IX. Milun

One who tries to present a new

story must pay attention to

verisimilitude and then

to entertaining the women and men

to whom he speaks. I shall now tell

the tale of “Milun” and I may as well

say a word or two about how

and why I wrote what you’re reading now.

Milun, born in Wales, was a knight

who triumphed in every tourney and fight,

for no one had been able to

unhorse him. Everybody knew

his reputation, which had spread

throughout Scotland. It may be said

that in Gotland, Ireland, and even as far

as Norway he was a kind of star,

a model of strength and chivalry,

admired universally.

He was as you will understand

envied by some; on the other hand

he was loved and honoured by even more

for his ability and for

his courtliness. There lived nearby

a wealthy nobleman whom I

cannot name (it has slipped my mind)

and he had a daughter, sweet and refined,

who’d heard of Milun, and from this she

conceived a passion and wanted to be

his love. She sent to tell him this.

Milun of course was charmed and his

answer was that he would be true

and so forth and so on, as you

can imagine. He sent back word that he

would like to meet her privately,

if that could be arranged. He sent

a golden ring, significant

of abiding love. The messenger bore

the ring to his mistress and the more

important news that he would come

as soon as he had a message from

her to do so. In her delight

she sent for him and they met at night

in the garden her bedroom opened on.

Then, at dawn, he would be gone.

Terrific, right? It was for a time

but they were taking chances, and I’m

sure you’re not surprised to discover

that she got pregnant. She told her lover

what had happened and was upset:

her reputation, because she’d let

this come about was gone and she

faced punishment. She might even be

tortured or else sold as a slave.

(The curious reason that she gave

for such concerns was that these had been

the ancient family custom in

these awkward cases.) True or not,

Milun answered that he’d do what-

ever she wanted. She had a sister

in Northumbria; she’d enlist her

help. She said, “When the child is born,

you’ll take it to her, and when you’ve sworn

that it is ours, she’ll accept it and see

that it is brought up properly,

male or female, whatever it is.

I’ll give it the ring and along with this

letter with its father’s name

and the story of its mother’s shame.

When the child has grown to the age

of reason, it will reach the stage

when my sister can give it the ring and the letter,

and tell it to try to find its begetter,

so that one day you may see

your offspring and may think of me.”

He agreed to do this for her. She gave

birth (with the aid of a loyal and brave

servant who had helped her hide

her state) to a baby boy. With pride

she gave him to this nurse who hung

the golden ring around his young

neck. In his swaddling they hid

a silk purse with a note to bid

the world be kind to him. His bed

had a costly pillow beneath his head

and a coverlet with marten trim

to keep him warm and comfort him.

The nurse then gave Milun the child

and as he accepted it he smiled.

He set off that night with a few

servants he trusted on the way to

Northumbria. They had to pause

many times a day — there was

a wet nurse he’d brought along to keep

the baby fed. When he was asleep

again they would set forth and make

what speed they could for the baby’s sake.

They reached the aunt at last and he

gave her the infant. As soon as she

learned whose child it was she swore

to love him and do everything for

his welfare. Milun thanked her and

returned to his own native land.

But then what happens? Milun goes

to fight as a mercenary — those

engagements can bring wealth and fame.

The woman he had loved became

engaged to a nobleman nearby,

which was a prospect that made her cry

and bemoan her fate, for Milun still

was the one she loved. A bitter pill

to marry someone else, who would

discover that her maidenhood

was long gone and that she’d had

a child, which he would think was bad.

What then to do? Would she now be

a servant doomed to misery

that would continue without end?

“I had expected happiness

but I find myself in deep distress

with servants who I realize

are guardians and even spies

who seem to be resentful of

their betters when we fall in love.”

She concluded with a sigh

and even the wish that she might die.

But eventually there came the day

when her bridegroom came to take her away.

At length Milun returned and he

was sad, as one would expect him to be,

but still he was able to take some cheer

on account of the fact that she lived near

enough for him to hope. But how

could he let her know that he was now

at home again? He wrote a note

that he tied around the snowy throat

of a pet swan, the loveliest

of birds. In the feathers of its breast

he hid the paper. He called a squire

and told him to put on different attire

and take the swan to the castle where

his beloved lived. When he got there

he was to see that she received

the bird herself. The lad believed

he could do this and was on his way

with the swan, proceeding without delay.

As soon as he reached the castle he

spoke to the porter quietly,

explaining that he was by trade

a fowler and that he had made

the trip here to present this bird

to the lady within of whom he’d heard

good things — hoping that she might be

a friend in any emergency

in which bird catchers sometimes get

entangled in someone’s legal net.

The porter explained that nobody

was allowed to speak to the lady, but he

could find a spot in which he might

have a chance to give her the white

swan he carried. The squire expressed

his gratitude to this brightest and best

of fellows. The porter entered the hall

where a couple of knights sat at a small

table playing chess. He came

back and led the squire the same

way. The knights, intent on their board,

did not look up as they tiptoed toward

the lady’s quarters. They knocked at the door

and explained to a maid the reason for

their visit. The lady accepted the swan

and ordered the servants who waited upon

her to care for the bird — but the maid

told her what the squire bade

her say — that nobody else but her

should receive it from the offerer.

It was a lovely specimen

as the lady noticed at once, but then

she stroked its snow-white feathers and found

the letter that had been tied around

its neck. Immediately she knew

from whom it came. She took a few

breaths and ordered, “Let money be

given the man who brought it to me.”

When she was alone with only one

serving maid, the knot was undone,

the seal broken, and the envelope

opened in a moment of hope

she tried to control, but she’d hardly begun

to read when she saw the name “Milun”

at the top of the paper. As she spelled

out the dear letters teardrops welled

up in her eyes so it took her

a moment or two before the blur

resolved to meaningful words: he wrote

of how he had suffered in all his remote

travels both night and day. She could

decide for him if his life would

be worth living. She had to devise

a way to avoid suspicious eyes

so they could meet. He would comply

with any instruction she sent him by

return swan. Let the bird

go and it would return with word

of what she proposed. She brooded upon

his plan and decided to feed the swan

well and then withdraw all food

so it would be hungry and therefore would

return at once to its native ground

where it knew its usual food could be found.

She cared for it for a month to allow

it to regain its strength. Somehow

she got hold of ink and a pen

to write a note to Milun and when

she’d finished hung it on the bird

as he had done. And it all occurred

exactly as she’d planned: it flew

back home to Milun’s town and to

his very dwelling where it alit.

Delighted. Milun made much of it

and immediately had it fed.

Only then was it that he read

its message that confirmed that she

still loved him and could never be

happy without him. Thus, the two

sent the notes that the swan flew

back and forth for twenty years

of fidelity. It even appears

that now and then they managed to

meet, although these occasions were few,

but no guards can frustrate forever

the schemes of lovers who are clever.

Meanwhile, the sister (remember her?)

brought up the baby, handsomer

and stronger every day. He grew

to an age when she entrusted to

his care the letter and the ring

and related to him everything

she knew about him. He was delighted

and set his heart on getting knighted.

“To have a father of such rare

qualities would be hard to bear

if I did not attempt to achieve

a like fame. I’ll have to leave,”

he said and set out at once to be

a perfect model of chivalry.

He went to Southampton where he crossed

the English Channel, tempest-tossed,

to reach Barfleur and then from there

to Brittany, a region where

he jousted in tournaments and won

all his contests. He played for fun

and gave poor knights a goodly share

of his winnings. People everywhere

sang praises of “The Peerless One,”

which is what how they referred to him, for none

knew his name. But his reputation

spread nonetheless, and the approbation

reached the ears of Milun who thought

anyone else who was famous ought

to be tested — could this upstart be

better in combat even than he?

If not, he should be unhorsed,

taught to respect his betters, and forced

to acknowledge freely that Milun

was the best in the world. When that was done,

he would search for the son who he

believed had recently crossed the sea.

All this he set down in a note

he tied around the old swan’s throat,

and his love, approving, wrote to say

she did not wish to stand in his way.

He travelled to Normandy and then

to Brittany, met many men,

took part in tournaments, and he

entertained most lavishly.

He spent the entire winter there

till Easter when from everywhere

knights came to Mont St Michel to find

worthy opponents of every kind —

Normans, Flemish, Bretons, too,

and French. (From England, very few.)

It was easy for Milun to spot

this arriviste. He had a lot

of time to study his technique:

how he spurred his horse to seek

an opponent’s weakness and how he struck

blows that couldn’t have been sheer luck.

Milun did well enough but he

awaited the opportunity

to meet this rising star and show

what jousting was like years ago.

At last he drew the other’s name

and mounted his charger. He nearly came

to unhorsing him but his lance broke.

The other, in a counterstroke,

unseated Milun and he fell

to the ground — where onlookers could tell

his age, revealing his white beard

and white hair. The other knight

took the horse by the reins and he

presented it respectfully

to its rider: “Sir, I do regret

my act against an elder. Let

me help you mount your steed again.

Milun got up and it was then —

a most extraordinary thing —

he saw and recognized the ring

the other wore. He said, “For the love

of God, tell me what you know of

your parents. Who was your father? Who

was you mother? No knight has been able to do

what you just did. My admiration

you have. But give me the information!”

The other said, “I was fathered by

a Welshmen named Milun, and my

mother was some rich man’s daughter

whose love, it is said, Milun had sought. Her

child was sent to Northumbria where

her sister — my aunt — assumed my care.

My hope is that I may find this knight

and show him the ring and other quite

persuasive tokens. Then I shall see

if he will acknowledge and cherish me.”

Milun could hear no more. He leapt

forward and with one hand kept

a grip on the other’s hauberk while

he announced, “You are my son and I’ll

love you. My life is whole once more,

You are the one I’ve been looking for.”

They wept for joy as they embraced

and then they turned together and faced

the other knights who were delighted

witnessing an old wrong righted.

Later, alone, the father explained

how his love for the lady remained

as fresh as ever and he went on

even to tell him about the swan

and how it carried their secret notes

over the castle’s walls and moats.

The son was enchanted by all of this

and on the instant offered his

help to bring his father and mother

together again. It would be no bother

to kill the husband so that the two

could marry as most parents do.

The next day they headed home with a breeze

that was fresh and fair. The vagaries

of life being what they are, they’d gone

not very far when they came upon

a servant from Milun’s lady whose

duty it was to deliver the news

to Milun that the husband was dead.

He told her what the lady had said —

that he should hasten to her at once.

The father’s reaction and the son’s

was to thank heaven. Nothing stood

in their way now and they could

get married. Which they did forthwith.

Before the summoned kin and kith,

the brave son gave his mother away

and they all lived happily from that day.

Not all endings are tragic and we

may share in their felicity.