The ship that carried Aucassin was wrecked in a great storm, and it drifted over the sea to Beaucaire.  The people that ran to break up the wreck found their young lord, and made great joy over his return.  For his father was dead, and he was now Count Aucassin.  The people led him to the castle, and did homage to him, and he held all his lands in peace.  But little delight had Aucassin in his wealth and power and kingdom.

    Though he lived in joy and ease,
    And his kingdom was at peace,
    Aucassin did so regret
    His sweet lady, Nicolette,
    That he would have liefer died
    In the battle by her side. 
    “Ah, my Nicolette,” he said,
    “Are you living, are you dead? 
    All my kingdom I would give
    For the news that still you live. 
    For the joy of finding you
    Would I search the whole world through,
    Did I think you living yet,
    Nicolette—­my Nicolette!”

V.—­Nicolette’s Love Song

In the meantime, the Saracens took Nicolette to their great city of Carthage; and because she was lovely and seemed of noble birth, they led her to their king.  And when Nicolette saw the King of Carthage, she knew him again; and he, also, knew her.  For she was his daughter who had been carried off in her young days by the Christians.  Her father held a great feast in honour of Nicolette, and would have married her to a mighty king of Paynim.  But Nicolette had no mind to marry anyone but Aucassin, and she devised how she might get news of her lover.  One night she smeared her face with a brown ointment, and dressed herself in minstrel’s clothes, and took a viol, and stole out of her father’s palace to the seashore.  There she found a ship that was bound for Provence, and she sailed in it to Beaucaire.  She took her viol, and went playing through the town, and came to the castle.  Aucassin was sitting on the castle steps with his proud barons and brave knights around him, gazing sorrowfully at the sweet flowers, and listening to the singing of the birds.

“Shall I sing you a new song, sire?” said Nicolette.

“Yes, fair friend,” said Aucassin; “if it be a merry one, for I am very sad.”

“If you like it,” said Nicolette, “you will find it merry enough.”

She drew the bow across her viol, and made sweet music, and then she sung: 

    Once a lover met a maid
    Wandering in a forest glade,
    Where she had a pretty house
    Framed with flowers and leafy boughs. 
    Maid and lover merrily
    Sailed away across the sea,
    To a castle by the strand
    Of a strange and pleasant land. 
    There they lived in great delight
    Till the Saracens by night
    Stormed the keep, and took the maid,
    With the captives of their raid. 
    Back to Carthage they returned,
    And the maiden sadly mourned. 
    But they did not make of her