tale to you
that I have been assured is true.
Eliduc’s lord was Brittany’s king
who trusted him in everything
and cherished him. When the king was gone
it was Eliduc he counted on
to protect the kingdom. This can be
a golden opportunity
for any courtier but with such
prominence there can be much
jealousy from others who
think they are deserving, too.
Slanderous accusations came
from all sides so that his good name
was badly blemished. He was abused,
though never formally accused
and the king, for no specific cause,
banished him. There were no laws
he’d broken and he had served long
and well and knew the king was wrong.
He importuned the king to provide
him a chance to argue his side,
which was that the mud of slander could
befoul a man whose conduct was good.
The king refused to grant his plea
and there was no alternative — he
had to leave the country where
he’d lived for years. It was most unfair.
The rustics say of a lord that when
he chastises his plowman, then
it is not by love but only fief
that he rules — and this is my belief.
Eliduc at any rate
decided then to emigrate
across the sea to Logres, there
to refresh himself in better air.
He would leave his wife at home and he
bade his men to see that she
was well cared for, and his friends likewise.
Then, wiping the tears from her eyes,
he promised his fidelity.
He and his party went to sea
to arrive at Totnes where he found
battles over disputed ground
among the region’s kings who all
were caught up in continual brawl.
In the region, not far away
from Exeter, a wizened, gray,
but very powerful king resided
to whom Heaven had not provided
an heir; his majesty had instead
a daughter, and it may be said
that she was a great beauty, which
was a bonus, because she was so rich.
Her father had refused to award
her to the local peers: discord
followed and one of her suitors made
war on the old man. Having laid
waste his tenants’ fields, he attacked
the castle. Hearing of this fact,
Eliduc was delighted, for he
saw an opportunity
he could not ignore. He offered his aid
if it was required. He also made
the request that the king, if he had no
need of him, might let him go
with safe conduct to travel through
the land to find somebody who
might have other employment for him.
The king, knowing his prospects were dim,
welcomed the messenger warmly and told
his constable to take what gold
this baron would need for a month and find
him and his companions the kind
of lodgings they deserved. He prepared
a welcoming banquet Eliduc shared
with all the poor knights in the town.
Honoured as if he wore a crown,
Eliduc found that life again
was worth living for him and his men.
He ordered them to refuse to take
money or gifts for appearance’s sake —
at least until the fortieth day.
(They weren’t fighting just for the pay.)
On their third day, there was a great
cry through the city that at the gate
the enemy would soon appear
to assault the town, which was full of fear.
Eliduc heard this and ordered his men
to arm themselves to be ready when
the fight should come. There were forty more
knights in the town who were prisoners or
recuperating from wounds. When they
saw Eliduc prepare for the fray
they, too, readied themselves to fight
and offered their arms to the puissant knight:
“Lord,” they said, “we shall join with you
and help you in what you must do.”
He expressed his thanks to them and then
asked if any of these men
knew of a narrow pass or defile
where they might enjoy an advantage while
defending the town. One replied:
“I know of such a place beside
a dense thicket where there’s a narrow
path for a handcart or wheelbarrow.
This would be the way that they
would have to return from their first foray.
Often when they come back they are
without their armor, for spoils of war
are all their palfreys are able to bear.
It would be good to attack them there,
humiliate them and, in hot pursuit,
inflict much damage and steal their loot.”
Eliduc approved of this
plan and to encourage his
forces said to them, “Good friends,
I pledge that we shall achieve our ends.
He who never risks his all
must have a heart that is weak and small,
for only the willingness to be
defeated brings men victory.
As you are vassals of this king,
come with me and whatever thing
I do here, you must do also.
I promise that there will be no
obstacle to deter us from
the triumph that must surely come
if we stand together, and the fame
that we earn together will grace each name.”
They cheered him and then led the way
to the bushes in the wood where they
could fall upon the enemy,
which they soon did most vigorously.
The enemy was surprised and fled,
each man running just ahead
of his pursuer. It was a rout,
the king would be happy to hear about.
In fact the king was in his tower
convincing himself hour by hour
that Eliduc might have fled or, worse,
joined the enemy — a reverse
that would mean the end of the kingdom — but
in any event the gates were shut
and he ordered each man to his post
on the walls to shoot at any host
that might approach. Instead there came
a squire riding fast to claim
a victory for Eliduc.
It was like a tale in a story book
of many prisoners, many killed,
and many wounded. Cheering filled
the air and the king descended to meet
Eliduc whose swift and sweet
victory had saved the day.
Eliduc gave the prizes away
keeping for himself only three
horses of high quality.
He gave the prisoners over, too —
twenty-nine, give or take a few —
to the constable for him to hold
for the king until they were ransomed with gold.
The king, in gratitude for this great
success, gave him care of the state
for a year’s term, receiving his
allegiance in exchange for this.
Courtly, wise, and handsome, he
enjoyed a wide celebrity:
soon the king’s daughter heard
all about him and she sent word
by her chamberlain to summon him to
join her to talk, as people do.
Guilliadun was surprised she had not
met him before, and there was a lot
she wanted to hear about him from
his own lips. She bade him come,
and he replied with thanks to say
that he was already on his way.
He took a fellow knight along
so there could not be any wrong
and malicious misinterpretation
of his visit and their conversation.
When he arrived, therefore, he sent
the chamberlain first, and off he went
to announce the visitors. When they
met at last, in this formal way,
he could not help but notice that she
was as beautiful as she was kind
to have invited him. Her mind
was lively and inquisitive,
and he was diverted by their give-
and-take. She too was much impressed
by Eliduc, who seemed the best
of men. She took his hand and led
him to a seat on her daybed,
where they spoke of many things while she
considered that there could not be
a braver, better looking man
anywhere. And, as it can,
Love dispatched its mischief maker
to descend from the skies and take her
in his grasp to make her sigh
and her face go pale. She had to try
not to let him notice this
effect he had on her with his
mere presence. At length he arose
to bring the interview to a close.
Reluctantly she let him go
on his way, and he did so.
Riding home, he felt an unease
he could not quite define, for these
sighs of hers had been flattering
but also cautionary. The thing
was complicated, for she was appealing
enough to produce in him a feeling
of happiness that was inconsistent
with his marriage to the distant
woman to whom he had sworn an oath
of loyalty that he was loath
to violate, was hardly dim
in his memory, and troubled him.
On the maiden’s side there was no debate.
Her esteem for him was great
and she wanted him to be her lover.
At dawn as soon as the night was over,
she called her chamberlain to her side.
(She trusted him and could confide
her deepest secrets to him.) She said:
“I love this soldier. All last night
I could not close my eyes. My plight
is most unfortunate. Either he
will return my love and live with me,
as almost any man would do
if he had an ambition to
sit on a throne and wear a crown.
Otherwise, my heart is down
as I think of the alternative,
for I shall be unwilling to live.”
As the echo of her words was dying
it was replaced by muffled crying.
The chamberlain reflected upon
all this and gave his opinion on
what she should do. “You must let him know
how you are feeling. Either say so
or send him a sash or a ring that will speak
as clearly to him about what you seek.
If he responds to this as he should,
the outcome cannot be but good.
What emperor is there on the earth
who would not be glad if one of your worth
wanted his love? You must provide
the opening he will throw wide.”
She answered him, “How can I tell
from here if he thinks ill or well
of such a gesture? Whatever he
may feel, he will accept from me
and keep any token I may send.
If he be enemy rather than friend,
he could enjoy the chance to make
a joke of me for vanity’s sake.
Report to me what you can read
in his face and voice, to which give heed
as well as you can. He may betray
his true feelings either way.
Greet him a thousand times for me
and we shall see what we shall see.”
Forthwith, the chamberlain departed,
while she remained behind. She started
to call him back but changed her mind.
She was more than vexed to find
her heart had been taken unawares
by a stranger, for in these affairs
she had no practice. Who was he,
a member of the nobility
or a commoner? In any case,
he would leave and go someplace
else, and she will be left to mourn,
sorry that she was ever born
and feeling stupid, giving way
to a whim as she had done today.
She had only met him yesterday
and this morning she had sent to say
that she was begging for his love.
But the die was cast with no way of
going back. He would have a reply
that she would flourish or die by.
The chamberlain, meanwhile, made haste
to deliver the ring and the sash for the waist
to Eliduc. The knight seemed pleased
as he took the sash and the ring he eased
onto his finger. Of course, he sent
his thanks and every compliment
back to her. But he said no more
except to offer the chamberlain for
his services a gift that he
declined, albeit courteously.
The servant returned to his lady who
asked him if he had any clue
that might somehow make manifest
Eliduc’s feelings. He expressed
his confidence that the knight was not
a fickle person. “He knows what
you meant and he meant. I believe
it was not his purpose to deceive.”
“But what did he give you in return?
Nothing? Did he mean to spurn
my display of importunity,
consigning me to misery?”
The chamberlain replied, “I’d say
he could have found another way
to express a lack of interest than
by accepting your gifts. He’s not a man
to give offence inadvertently
to a lady and to chivalry.”
“I know he does not hate me, for I
never gave him cause. If my
love tokens elicit no
response from him, then abject woe
is what he deserves. But I go mad.
I cannot think until I have had
a chance to speak with him vis-à-vis
and judge his attitude toward me.
I will let him see how I
suffer, and he’ll be affected by
pity for me. But even so,
what will that mean? How can I know
if he will stay with me? Dear Lord!”
Her hopes and doubts of her heart warred.
“He and the king have both agreed
on a year of service. Would you need
more time than that to learn if he
desires you reciprocally?”
This cheering news improved her state
of mind at once. If she had a year,
she had rather less reason for fear.
She had no notion that, for his part,
Eliduc was sad at heart,
unable to take pleasure from
the joys of life that did not come
from thinking of her. But even this
was mixed with bitterness for his
promise to his wife. His brain
told him clearly that he should remain
faithful to her, but in his breast
were feelings that could not be suppressed.
Guilliadun’s charms were more than he
could ignore, and he desired to be
with her, near her, talking, embracing,
and more. But he knew he was facing
dishonour if he let himself go
a step in that direction, so
he temporized — and his distress
persisted, worsened, and in the end he
went to find a modus vivendi
to see the king and, if he could,
the maiden as well and find some good
answer that would leave all three
in honour and in dignity.
The king had finished his meal and gone
to his daughter’s chambers to look on
as a chess master from overseas
schooled her in the intricacies
of play, and it was to this room
that Eliduc was led by a groom
and announced. The king at once invited
the guest to take a chair. The knight did.
Then to his daughter the king gave
the instruction that this noble and brave
knight should be given honour, for he
is one in five hundred. She
was happy to be ordered to do
what she would have, impromptu.
She arose and led him to a seat
across the room where their discreet
words might not be overheard,
which at first appeared absurd
because she dared not speak directly
to him. At length the knight, correctly,
thanked her for the presents he
had received from her, and to this she
said she was glad to hear this for
it was a gift that meant much more —
with the ring and sash she had given her-
self, body and soul, as it were.
She wanted to become his wife.
Otherwise, for the rest of her life,
she would accept no other man.
Then she asked him for his plan.
“Lady,” he said, “I am grateful to you,
and your esteem means much. I do
swear to you I will never forget it.
My oath, to which you may give credit,
requires me to stay a year
in service to your father here.
After that, I plan to leave
and return home. I do not deceive
or mean to mislead you in any way.”
To this, all the lady could say
was: “I thank you profusely. You
are wise and will know what to do
about me by the time the year
has come to an end. I do not fear,
for along with my love you have my trust,
and I know you will be kind and just.”
This was by far the best outcome
Eliduc could have hoped for from
their conversation. He had survived
an awkwardness and they had contrived
a way in which he could still see
and talk with her and yet feel free
of those pangs of guilt that otherwise
might have obnubilated their skies.
Meanwhile, his martial efforts were so
successful that the king’s arch foe
he managed to capture and liberate
the entire land. It seemed that fate
was smiling upon him. His reputation
grew by the day throughout the nation.
But then a messenger from his lord
at home arrived: by fire and sword
his land was being laid waste and he
was losing castles. Belatedly
he regretted his having banished such
a fellow as Eliduc — whom he much
needed now. Those who had
accused him and had given bad
advice about him were banished now
forever. “By your oath and vow,
I call you home in my time of great
need. You must not hesitate
but come at once, as I know you will.”
These words could not help but fill
Eliduc with perturbation.
Love was the cause of his agitation,
a pure love on which there had not
ever been even the slightest spot
of sinfulness — except for the slight
omission on the part of the knight
to say he was married. Of his intention
to return to his wife, he should have made mention.
Her hope, as he well knew, was that she
might marry him, though this would be
unthinkable in Christian practice.
“Alas,” he said, “the simple fact is
that I have been here too long and I
must leave not only this land but my
beloved, whom I’ll miss. I should
have known that life, when it seems good,
is only preparing us for a fall
that is sure to follow. To my lord’s call
I must respond. I cannot refuse,
even if I fear that the news
may be her death or even my own.
But I need not face the question alone.
With Guillaidun I shall discuss
the constraints that have entangled us
and I shall do as she says, for I know
she will realize that I must go.
Her father’s lands are now at peace
and he can well afford to release
me from my promise to him when my
service at home is required by
my own liege lord. I shall explain
all this to her and ascertain
her wishes. Whatever she may decide,
I shall let her be my guide.”
Forthwith, the knight went to the king
both to tell him the news and to bring
the letter for him to read. It was clear
that there was no way to keep him here,
but even so he offered the knight
treasure and something more that might
detain him — a third of the kingdom. But no,
Eliduc said he had to go:
“My lord is in distress and I
must go to him at once, but my
promise to you is that if there be
a moment of need, then instantly
I shall return with a force of men
to do what I can to help you again.”
For this the king was grateful. He gave
much gold and silver and many brave
dogs and horses. Some of this
Eliduc accepted as his
proper earnings. With exquisite
tact, he asked if he could visit
the king’s daughter in order to say
goodbye to her in a gracious way.
The king was pleased by this request
and a squire was sent as his behest
to arrange the meeting. As soon as he
appeared in her apartment, she
greeted him a thousand times
(poets exaggerate in rhymes).
He began to explain his quandary
but before he had finished, she
saw where his argument was leading
and she fainted away, succeeding
in arranging things so that Eliduc
even without thinking took
her into his arms and, having gone
so far, found himself going on
to kiss her mouth and weep with her.
“Sweet love,” he heard himself aver,
“you are my life and death; you are my
comfort and my best hope. I
have taken leave of your father, but you
are the one to decide what I must do,
whatever the consequences. I can’t
take you with me, as much as I want
to do that. I would seem to betray
my oath to your father. But set a day
by which you want me to come back here
and I promise you that I’ll reappear,
only providing that I still live.
That being the case, then give
me your leave to go.” That seemed
acceptable, though not what she’d dreamed.
But because of her love for him she had
to let him go, although she was sad
to say goodbye. They gave and took
rings and kisses, and Eliduc,
having temporized, departed,
his pain diminishing after he’d started.
At home his lord was joyful when
he returned, as was his wife, but then
that was to be expected. She still
was beautiful, wise, and good, but the thrill
of their reunion was somewhat less
than it should have been. His happiness
was torn by his vivid memories of
Guillaidun and of their love.
Conflicted as he was, his mood
was dark and he was so subdued
that his wife was worried about him. She
asked him what the matter could be.
Had he heard some slanderer say
she’d misbehaved in any way
when he was gone? If this was the case,
she would be glad of a chance to face
any accuser and prove that she
had been all a wife was supposed to be.
He managed to answer that he had not
accused her or ever doubted her. What
was troubling him was another thing
altogether — he’d given a king
his word to serve for a year and yet
here he was, having seemed to forget
a promise, or even worse, to break
an oath he’d given. She should not mistake
the cause of his discomfort. He was
persuasive enough, explaining the cause
of his abstraction. He and his lord
took actions that were moving toward
a restoration of order and peace
in which the various parties could cease
their skirmishing. With this behind
him, Eliduc could set his mind
on Guilladun and returning to
her. He took only a few
companions: two nephews and their
squires, a servant . . . He had them swear
to silence, which they were willing to do.
He put to sea and this small crew
soon arrived on the other side,
and although he did not exactly hide,
he found a quiet out-of-the-way
inn at which his party could stay.
He sent his chamberlain to tell
his beloved that all was now well
and that he had kept his word. That night
she was to go where the servant might
lead her — out of town to a place
where he would be waiting for her embrace.
The servant changed his garments and went
to the king’s palace where he’d been sent
and there he asked for an interview
with the princess and was shown into
her chambers. When she heard him speak
her mood, which had been dark and bleak,
brightened at once. She even kissed
the servant, having so much missed
his master. He recited all
the details of how, after nightfall,
they would proceed together to
the spot arranged for a rendezvous.
She was willing and eager and they
together managed to get away
from the castle and the town, though she
was afraid at each step lest there be
someone who might recognize her
or someone’s spy about to surprise her.
Not more than a bow-shot from
the city’s gate, concealed by some
woods, there was a meadow where
Eliduc waited. When she got there
he dismounted to kiss and embrace
his beloved. Then, with easy grace,
he helped her mount. He got up, too,
and they rode off to meet the crew
on a ship at Totnes he had arranged.
They boarded and, before the wind changed,
put to sea. For the first few hours
they made good progress, but nature’s powers
turned on them and the ship rolled
and pitched as the weather worsened. Cold
winds whipped the rain and spray
into an angry froth that they
could neither escape from nor sail through.
It got so bad that one of the crew
cried aloud: “What do we think
we’re doing? We’re all going to sink
because of that woman you brought along,
knowing full well that you did wrong.
At home you have a loyal wife
but you are willing to risk your life
and ours for the sake of this one! No!
Cast her overboard. Let her go.
And the storm will abate and we shall be
saved without the taint that she
brings with her!” Almost mad
with anger at what he just had
heard, Eliduc shouted: “Son
of a whore, if you say even one
more word, you die!” He held, meanwhile,
the girl in his arms because the vile
weather had made her sea-sick and he
was trying to comfort her. But she,
having heard what the sailor said,
fainted away as if she were dead —
or that is what Eliduc thought she was.
Angry that without any cause
the sailor had said such a dreadful thing,
he picked up an oar and took a swing
at the sailor, knocking him flat on the deck
and very possibly breaking his neck.
With the toe of his boot Eliduc shoved
him overboard. The woman he’d loved
was hardly benefited, but he
took some satisfaction that she
had been avenged. In a moment or two
the villain’s body sank from view.
Eliduc went to the helm to steer
the vessel into the harbor and here
drop anchor. He looked again and she
lay motionless and appeared to be
indeed dead. His lamentation
was loud as was his supplication
that he should have died with her. But now
he realized that the question was how
properly to bury her.
A king’s daughter one should inter
in consecrated ground with a fine
and stately service as a sign
of respect that she was entitled to.
He asked for suggestions from the crew
but none had any to propose.
In Eliduc’s memory there arose
the thought of a wood near home wherein
a hermit had lived, wizened and thin,
and he had built a chapel where
those inclined might say a prayer.
This was not far from his home and he
decided that the chapel could be
her resting place. It was holy ground,
and to her memory he could found
an abbey or convent devoted to
prayer and penitence. He and his crew
carried the lady’s body there
and he required them all to swear
another oath of silence. They
traveled all night and at the break of day
came to the chapel where they knocked
and called. The front door was unlocked
and they went inside to find the tomb
of the hermit. They could read in the gloom
the date of his death: eight days before
his fresh grave had been dug in the floor.
The others thought that this was what
they should do for the lady, but
Eliduc wanted advice from wise
men who could properly analyze
cannon law about the way
to found an abbey or church. When they
had made this clear, he would know better
the rules in their spirit and their letter.
In the meantime, they’d lay her out
before the chapel altar, devout
but unspecific. He wanted no
errors in any punctilio
that might apply to her resting place.
He said goodbye and kissed her face,
telling her how deep was his regret
that they had ever met — and yet
she had been his greatest delight.
Never again would he deign to fight
but he promised, when she was buried, to take
holy orders and, for her sake,
keep a vigil here at her tomb,
sharing with her its constant gloom.
This was his promise to the poor
girl as he closed the chapel door.
He had sent word home to tell
his wife that he was coming, unwell
and sick at heart but alive. She was
pleased and did as a good wife does,
meeting him to welcome him back,
but she found his mood and mien were black.
He spoke to no one and no one dared
address him. Although the household spared
no efforts to see to his comfort, he
was the picture of human misery.
After two days at home he heard
mass and then, without a word,
went back to the chapel to pray
at the altar where the lady lay.
She had not recovered consciousness.
She did not seem to breathe much less
move. But he thought her colour was good
for someone who, as he understood,
had been dead for days. He wept
in anguish and prayed for her while he kept
beating his breast until his grief
had brought him a modicum of relief.
Then he returned to his house and the same
brooding over his guilt and shame.
The wife grew increasingly alert
to his moods by which she was puzzled and hurt.
She asked one of her servants if he
could follow surreptitiously
and report to her where Eliduc went
every day: his emolument
would be a set of arms and a horse.
He was delighted and, of course,
agreed to do this. On the next day
he followed his master all the way
to the chapel where, not far from the door
he heard the lamentations pour
forth from the knight and cries of woe.
He returned home to let the wife know
where it was that Eliduc went
and what he did there. What this meant
she could not guess. The hermit had died
but that was a while ago. She tried
to account for such a show of grief
that seemed to her beyond belief.
That afternoon, the husband had
an appointment with the king and, clad
in his finest, went to court — so she
exploited this opportunity
of going with the servant to
the chapel in search of any clue.
There on a catafalque the maid
on a bed of lovely flowers was laid,
the skin pale, the body slender,
her beauty enough to account for tender
feelings of any man. She knew
at once that here was the object that drew
her husband’s presence, and evidence of
his passionate and abiding love,
which might, after her death, have turned
to pity. The wife felt herself spurned
so that never again could she
imagine a moment’s felicity.
In a trance she knelt down to the floor
and began to pray — not so much for
the soul of the lady as for her own,
feeling that she was all alone,
worse off than the woman on the bed,
who knew that peace we assume the dead
probably have. But then from out
of a cranny, came a weasel snout
and the rest of the animal that ran
across the body. The serving man
struck it with a stick and the blow
killed it — or that seemed to be so.
But another weasel appeared and it
came up to the first, poked it a bit
with its forepaw, and sniffed but could
not make it move. It ran to the wood
in search of some herbal medicine
and soon it was back and it put in
the mouth of the other a brilliant red
flower that brought it back from the dead.
The lady, having witnessed these
strange events, got up from her knees
and ordered her servant not to allow
the weasel to get away. Somehow
he managed to graze it with his stick
which was enough to do the trick
for from its mouth it dropped the flower
that had such great restorative power.
The lady snatched it, put it in
the maiden’s mouth, and watched her begin
to breathe again and then to move
a finger and from this to improve.
Soon she revived and opened her eyes
to remark in a tone of mild surprise:
“How long I have slept!” The wife
thanked the Lord from whom comes life
and asked the maiden to tell her name,
and how she got here, and whence she came.
The maiden answered pleasantly, “I
was born in the land of Logres, where my
father is the king. I loved a knight
named Eliduc, a man of might
and valour, with whom I ran away
only to find out to my dismay
that he was married. He had not said
a word about a wife. Instead
he had lied to me and I
fainted, although I did not die.
I am left in a distant land,
abandoned. I do not understand
how he could have done this to
one to whom he swore to be true —
even though the story is old
of gullible maidens and often told.”
“My dear,” the other said, “he has been
distraught, for the trance that you were in
he took for death. Now every day
he comes here to this chapel to pray
for you or even to you. I
am his wife and couldn’t stand by
and see him in such deep despair.
I followed him to find out where
he went and I discovered you.
I’m joyful, as he will be too.
I shall return you to him and free
him to be with you. As for me
I shall take the veil and live
in a convent as a contemplative.”
The girl revived and was comforted
by what the generous wife had said.
Back home she sent a servant to
her husband to report the new
development. Without delay
Eliduc mounted and sped away.
When he arrived home, amazed,
he saw the girl alive and gazed
into her eyes to ascertain
that she was no figment of his brain
but a real person. He kissed her face
and held her in a warm embrace,
and the wife, seeing this, demanded
to be let go now. She was candid
and said she wanted to be a nun,
which would be convenient for everyone.
If Eliduc could only transfer
a suitable tract of land to her
she’d found an abbey, not far away
from the hermitage. What could he say?
Grateful, relieved, he of course agreed
to everything she had asked, for he’d
feared a much knottier complication.
The wife took the veil of consecration
with thirty other nuns. With these
who were dedicated to pieties
and good works she established a life
that was even better than being a wife.
Eliduc married the princess the way
he’d hoped to do. Their wedding day
was elegant with many guests
and impressive services. The tests
of life were past, and they lived together
in a climate of only balmy weather.
They distributed much in alms to the poor
and the love they shared was deep and secure.
At length they reached that age when they
began to think of how best to obey
God’s will and express their gratitude.
It was, then, in this pious mood
that Eliduc had a church erected
for which a visiting architect did
a splendid job. With the silver and gold
and tracts of land that would uphold
the brothers, Eliduc also lavished
gems on the order he established.
Then he joined it as a servant
of almighty God. And his wife, in fervent
agreement, joined the nunnery where
the first wife was the abbess and there
the two of them lived in harmony
like sisters in a family.
They prayed that a merciful God might look
with favor upon their Eliduc
as he in his turn asked for their
salvation in an earnest prayer.
From time to time in letters they
sent and received, each could convey
good wishes and ask how the others fared.
Each one of them loved God and cared
about the others, and each one came
to a good end, free of any blame.
It is from the story of these three
that the Bretons composed this lay to be
a memorialization of
the possibilities of love.