great light. The knights were sated and weary with
mourning, and have eaten and drunk in the night till they all lay
asleep together. At night Cliges steals forth from the court and
from all the folk. There was not knight or servant who ever knew
what had become of him. He did not rest till he came to John, who
gives him all the counsel that he can. He puts on him a suit of
armour, which he will never need. Both all armed go forth to the
cemetery at post haste; but the cemetery was enclosed all around
by a high wall; and the knights, who were sleeping, and had
closed the door within that none might enter, thought they were
safe. Cliges sees not how he may pass, for he cannot enter by the
door, and yet by hook or by crook he must enter, for love exhorts
and admonishes him. He grips the wall and mounts up, for right
strong and agile was he. Within was an orchard and there were
trees in plenty. Near the wall one had been planted so that it
touched the wall. Now has Cliges what he wished for; he let
himself down by this tree. The first thing that he did was to go
and open the door to John. They see the knights sleeping and they
have extinguished all the tapers, so that no light remains there.
And now John uncovers the grave and opens the tomb, so that he
injures it not at all. Cliges leaps into the grave and has
carried forth his lady, who is very weak and lifeless, and he
falls on her neck and kisses and embraces her. He knows not
whether to rejoice or mourn; for she moves not nor stirs. And
John has closed again the tomb with all the speed he may, so that
it does not in any wise appear that it had been touched. They
have approached the tower as quickly as ever they could. When
they had put her within the tower in the rooms that were
underground, then they took off the grave-clothes, and Cliges,
who knew nothing of the draught that she had within her body,
which makes her dumb and prevents her stirring, thinks in
consequence that she is dead, and he loses hope and comfort
thereat, and sighs deeply and weeps. But soon the hour will have
come that the draught will lose its force. And Fenice, who hears
him lament, tries and strains that she may be able to comfort him
either by word or by look. Her heart nearly breaks because of the
mourning she hears him make. "Ha! Death," quoth he, "how base
thou art, in that thou sparest and passest by worthless and
outcast creatures! Such thou dost allow to last and live. Death!
art tho