{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_55765/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_55765","id":"gutenberg_55765","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55765","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Fairies -- Juvenile fiction","Fairy tales","Knights and knighthood -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file\n which includes the original lovely illustrations in color.\n See 55765-h.htm or 55765-h.zip:\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/55765/pg55765-images.html)\n or\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/55765/55765-h.zip)\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s note:\n\n Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAERY QUEEN\nAND HER KNIGHTS\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\nNEW YORK \u00b7 BOSTON \u00b7 CHICAGO\nATLANTA \u00b7 SAN FRANCISCO\n\nMACMILLAN & CO., Limited\nLONDON \u00b7 BOMBAY \u00b7 CALCUTTA\nMELBOURNE\n\nTHE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.\nTORONTO\n\n\n[Illustration: The Slaying of the Dragon.]\n\n\nTHE FAERY QUEEN AND HER KNIGHTS\n\nStories Retold from Edmund Spenser\n\nby the\n\nRev. ALFRED J. CHURCH, M.A.\n\nAuthor of \u201cStories from Homer\u201d\n\nWith Illustrations in Colour\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNew York\nThe Macmillan Company\n1909\nAll rights reserved\n\nCopyright, 1909,\nBy the Macmillan Company.\nSet up and electrotyped. Published October, 1909.\n\nNorwood Press\nJ. S. Cushing Co.\u2014Berwick & Smith Co.\nNorwood, Mass., U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n CHAP. PAGE\n I. The Red-Cross Knight 1\n II. Archimage and Duessa 7\n III. The Fortunes of Una 16\n IV. Of what befell at the House of Pride 24\n V. How the Red-Cross Knight leaves the Castle of Pride 29\n VI. The Lady Una and the Satyrs 35\n VII. Of the Giant Orgoglio 42\n VIII. Of the Deeds of Prince Arthur 49\n IX. Of the House of Holiness 55\n X. Of the Slaying of the Dragon 64\n XI. Of Sir Guyon and the Lady Medina 71\n XII. How Sir Guyon came into Great Peril 77\n XIII. Of Two Pagan Knights 89\n XIV. Of Queen Acrasia 96\n XV. Britomart 102\n XVI. Of Merlin\u2019s Magic Mirror 109\n XVII. How Britomart took to Arms 117\n XVIII. Sir Scudamore and Amoret 127\n XIX. Of Sir Paridell and Others 135\n XX. The Story of Canac\u00e9 and the Three Brothers 142\n XXI. The Story of Florimell 153\n XXII. Of the False Florimell 160\n XXIII. Sir Satyrane\u2019s Tournament 168\n XXIV. Of Florimell\u2019s Girdle 176\n XXV. Of Britomart and Artegall 180\n XXVI. Of the Fortunes of Amoret 190\n XXVII. Of Sir Artegall and the Knight Sanglier 197\n XXVIII. Of Other Adventures of Sir Artegall 202\n XXIX. Sir Artegall does Justice 214\n XXX. Radigund 221\n XXXI. How Sir Artegall was Delivered 233\n XXXII. Of the Knave Malengin 247\n XXXIII. Of the Lady Belg\u00e9 252\n XXXIV. Of Sir Artegall and Grantorto 263\n XXXV. Of Sir Calidore and the Lady Briana 270\n XXXVI. Of the Valour of Tristram 278\n XXXVII. Sir Calepine and the Lady Serena 286\n XXXVIII. Of Sir Calidore and Pastorella 294\n XXXIX. The End of Sir Calidore\u2019s Quest 301\n\n\n\n\n LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n The Slaying of the Dragon _Frontispiece_\n FACING PAGE\n The Red-Cross Knight and Sansfoy 10\n The Lady Una and the Lion 20\n Sir Guyon and the Men in Bestial Shapes 100\n Agap\u00e9 approaching the Dwelling of the Fates 142\n Sir Scudamore overthrown by Britomart 184\n Sir Artegall and the Saracen 204\n Prince Arthur slaying the Seneschal 256\n\n\n\n\n THE FAERY QUEEN\n AND HER KNIGHTS\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER I\n THE RED-CROSS KNIGHT\n\n\nOnce upon a time there might have been seen a gentle Knight, riding\nacross the plain. He was clad in armour of proof, and on his arm he\ncarried a silver shield. A shield it was that brave men had carried\nbefore him, for there were great dints upon it, which were as a witness\nof great fights that had been fought. Now the Knight himself had never\nyet been in battle; but he seemed as one who could bear himself bravely,\nso well did he sit upon his horse, and so stout of limb he was. On his\nbreast he wore a cross, red as blood, in token that he was vowed to\nserve the Lord Christ, who had died for him; and on his shield was yet\nanother cross, to be as it were a sign that this service should be a\ndefence to him in all dangers. Somewhat sad of look he was, not as\nthough he had fear in his heart, but rather as one upon whom had been\nlaid the burden of a great task. And such, in truth, there was, for\nQueen Gloriana had sent him upon a great enterprise, and all his heart\nwas full of the thought of how he should best accomplish it. And the\ntask was this\u2014to slay the Great Dragon.\n\nBeside the Knight a lady was riding on an ass as white as snow. Very\nfair she was; but she hid her fairness under a veil, which was brought\nlow over her face. She was clad also in a garment of black; and she,\ntoo, was somewhat sad of look, nor, indeed, without cause. She came of a\nroyal stock, being descended from ancient kings and queens, who had held\nwide sway in their land until this same Dragon had driven out their\nancient house and had cruelly wasted all their realm. The third of this\ncompany was a Dwarf, who lagged behind, wearied, it may be, with the\nweight of the bag in which he bore this fair lady\u2019s gear.\n\nWhile the three, to wit the Knight, and the Lady, and the Dwarf, passed\non, the sky was suddenly covered with clouds, and there began to fall a\ngreat storm of rain, so that they were fain to seek some shelter.\nGladly, then, did they espy a wood hard by that promised, so thickly\ngrown it was, a shelter from the rain. Tall were the trees and spreading\nwide with shady branches, so that neither sun by day nor star by night\ncould pierce through. And all about were paths and ways, worn as by the\ntreading of many feet, which seemed to lead to the abodes of men\u2014a\nfairer place of shelter, as it seemed, there scarce could be. So they\npassed along, the birds singing sweetly the while; overhead were trees\nof many kinds, trees of the forest and of the orchard, the cedar and the\noak, and the elm with the vine clinging to its stem, the yew for bows,\nand the birch for arrows, and the fruitful olive. So fair was the place,\nand so full of delights, that the travellers took no heed of the way by\nwhich they went. So it came to pass that they strayed from the path by\nwhich they first entered the wood, nor could they win to it again when\nonce they had left it, so many were the ways and so like the one to the\nother. After a time, when they had taken counsel together, it seemed\nbest to choose the way which seemed most trodden by the feet of\ntravellers, as being the likeliest to lead to a certain end. When they\nhad followed this awhile, they came to a great cave, deep in the very\nthicket of the wood. Here the Knight sprang from his horse, and gave to\nthe Dwarf his spear, thinking that he should not need it. But his sword\nhe kept.\n\nThen said the Lady Una, for that was her name: \u201cBe not overbold, Sir\nKnight; there may be mischief here of which you know nothing, peril\nwhich gives no sign of itself, even as a fire which burns without smoke;\nhold back, I pray you, till you have made some trial of the place.\u201d\n\nThe Knight made reply: \u201cFair lady, it were a shame to fall back for fear\nof a shadow. The cave, doubtless, is dark, but where there is courage\nthere is not wanting a light for the feet.\u201d\n\nThen said the Lady again: \u201cNay, nay, Sir Knight; I know this place by\nrepute, though I thought not of it before. This wood in which we are\nlost is the Wood of Wandering; this cave which you see before you is the\nDen of Error, a monster, hateful both to God and man. Beware, therefore,\nbeware!\u201d And the Dwarf cried out aloud in his fear: \u201cFly, Sir Knight,\nfly, this is no place for mortal man.\u201d\n\nBut the Knight would not be persuaded. He stepped into the cave, and the\nlight of day, shining from without on his armour, showed him dimly the\nmonster that was within. Hideous it was to behold, half a serpent and\nhalf a woman, and all as foul as ever creature was, upon the earth or\nunder it. All the length of the cave she lay, her tail wound in many\ncoils; and in every coil there was a deadly sting. And all round her was\na brood of young ones. Many different shapes they had, but hideous all.\nAnd as soon as the light from the Knight\u2019s armour glimmered through the\ndarkness, they fled for shelter to the mouth of their dam.\n\nThe monster, wakened from her sleep, curled her tail about her head, and\nrushed to the cavern\u2019s mouth, but, seeing one armed from top to toe in\nshining mail, would have turned again. But the Knight leaped at her,\nfierce as a lion leaps upon his prey, and barred her backward way with\nhis sword. First she darted at him her great tail, and threatened him\nwith the deadly sting that lay in it; but he, not one whit dismayed,\naimed at her head a mighty blow. Her head it wounded not, but glanced on\nto the neck with force so great that for a while the great beast was\nstunned. Then, coming to herself, she raised her body high from the\nground, and leaped upon the Knight\u2019s shield, and wrapped his body round\nwith huge folds.\n\nThen Una, seeing in how sore plight he was, cried out: \u201cNow show, Sir\nKnight, what you are. Put out all your force, and, above all things,\nback your force with faith, and be not faint. Strangle this monster, or\nsurely she will strangle you!\u201d\n\nGreatly was his heart stirred within him with grief and anger, and,\nknitting all his strength together, he gripped the creature by the\nthroat so mightily that she was constrained to loosen the bonds which\nshe had cast about him. And yet, it had well-nigh cost him dear to come\nso close to the monster, so foul she was. And of this foulness the worst\nwas this, that she caused to come forth out of her mouth, as in a flood,\nthe brood which had taken shelter therein at the first. Serpents they\nwere, like to their dam, small indeed, but full of venom, and they\nswarmed over him, twining themselves about his arms and legs, so that he\ncould not strike a blow nor even move. So, in some still eventide, a\nshepherd, sitting to watch his flock, is suddenly assailed by a cloud of\ngnats; feeble creatures they are, and slight their sting, but they\nsuffer him not to rest. The Red-Cross Knight was in a strait more dire,\nfor these evil creatures had power to do him a more grievous harm. But\nhe thought to himself, \u201cShall I be vanquished in this fashion?\u201d He was\nsomewhat moved by the danger wherein he stood, but more ashamed that he\nshould be overcome in so foul a fashion. So, resolved in his heart that\nhe would put all his strength into a stroke, either to win or to lose,\nhe gathered himself together, and struck the monster with a blow so\nfierce that he shore the head from the body, and she fell dead upon the\nground.\n\nThen said the Lady Una: \u201cWell, indeed, have you carried yourself, Sir\nKnight. Surely you were born under a lucky star, seeing that you have\novercome so terrible a foe. You are worthy of these arms wherewith you\nare clad. So is your first adventure brought to a good result. God grant\nthat you have many such in the time to come, and that they may be\nbrought to as happy an ending.\u201d\n\nThen the Knight sprang upon his horse, and the Lady Una mounted again\nher ass, and the Dwarf followed as before. And now they kept with\nsteadfast purpose to the one way which they saw to be most trodden,\nturning neither to the right nor to the left, how fair soever the path\nmight seem. So at last they came to the outskirts of the Wandering Wood,\nand journeyed once more across the plain.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER II\n ARCHIMAGE AND DUESSA\n\n\nSo the two, the Knight and the Lady, rode on, the Dwarf following as\nbefore. After a while they chanced to meet an old man by the road. He\nwas clothed in black and barefooted, and he had a long white beard, and\na book was hanging from his belt. A very wise old man he seemed, sober\nand even somewhat sad, and as he went along he seemed to be praying; and\nnow and again he would beat upon his breast, saying, \u201cGod be merciful to\nme a sinner!\u201d He made a humble reverence to the Knight, and the Knight\nin his courtesy made his salute, and said: \u201cSir, do you know of any\nadventure that a Christian man may undertake?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy son,\u201d said the old man, \u201chow should one who lives in his cell and\ntells his beads and does penance for his sins know aught of wars and\nenterprises by which glory may be won? Nevertheless, I can tell of a\nvery evil man who dwells in these forests and wastes all the\ncountry-side.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d cried the Knight, \u201cit is for such an adventure, the setting right\nof wrong, that I seek. Bring me to this villain\u2019s dwelling and I will\nreward you well.\u201d\n\n\u201cWillingly,\u201d said the old man, \u201cwill I guide you thither, but the way is\nlong and painful.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd surely,\u201d said the Lady Una, \u201cyou are wearied with your late\nencounter. I take it that he who lacks rest lacks strength, however\nstout of limb he be. Take your rest then with the sun, and begin your\nnew work with the new day.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is wise counsel, Sir Knight,\u201d said the old man, \u201cand wise counsel\never wins the day. The day is far spent; come, then, and take such poor\nentertainment as my home can give.\u201d\n\nWith this the Knight was well content. So they followed the old man to\nhis dwelling. It was a lowly hermitage, in a valley, close to the\nforest, with a chapel hard by, and by this chapel a brook crystal clear.\nHumble was their fare, but the rest after the day\u2019s toil made it sweet\nenough, as also did the old man\u2019s talk, for he discoursed of many things\nand many men, saints and popes, and the great deeds which they had done.\nThen, as the night drew on and sleep began to fall upon their eyes, he\nshowed them the places where they should lodge for the night.\n\nNow this old man, who seemed so pious and good, with his long white\nbeard, and his prayers, and his beating of his breast, was really a\nwicked magician. So soon as he had taken his guests to their lodgings,\nhe went to his study, where he kept his books of charms with other\ncontrivances of his art, and taking one of these books from the shelf on\nwhich it stood, opened it, and began to mutter some dreadful words which\nit were a great sin for anyone to write or read. With these he brought\nup from their dwelling-place in the lower parts of the earth a very\nlegion of evil spirits. To these he gave a part of his evil work to do,\nand some of this work he kept to himself; and the work was this: To\ncheat the hearts of those whom he wished to deceive with false dreams\nand visions. What these were, it is best not to tell: let it be enough\nto say that they wrought such doubts concerning the Lady Una in the\nheart of the Red-Cross Knight that, as soon as the morning dawned, he\nrose from his bed, and clothed himself with all haste, and crying for\nthe Dwarf that he should bring him his horse, rode away as fast as the\nbeast could carry him.\n\nHe had not ridden many miles before there met him a paynim knight. A\ntall warrior and a strong he was, armed from top to toe, and carrying a\ngreat shield on which were written in scarlet letters the words \u201c_Sans\nFoy_,\u201d which, being interpreted, mean \u201cWithout Faith.\u201d With him there\nrode a fair lady, clad also in scarlet, with ornaments of gold and\nnecklaces of coral, and on her head a Persian cap set round with crowns\nof gold. Her horse also had gay trappings, and her bridle was set with\nbells of gold, which tinkled bravely as she rode. So soon as she saw the\nRed-Cross Knight she said to her companion, \u201cSee now, here comes your\nenemy; make ready.\u201d\n\nNo sooner had she spoken, but he stuck spurs in his horse, and rode at\nthe Red-Cross Knight. Nor did the knight hold back from the fray, for he\nalso put his spear in rest and charged. So the two met fully and fairly,\nwith so fierce a shock that the two horses stood, as it were, struck to\nstone, and the riders were borne backwards in their saddles, holding\neach of them in his hand his broken spear. Then the Saracen drew his\nsword from the scabbard, and addressed himself again to the fray. So did\nthe Christian also; blow for blow did they deal one to the other, till\nthe sparks flew from their shields, and when they chanced to strike\nhome, the blood flowed forth and dyed the earth under their feet. After\na while cried the Saracen: \u201cNow curse upon that Cross which keeps your\nbody from harm! You had been dead long since but for that magic power.\nFor all that, I bid you now beware, and keep safe your head if it may\nbe.\u201d\n\nSo saying, he dealt a blow so fierce that it shore away half the\nChristian\u2019s crest, yet glancing down upon the shield harmed him no more.\nYet was it not struck in vain, for it roused him of the Red Cross to\nsuch rage that he made a more than like reply. Full on the Saracen\u2019s\nhelmet he dealt his stroke. Right through the steel it passed, and cleft\nthe head, so that the Saracen fell a dead man from his horse.\n\nWhen the lady saw her champion fall, not a moment did she stay to see\nhow it had fared with him, either to tend his wounds, or to weep for his\ndeath, but fled away as fast as her horse could carry her. Then the\nRed-Cross Knight, crying to the Dwarf that he should pick up the dead\nman\u2019s shield to be a memorial of the fight, rode after her, and\novertaking her, bade her halt: \u201cYou have no cause to fear, fair lady,\u201d\nhe said.\n\n[Illustration: The Red Cross Knight and Sansfoy.]\n\nThen she, turning back, cried aloud: \u201cFair Sir, have mercy on an unhappy\nwoman!\u201d\n\nMuch was he moved to see her humbleness, for she was beautiful to look\non, and richly clad, as one of noble birth might be. \u201cLady,\u201d said he,\n\u201cbe of good heart. It pitieth me to see you in such distress; tell me\nnow who you are, and whence you come, and who was this your champion?\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d she answered, weeping the while, \u201cI have suffered much from evil\nfortune. I was the only daughter of an emperor, who had wide dominion\nover the land of the West, setting his throne where flows the famous\nstream of Tiber. Being such, I was betrothed in my early youth to the\nonly son and heir of a most wise and mighty king. Never surely was\nprince so fair and faithful as he, never one so gentle and debonair. But\nalas! ere the day appointed for our marriage came, my lord fell into the\nhands of cruel enemies, and was most foully slain. When this ill news\ncame to me, I said to myself: \u2018Now will I at least do due honour to the\ndear body of him whom I loved.\u2019 So I set forth from my father\u2019s house\nupon this quest. Long did I wander over the world, a virgin widow, nor\ndid I find that for which I sought. At last I chanced to meet this\nSaracen, who now lies dead upon the plain. He constrained me to go with\nhim, and would fain have won me for his wife, but I ever said him nay.\nAnd now he lies dead. An evil man he was, one of an evil brotherhood of\nthree\u2014Sansloy, the eldest; Sansjoy, the youngest; and this Sansfoy, of\nmiddle age between the two.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe contented, fair lady,\u201d answered the Knight; \u201cyou have done well. You\nhave found a new friend and lost an old foe. Friend, be he ever so new,\nis better, I trow, than foe, new or old.\u201d\n\nSo the two rode on, he making merry with gay talk, as became a courteous\nknight, and she, with much modest show of bashfulness. After a while\nthey came in their journey to two fair trees, which spread their\nbranches across the road. Lovely trees they seemed, and fair was the\nshade which they cast. Yet was the place held in ill-repute of all the\ncountry-side; never did shepherd sit beneath them to rest or play upon\nhis oaten pipe, for all men held it to be unlucky ground. But of this\nthe good Knight knew nothing, so, the sun being now high in heaven, and\nof so fierce a heat that a man might scarcely abide it, he dismounted\nand bade the lady do likewise, so that they might rest awhile, and anon,\nin the cool of the evening, might pursue their journey. So the two sat\nthem down and talked.\n\nNow the Knight, being in a merry mood, said to himself: \u201cSurely, this is\nthe fairest of women; it is meet that she should be crowned.\u201d So saying,\nhe plucked a branch which he would have shaped into a garland for the\nlady\u2019s head. Then, lo! from the place where the branch had been plucked\ncame trickling drops of blood, and there issued forth a lamentable voice\nwhich said: \u201cStranger! Tear not in this cruel fashion the tender human\nlimbs which are covered by the bark of this tree. Fly also from the\nplace, fly, lest haply the same fate should come upon you as came upon\nme in this place, both on me and on the dear lady also who was my love.\u201d\n\nMuch was the Knight astonished to hear such words, and for a while he\nstood speechless. Then he said: \u201cWhat ghost is this from the world\nbelow, what wandering spirit that talks in this strange fashion?\u201d\n\nThen there came this answer: \u201cNo ghost am I from the nether world, nor\nwandering spirit of the air. I was a man, Fradubio by name, as now I am\na tree, being charmed by the arts of a wicked witch. But I am yet a man,\nfor I feel the winter cold and the summer heat in these branches, even\nas a man might feel.\u201d\n\nThen said the Knight: \u201cTell me now, Fradubio, be you tree or man, how\nyou came to suffer in this fashion. It is good for a man to tell his\ntrouble; he who hides it in his heart makes his griefs to be twice as\ngreat.\u201d\n\nThen did Fradubio tell his tale, \u201cKnow, stranger, that I suffer this\ntrouble through the arts of a false sorceress, Duessa by name; nor I\nonly, for she has brought many knights into a like evil case. In my\nyouth, which indeed is not long passed, I loved a fair lady, whom you\nmay see, not indeed in the fashion of a lady, but as yonder tree which\njoins its branches with these. Once upon a time, when I was riding\nabroad with her, I chanced to meet a knight, who also had a fair lady\nfor a companion. A fair lady I called her, and so she seemed, but she\nwas in truth this same false witch Duessa. Said the strange Knight: \u2018I\ndo declare that this lady is the fairest dame in all the world, and this\nI will make good with my sword and spear against all the world.\u2019 For the\nwitch had cast her spells over him and deceived him. And when I put\nforth the same challenge for my own lady, we fell to fighting, and he\nfared so ill, that he fell by my hand.\n\n\u201cSo now there were two fair ladies, for so it seemed, Fraelissa, who was\nfair in truth, and Duessa, who by her wicked arts had made herself so to\nseem. And I knew not to which I should give the prize of beauty, for it\nseemed the due of each. But while I doubted, this wicked witch raised by\nevil arts such a mist as made Fraelissa\u2019s face to lose all its fairness.\nWhich when she had accomplished, she cried: \u2018See now how this false dame\nhas lost her beauty, for indeed it was but borrowed. Many has she\ndeceived in time past, even as now she has deceived you.\u2019 When I heard\nthis, I would fain have killed the fair lady that had been my true love.\nBut this the false Duessa, feigning compassion, would not suffer. Only\nwith her magic arts she changed her into that tree which you see yonder.\n\n\u201cNow you must know that for every witch, be she as crafty as she may,\nthere is one day in every year when she is constrained to take her true\nshape. And on this day I chanced to see Duessa as she was in truth, old\nand foul of hue, fouler than one had thought woman could be. Nor did she\nfail to perceive that I had discovered the truth, though indeed I sought\nto bear myself as before, having it in my mind secretly to escape, and\nfly from her company. So she practised upon me the same wicked arts that\nshe had used with my Fraelissa, changing me into the semblance of a\ntree. And here we stand, banished from the company of men, and wasting\nweary days and nights.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d said the Knight, \u201chow long shall this endure? What is the\nappointed end of your sufferings?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe must here abide till we shall be bathed in a living well,\u201d Fradubio\nmade answer.\n\n\u201cCan I find this same well?\u201d asked the Knight.\n\n\u201cThat shall be as the Fates may decree,\u201d said Fradubio.\n\nAll this Duessa\u2014who called herself Fidessa\u2014heard, and knew it for truth.\nShe well-nigh fainted for fear; but the time for the discovering of her\nfalseness was not yet.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER III\n THE FORTUNES OF UNA\n\n\nWhile the Red-Cross Knight was thus faring, the Lady Una was not a\nlittle troubled that she should have been so left by her champion. Never\ndid she cease to search for him, wandering the while over plain, and\nforest, and mountain, and not one whit afraid, however desolate they\nwere.\n\nOn a certain day she lighted off the ass, on which she was wont to ride,\nand laid herself down to rest in a solitary place, under the shadow of a\ntree; she took the covering from her head, and laid aside her black\ncloak; her faithful beast grazed hard by, for there was much grass in\nthe place. As she lay, there rushed out of the wood with which the\nmeadow was circled about a furious lion. Wild he was with hunger, and\nwas hunting for prey. And when he saw the royal maid, he ran greedily at\nher with open mouth, as if he would have devoured her; but when he came\nnear, and saw what manner of maid she was, all his rage departed from\nhim. He kissed her weary feet, and licked with his tongue her lily\nhands, crouching down before her as if to show himself her servant. At\nthe first sight of the beast the Lady Una was not a little afraid, but\nwhen she saw how gently he bore himself, she sighed and said: \u201cSee now,\nhow this lion, who is the king of the forest, forgets his hunger and his\nrage in pity of my sad state, while he who was my champion leaves me to\nwander alone.\u201d So she spake till she could speak no more for very tears,\nand the lion meanwhile stood looking upon her. Then\u2014for the lady was of\na brave spirit\u2014she shut up her sorrows in her heart, and mounted on her\nsteed again, and set out once more upon her quest. It was a long and\nweary way which she went, through divers places, where there were no\ninhabitants, and still the lion went with her, ready to guard her\nagainst all dangers. While she slept, he watched over her, and when she\nawaked he awaited her command, watching her eyes so that he might\ndiscern her pleasure.\n\nAfter long journeying, in which they saw no sign of the presence of man,\nthey came to a place which, from the wearing of the grass, seemed to be\ntrodden by human feet. And in no long time the lady espied a woman, who\nwas following the path with slow steps, and carrying on her head a\npitcher of water. The lady cried to her, \u201cTell me now, my friend,\nwhether there may be any dwelling near to hand, where I may rest\nawhile?\u201d But the woman answered her never a word, seeming as if she\ncould neither understand nor speak. But when, turning her eyes, she saw\nthe lion by the lady\u2019s side, she threw down her pitcher, and fled as\nfast as her feet could carry her. Not once did she look behind her, but\nfled as if for her life till she came to the house where she dwelt with\nher mother, a blind woman. Not a word did she say, but her fear was\nplain to see, and the old woman perceived that there was some great\ndanger at hand, so when they two had shut the door they hid themselves\nin the darkest corner of the cottage.\n\nIn a short space of time came Una and her lion to the door. Thereat the\nlady knocked, but when no one answered, and the time was passing, the\nlion in his impatience rent the wicket-gate with his claws and let her\nin. No further hurt did he, and when Una had with much gentle speech\nallayed the women\u2019s fear, they laid themselves down to sleep.\n\nBut when the night was far spent, there came one to the door demanding\nentrance, and when this was not speedily given him, using many oaths and\ncurses. He was a sturdy thief, by name Kirkrapine, that is to say,\nRobber of Churches, and this indeed was his trade. He was wont to steal\naway the ornaments of churches, and to strip off from the images of the\nsaints the vestments with which they were clad, and to purloin the robes\nof the priests, and to break open the boxes in which were put the alms\nfor the poor. No small share of the plunder did he bring to the house\nwhere Una lay that night, for he was the lover of the old woman\u2019s\ndaughter, and he could never give her enough of gold and jewels and\nprecious things. But whether the old woman knew of the matter none can\ntell, though it might have seemed that such doings were not to her mind,\nseeing that she told her beads and prayed both by day and by night; nine\nhundred Paternosters would she say daily, and of Ave Marias twice as\nmany. Thrice in the week, also, did she sit in ashes; thrice three times\nshe fasted from all food and drink, and she wore sackcloth nearest to\nher skin.\n\nNow when this same Kirkrapine found that, for all his cursing, he could\nnot win an entrance, for, indeed, though the women heard him, they were\nhindered from rising by fear of the lion, he let fly furiously at the\ndoor and brake it down, and would have entered. But as he was about to\ncross the threshold, the beast, thinking that his lady was in danger,\nsprang at him, and brought him to the ground, and so tore him that he\ndied, which, having done, the lion came back to his place by the lady\u2019s\nside, and watched her as before.\n\nWhen the day broke, the Lady Una rose from her place, and went forth\nfrom the cottage, and journeyed onwards still seeking the Knight, and\nthe lion went with her. The old woman also and her daughter, so soon as\nthe house was clear of its guests, rose up. But when they found\nKirkrapine lying dead before the door, great was their grief and greater\nstill their anger.\n\n\u201cThis,\u201d they cried, \u201cthe savage beast has done,\u201d and they followed with\nall the speed they might use, and so overtook her. Harm her they might\nnot, for they feared the lion, and when they had cursed her loud and\nlong they turned back to go to their own house.\n\nAs they went they met a knight, fully clad in armour. But yet he was no\nknight but only the wizard Archimage, who had taken upon himself, by\nhelp of his wicked arts, the semblance of the Red-Cross Knight. The\nfalse knight asked them whether they had seen a lady journeying alone.\n\n\u201cYea,\u201d the old woman answered, \u201csuch I have seen; an evil woman she is,\nand much harm hath she wrought.\u201d And she told a piteous tale of the\nthings which she had suffered. This done, she showed him the way by\nwhich he must go, if he would overtake the lady, and he, having thanked\nher with due courtesy, rode on. Nor was it long before he overtook the\nLady Una, for she, having but an ass for her steed, travelled slowly.\nWhen she saw him, and noted the Red Cross on his shield and the like\nemblem on his breast, she said to herself: \u201cNow God be thanked, I see my\ntrue champion again,\u201d and she rode to meet him, and greeted him with\nfriendly words, saying: \u201cWhere have you been these weary days, my lord?\nI have fared ill without your company,\u201d and she told him of all the\ntroubles and dangers through which she had passed.\n\nOn the other hand, the false knight spoke her fair: \u201cFor this cause I\nleft you, dearest lady, that I might seek an adventure of which\nArchimage told me, and how I might deal with a felon who had done great\nharm to many gallant knights. And, indeed, I did deal with him, so that\nhe shall hurt such knights no more. I pray you, fair lady, to pardon me\nthat I left you awhile, even for such cause, and to take me once more as\nyour faithful servant and champion.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: The Lady Una and the Lion.]\n\nSo the two rode on together. They had not travelled many miles when they\nsaw coming to them, riding at the full speed of his horse a knight fully\narmed. When he came near they saw that he was a man of very fierce\naspect, and that he carried on his shield the name _Sansloy_. Fierce as\nhe was of look, he grew fiercer yet when he perceived the false knight\u2019s\nshield, how it had the badge of the Red Cross. Not a word did he speak,\nbut he laid his spear in rest and rode fiercely forward.\n\nSorely dismayed was Archimage, and loath to meet the stranger in battle,\nfor, indeed, he was not used to bearing arms. Yet could he not hold back\nfor very shame. The Lady Una also looked at him that he should bear\nhimself bravely. But it fared ill with him, and, indeed, it would have\nfared worse but that his steed, being no less timorous than himself,\nheld back in the onset, so that the shock of their meeting was the less\nfierce. Nevertheless, he was thrown to the ground, where he lay helpless\nand without defence.\n\nThe strange knight leapt lightly from his horse, and made as though he\nwould have slain his adversary. \u201cHa!\u201d he cried, \u201cso he that slew the\nbrave knight Sansfoy, my brother, has come by his deserts. Sansfoy he\nslew, and by Sansloy he shall be slain!\u201d\n\nThen he began to unlace the man\u2019s helmet as he lay upon the ground, but\nthe Lady Una cried, \u201cOh, Sir Knight, hold your hand; is it not enough\nthat you have vanquished him? He lies there at your mercy. Therefore\nhave mercy upon him. Verily there is not in the whole world a truer\nknight than he.\u201d But the stranger had no mind to hold his hand, for,\nindeed, he had no compassion within his heart. But when he had ended the\nunlacing of the helmet, and was now ready to strike, he saw the hoary\nhead and wrinkled face of Archimage, and cried: \u201cWhat is this that I\nsee, Archimage, luckless sire? By what ill-fortune have you come across\nme in this fashion? Is the fault with me or with you, that I should have\ndealt with a friend as though he were an enemy?\u201d\n\nSo he spake, but not a word did the wizard answer. He lay in a swoon,\nand the shadow of death was on his face. And now the Lady Una had come\nand was looking into the old man\u2019s face. Sore dismayed she was and sore\nvexed; for he whom she had taken for her champion was a deceiver; nor\ncould she divine how she might escape from the hand of this paynim\nknight. And now she had to bear yet another grief. For when Sansloy laid\na rude hand upon her and bade her descend from her steed, and caught\naway her veil that he might look upon her face, the lion, not enduring\nto see his mistress so handled and treated, sprang at the knight, but\nalas! what was he to withstand a knight clad in armour of proof, with\nspear and sword? Soon did Sansloy thrust him through with the iron\npoint, so that the faithful beast fell dead upon the ground, and the\nlady was left helpless and without defence.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER IV\n OF WHAT BEFELL AT THE HOUSE OF PRIDE\n\n\nThe Red-Cross Knight rode on with the false Fidessa, not knowing that\nshe was indeed the witch Duessa, who had changed the unhappy Fradubio\ninto a tree. After a while they came to a road which was manifestly much\nfrequented of men, and following this beheld before them a very stately\npalace. \u201cCome,\u201d said Duessa, \u201clet us seek shelter here, for I am weary\nwith my journeying and the day is far spent.\u201d\n\nIt was, indeed, a very noble house, cunningly built of bricks laid\nartfully together without mortar. It had very lofty walls, but they were\nas slight as they were high, overlaid with shining gold, with many\ntowers rising from them, and goodly galleries disposed among them, and\nspacious windows. No one could blame the skill of the architect that had\nplanned it, or of the builders that had raised it up, so fair it was to\nlook upon; yet it was passing strange that it had been built in a place\nso ill chosen, to wit, upon a sandy hill, so that the foundations were\never slipping away from it; and when the winds blew upon it it was\nshaken most perilously, and the lower parts, for all that they were\npainted so as to make a very brave show, were ruinous and old.\n\nThey passed by the porter, whose name was Malvenu, which being\ninterpreted is \u201cIll come,\u201d without challenge, and so came into the hall.\nThis was right richly arrayed with arras and cloth-of-gold, and was\nfilled from end to end with a great crowd of people of all sorts and\ndegrees, waiting, all of them, for a sight of the lady of the house.\nThese also they passed, as being guests to whom special honour was due,\nand so were brought into the presence of the lady, where she sat with as\nfair and richly-clad a company of knights and dames about her as ever\nwas seen upon the earth. High on a throne, splendid in royal robes and\nornaments of gold and jewels costly beyond all count, sat the lady. Fair\nshe was, so fair that throne and robes and gold and gems were as nothing\nin comparison with her beauty. Under her feet was a great dragon, and in\nher hand she held a shining mirror of brass, and her name was Lucifera.\nShe was, indeed, the Queen of Pride, and all her brave show was a false\nseeming, and her kingdom a kingdom of unrighteousness.\n\nThe Knight, not knowing what the lady truly was, and false Duessa, to\nwhom all these things were well pleasing, being introduced by a certain\nusher of the court, Vanity by name, bowed themselves low before the\nthrone. And the Knight said, \u201cLady, we are come to see your royal state,\nand to prove the report of your great majesty which has gone through all\nthe world.\u201d \u201cI thank you,\u201d said the lady, but in a disdainful way, for\nshe did not so much as cast her eyes upon them, nor did she bid them\nrise. On the other hand, the knights and ladies set themselves with much\nheartiness to entertain the new-comers. The knights were right glad to\nwelcome among them a companion so fair and so stalwart, and to the dames\nthe false Duessa was well known. Nevertheless the Knight was but ill\npleased that the Lady Lucifera should show such scant courtesy to a\nstranger. \u201cShe is overproud,\u201d he thought to himself, \u201cand there is too\nmuch of vain show in these her surroundings.\u201d\n\nWhile he was thus thinking, the lady rose suddenly from her place, and\nsaid that she would ride abroad, and bade call for her coach. A stately\ncoach it was, like to that which, as it was said of old, Queen Juno rode\nwith six peacocks, spreading out great starry tails, for horses. Six\nsteeds had this Queen also, but they were but ill matched, and on each\nof them did ride one of the six counsellors who advised her in affairs\nof state, and the six were Idleness, and Gluttony, and Lust, and\nAvarice, and Envy, and Anger. The false Duessa followed close after the\nLady Lucifera, for she was of a kindred spirit, but the Knight, though\nhe knew not all the truth, yet held aloof from the rout, not liking\ntheir company. When they had tarried awhile in the fields, breathing the\nfresh air of the country-side, they turned back to the palace. There\nthey found a Saracen knight newly come, who carried on his shield the\nname _Sansjoy_. He was ill-favoured and ill-conditioned, as one who bore\na grudge against his fellows. But when he saw how the page of the\nRed-Cross Knight carried a shield on which was written the name of\n_Sansfoy_, then was he filled with fury, and sprang upon the lad and\nwrenched it from him, which the Red-Cross Knight perceiving, being ill\ncontent so to lose the trophy which he had won in fair fight, ran at the\nSaracen, and recovered that which was his own. Already had they drawn\ntheir swords to fight out their quarrel hand to hand, when the Queen\nLucifera interposed her high command: \u201cSirs,\u201d she said, \u201cI command you\non pain of my high displeasure to forbear. To-morrow, if you will, you\nshall prove in fair fight to whom this shield, for which I perceive you\ncontend, in right belongs. Meanwhile I bid you be at peace.\u201d\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, noble Queen,\u201d said the Saracen, \u201cfor that I have\nthus broken the peace of your court; in truth I could not refrain myself\nwhen I saw this false knight possessing the shield of the brave\n_Sansfoy_, whom he slew not in fair fight, but by magic arts, ay, and\nnot possessing it only, but that he might do it dishonour, commanding\nthat it should be publicly borne.\u201d So spake Sansjoy, but the Red-Cross\nKnight said nothing; he was a man of deeds, not of words. Only he threw\nhis gauntlet on the ground, to be a pledge that he would meet his\nadversary in the field.\n\nThen, for evening was now come, all sat down to the banquet. Right\nroyally did they feast, for Gluttony was steward that night, and ordered\ntheir meat and drink; and when they had feasted to the full, they betook\nthemselves to their beds, and Sloth was their chamberlain. But before\nshe slept Duessa made Sansjoy aware that she was no friend to the\nRed-Cross Knight.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER V\n HOW THE RED-CROSS KNIGHT LEAVES THE CASTLE OF PRIDE\n\n\nIt is ever the way with noble hearts, that they cannot rest till they\nhave fully accomplished that which they purpose to do. So all night long\nthe Red-Cross Knight considered with himself how he should most wisely\nbear himself in the morrow\u2019s fight, and so considering he waited till\nthe morning light should shine upon the earth. So soon therefore as the\nsun appeared in the sky he rose from his bed, and arrayed himself in his\narmour, making ready for his combat with the Saracen. This done, he\ndescended into the castle hall, where there was already gathered a great\ncrowd of men, who had come to see what the issue of the day should be.\nThere were musicians making melody on harps and viols, and bards who\nwere ready to celebrate in song the strength and valour of him who\nshould win the victory. After him by no great space of time came the\nSaracen, clad in chain armour. Fierce was his look, as though he would\nstrike fear into his adversary, but the Knight was of a temper which no\nlooks could dismay. Then the pages brought in two cups of wine from\nGreece, and mingled therein spices from farthest India, for such was the\ncustom of the place. It was to kindle the champions\u2019 courage forsooth,\nbut neither Christian nor Saracen, I take it, had need of such\nencouragement. And as they drank they sware a solemn oath that they\nwould duly observe the laws of honourable war.\n\nThis done, the Queen Lucifera came with a great train of knights and\nladies, and took her seat upon the throne which had been set for her\nwith a great canopy over it. Before her was an open space, railed in on\nevery side, that none should be near either to help or to hinder the\nchampions. Over against the Queen was set another throne, of less\naccount and dignity. On this was set false Duessa. And on a tree hard by\nwas hung the shield of Sansfoy, and a laurel crown which should be the\nconqueror\u2019s meed.\n\nAnd now was heard the shrill note of a trumpet, and the two champions\naddressed themselves to the battle. Each man carried his shield on his\nleft arm, and took his sword in his right hand, for such was the order\nof the fight, that for a speedier issue they should lay aside their\nspears and take at once their swords. Both knights were sturdy and\nbrave, and long they fought without advantage gained. Stroke was\nanswered with stroke, while the sparks flew from either shield, and each\nhelmet showed the dints where the steel had been well-nigh broken\nthrough. Neither did this champion or that escape without harm, for the\nblood was seen to flow out and dye their coats of mail, but neither\nsuffered such a wound as to hinder him from the fight, nor did the crowd\nthat watched them know which would prevail. And now it chanced that the\nSaracen, as he shifted his place, caught the sight of his brother\u2019s\nshield, where it hung upon the tree, to be the conqueror\u2019s prize. The\nsight stirred him to a double rage: \u201cAh! brother,\u201d he cried, \u201cdost thou\nsit so long by that dark lake of death the while thy shield hangs here\nto be the prize of victory? Go, caitiff,\u201d so he cried, as he turned him\nto the Red-Cross Knight, \u201cgo and tell him that I have redeemed his\nshield from shame.\u201d And as he spoke, he smote upon the crest of the\nKnight a mightier stroke by far than he had ever dealt. Twice did the\nKnight reel as he stood; twice was he ready to fall; while all that\nwatched were assured that the battle was indeed won and lost, and the\nfalse Duessa cried aloud: \u201cWell done, Sansjoy; the shield is yours, and\nI and all.\u201d But when the Knight heard the voice of the lady\u2014for he knew\nnot yet her true quality\u2014he raised himself from his swoon, and his faith\nthat had waxed weak grew strong again, and the chill departed from his\nlimbs. Wrath and shame and love wrought such new strength within him,\nthat he struck his foe with a stroke so mighty that it brought him to\nhis knee. \u201cAh! thou miscreant,\u201d he cried, \u201cgo now and take yourself your\nmessage to this dear brother, and tell him that the conqueror has his\nshield.\u201d But when he would have dealt yet another blow, and so ended the\nfight beyond all doubt, lo! there was a dark cloud over all the place,\nand the Saracen was nowhere to be seen. He called him aloud, but there\ncame no answer. The darkness had swallowed him up. Then the false Duessa\ncame down from her seat and entreated him with many words: \u201cO most\nvaliant Knight that ever lady chose for her champion, abate now your\nrage; your adversary lies low; be content with your victory.\u201d But not\none whit was his wrath diminished; willingly would he have driven his\nsword-hilt deep into the body of his enemy, so finishing his work. But\nnowhere could he espy him. While he stood wondering, the trumpets\nsounded again, now with a note of victory, and heralds came and paid him\nhomage, making low obeisance to him, and giving into his hands the\nshield. After this they took him to the Queen, where she sat upon her\nthrone; and he, bending his knee before her, made proffer of his\nservice, which she accepted with much courtesy of thanks. This done, she\nreturned to the palace, having the Knight by her side, the people\nfollowing with loud shouts and much rejoicing.\n\nAnd now, because his wounds were many\u2014for not without much cost of pain\nhad he won this victory\u2014they laid him in a bed and bound up his hurts,\npouring in oil and wine, the while the musicians made sweet music to\ncomfort him in his sickness. While he thus lay, Duessa resorted to a\ncertain witch of whom she had knowledge, and told her of how the\nChristian Knight had slain Sansfoy, and now had stricken Sansjoy\nwell-nigh to death, and prayed her help. So the two returned together to\nwhere the Saracen lay, still covered with the magic cloud. They bound up\nhis wounds, and laid him in the witch\u2019s car, and carried him to hell to\nthe dwelling of \u00c6sculapius. Now this \u00c6sculapius was a great physician in\nthe days of old, and because he had brought to life again a certain man\nwho had been unjustly slain he had suffered grievous punishment. He\ncould not die, for he was of immortal race, but he had been struck down\nto hell with a thunderbolt. There he had lain, age after age, striving,\nif it might be, to heal his own hurts. To him, therefore, the witch and\nDuessa brought Sansjoy, and prayed him that he would recover him of his\ndeadly hurt. \u201cNay, nay,\u201d said he, \u201cyou ask what may not be. You tempt me\nto do again the very thing for which I suffer all this pain. Shall I\nagain, with a like deed, renew the wrath of him that so dealt with me?\u201d\n\nThe witch made answer: \u201cWhat more can you suffer than you have suffered\nalready? You hope for nothing; what then should you fear? You are in\nthis lowest deep; is there a lower to which you can fall? Deny not my\nprayer; rather show the power which has given you your great renown in\nheaven and on earth and in hell itself.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe it so,\u201d he said. So they brought the knight, and the great physician\nused all his arts, applying to the man\u2019s wound all the healing powers\nthat he knew. Then Duessa, having accomplished her purpose, so far as it\nmight be done, journeyed back to the Palace of Pride, but when she came\nthither she found that the Red-Cross Knight had departed.\n\nNow the cause of his going was this. He was not, indeed, fit for travel,\nnor had his wounds been duly healed, but he might not stay, having heard\nwhat his faithful Dwarf had told him; and the thing was this, that there\nwere dungeons beneath this fair castle, with all its splendid\nfurnishing, in which lay a crowd of prisoners in most miserable plight,\nmen of the old times and of the new, such as were Nimrod the great\nhunter, and the lords of Babylon and Nineveh, and great chiefs of Rome,\nall who by wicked pride had sinned against God and man. This had the\nwatchful Dwarf espied. And when the Knight heard the tale he would tarry\nno longer, but that very hour, while it was yet dark, for it would have\ngone ill with him had he been espied, he fled from the castle. By a\nbye-way he fled, and lo! it was so full of the corpses of men that he\nand the Dwarf could scarce make their way, for though the castle was\nfair in all its public parts, those that were secret were foul beyond\nall thinking.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER VI\n THE LADY UNA AND THE SATYRS\n\n\nThough the wizard Archimage was an ill companion for the Lady Una, yet\nwas Sansloy, by whom he was overthrown, a worse. They had not travelled\ntogether far when he said, \u201cLady, deign, I pray you, to show me that\nfair face of yours. I would fain know for whom I have done battle.\nYours, I ween, is such beauty as the old villain whom I overthrew was\nnot worthy to take in charge.\u201d And when she answered him not a word, he\nstretched forth a lawless hand, and would have torn the veil from her\nface. Then she cried aloud. \u201cAy,\u201d said he, \u201ccry if you will; there is\nnone to help you here.\u201d But even while he spoke there came running out\nof the wood, which was hard by, a great multitude of strange creatures,\nfauns and satyrs, half man and half beast. They were dancing and making\nmerry in the forest, which is their natural dwelling-place, and when\nthey heard the cry, one said to another: \u201cThis is the cry of some mortal\nin distress, and it has the note of a woman\u2019s voice; let us see what is\nthe cause.\u201d So they made all haste to the place from which the cry came.\nAnd when the Saracen beheld them he was sore afraid. Such creatures he\nhad never seen in all his life; so he sprang upon his horse, and fled as\nfast as he could. Nor, indeed, was the Lady Una wholly quit of her\nfears. So it may chance that when a wolf carries off a lamb, and drops\nit for fear of a lion, the lamb may be in no better case. But when the\nstrange creatures saw by the lady\u2019s face that she was sore afraid, they\ntried to show their goodwill towards her; they threw themselves upon the\nground and kissed her feet, and sought to show her that they were her\ndutiful servants. So, gathering courage, she raised herself from the\nearth on which she had thrown herself in fear and distress, and made\nsigns that she would go with them. So they led her through the wood,\ndancing and shouting and singing; and some strewed branches of trees on\nthe ground before her, and one, who was a chief among them, put a crown\nof olive leaves about her head. So they led her to their chief Sylvanus,\nand he, waked from his sleep by their shouting, came forth to meet them,\nleaning on a staff of cypress wood, and having a rope of ivy knitted\nabout his middle. When he saw her, much did he marvel who she could be.\n\u201cThis is not Venus,\u201d he said to himself, \u201cfor Venus never was in so\nsober a mood; no, nor Diana, for I see not her bow and arrows and the\nbuskins up to her knee.\u201d And while he stood and wondered, the nymphs\nflocked in to see, nymphs of the fountains and the woods, and they whose\nlives are bound to a single tree, living while it lives and dying when\nit dies. Nor were they less astonished, but they were ill pleased that\none so fair should come among them: \u201cWho of the wood folk,\u201d they said to\nthemselves, \u201cwill think of us when this mortal maid is near?\u201d\n\nMany days Lady Una tarried with this strange folk, and not unwillingly,\nfor it was as it were a breathing time, giving her rest from the long\ntoil of her journey. And while she tarried she strove to the utmost to\nteach them something of the Christian faith: but ever she had much ado\nto keep them from the worshipping of herself. And when she had scarcely\nkept them from this, they turned to worship her ass.\n\nAfter a while there came into these parts a certain knight, Satyrane by\nname, so called because he was the son of a prince among the satyrs, but\nhis mother was of the race of men. He was brought up in the woods, far\nfrom all human company; nor did he learn letters or any craft\nwhatsoever, but only to be ever of a good courage and to banish fear. So\nhe would lay his hand on lions and bears, and tame the wild bulls of the\nforest, riding on them as one might ride upon a horse. And he grew to be\nso swift of foot that he would overtake the roebuck in his flight. \u2019Tis\nsaid that once when his mother came to see him, for she had gone back to\ndwell with her own kind, she saw him carrying in his arms the cubs of a\nlioness which he had carried away from their dam, while the creature, in\nits rage, followed him, roaring aloud, yet dared not spring, so well did\nall the beasts of the forest know and fear him. When he grew to years of\nmanhood he was not content with the conquest over wild beasts, or with\nlife in the wood far from man. He went therefore into distant lands\nseeking adventures, in which he acquitted him so well that no man could\nboast of having overthrown him. Yet it was his custom from time to time\nto return to his old dwelling-place to see his old father and to rest\nawhile from his labours. And so coming now, he chanced to find the Lady\nUna sitting with a company of the forest folk around her, teaching them\nholy things. Much he marvelled to see how fair she was, and more did he\nmarvel at the wise and gracious words that came from her lips; for,\nindeed, by this time, being by nature of a lively wit, he had himself\nlearnt many things. So he gladly sought her company, and would fain be\nher disciple and learn the ways of righteousness and peace from her\nlips.\n\nAfter certain days the Lady Una, seeing that this Satyrane was an\nhonourable knight and worthy of trust, said to him, \u201cI would fain go on\nwith journeyings, if haply I may find my champion.\u201d \u201cLady,\u201d he made\nanswer, \u201cI am bound to do your pleasure; it shall be as you say.\u201d So\nhaving watched for a time when the forest folk were away, he took her\nthrough the forest till they came to the plain beyond. When the day was\nnow far spent they spied a traveller on the road, and judging from his\nlook and garb that he had come from far, hastened towards him, hoping\nthat they might by chance hear something that would help them in their\nquest. He was an old man of low estate, as it seemed, his garments worn\nand soiled with much dust from the road, his sandals torn with much\ntravelling, and his face bronzed by the sun, as if he had travelled long\nin Arabian or Indian land. A staff he carried in his hand, and on his\nshoulders hung a wallet in which he carried such things as were needed\nfor his journey.\n\nSatyrane said to him: \u201cFriend, have you aught to tell me of wars and\nadventures in these or in foreign parts, for indeed you seem to have\ncome a long way?\u201d \u201cNay,\u201d answered the stranger, \u201cI am a simple man, and\nknow nothing of such matters.\u201d Then said the Lady Una: \u201cTell me now\nwhether you have seen or heard aught of the champion whom I am seeking?\nHe bears a red cross on his armour.\u201d The old man answered: \u201cFair lady,\ntruly I have seen such an one with these eyes, and a sorry sight it was,\nfor he lay dead upon the ground.\u201d When the Lady Una heard these words\nshe fell to the earth in a swoon. When Satyrane with much care had\nbrought her back to life, she said: \u201cFriend, tell me all that you know;\none who has borne the greater pain may well endure the less.\u201d\n\nThe old traveller answered: \u201cOn a certain day\u2014an evil day it was, and I\nam grieved that I ever lived to see it\u2014as I chanced to be passing on my\nway, I saw two knights contending fiercely together; one was a Saracen,\nand the other bore a red cross on his shield, and he that carried this\ndevice was slain.\u201d \u201cOh to think,\u201d cried the Lady Una, \u201cthat he should be\nthus overcome, he that was so stout and brave. How could such an evil\nchance befall?\u201d \u201cThat I know not, fair lady,\u201d said the old man; \u201cI can\nbut relate the thing which I saw with mine eyes.\u201d Then said Satyrane:\n\u201cTell me now, old man, where is the Saracen knight that did this deed?\nIs he far from hence or near at hand?\u201d The old man made answer: \u201cYou may\nfind him not far from here. I left him but a short time ago sitting by a\nfountain where he washed his wounds.\u201d\n\nThe knight Satyrane, having further inquired by what way he should go,\nmade all haste to find the Saracen, fearing lest haply he should have\ndeparted. And, indeed, he found him, sitting by the fountain side under\nthe shade of a tree, for it was Sansloy, the same that had overthrown\nArchimage. And Satyrane cried aloud: \u201cRise from your place, accursed\nmiscreant, you that by some unknightly craft and treachery have slain\nthe Red-Cross Knight, for I know well that you could not have overcome\nhim in fair fight. Rise up, and either maintain your cause in arms, or\nconfess your guilt.\u201d The Saracen, when he heard these words, rose\nquickly from his place and put his helmet on his head, and took his\nshield upon his arm, and drew near to his adversary. But first he said:\n\u201cTruly you have been sent hither in an evil hour to fight a quarrel that\nis not yours. And, indeed, you blame me for a deed which I have not\ndone. The Red-Cross Knight I slew not, nor indeed did I engage in fight\nwith him. Someone who falsely bore his arms I overthrew. But come now,\nif you may not fight in his quarrel, fight in your own.\u201d\n\nThen the two men came together in fierce encounter. When they were at\nthe hottest of the fray, the Lady Una came to the place, for Satyrane\nhad left her behind in his haste. And when she saw the Saracen she said\nto herself: \u201cNow what shall I do if this false villain should get the\nupper hand of Satyrane?\u201d And the thought struck such terror into her\nheart that she straightway turned and fled from the place. And the old\ntraveller, who had told the false tale of the slaying of the Red-Cross\nKnight, followed her, for, indeed, he was none other than Archimage.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER VII\n OF THE GIANT ORGOGLIO\n\n\nWhen the false Duessa came back to the Palace of Pride from the journey\nwhich she had made in the matter of Sansjoy, she found that the\nRed-Cross Knight had departed. Thereupon she set out without delay,\nbeing altogether unwilling that he should escape out of reach of her\nnets. Nor, indeed, was it long before she found him, sitting by the side\nof a spring in the shade of a tree. He had put off his armour by reason\nof his weariness and of the heat of the day. \u201cYou did ill to leave me in\nthat ill place Sir Knight,\u201d she said, \u201cfor ill I found it to be, even as\nyou did yourself.\u201d Then he excused himself with courteous words, and so\npeace was made again between the two.\n\nNow the spring by which the Knight was taking his rest was not as other\nsprings, but there lay a curse upon it, because the nymph which dwelt\ntherein had fallen out of favour with her mistress, Diana. And the cause\nof her so falling was this. On a certain day, as Diana and her train\nwere following the chase, the nymph of this spring, being wearied with\nthe heat and toil of the day, sat herself down to rest. With this her\nmistress, being very keen in her hunting, was ill pleased: \u201cMaid,\u201d she\ncried, \u201cyou are dull and slow; such, then, shall these waters be for\never, ay, and whosoever shall drink of them.\u201d Of this the Knight knew\nnothing, but because the waters were crystal clear and cold, and his\nthirst was great, he drank a great draught. And as he drank, the powers\nof body and soul grew faint and feeble, but by slow degrees and\nunperceived. Ere long there came to his ears a loud bellowing sound\nwhich made the trees to tremble and the very earth to shake. The Knight\nleapt from the ground, and would have armed himself, but yet, such was\nthe working of that magic spring, was strangely slow. Certain it is that\nere he could don his armour or thrust his arm into the fitting of his\nshield, there came stalking along with mighty stride the most fearsome\ngiant that ever was seen on the face of the earth. His stature was\nthrice that of man, and in his right hand he carried an oak tree which\nhe had torn from the earth by its roots. It served him for a staff\nwhereon to stay his steps, and for a mace with which to slay his foes.\nSo soon as he spied the Knight he came against him with the oak tree\nlifted in his hand. On the other hand, the Knight made a vain show of\nbattle, but the strength had departed from his arm, and the heart in him\nfailed for fear. He lifted his sword, indeed, but he had no power to\nstrike. Then the giant aimed at him a mighty blow, such as would have\nlevelled to the ground a tower of stone. Verily, but for the grace and\nhelp of God, it had ground him to powder, but he leapt from under it,\nyet its very wind laid him prostrate on the ground. When the giant saw\nhim lie helpless in this fashion, he lifted his hand again as if to slay\nhim, but the false Duessa, who, for her own ends, would not have the\nKnight perish in this fashion, cried aloud: \u201cO Orgoglio, greatest of all\ncreatures under the sun, slay him not, but make him your thrall and\nslave.\u201d The giant listened to this prayer. He took the Knight in his\narms and carried him to his castle, and there threw him into a dungeon\nthat had been dug deep into the earth. There he lay for a while, with\nsuch scant provision of meat and drink as sufficed to keep the life in\nhim.\n\nThe faithful Dwarf had seen his master fall, for he had the Knight\u2019s\nwar-horse in charge, while the beast was grazing in the meadow hard by.\nAnd now, the giant having departed with his prisoner, he gathered\ntogether the arms and the armour, for these Orgoglio had left lying on\nthe ground as taking no account of such things. There was the helmet and\nthe cuirass, and the greaves and the shield with the cross upon it, and\nthe spear\u2014things sad to behold, now that there was none to wear or wield\nthem. He laid them on the back of the war-horse, and so departed. He had\nnot gone far before he met the Lady Una herself. When she saw him and\nthe war-horse and the burden which it bore, there was no spirit left in\nher, so that she fell without sense to the ground. Willingly would the\nfaithful Dwarf have died, knowing what ill tidings he bore, and seeing\nhow ill they were taken. Nevertheless he did not lose heart, but with\nmuch pain and care sought to recover the lady from her swoon. Thrice did\nhe bring her back to life, and thrice she fell as one dead to the\nground. At last, when the spirit within her had somewhat recovered\nitself, she said with faltering tongue: \u201cTell me now, faithful friend,\nthe whole story from the beginning, how it is that I see these relics of\nthe bravest knight that ever was. Verily Fortune has spent all her spite\nupon him and me. Worse than that which I feel in my heart I cannot hear.\nBegin your tale and carry it to the very end. If haply it shall be in\naught less dreadful than what I fear, so much I shall have gained.\u201d\n\nThen the Dwarf rehearsed from the beginning all that had befallen the\nRed-Cross Knight from the time of their parting, the deceits of\nArchimage and the wiles of the false Duessa, and the fate of the two\nlovers who had been changed to trees, and the Palace of Pride, and the\ncombat with Sansjoy, and how the Knight had been taken unprepared by the\ngiant Orgoglio.\n\nTo these things the lady listened with attentive ear, and when the Dwarf\nhad ended his tale she said: \u201cVerily I will seek him as long as I live.\nLead on, and show me the way that I must go.\u201d So they travelled both\ntogether.\n\nThey had not journeyed far before they met a knight riding on the way\nwith his squire behind him. Never was there more gallant warrior or more\ngallantly arrayed. His armour shone like the sun, and across his breast\nhe wore a baldrick richly adorned with precious stones. Costly were they\nall, but one among them shone most excellently, a great diamond like to\nthe head of a fair lady, brighter than all the rest, even as the star of\nevening is brighter than all the hosts of heaven. His sword hung from\nhis side in a sheath cunningly made of ivory; its hilt was of burnished\ngold, and its buckle also of gold. The crest of his helmet was a great\ndragon, with wings spread out on either side, and above the crest a\nhorse-hair plume, which waved to and fro as an almond tree waves its\nblossoms in the breath of spring. But the great marvel of his equipment\nwas his shield. It was not made of iron or of brass, as are the shields\nof common men, but of one great diamond. Only it was covered up from\nsight. When he would dismay some huge monster, or strike with fear some\ngreat array of the enemy, then he would show its brightness. No power of\nman, no enchantments, strong and subtle as they might be, could prevail\nagainst it, or diminish aught of its power, for indeed it was made by\nthe greatest magician that ever lived upon the earth, even Merlin.\n\nThe gallant knight spake full courteously to the Lady Una, asking if he\ncould help her or serve her in aught. \u201cOh, Sir,\u201d she answered, \u201cmy\nsorrow is so great that it is past all remedy. What would it profit to\ntell the tale? \u2019Tis best to hide it in my heart nor stir the hidden\ngrief.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, lady,\u201d answered the knight, \u201cI doubt not that your grief is great,\nbut I would counsel you to tell the tale for all it is so sad. Pain is\never lessened, be it ever so great, by wise counsel, and he who will not\nreveal his trouble may never find help.\u201d\n\nSo they spake together, he persuading her to reveal her sorrow and she\nunwilling to bring it to the light, till at last, yielding to his words\nof wisdom, she told her tale.\n\n\u201cI am the daughter,\u201d she said, \u201cthe only child of a king and queen whose\nkingdom lies far by the river Euphrates. Long did they reign in great\nprosperity, till a great dragon, bred in the lakes of Tartary, wasted\ntheir land till there was nothing left of all that belonged to them,\nsave the one castle in which they dwelt, and to this the dragon has laid\nsiege now for the space of four years. Many knights have taken in hand\nthis enterprise, to subdue the dragon and to deliver those whom he\noppresses. From every country under heaven have they come, brave men and\nfamous for great deeds, but they have failed, one and all. For want of\nfaith or for the hidden weakness of some secret sin they have fallen\nbefore him. At last there came to our land a report of certain famous\nknights that had been bred in this realm of Fairy Land. Thereupon I\nbetook myself thither, even to the Court of Queen Gloriana, who dwells\nin the City of Renown, hoping that I might there find some faithful\nknight who should deliver my father and mother from the power of the\ntyrant. Nor did I go in vain. It was my good fortune to find a gallant\nknight who was fit and willing to undertake this task. Unproved indeed\nhe was, but he was of a fair body and a noble soul. It was he who set\nforth upon this enterprise. Of his prowess I saw full many a proof. Yea,\nthe sword and the spear which you see on the back of yonder steed might\ntell, if they could speak, of the great deeds which he has wrought. But\nby ill chance he encountered a most false magician, by whose arts he was\nbetrayed. First this vile creature made division between my knight and\nme, so that he misdoubted of my faith. Next he delivered him to the\nwiles of a certain false woman, Duessa by name. And she has betrayed him\ninto the hands of a great and terrible giant, Orgoglio by name. And in\nthis giant\u2019s dungeon he now lies pining to death. This is my grief, Sir\nKnight, and greater, surely, never woman bore.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour grief is indeed great,\u201d answered the stranger knight; \u201cbut be of\ngood cheer. I will never leave you till I have set your champion free.\nCome now, let us bring this matter to an end.\u201d\n\nSo they rode on together with the Dwarf for their guide. The name of the\ngallant knight who bore the shield of diamond was Arthur.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER VIII\n OF THE DEEDS OF PRINCE ARTHUR\n\n\nWhen they had travelled a score of miles or so, they came to a castle\nwhich was built very high and strong. Thereupon the Dwarf cried out,\n\u201cThis is the place in which my good lord lies a prisoner, the thrall of\nthe giant Orgoglio.\u201d Thereupon the Prince Arthur alighted from his\nsteed, and said to the Lady Una, \u201cStay here, madam, and await the issue\nof this day\u2019s combat.\u201d Then, at his bidding, the squire came near to the\nwall of the castle. He found the gates fast shut, with no warder to\nguard them, nor was there any to answer when he called. Then the squire\ntook in his hand a bugle that he bore, that hung by his side with a\nchain of gold decked with gay tassels. It was a bugle of wondrous power;\nfor three miles it could be heard, and there came out of space three\nanswers to its blast, nor could anyone in whose heart there was aught of\nfalsehood endure to hear it without dismay, nor could any bolt or bar,\nhowever stout they might be, withstand its summons. This bugle, then,\nPrince Arthur\u2019s squire sounded before the giant\u2019s castle. And it was\nshaken straightway from the foundation to the topmost towers, and the\ndoors flew open of their own accord. The giant himself was much troubled\nat the sound, and came with staggering steps, as one smitten with a\nsudden fear, to see what it might mean. And after came the false Duessa,\nriding on a many-headed beast, with fiery tongues, for such a monster\nthe giant had given her for her own.\n\nPrince Arthur without delay addressed himself to the fight. Nor did the\ngiant draw back, being persuaded that no mortal man could stand up\nagainst him and prevail. He thought, indeed, to slay him with a single\nblow, and lifted up his mighty club. But the Prince was wise and wary,\nand, lightly leaping aside, he escaped the stroke unhurt, for he thought\nit no shame to use his craft against brute strength. As for the club, so\nmissing its aim, it sank deep into the earth, making a furrow a yard\ndeep and more. The giant pulled at it amain, seeking to lift it for\nanother stroke, but could not prevail, so fast was it buried. The\nknight, therefore, had him at a disadvantage, and smote him with his\nsword so deadly a stroke that it shore off his arm. Loud did he bellow\nwith fear and pain, and Duessa, seeing her champion in sore distress,\nmade the great beast on which she sat advance against the Knight. But\nnow Prince Arthur\u2019s squire, a gallant warrior, worthy of such a lord,\nstood forth and, with his single sword, barred the way. In high disdain\nto be hindered by so weak a foe Duessa yet again urged on the beast, but\nstill the squire stood firm; he would not give place a single step lest\nthe enemy should so gain an advantage against his lord. Then Duessa had\nrecourse to her magic arts, for she took of the magic juices which she\never carried with her, and sprinkled them upon the youth, and quenched\nhis courage and robbed him of his strength, so that he could neither see\nnor stand. So he fell all his length upon the earth, and the beast laid\nhis deadly claws upon his neck, and would have crushed the life out of\nhim. But the Knight, perceiving his evil plight, turned quickly from his\nown adversary, and addressed himself to the beast, for, indeed, it\ngrieved him much that his faithful squire should have come into such\nperil of his life. So, lifting high the sword with which he had smitten\nthe giant, he smote the beast upon one of its heads, making the blood\npour out amain. But when the beast, writhing to and fro in its pain,\nwould have shaken Duessa from her seat upon its back, and she cried out\nin her fear, the giant came to her help. He was, indeed, of no common\nnature, nor was he disabled by the wound which would have bereft all\nother creatures of strength. In the one hand which was left to him there\ndwelt the strength of the two, and now being free to use again his club\nof oak, he lifted it up high and dealt such a blow at Prince Arthur\u2019s\nshield that it brought him to the ground. But now by this very stroke\nthe Knight\u2019s deliverance was wrought, for the covering was torn from the\nshield by its violence, and all its brightness was revealed. With so\ngreat a splendour did it blaze into the giant\u2019s eyes that he dropped his\narm and let fall the club with which he was ready to slay his adversary.\nThe beast also was blinded by that brightness, and fell reft of its\nsenses on the ground. Nor when Duessa cried aloud to the giant in her\nfear could he render effectual help. With stroke after stroke the Prince\nlopped from him limb after limb, till he lay dead upon the ground. And\nthen this marvel came to pass. This creature which had seemed so vast\nseemed to vanish away. As for Duessa, she sprang from off the beast, and\nwould have fled away upon her feet. But this the squire would not\nsuffer, for, pursuing her with speedy feet, he laid hold of her and\nbrought her back to the Prince to await his judgment.\n\nAnd now the Lady Una, who in fear and trembling had watched the combat\nfrom a distance, came near and thanked both Knight and squire for the\ngood service which they had rendered. \u201cI cannot repay you,\u201d she said;\n\u201cmay Heaven give you your reward and with usury. Suffer me to say one\nthing. Let not this false woman depart, for, indeed, she is the cause of\nall the mischief that has been wrought.\u201d Then Prince Arthur said to his\nsquire: \u201cTake this woman in charge; I will go seek the Red-Cross\nKnight.\u201d So he departed on this errand, and, entering the castle, sought\nsomeone of whom he might inquire. No one did he find, and though he\ncalled aloud, there was none to answer. At last there came forth an old\nman leaning on a staff with which he guided his steps, for the sight of\nhis eyes had failed him long since, and carrying a great bunch of keys,\nbut all of them overgrown with rust. His name was Ignaro. A reverend\nsire he seemed, and the Knight asked him with all courtesy: \u201cWho are\nthey that dwell in this place, and where may they be found?\u201d \u201cI cannot\ntell,\u201d he said. Then the Prince asked again: \u201cWhere, then, is the Knight\nwhom the giant Orgoglio holds in thrall?\u201d \u201cI cannot tell,\u201d said he\nagain, nor did he say any other words. The Prince\u2019s anger rose at this\nfoolishness, but he checked it as should a courteous knight, and, taking\nthe keys from the old man\u2019s hand, essayed to open the doors, nor did\nthey delay to yield. Great riches he found within\u2014store of gold, and\ntapestry finely wrought, and much splendid furnishing; but the floor was\nfoul with blood. Vainly did he search through all the chambers; the\nprisoner he could not find. At last he came to an iron door. It was fast\nlocked, nor was there a key upon the bunch that would open it. But in\nthe door there was a grating of iron bars. Through this he called aloud:\n\u201cDwells there anyone in this place, for I will set him free?\u201d To this\nthere came a low voice making this reply: \u201cWho is that who comes? Three\nmonths have I lain in this foul dungeon, and if you bring me death\nitself I would choose it rather than to stay in this place.\u201d When the\nPrince heard these words he was overcome with horror and pity; not the\nless, gathering up all his strength, he smote the door, and brake it\nfrom its hinges. But when the opening was made, lo! on the other side\nwas no floor but only a deep pit, dark as night, from which there came\nup a loathsome smell. But neither the pit nor the darkness nor the vile\nstench abated the Prince\u2019s courage. With much pains and toil he drew up\nthe prisoner from the pit. Sadly wasted was he. He could not stand upon\nhis feet, and his eyes, deep sunk in the sockets, could not bear to look\nupon the light, and his arms that had been so staunch and strong in the\nold time were wasted to the bone. So the Prince carried him to the\ncastle door. And when the Lady Una saw him, she was filled with pity and\nruth and would have comforted him: \u201cWelcome, my lord,\u201d she cried, \u201cwhom\nI have so long desired to see. Soon shall you have a recompense for all\nthat you have suffered.\u201d \u201cDear lady,\u201d he made answer, \u201cwe will not speak\nof the evil that is past; only let us beware that we fall not into it\nagain. For, indeed, there is engraven in my heart, as with a pen of\niron, this true saying: \u2018Happiness may not abide in the heart of mortal\nman.\u2019\u201d\n\nAs for the false Duessa, they were content to strip her of her robes and\nornaments. And fouler creature to behold there never was. Then the\nknights and the squire and the Lady Una tarried awhile in the castle,\nwhere they found all things that they needed. So they took for sundry\ndays a rest from their toil.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER IX\n OF THE HOUSE OF HOLINESS\n\n\nThe time was now come when, having rested sufficiently, the Red-Cross\nKnight must set forth again, and Prince Arthur, being bound for another\nland, must bid his companions farewell. Then said the Lady Una: \u201cTell us\nnow your name and nation, for it would be a great loss not to know to\nwhom we owe so great a debt.\u201d \u201cFair lady,\u201d said he, \u201cyou ask me that\nwhich it passeth my wit to answer. This only do I know, that so soon as\nI was born I was taken by a knight of Fairyland to Timon, now the\nwisest, as he was once the most expert, in arms among living men, by him\nto be brought up in all virtuous lore and noble accomplishment. To his\nhouse the great Merlin would often come, for he had the chief charge of\nmy upbringing, and he, when I asked him of my family, answered: \u2018Be\ncontent; you are the son and heir of a king, as shall be made manifest\nin due time.\u2019\u201d \u201cAnd how,\u201d said the Lady Una, \u201ccame you here seeking\nadventure?\u201d \u201cYou bid me renew an unspeakable grief,\u201d he answered. \u201cThere\nwas a time when I laughed at the name of Love, and thought scorn of all\nthat suffered from its power. But there came a time when I myself\nconfessed it. On a certain day, being wearied out with sport, I laid me\ndown to sleep. And in my sleep I dreamt a dream. The Queen of Fairyland\nstood by my side and told me that she loved me and would show her love\nwhen the time should come. Such was my dream; whether it was false or\ntrue I know not\u2014only that never in this world did man see so fair a\nsight or hear words so sweet. And when I woke I vowed in my heart that I\nwould seek her, and never rest till I had found her. Nine months have I\nsought her, but in vain.\u201d The Lady Una said: \u201cHappy Queen of Fairies\nthat has found so gallant a champion!\u201d and the Red-Cross Knight said: \u201cO\nsir, to whom I owe my life, if ever man was worthy of such love, you are\nsurely he!\u201d\n\nAnd now the time was come when they must part. Prince Arthur gave to the\nKnight a box of diamonds set in gold, wherein were drops of a wondrous\nliquid of a virtue so excellent that it could heal the most grievous\nwounds. And the Knight gave to the Prince a book in which the Gospels\nwere written in golden letters.\n\nThey had not journeyed far when they were aware of a knight, in complete\narmour, riding towards them as fast as his horse could gallop. He seemed\nto be flying from an enemy or from some dreadful thing, for, ever and\nanon, he cast a look behind him as though an enemy were close at his\nheels. When he came near they saw that his head was uncovered, and that\nhis hair bristled with fear, while his face was as pale as death, and\nthat round his neck was a rope of hemp, which, indeed, ill agreed with\nhis shining armour. But he made no account, so overcome with fear was\nhe, either of rope or of arms. The Red-Cross Knight rode as fast as he\ncould so as to meet him as he fled, and said to him: \u201cTell me, Sir\nKnight, what has befallen you? From whom do you flee? Never have I seen\nknight in such evil plight.\u201d\n\nNot a word did the stranger speak, but stood staring widely out of stony\neyes. But after a while he gathered strength to speak, but full low, and\nwith faltering words: \u201cFor the love of God,\u201d he said, \u201cgentle Knight,\nhinder me not: he comes; see! he comes after me, as fast as he can\nride.\u201d But the Red-Cross Knight held him fast, and using now comfort and\nnow reproach, at last put some little heart into him, so that he could\ntell his tale, and the tale was this\u2014\n\n\u201cI chanced of late to be in company with a gentle knight, Sir Terwin by\nname. He was a man of good repute for courage and skill in arms, but he\nfared ill in one matter, in that he loved a fair lady who had but little\nlove for him, but rather took pleasure in seeing him languish and\nlament. On a certain day as we were coming away from the lady\u2019s\ndwelling\u2014for he had been paying her court, and had been most\ndisdainfully treated\u2014we met a stranger who greeted us courteously, and,\nas we fared on together, told us many wonderful tales of great\nadventures. When he had in this way won our regard, he inquired with a\nshow of friendship of our condition, and when he had heard the same, and\nknew that we suffered not a little distress in this matter of love, for\nI, too, was not less troubled in this respect than was my friend, he\nbegan to talk to us in the most gloomy fashion, taking from us all hope\nof relief, and in the end counselling us to end our troubles with death.\nAnd that we might do this the more easily, he gave to me this rope and\nto Sir Terwin a rusty knife. With this said knife Sir Terwin, unhappy\nman that he was, forthwith slew himself; but I, whether I was more faint\nof heart or more fortunate I know not, fled away with all speed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would see this fellow,\u201d said the Red-Cross Knight, \u201cand deal with him\naccording to his deserts.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said the other, whose name was Trevisan, \u201cI counsel you not to go\nwithin hearing of his speech, so powerful is he to persuade.\u201d And when\nthe Red-Cross Knight was urgent to go, Sir Trevisan answered: \u201cTo do\nyour pleasure, friend, I will show the place, but I myself would sooner\ndie than enter.\u201d\n\nSo they two rode together, and the Lady Una with them, till they came to\nthe place. It was a gloomy cave in the side of a rock, on the top of\nwhich there sat an owl making a doleful screech. By the side of the cave\nwere stocks of trees without leaf or fruit, but with the carcases of men\nhanging upon them, and on the ground beneath were other bodies, which\nhad fallen down by lapse of years. Sir Trevisan would have fled when he\nsaw the place, but the other would not suffer it. They entered the cave\nand saw the man sitting on the ground within. His grisly hair fell in\nlong locks about his neck, and his eyes were deadly dull and his cheeks\nsunken, as if it were with hunger and grief. His garments were dirty and\npatched, being fastened together with thorns. And on the ground beside\nhim there lay the corpse of a man, newly slain, whose blood had not yet\nceased to flow from the wound. Then said the Red-Cross Knight, \u201cWhat say\nyou, wicked man, why you should not be straightway judged for the evil\ndeed which you have done?\u201d \u201cWhat words are these, stranger?\u201d said the\nman, \u201cand what judgment is this? Why should he live who desires to die?\nIs it against justice that a man should have his due? Or, again, to\nspeak of charity rather than justice, is it not well to help him over\nthat comes to a great flood, or to free the feet that stick fast in the\nmire? He that lies there enjoys the rest which you desire and cannot\nhave. Somewhat painful the passage, it cannot be denied, yet how great\nand how sweet the rest! Is it not well to endure short pain for so long\na happiness? Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, ease after war,\ndeath after life, what better can you ask?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d answered the Knight, \u201cthe time of a man\u2019s life is ordered. No one\nmay shorten it at his will; no, nor any soldier quit the post at which\nhe has been set.\u201d\n\n\u201cSay you so?\u201d replied the other. \u201cIf all things have their appointed\nend, who shall deny that the end which you shall yourself set is of the\nthings appointed by Fate? Remember also this: the longer the life the\nmore the sin, and the more the sin the greater the punishment. Once you\nhave missed the right way\u2014and who has not missed it?\u2014the further you\nstray. And have you not strayed, Sir Knight? Bethink you what you have\nendured, and what you have done amiss. What of the lady whom you swore\nto champion and so shamefully deserted? What of the false Duessa to whom\nyou so basely pledged yourself? Does not the law say, \u2018He that sins\nshall die\u2019? Die, therefore, as becomes a brave man, without delay, and\nof your own accord.\u201d\n\nThe Knight was greatly troubled by these words, for indeed there were\nmany things of which his conscience accused him, so that he trembled and\ngrew faint, which, when the Fiend perceived, he showed him a picture in\nwhich was set forth the sufferings of lost souls; and, after this,\nperceiving him to be yet more confounded, he brought to him a sword, and\npoison, and a rope, bidding him choose the death by which he would\nrather die. And when the Knight took none of these, he put into his hand\na sharp knife. Once and again did the Knight lift it up as if to strike;\nbut when the Lady Una saw it, she snatched the knife out of his hand,\ncrying, \u201cFie, fie on thee, faint hearted! Is this the battle which you\npromised to fight against the dragon of the fiery mouth? Come away; let\nnot these idle words dismay your heart. You are chosen to a great work;\nwhy should you despair? Surely Mercy rejoices against Judgment, and the\ngreater the need, the greater the grace. Come, let us leave this\naccursed place.\u201d Then the Knight rose up and departed. And when the\nFiend saw him depart, he took a halter and put it round his neck, and\nwas fain to hang himself. But this he could not do; many times had he\nessayed the same, but had ever failed.\n\nAs they journeyed on the Lady Una perceived that her Knight, for all\nthat he was healed of his sickness, was feeble and faint, and unfit for\ncombat, if such should come in his way. Now she knew of an ancient house\nof rest which was in those parts where he might have refreshment and\nrecover his strength. The hostess\u2019 name was C\u00e6lia, which, being\ninterpreted, is Heavenly, and she had three daughters\u2014Fidelia and\nSperanza and Charissa, the last a matron with fair children, the others\nmaidens promised in marriage. There the Knight tarried many days. Much\ndiscipline did he endure for the removing of his faults and weaknesses,\nand much comfort also was ministered to him, and many things was he\ntaught. And when his heart had been thus strengthened and purified, then\ndid the Lady C\u00e6lia commend him to the care of a most venerable sire who\nwas chief among her ministers. The same showed him many fair and noble\nsights, and last of all, on a mountain side, a way that was both steep\nand long, and at the end of the way a fair city, whose walls were\nbuilded high of pearls and all manner of precious stones. And as the\nKnight gazed thereat, he saw angels ascending thereto and descending\ntherefrom. Then said he to his guide: \u201cTell me, sir, what city do I see\nyonder?\u201d \u201cThat,\u201d answered he, \u201cis the New Jerusalem which God has built\nas a dwelling-place for his children.\u201d \u201cVerily,\u201d said the Knight, \u201cI\nthought that Cleopolis, the abode of the great Gloriana, was the fairest\nof all cities. But this does far excel it.\u201d \u201cYea,\u201d answered the holy\nman, \u201cthat is true beyond all doubt; and yet this same Cleopolis is\nworthy to be the abode of all true knights, and the service of Queen\nGloriana a most honourable thing. And you, fair sir, have chosen a good\npart, rendering thus obedience to her command, and succouring on her\nbehalf this distressed lady. And I give you this counsel: When you have\nwon your great victory, and have hung your shield high among the shields\nof the most famous knights of the world, then turn your thoughts to\nbetter things; wash your hands clean from the stain of blood, for blood,\nthough it be shed in a righteous cause, must make a stain. So shall you\ntread the steep and narrow path which leads to this fair city, the New\nJerusalem. There is a mansion prepared for you. Thus you shall be\nnumbered among the saints, and shall be the friend and patron of the\nland which gave you birth, having for your style and title Saint George\nof England.\u201d Then said the Knight, \u201cDare I hope, being such as I am, to\nattain to such a grace?\u201d \u201cYea,\u201d said the Sage, \u201cothers of the like\ndegree have so attained.\u201d \u201cBut must I leave behind all the delights of\nwar and love?\u201d \u201cBe content,\u201d answered the Sage; \u201cin that joy are all\njoys fulfilled.\u201d \u201cBut,\u201d said the Knight, \u201cif this world is so vain a\nthing, why should I turn to it again? May I not abide here in peace till\nI can set forth on that last voyage?\u201d \u201cNay,\u201d said the Sage, \u201cthat may\nnot be. Thou must maintain this lady\u2019s cause, and do the work that has\nbeen committed to you. But now learn the secret of your birth. You are\nof the ancient race of British kings; but a fairy stole you from your\ncradle, and laid you in a furrow. There a certain ploughman found you,\nand, designing to bring you up to his own craft, called you George,\nwhich is by interpretation, \u2018worker of the earth.\u2019\u201d\n\nSo the Knight went back to C\u00e6lia\u2019s abode not a little comforted and\nencouraged.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER X\n OF THE SLAYING OF THE DRAGON\n\n\nThe time was now come when the Red-Cross Knight must perform the task\nwhich he had taken in hand. He departed therefore from the House of\nRest; nor had he journeyed far when the Lady Una said to him: \u201cSee now\nthe brazen tower in which my father and mother are imprisoned for fear\nof the dragon, and lo! there is the watchman on the wall waiting for\ngood tidings.\u201d Scarcely had she spoken when they heard a dreadful sound\nof roaring, and, looking, they saw the dragon lying on the sunny side of\na hill, and he was like a hill himself, so great he was. Nor did he fail\nto note the glitter of arms, for he was a watchful beast, and made all\nhaste to meet his enemy.\n\nThen said the Knight to Una: \u201cThe hour is come; stand aside on yonder\nhill where you may watch the battle and be safe yourself.\u201d\n\nMeanwhile the dragon came on, half flying and half on foot, such haste\ndid he make. Never was seen upon the earth so terrible a beast. He\nlooked like to a mountain as he came, so much of the earth did he cover,\nso high did he rear himself in air, so broad a shadow did he cast. He\nwas covered all over with scales as of brass or iron, fitting so close\ntogether that neither edge of sword nor point of spear could pierce\nthem. On either side he spread out two great wings like to the sails of\nsome tall ship. Behind was a great tail, wound in a hundred folds and\ncovering full three furlongs. Huge knots it had, each like to a shield,\nand at the end were two great stings, armed each with deadliest poison.\nBut more cruel even than the stings were his claws, so mighty were they\nand so sharp to rend asunder all that they should touch; and yet more\ncruel than his claws was his monstrous head, with rows of teeth, strong\nas iron, set in either jaw, while out of his throat came forth a smoking\nbreath with sulphurous stench. Deep set in his head were his two great\neyes, large as shields and burning with wrath as with fire, like to two\nbroad beacons set upon a hill to give warning of the foe\u2019s approach to\nall the shires around.\n\nSuch was the dragon to behold, and as he came on he might be seen to\nrear his neck as in pride, while his scales bristled with anger\u2014a\ndreadful sight, which made even the Knight\u2019s bold heart grow cold for a\nspace with fear. But not the less boldly did he address himself to the\nfight. Laying his spear in rest he charged with all his might. Full on\nthe monster\u2019s carcase struck the spear, but could not pierce those\nscales, so stout and closely set they were. Only so shrewd was the blow\nthat the dragon felt the shock within: never had such been dealt to him\nbefore, though he had met many a gallant knight in combat. So he spread\nwide his wings, and, lifting himself in air, circled round till,\nswooping down, he seized Knight and steed with his claws and lifted them\nfrom the earth. For a whole bow-shot\u2019s length he carried them, but then\nwas constrained to loose them, so fierce the struggle which they made.\nSo you may see a hawk, when he has pounced upon some bird that is too\nheavy for his flight, carry his prey awhile, but is then constrained to\ndrop him from his claws. Again did the Knight, so restored to the earth,\ncharge his foe. Again did the spear glance aside, though there was the\nforce as of three men in the blow. Yet was not the thrust all in vain.\nSo fierce was the shock that the dragon was constrained to raise his\nwing, and there, where the flesh was bare of shelter, the spear point\nmade a grisly wound. The beast caught the spear shaft with his claws and\nbrake it short, but the head stuck fast, while the blood poured out\namain. Then, in his rage, he vomited forth great flames of fire, and,\nbending round his tail, caught the Knight\u2019s horse by the legs, and he,\nfiercely struggling to free himself, threw his rider to the ground. Ill\ncontent with this fall, for it seemed as a dishonour to him, he snatched\nhis sword\u2014of his spear he had been bereft\u2014and smote the dragon on his\ncrest. The crest did not yield to the blow, so stoutly was it cased\nabout, but the creature felt the shock through all his mighty frame. Yet\nagain the Knight smote him, and once more the sword glanced aside as if\nfrom a rock of adamant, yet was not the labour spent in vain, for now\nthe beast, seeking to avoid his enemy, would have raised himself in air,\nbut that the wounded wing could not perform its office. Then, in his\nfury, he brayed aloud, and vomited forth from his throat so fierce a\nflame that it scorched the face of the Knight, and set his beard on\nfire, and seared his flesh through his armour. Grievous was the pain,\nand scarcely to be borne, not less than that which Hercules of old\nendured when the fiery robe steeped in the Centaur\u2019s blood wrapped him\nround.[1] He stood astonished and helpless. And when the dragon saw how\nhe fared he dealt him a great blow with his tail, and so brought him\nheadlong to the ground. Then, indeed, it had gone ill with him, but for\nthe happy chance that behind him there was a spring which sent forth a\nstream of water, silvery bright and of great virtue for the healing of\nall wounds and sicknesses. Men in the old time, before the dragon had\nwasted the land, called it the Well of Life, and though it was now for\nthe most part forgotten, yet had it not lost its healing powers. It\ncould restore him that was wasted with sickness, ay, and raise the dead.\nThere was no spring on earth that could be matched with it. But of this\nthe dragon was unaware\u2014how should he know of such things?\u2014only when he\nsaw his adversary fall headlong into the water he clapped his wings for\njoy. This the Lady Una saw from the hill whereon she sat watching the\nfight. Sorely did it dismay her. Nevertheless she did not wholly lose\nher hope, but prayed all night to God that it might yet be well with the\nKnight.\n\nWhen the next morning dawned in the sky she looked, and lo! her champion\nstood all refreshed and ready for the fray. Nor did the dragon draw back\nfrom the encounter. Straightway the Knight, lifting high his sword,\ndealt a great blow at the monster\u2019s crest, and this time, whether the\nsacred spring had given a keener edge to the steel or had put new\nstrength into the arm which wielded it, it did that which never steel\nhad done before, for it made a great yawning wound. Then the dragon,\nwrought to fury by the pain, lifted his tail high over his head, and\nbrought down upon his adversary the deadly double sting which lay in the\nend. Through the shield it made its way, and fixed itself in his\nshoulder. Grievous was the smart, but the Knight, thinking only of\nvictory and honour, did not flinch beneath it, but, gathering all his\nstrength, shore off the furthest joints of the tail, so that not the\nhalf of it was left. But not yet was the battle won. For now the dragon\nlaid his two mighty claws upon the Knight, seizing his foot with one and\nhis shield with the other. Sorely was he now beset, for though with a\nblow of his sword he rid himself of the one claw, the other held him\nfast. At the same time there burst forth from the monsters mouth such\nblasts of fire, such clouds of smoke, that he was constrained to retire\na little backward, and so, retiring, he slipped in the mire and fell.\nYet the matter turned to his good, for the same Spring of Life refreshed\nand healed him as before, nor did the dragon dare to come near, for he\ncould not have aught to do with a thing so pure and holy. And so the\nsecond day came to its ending.\n\nThis night also did the Lady Una pray for her Knight throughout the\nhours of darkness, and the morning found her watching as before. But\nwith the third day came a speedy end to that fierce encounter. The\ndragon, full of rage to be so baulked of his prey, ran at the Knight\nwith mouth wide open as if to swallow him alive. And he was not slow to\nseize the occasion, for his foe had laid bare before him its most vital\npart. Right into the monster\u2019s mouth he drove his sword with all the\nstrength that was in him. Nor had he need to strike again, for the\nmonster fell as falls some cliff which the waves of the sea for many\nyears have worn away. High and strong it seems to stand, but it falls\nfar and wide in sudden ruin.\n\nThere is no need to tell in many words how the king and queen of that\nland came forth from their prison with great gladness, and how the\npeople of the land rejoiced to be rid of so foul a tyranny, and how the\nLady Una seemed to be fairer than ever when she came forth in her robe\nof state, and how the Knight and she were duly betrothed. \u201cFain would I\nstay,\u201d said the Knight, \u201cbut I am under promise to Queen Gloriana to\nserve her for six years against the infidel.\u201d \u201cSo be it,\u201d said the king\nof the land, \u201cgo, keep your promise as becomes a noble knight, and know\nthat when you shall return you shall have my daughter to wife and my\nkingdom also, for this I have ever purposed in my heart, that he who\nshould deliver it from the foul tyranny should have it for his own, for\nnone could be more fit.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XI\n OF SIR GUYON AND THE LADY MEDINA\n\n\nArchimage did not suffer long from his overthrow by Sansloy, for he had\ndevices at his command by which he could recover himself from all\nsicknesses, howsoever sore they might be. And, being recovered, he set\nhimself to do some hurt to the Red-Cross Knight, who, by this time, had\nbidden farewell to the Lady Una, and was journeying to render service to\nQueen Gloriana.\n\nAs he was travelling with this purpose in his heart, he came upon a very\nnoble knight, clad in armour from top to toe, who was riding slowly\nalong the road, reigning back his horse\u2019s pace to suit the steps of a\nvenerable pilgrim, who journeyed by his side. Archimage laid his hand\nupon the neck of the knight\u2019s horse and said: \u201cSir Knight, I pray you to\nhelp one who is sadly in need of succour for himself and for another, of\nwhom he is in charge.\u201d And while he spoke he made great pretence of fear\nand trouble, trembling and weeping.\n\n\u201cSpeak on,\u201d answered Sir Guyon, for this was the knight\u2019s name. \u201cSpeak\non, and I will not fail to help you, and the other of whom you speak.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, sir,\u201d said Archimage, \u201cI am a squire, and I have a lady in charge\nto deliver her to her parents, but there is a certain evil-minded Knight\nwho hinders me. I know not what I shall do, and she goes in deadly fear\nthat some great harm will happen to her.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd where is the lady?\u201d asked Sir Guyon.\n\n\u201cCome, sir,\u201d the false squire made answer, \u201cand I will bring you to\nher.\u201d So the two went together, and found a lady sitting under a tree,\nweeping sore, with her garments all dishevelled and torn.\n\n\u201cFair lady,\u201d said Sir Guyon, \u201cit troubles me much to see you in this\nplight. But take heart; I will surely call him who has done you any\nwrong to strict account. But let me hear your complaint.\u201d\n\nSo she told him her tale. And when she had ended he said: \u201cBut who is\nthis man; by what name or by what signs shall I know him?\u201d\n\n\u201cHis name,\u201d said she, \u201cI know not; but this I know, that he rode upon a\nsteed of dappled grey, and that he carried a shield of silver with a red\ncross upon it.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow by my head,\u201d cried Sir Guyon, \u201cI know this same Knight, and I\nwonder such that he should have behaved so ill. He is a good Knight and\na true, and, I hear, has won great renown in the cause of a fair lady. I\nwas myself present in the Queen\u2019s court when he took this task upon\nhimself, which he has now performed with great honour. Nevertheless, I\nwill try him in this matter, and he must needs either show that he is\nfree from blame, or make due amends.\u201d\n\nNow she that made all this show of grief was the false Duessa, and\nArchimage had found her wandering in miserable plight after Prince\nArthur had dealt with her as has been told above. And having found her,\nhe decked her out with robes and ornaments, and made her to appear\npassing fair, such arts he had. This he did because she helped him much\nwhen he would tempt a knight into evil ways.\n\n\u201cAnd now, squire,\u201d said Sir Guyon, \u201ccan you lead me to the place where\nthe Knight of whom you make this complaint may be found?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat can I,\u201d said Archimage; and he led him to a shady valley hard by,\nin the midst of which was a stream both clear and cold, and on the bank\nof the stream sat a knight with his helmet unlaced, who drank of the\nwater as one who was resting after a long journey. \u201cSir,\u201d said\nArchimage, \u201cyonder is the evil Knight; he would fain hide himself from\nthe punishment of his deeds.\u201d\n\nThen Sir Guyon addressed himself to the fight, and the Red-Cross Knight\nlikewise. But ere they encountered each other they stayed their hands:\n\u201cPardon me, fair sir, that I had well-nigh set my spear against the\nsacred badge which you bear upon your shield.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I, too,\u201d answered the Red-Cross Knight, \u201cwould likewise crave\npardon for like violence to that fair image of a maiden which is your\ndevice.\u201d\n\nThen they held converse together. Sir Guyon told his tale, but when he\nhad ended it he looked, and lo! the false squire, the deceiver\nArchimage, had fled, knowing that his device had come to naught. And now\nthe pilgrim that bore Sir Guyon company came up, and when he saw the\nRed-Cross Knight, he said: \u201cFair son, God give you praise and peace for\never. You indeed have won your place; but ours is yet to win.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis be the praise,\u201d answered the Red-Cross Knight, \u201cby whose grace I am\nwhat I am.\u201d So they parted with much courtesy, going each his several\nway.\n\nAfter a while they came to a fair castle by the sea where the Lady\nMedina had her dwelling, Sir Guyon toiling painfully on foot, because,\nwhen he was helping an unhappy traveller, a knave had stolen away his\nhorse. This Lady Medina was one of three sisters, and of the three\nElissa was the eldest and Perissa the youngest. These two were always at\nvariance, not a little with Medina, but still more with each other, and\nshe being always of an equal mind, and wise conduct, had the chief\nauthority in the place, though, indeed, their father had left it to the\nthree in equal shares. Elissa had for lover a certain Sir Hudibras, a\nfamous knight, but in deeds scarce equal to his high repute. He had a\nmost mighty body and sturdy limbs, but his wit was small. Perissa\u2019s\nknight was Sansloy, of whom mention has already been made. Never was man\nmore reckless, indeed, more careless of right and wrong. So soon as\nthese two heard that a stranger knight was come to the castle, then they\nissued forth to fight with him, their ladies following; yet such was\ntheir folly that even on the way they fell out and joined in deadly\nfray, to the great disturbance of the house. Much did Sir Guyon marvel\nas, entering the hall, he saw the fray.\n\n\u201cThis,\u201d said he to himself, \u201cmust have an end,\u201d and, carrying his shield\non his left arm and with his right hand unsheathing his sword, he ran in\nbetween the two. They with one consent turned their arms against him,\njust as a bear and tiger in the desert plains of Africa, when some\ntraveller comes in sight, leave their strife and fall upon him with one\nmind. It was a strange fight indeed, and Sir Guyon had fared ill, but\nfor his surpassing strength and courage, and even these might have\nfailed him in a conflict so unequal, but that the Lady Medina, hearing\nin her bower of what had befallen, ran forth, with bare bosom and\ndishevelled hair, and fell on her knees and besought them to abate their\nstrife: \u201cNow, my lords!\u201d she cried, \u201cby the mothers that bare you, and\nby the love that you have for your fair ladies, and by the knighthood to\nwhich you owe your homage, I beseech you to put away this fury and to be\nat peace among yourselves.\u201d So she besought them, and though the two\nsisters stood by, not helping a whit, but rather stirring up each her\nchampion to fiercer wrath, she prevailed. The knights let fall their\nswords, and bowed their heads before her, and vowed to do her bidding.\nThen she, fearing that their resolve might be unstable, bound them by a\ntreaty, which they, on their part, swore, on their knightly honour, that\nthey would keep for all time to come.\n\nThis done she bade them all, both knights and ladies, to a fair banquet.\nAnd when they had had enough of meat and drink, she said: \u201cTell us, Sir\nKnight, on what errand you are come and what end you seek.\u201d\n\nThen said Sir Guyon: \u201cWhat you ask brings to my mind that great Queen,\nfairest and best of all that are in the wide world. She is wont to make\na great feast on the first day of the New Year, to which come all\nknights that seek adventure and desire to gain honour for themselves. At\nthis feast, at the beginning of the self-same year, I was present; and\nit came to pass that this pilgrim whom you have bidden with me to your\nfeast, stood forth before the Queen, and made his complaint of a certain\nwicked fairy that wasted the land wherein he dwelt, and wrought great\ndamage to its inhabitants. And when he had ended the Queen set this task\nto me, unworthy as I am. Nor did I refuse to take it in hand. Now the\nname of this wicked fairy is Acrasia. Three times has the moon waxed and\nwaned since that day, and I have already seen full proofs of the\nmischief which she works. To subdue her, therefore, and to bring her\ncaptive into the presence of Queen Gloriana is the purpose which I set\nbefore myself.\u201d\n\nThen, the night being now far spent, all the guests betook themselves to\nsleep.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XII\n HOW SIR GUYON CAME INTO GREAT PERIL\n\n\nMany perils did Sir Guyon encounter, which it would take too long time\nto tell. Nor were there perils only of battle, such as befell in the\nmeeting of pagan knights and the like. For such he was well prepared;\nnever did sturdier champion lay spear in rest or wage war at close\nquarters with his sword. Force could not overcome him, but he could be\nled astray by fraud. So it was when, in his journeyings, he came to a\nbroad water, which seemed to bar his way. While he stood at the water\u2019s\nbrink, wondering how he might win his way farther, suddenly there was\nseen hard by a little boat rowed by a fair damsel. When he had told his\nneed she said: \u201cBe content, fair sir; step you aboard and I will take\nyou to the place which you desire.\u201d\n\nSo Sir Guyon, nothing doubting, stepped into the boat. But when he would\nhave taken his guide, the pilgrim, with him, he was denied. \u201cNay, nay,\u201d\nsaid the damsel, \u201cwe have not space for the old man on this journey.\u201d\nAnd even while she was speaking the boat was already far from the land,\nfor indeed it was a magic craft; nor could he even say farewell.\n\nThe two had pleasant converse awhile, for the damsel was gay and\ndebonair, and the knight courteous. Nevertheless, he somewhat misliked\nher manner, and when in a short space they came to the other side of the\nwater, he perceived that he had been led astray, and was not a little\ndispleased. \u201cLady,\u201d said he, \u201cyou have done me a wrong. This is not the\nplace which I sought; I did not think when I followed your bidding that\nyou would so deceive me.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir Knight,\u201d she answered, \u201che that will travel by water cannot always\ncommand his way; winds and waves will not answer to his call: the sea is\nwide, and \u2019tis easy to go astray thereon. Yet here, methinks, you may\nabide awhile in peace.\u201d\n\nSo Sir Guyon stepped upon the shore, though he was but half-content to\nfind himself in such a plight. Nevertheless, he could not but perceive\nthat it was a right pleasant place to which he had come, for the ground\nwas covered with flowers, and the trees were green with the fresh leaves\nof spring, and the sweet singing of birds was heard on every side. And\nfairer and more pleasant than all else was the damsel of the boat;\nnevertheless, Sir Guyon was ever on the watch, nor would he suffer\nhimself to be beguiled. \u201cMaybe,\u201d he said to himself, \u201cthis fair dame\ndesigns to turn me from my quest. Why did she, as by design, part me\nfrom my guide? Why did she turn me aside from the way in which I desired\nto go? This was more, I doubt not, than an idle whim.\u201d She, on the other\nhand, perceived that she had failed of her intent, and was, in truth, as\nwilling that he should go as he was eager to depart. So after a while\nshe said: \u201cFair knight, I perceive that it irks you to abide in this\nplace. Suffer me, therefore, to carry you to the other shore.\u201d\n\nWell content, he stepped into the boat, and was ferried across in the\nshortest space of time. So he passed through this peril, it seemed,\nwithout hurt, save indeed that he had lost his guide, for the damsel in\nher craft took him to a place far from where the guide had been left;\nand this losing of the guide was, as will be seen, a very sore hurt\nindeed.\n\nAfter a while he came to a gloomy valley covered in on all sides from\nthe light of heaven with the thick branches of trees. And here, in the\ndeepest and darkest shade, he saw sitting a man of a most uncouth and\nsavage aspect, having his face all dark with smoke, and his eyes\nbleared, and the hair of his head and his beard covered with soot. His\nhands were black as the hands of one who works in a forge, and his nails\nwere like to claws. He had an iron coat, all rusty above, but underneath\nof gold, and finely wrought with curious devices, though, indeed, it was\ncovered with dust and grime. In his lap he had a mass of golden coin,\nwhich he counted, turning over each piece as if he would feed his eyes\nwith the delight of seeing them. Round about him were great heaps of\ngold, some of them of rude ore, not yet smelted in the furnace, and some\nsmelted newly, in great squares and ingots, and others in round plates\nwithout device; but for the most part they bore the devices of ancient\nkings and C\u00e6sars. When the man beheld Sir Guyon he rose as in great\nfear, as if he would hide this precious store from a stranger\u2019s eyes,\nand began to pour it into a great hole that was thereby. But Sir Guyon,\nleaping forward, caught him by the hand, and, though he was not a little\ndismayed by the things which he saw, restrained him.\n\n\u201cMan,\u201d he said, \u201cif, indeed, man you are, why sit you here apart, hiding\nthese piles of wealth, and keeping them from being rightly used by men?\u201d\n\n\u201cTruly,\u201d answered the man, \u201cyou are bold and careless of yourself thus\nto trouble me. Know that I am the god of this world, the greatest god\nunder heaven, Mammon by name. From me come riches and renown, powers and\nhonours, and all things which men covet upon earth. Know, then, that if\nyou will serve me, all these mountains of riches shall be yours; and if\nthese do not content you, I will give you tenfold more.\u201d\n\n\u201cMammon,\u201d answered the knight, \u201cin vain do you boast your godhead; in\nvain do you offer me your gifts. Keep them for such as covet such idle\nthings, and look for a more fitting servant. I am of those who regard\nhonour and strive for kingdoms; fair shields and steeds gaily bedight\nand shining arms are pleasant to my eyes.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you not perceive,\u201d answered Mammon, \u201cO foolish knight, that money\ncan furnish all these things in which you delight? Shields, and steeds,\nand arms it can provide in the twinkling of an eye; ay, and crowns and\nkingdoms also. I can throw down into the dust him that sits upon the\nthrone, and I can lift up to the throne him that lies in the dust.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I,\u201d said Sir Guyon, \u201chave other thoughts of riches; that infinite\nmischiefs spring from them\u2014strife and debate and bloodshed. No crowns\nnor kingdoms are yours, but you turn loyal truth to treason; you break\nthe sacred diadem in pieces, and rend the purple robe of kingship. It is\nof you that castles are surprised, great cities sacked and burned, and\nkingdoms overthrown!\u201d\n\nThen Mammon waxed wroth and cried: \u201cWhy, then, are men so eager to\nobtain a thing so evil? Why do they so complain when they have it not,\nand when they lose it, so upbraid?\u201d\n\nAnd when the knight answered these questions by telling of how in the\nold time man was content without riches, and how he had been corrupted\nby the lust of gold and silver, Mammon replied: \u201cNay, my son, let be\nthese stories of ancient days. You who live in these latter times must\nbe content to take your wage for the work you do. Come now, you shall\nhave what you will of these riches; and if you like them not, then you\nare free to refuse. Only, if you refuse, blame me not afterwards.\u201d\n\nThen said the knight, for, being but mortal man, he was touched by the\nsight of great riches: \u201cI would not take aught that is offered me unless\nI know that it has been rightly got. How can I be assured that you have\nnot taken these things unlawfully from the rightful owner?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d cried Mammon, \u201cthat is but idle talk. Never did eye behold these\nthings, never did hand handle them. I have kept them secret both from\nheaven and from earth.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d said the knight, \u201cwhat place is large enough to hold such store,\nor safe enough to keep it from robbery?\u201d\n\n\u201cCome and see,\u201d answered Mammon. And the knight followed him, but he had\ndone more wisely to stay behind.\n\nMammon led him through the depths of the wood, till they came to a\nsecret way which was hollowed out in the earth. This they entered and\nfollowed awhile, till they came to where it opened out into a wide\nplain. Across the plain there was a broad highway which led to the\ndwelling of Pluto. On either side of this road were dreadful shapes\u2014Pain\nholding an iron whip, and Strife with a bloody knife in his hand, and\nRevenge, and Treason, and Jealousy. Fear, also, was there, ever\ntrembling, and seeking in vain where he might hide himself, and Sorrow,\ncrouching in darkness, and Shame, hiding her face from every eye. So\nthey came at last to a narrow door, which stood fast shut, with one\nwhich was yawning wide open hard by. The narrow door was the door of\nriches, and the wide the door of hell. This opened to Mammon of its own\naccord; and Sir Guyon followed him, fearing nothing. But behind the\nknight there followed close a monstrous fiend, watching him, that he\nmight do him to death if he should lay a covetous hand or cast a longing\neye on anything he might see; for such was the law of the place. The\nwalls and the floor and the roof were all gold, but covered with dust\nand decay; and piled up on every side were huge chests of iron, bound\nall of them with double bands, and on the floor were the bones of dead\nmen, who, in time past, had sought to win some spoil for themselves, and\nso had come by their death. But not a word did Sir Guyon speak. So they\ncame to a great door of iron; this, too, opened to them as of its own\naccord, and showed such a store of wealth as could not be seen in all\nthe world beside. Then Mammon turned to the knight and said: \u201cSee now\nthe happiness of the world; here is that for which men strive and\nstruggle. Lo! I lay before you all that you can desire.\u201d\n\nThe knight answered: \u201cI do refuse your proffered grace. I seek not to be\nmade happy in such fashion. I set before mine eyes another happiness. I\nseek another end; I would spend my life in brave deeds. I desire rather\nto be lord of them who have riches than to have them for myself.\u201d\n\nMammon gnashed his teeth to hear such an answer, for he had thought that\nthe sight would overcome the soul of any mortal man, and that being so\novercome the knight would be his prey. But not yet did he give up all\nhope. He led him into yet another chamber, in which were a hundred\nfurnaces all ablaze, and at every furnace strange creatures busy at\nwork. Some worked the bellows which raised the fire to white heat; and\nsome scummed off the dross from the molten gold, and some stirred it\nwith great ladles. But when they saw the shape of mortal man, they all\nceased from their work, and looked at him with wondering eyes. And he\nwas not a little dismayed to see them, so foul and hideous were they to\nbehold.\n\nThen Mammon spoke again: \u201cSee now what mortal eye has never seen before.\nYou would know whence come the riches which men so fervently desire.\nLook, here you see their source and origin. Here is the fountain of the\nworld\u2019s whole wealth. Think, and change your mood, lest haply hereafter\nyou may wish and not be able to obtain.\u201d\n\nSaid the knight, \u201cMammon, once more I refuse the thing which you offer.\nI have all that I need; why should I ask for more? Suffer me to follow\nmy own way.\u201d\n\nGreat was Mammon\u2019s wrath to hear his offers so refused, but he would try\nyet another temptation. He took the Knight into a very lofty, spacious\nchamber in which was assembled a great company of people from every\nnation under heaven. All of them were pressing forward with great uproar\nto the chamber\u2019s upper end, where, upon a dais, was set a lofty throne.\nOn the throne there sat a woman gorgeously attired, clad in such royal\nrobes as never were worn by earthly prince. Right fair of face was she\nto behold, of such a beauty that she seemed, as it were, to make a\nbrightness in the chamber. But the beauty was not indeed her own. It was\nbut a pretence, cunningly devised to delude the hearts of men. In her\nhand she held a great chain, of which the upper end was fastened to the\nsky, and the lower went down into hell. All the crowd that thronged\nabout her sought to lay hold of this same chain, hoping thereby to climb\nto some high estate. Some were fain to rise by the help of riches, and\nsome by flattery, and some by help of friendship, but all thought only\nof themselves. And they that were high kept others down, and they that\nwere low would not suffer others to rise; every man was against his\nfellow.\n\nThen said Sir Guyon: \u201cWhat means this that I see? What is this throng\nthat crowds about the lady\u2019s throne? And the lady, who is she?\u201d\n\nMammon answered: \u201cThat fair lady about whom these people crowd is my own\ndear daughter. Her name is Philotime (which, being interpreted, is Love\nof Honour). She is the fairest woman on the earth, could you but see her\nin the upper air, for the darkness of the place hides her beauty. Her,\nif you will, you shall have to wife, that she may advance you to high\ndignity.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thank you, sir,\u201d said the knight, \u201cfor the honour which you design\nfor me. But I am only mortal man, and not fit match for an immortal\nmate. And were it otherwise, my troth is given to another, and it would\nill become a loyal knight to break his faith.\u201d\n\nAgain was Mammon greatly moved to wrath, but he hid it in his heart, and\nled the knight into a garden full of herbs and trees, not such as earth\nputs forth, in the upper air, to delight the souls of men: but such as\nhave about them the atmosphere of death. The cypress was there, and the\nblack ebony, and hemlock, which unjust Athens gave in old times to\nSocrates, wisest of mortal men. These were gloomy to behold. But in the\nmidst was a tree, splendid with apples of gold. Hercules planted it with\nthe apples which he won from the garden of the daughters of Atlas, and\nit bore fruits which were the occasions of strife, such as that which\nDiscord threw among the guests at the marriage-feast of Peleus and\nThetis. \u201cFor the Fairest!\u201d was written on it. Hence came the strife of\nthe goddesses, and the Judgment of Paris, and the stealing of Helen, and\nthe bringing to the ground of the towers of Troy.\n\nMuch did the knight marvel to see the tree, for it spread its branches\nfar and wide across the garden, and even beyond the garden\u2019s bounds; for\nit was compassed about with a great mound. And the knight, desiring to\nsee all that could be seen of so strange a place, climbed upon the bank\nand looked. And lo! there flowed below it a dark and dismal stream,\nwhich men call the River of Wailing. In this he saw many miserable\ncreatures; and one he noted especially, who was always clutching at the\nfruit which hung from the tree, and making as though he would drink from\nthe stream; and still the fruit seemed to draw back from his hand and\nthe water from his mouth. The knight, seeing him so tormented, asked him\nwho he was and how he came to be in such a plight.\n\n\u201cI am Tantalus,\u201d answered the wretch, \u201cthe most miserable of all men; in\nold time I feasted with the gods, and now I die of hunger and thirst.\u201d\n\nLooking a little further he saw one who sought to wash in the stream\nhands covered with filth; but for all that he washed they were not one\nwhit the cleaner. And when the knight inquired of him who he might be,\nhe answered: \u201cI am Pontius Pilate, most unjust of judges. I condemned\nmost unrighteously the Lord of Life to die, and washed my hands to show\nthat I was innocent of his blood, but in truth I was most guilty.\u201d\n\nThen Mammon, coming to him again, said: \u201cWill you not even now take of\nthe good things which I offer you, for yet there is time?\u201d\n\nBut Sir Guyon was aware of his guile, and would not. \u201cTake me back,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cto the place from which I came,\u201d and Mammon was constrained to\nobey, for it was not permitted to him to keep the knight or any man\nagainst his will. He led him back, therefore, to the upper air; but as\nsoon as Sir Guyon felt the wind blow upon his face, for want of food and\nsleep he fell into a swoon, and lay without sense upon the ground.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XIII\n OF TWO PAGAN KNIGHTS\n\n\nWhile Sir Guyon was beholding the wonders of the house of Mammon, his\nfaithful guide, the pilgrim, was seeking him, and came by happy chance,\nor leading of the powers above, to the place where he lay. Sore troubled\nhe was to see him in so sore a plight, for indeed he lay as one that was\ndead. Nevertheless, feeling his pulse with trembling hand, the pilgrim\nfound that it still did beat. Thereat greatly rejoicing he tended him\nwith all care and kindness.\n\nWhile he was busy with this tending, he lifted his eyes and saw two\nknights riding towards him clad in bright armour and an old man pacing\nby their side. The two were brothers, Pyrochles and Cymochles by name,\nand the old man was Archimage. Well he knew who they were, for Sir Guyon\nhad done battle with the two in the time past, and had vanquished them,\nnor did he doubt that the old man, for all his reverend looks, was a\nwicked sorcerer. And they, too, knew who he was, and that the knight who\nlay upon the ground was their whilom adversary, Sir Guyon. And first Sir\nPyrochles cried aloud: \u201cOld man, leave that dead man to us. A traitor\nand a coward he was, while he was yet alive; and now he lies\ndishonoured!\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, Sir Knight,\u201d answered the pilgrim, \u201cyou do wrong so to revile the\ndead. He was a true knight and valiant in the field, as none know more\nsurely than yourself.\u201d\n\nThen said the other pagan, Cymochles: \u201cOld man, you dote. And, indeed,\nwhat know you of knighthood and valour? All is not gold that glitters;\nnor are all good knights that know how to set spear in rest and use the\nsword. Let a man be judged by his end. There he lies dead on the field,\nand the dead are nothing worth.\u201d\n\nPyrochles spoke again: \u201cAy, he is dead and I must forego the vengeance\nthat I vowed to have upon him. Nevertheless, what I can that will I\nhave. I will despoil him of his arms. Why should a dead body be arrayed\nin so noble a fashion?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, Sir Knight,\u201d cried the pilgrim, \u201cI pray you not to do so foul a\ndeed. \u2019Tis a vile thing to rob the dead. Surely it would better befit a\nnoble knight to leave these things to be the ornament of his tomb.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat tomb?\u201d cried Pyrochles, in his rage; \u201cthe raven and the kite are\ntomb enough for such as he.\u201d\n\nThus speaking, he laid a rude hand upon Sir Guyon\u2019s shield, and\nCymochles began to unlace his helmet. But while they were so busied,\nthey chanced to spy a knight of gallant mien and bravely accoutred,\nriding towards them, with a squire behind him, who carried a spear of\nebony and a covered shield. And Archimage, so cunning was he, knew him\nfrom afar, and he cried to the two brothers: \u201cRise, prepare yourselves\nfor battle. Here comes the sturdiest knight in all the world, Prince\nArthur. Many a pagan has he laid low in battle. You must use all your\nskill to hold your own against him.\u201d\n\nSo the two made themselves ready for battle. And now the strange knight\nrode up, and with all courtesy made his salute to the company, to which\ngreeting the two brothers made but a churlish return. He said to the\npilgrim: \u201cTell me, reverend sir, what misfortune has befallen this\nknight. Did he die in course of nature, or by treason, or in fair\nfight?\u201d\n\nSaid the pilgrim: \u201cHe is not dead, but in a swoon that has the likeness\nof death.\u201d\n\nThen Prince Arthur, turning to the two brothers, said with all courtesy:\n\u201cValiant sirs, who, I doubt not, have just complaint against this\nknight, who lies here dead, or seeming dead upon the ground, will you\nnot abate your wrath awhile? I would not challenge your right, but would\nrather entreat your pardon for this helpless body.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut who are you?\u201d said Cymochles, \u201cthat make yourself his daysman? Who\nare you that would hinder me from wreaking on his vile carcase the\nvengeance which I should have required had he lived? The man is dead,\nbut his offence still lives.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is but true,\u201d said the Prince, \u201cthat evil lives after death, and\nthat the curse goes down even to the third and fourth generation, so\nstern is the judgment of God. But yet the knight who raises his hand\nagainst the dead, sins against his honour.\u201d\n\nBut Pyrochles made reply: \u201cStranger, you make yourself a sharer in the\ndead man\u2019s crime.\u201d And as he spoke, he lifted his great sword and dealt\na blow which, but that the Prince\u2019s horse swerved aside, had surely laid\nhim on the earth. He reeled somewhat in the saddle, but so true was his\nseat, still kept his place.\n\nGreat was his wrath at such treacherous attack. \u201cTraitor,\u201d he said, \u201cyou\nhave broken the law of arms, so to strike without challenge given, and\nyou shall suffer such penalty as befits.\u201d So speaking, he thrust his\nspear, and thought with that one thrust to end the battle. And so,\nindeed, it would have fallen out, but for Sir Guyon\u2019s shield, which the\npagan carried. Yet even through this, with its seven folds, did the\nspear-head pass, and pierced Pyrochles\u2019 shoulder, and drove him bleeding\nto the earth.\n\nWhen Cymochles saw what had happened, he leapt forward in great wrath,\ncrying: \u201cNow, by Mahomet, cursed thief! You shall pay for this blow!\u201d\nand smote him on the crest so mightily that he had no chance but to\nleave his saddle, else had his head been cleft in twain. Now was the\nPrince in no small distress, for what could he do with his spear alone\nagainst two stalwart knights? For sword he had none, and they too were\nboth fully armed, and well skilled in fight, unwounded one, and the\nother wounded indeed, but only made thereby more furious. Bravely did he\nbear himself, and bravely held his own, wounding now this adversary and\nnow that, yet did not himself escape without hurt, for Cymochles wounded\nhim sorely in the side, so that the blood flowed out amain. And when the\nbrothers saw it, they rejoiced greatly, thinking that the end had come.\nBut now the pilgrim, seeing that the Prince was hard bested, and all for\nwant of a sword, came near and put Sir Guyon\u2019s blade into his hand,\nsaying, \u201cMy son, God bless your right hand; use the sword as he that\nowns it would have used!\u201d\n\nRight glad was the knight to have this help, and advanced himself with\nnew courage to his task. He smote first this brother and then that, and\nboth so fiercely that, though they were two against one, they could not\nhold their own, but began to give way. Only the Prince was at this\ndisadvantage that, when Pyrochles held out against him the shield of Sir\nGuyon with the likeness of Queen Gloriana on it, his hand retreated and\nforebore the stroke. Once and again was the pagan saved thereby from\ninstant doom. But for all that the appointed hour drew nigh. Cymochles,\nthinking to end the battle, smote the Prince upon the hauberk. So fierce\nwas the blow, that it broke the links of the mail in twain, and made the\nPrince to reel, as he had never reeled before. But his courage rose all\nthe higher, and his strength seemed to be doubled. High in the air he\nlifted Sir Guyon\u2019s sword, and smote the pagan\u2019s helmet so fiercely that\nhe shore it in two, and the steel pierced to the brain, so that he fell\ndying to the ground.\n\nWhen Pyrochles beheld what had befallen his brother, he was so filled\nwith rage that he cast away all caution and care, and rushed in madman\u2019s\nfashion upon the Prince. And now might be seen how an evil deed finds\nits recompense. The sword which the pagan carried was, in truth, the\nPrince\u2019s own, which had been filched from him by craft. Now Archimage\nhad warned the knight before, saying: \u201cUse not this blade against its\nrightful lord; it will not serve your will.\u201d And well he knew that he\nspoke the truth. But Pyrochles had laughed him to scorn, saying:\n\n\u201cYou think too much, old man, of magic charms and words.\u201d\n\nYet now he found that the old man\u2019s words were true. So perceiving that\nhe smote to no purpose, he threw the sword down and leapt upon the\nPrince, and caught him round the middle and thought to throw him to the\nearth. But he strove to no purpose, for the Prince surpassed him both in\nstrength and in skill, so that he was thrown to the ground, whereon he\nlay helpless as a bittern in the claws of an eagle. Full of rage he was,\nbut he did not move nor cast a look upon his conqueror. But the Prince,\nfull of courtesy and kindness, said: \u201cPagan, this is an evil day for\nyou; but if you will give up your false faith, and yield yourself to be\nmy liegeman for ever, I will give you life in reward for your courage,\nand blot out from my memory all your misdeeds.\u201d\n\n\u201cFool,\u201d cried the pagan in his rage, \u201cI defy your gift; use your fortune\nas you will, slay me, for I would not live at your behest.\u201d And the\nPrince, much against his will, smote him that he died.\n\nAnd now Sir Guyon, waking from his swoon, saw the pilgrim at his side,\nand cried out with joy, \u201cDear friend, for lack of whose guidance I have\nwandered long, how gladly do I see you again. But where are my shield\nand my sword?\u201d Then the pilgrim told him what had befallen, and the\nknight rendered his thanks to the Prince right courteously, and he as\ncourteously received them.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XIV\n OF QUEEN ACRASIA\n\n\nAll day the two journeyed together with much sweet converse, and, when\nit was evening, they came to a fair castle, of which the gate was fast\nbarred. So the Prince bade his squire wind his horn under the castle\nwall, which thing he did with such a will, that a watchman straightway\nlooked forth from an upper storey; but the gate was barred as before.\n\u201cWhat want you, strangers?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cWe seek shelter for the night,\u201d answered the squire.\n\n\u201cFly,\u201d cried the man, \u201cfly, my friends, for your lives. Willingly would\nI give you shelter, but this is no safe abiding place, so closely and\nfiercely do our enemies assail us. Truly many knights, coming as you\nhave come this day, have perished miserably.\u201d And while he was speaking\na thousand villainous creatures swarmed up from all the rocks and caves\nabout, armed in the strangest fashion, some with pikes, and some with\nclubs, and some with stakes hardened in the fire. Fiercely they rushed\nat the knights and their company, and for a while drove them back by\nmere force of numbers. But soon they were forced to fly, and though they\ncame again and again, yet before the night fell they departed and left\nthe travellers in peace. And now the castle gate was opened wide, and\nthe lady of the place, Alma by name, coming to the door with a fair\ncompany of knights and dames, bade them welcome. Then she showed them\nher castle, which was marvellously well-ordered in all its parts. There\nwas a noble hall in which the guests\u2014and there was already gathered a\ngoodly company of knights and ladies\u2014were entertained; and a library\nwhere there was a great store of goodly books, and all other things\nwhich the heart of man could desire.\n\nOn the morrow, Sir Guyon and his guide set forth again, but Prince\nArthur tarried behind, desiring to help the Lady Alma against the\nenemies who sought to take her castle. And this he did in such a fashion\nthat she was troubled no more with them. Yet of his great deeds I will\nnot further speak, being rather concerned with the doings of Sir Guyon,\nwho was indeed now come to the accomplishment of his task.\n\nFirst they came to a great water, where there was a ferry-boat ready\nprepared for their coming. In this they embarked and set forth, a stout\nferryman being at hand to manage the craft. Two days they sailed and saw\nno land; but on the third day, as the light began to dawn in the East,\nthey heard the sound of a great roaring. Now the pilgrim held the tiller\nand steered the craft. To him said the ferryman: \u201cPilgrim, steer an even\ncourse; there is a dangerous place which we must pass across,\u2014on the one\nside is a great whirlpool, and a ship that comes too near it is sure to\nsink, and on the other a great rock of magnet, which, if we keep not a\ndue distance, will draw us to itself. Steer then so that we may not fall\ninto this danger or into that.\u201d\n\nRight skilfully did the pilgrim steer, and great was the need. The\nwhirlpool, indeed, showed no sign of what had happened there before, for\nall was swallowed up in its depths; but on the rock they saw the ribs of\nships which had been broken upon it, and the bones of men lying in its\nclefts. And birds of prey, mews and cormorants and the like, sat\nwatching for such spoils as should come. Right willingly did they pass\nfrom that place of death. And when the ferryman, plying his oars with\nsturdy strength, had rowed awhile, Sir Guyon cried, pointing with his\nhand: \u201cI see land yonder; steer thereto, good sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said the ferryman, \u201cit is not so. That is no land which you see,\nbut what men call the Wandering Islands. Many men have come to their\ndeaths through them. They seem firm ground, fairly grown with trees and\ngrass and flowers; but let a man once set his foot upon them, he can\nnever recover it again.\u201d\n\nSo they journeyed on in a straight course, and in so doing came to one\nof these islands, whereon they espied a fair lady sitting. On the rock\nshe sat, and she had a little boat hard by. \u201cCome hither, my friends,\u201d\nshe said. \u201cI have somewhat here which I would show you, and which you\nwould willingly see.\u201d\n\nBut Sir Guyon said: \u201cNay, nay. We are otherwise minded; this is the Lady\nof the Lake who caused me to be parted from my guide.\u201d So they passed\non, and took no heed. But when, after a while, they passed hard by\nanother island, on which sat a maiden in sore distress, as it seemed,\nSir Guyon\u2019s heart was moved; for was it not a good knight\u2019s part to\nsuccour ladies in distress? \u201cSteer thither,\u201d he cried.\n\n\u201cNot so. This damsel in distress is but a show; no damsel she, but some\nill creature ready to devour any that she may deceive.\u201d So they passed\non, nor did they halt when, passing by a pleasant bay, they heard a\nsound of sweet singing.\n\n\u201cO Guyon,\u201d such was the song which they heard, \u201cflower of chivalry, most\nfamous of all knights upon earth, turn thy bark hither, and rest\nawhile.\u201d\n\n\u201cListen not,\u201d said the pilgrim, \u201cthey do but seek to lure you to your\ndeath.\u201d\n\nThese things past, they came to the place for which they were bound. And\nthe pilgrim said: \u201cThis, Sir Knight, is the place where you must contend\nfor the mastery. Take your arms, and make yourself ready, for the hour\nof trial is at hand.\u201d\n\nAnd now the ferryman drove the boat upon the shore, and Sir Guyon and\nhis guide stepped out upon the sand. Straightway they heard a hideous\nbellowing as of savage beasts, and soon the beasts themselves came in\nview, threatening as if they would devour them. But no sooner did the\npilgrim hold out his staff than they ceased their roaring, and humbled\nthemselves to the ground. And now they came to the Bower of Bliss, a\nplace most daintily adorned with all that could please the eye. The\nporch by which they entered was of ivory cunningly adorned with carved\nwork, in which was told the story of Jason and Medea; how he sailed in\nthe good ship _Argo_, and how he won the love of the king\u2019s daughter,\nand how she helped him to win the fleece of gold from the dragon which\nguarded it, and how she fled with him over the sea. And when they had\npassed through the porch they came to a very fair meadow, adorned with\nthe fairest trees and flowers. And the meadow being passed they came to\nanother gate, where there sat a comely damsel, who pressed the clusters\nof a vine which hung above her head into a cup. This cup she proffered\nto the knight, and he, suspecting evil in all that seemed most fair and\npleasant, took it from her hand, and threw it violently on the ground,\nso that it was broken into many pieces, and all the liquor was spilt.\n\n[Illustration: Sir Guyon and the Men in Bestial Shapes.]\n\nMany other tempting sights did they see, and all the knight passed by\nunscathed, the pilgrim not ceasing on occasion to give counsel and\nwarning. So at last they came to the most sacred place of the Bower,\nwhere the queen herself, Acrasia by name, had her abode. Fair she was\nbeyond all words and daintily arrayed, and at her feet there lay a\ngoodly knight asleep. He was of goodly aspect, just come to the years of\nmanhood, with the down newly sprung upon his cheeks and his lips. His\narms hung idly on a tree hard by, but his shield was without an emblem,\nas if he had put away the purpose of his life.\n\nSir Guyon and the pilgrim drew near, none seeming to heed them, so\noccupied were they with the pleasures of the place. And then the pilgrim\nthrew over the queen and the knight a net which he had cunningly\nprepared for that same purpose. Fast did it hold them for all their\nstruggles, neither force nor art could avail them, though they strove\nwith all their might. The queen being thus captured, they bound her with\nchains of adamant, for nothing else could hold her safely; but the\nknight they soon set free, for he was of a noble nature, though it was\nmuch decayed by evil ways, and he was willing to take to himself good\nadvice and counsel. And the beauty and glory of the Bower did they\ndeface and spoil, the goodly carvings they broke in pieces, and cut down\nthe pleasant groves. As for the beasts, when the pilgrim raised his\nstaff over them, they left their bestial shapes and came back to their\nown, for, indeed, they were men whom this same evil queen had changed to\nthe forms and thoughts of beasts. So did Sir Guyon perform the command\nof Queen Gloriana.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XV\n BRITOMART\n\n\nSir Guyon returned to rest awhile in the castle of the Lady Alma, where\nalso he had Prince Arthur for companion. Acrasia he sent to Queen\nGloriana under a strong guard, lest perchance her friends and followers,\nof whom there was great multitude, should seek to deliver her. After a\nwhile the two knights set out again on their journey. Many good deeds\nthey did, helping the weak and setting right the things that were wrong.\nIt happened on a certain day that they espied a knight riding towards\nthem, with an aged squire by his side, who seemed too weak for the\nburden which he bare. The knight had a shield with the device of a lion\non a field of gold. Sir Guyon said to Prince Arthur, \u201cLet me, I pray\nyou, have this turn.\u201d\n\nSo he put his spear to rest, and charged, and the stranger did likewise.\nThey met full and fair; Sir Guyon\u2019s spear, so fast and furious was the\nonset, was like to pierce the stranger\u2019s shield, but this it did not\navail to do, nor did it drive the stranger from his seat: nevertheless\nhe was somewhat shaken. On the other hand, Sir Guyon himself was carried\nback, ere he was aware, nigh upon a spear\u2019s length behind the crupper of\nhis saddle, yet without hurt to life or limb. Nevertheless his anger was\ngreat, for never since the day when he first bore arms as a knight had\nhe been dismounted in such fashion. And indeed, if he had known the\nwhole truth of the matter, his anger had been both less and greater;\nless because the spear by which he had been overthrown was of the magic\nsort, and greater, because the knight by whom he had been overthrown was\nno man, but a maid, even the famous Britomart. Full of rage he was and\nhot to do away his disgrace, as leaping from the ground he drew his\nsword. And now the pilgrim in great haste came between the knight and\nhis purpose, for being a holy man and wise, he perceived that there was\nsome marvellous power in that same spear-point. This indeed he did not\ndisclose, for it was not lawful so to do, but he made other pretence:\n\u201cNay, Sir Knight, it were ill advised to seek amends with your sword for\nthe mischance of your spear. If haply your steed swerved somewhat to the\nside, or your page was somewhat careless in the ordering of your\nequipage, why should you be so carried away by wrath; for, remember, you\nhave no quarrel with this knight.\u201d\n\nWith such prudent counsels did the pilgrim pacify Sir Guyon\u2019s wrath.\nThus concord was made between the two, in which the prince also was\njoined.\n\nWhen they had journeyed awhile Prince Arthur and Sir Guyon set off on an\nadventure of their own, to rescue some fair lady in distress. But\nBritomart, finding that they two would suffice for that enterprise, on\nwhich her own mind was in nowise set, rode on without company until she\ncame to a fair castle, with a meadow before the gate, on which she saw\nsix knights setting upon one. He was not a little pressed by such odds,\nyet in nowise dismayed. Indeed, the six dared not to stand up against\nhim face to face, so shrewd were the blows which he dealt them, but\nsought to take him at a disadvantage from behind. Britomart endured not\nto see such knavish work, but setting spurs to her horse and crying\naloud, \u201cHave done with such foul tricks,\u201d made all haste to help. And\nwhen they ceased awhile from the attack, she said to the single knight:\n\u201cHow comes it, sir, that you do battle in such fashion and at such\nodds?\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d he made answer, \u201cthese six would have me swear that the lady of\nthis castle hard by is fairer than the lady whom I love. Now that I\nutterly refuse; I had sooner die than break my plighted word in such a\nfashion.\u201d\n\nThen said one of the six, speaking for his fellows: \u201cIn this castle\nwhich you see there dwells a lady of such a beauty that none in all the\nworld can be compared with her. She has ordained this law, that any\nknight coming to this place, if he have no lady-love already, shall vow\nhimself to her service; but if he have such a lady-love, then he shall\nconfess that she is of less grace and beauty, or failing so to do, shall\ndo battle with us.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy heaven!\u201d cried Britomart, \u201cthis is a hard choice! And tell me, pray,\nif this knight be obedient to this same law, what reward shall he have?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe shall have the lady\u2019s fair regard. But tell us, sir, for\nyourself\u2014have you a lady-love?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat,\u201d said Britomart, \u201cI answer not; whether I have such or have not,\nI pay no such homage as you ask to your lady. Rather, I take up this\ngood knight\u2019s cause against you.\u201d And even while she spoke, she rode at\none of the six and laid him low upon the ground, and then at another,\nand then again at a third, with the like end. Meanwhile the knight had\ndiscomfited the fourth. And the two that were left were fain to sue for\npeace. \u201cSee,\u201d said Britomart, \u201chow truth and honour prevail!\u201d\n\nThen was Britomart taken into the castle and received with great honour.\nYet she misliked the place and the company, for that they both seemed\nunduly given over to ease and luxury. Nor would she doff her armour,\nnor, indeed, do aught but raise the visor of her helmet. And when the\nlady of the place, seeing that the stranger was very fair and of a noble\npresence, bore herself as one greatly enamoured, she departed in great\ndiscontent. The six knights would fain have stopped her going, and one\nof them, Gardant\u00e9 by name, shooting with an arrow, for to come to closer\nquarters was not to his mind, wounded her in the side. But he and his\ncompanions received manifold more hurt than they gave, not only from\nBritomart, but from the strange knight and Sir Guyon also, for they,\nhearing the tumult, came to her help.\n\nAs they journeyed, it came into Sir Guyon\u2019s mind to inquire of his\ncompanion concerning her condition, and how she came to be wandering in\nthese parts. Britomart was not a little disturbed by this questioning.\nFor a while she was silent, and could make no answer, but trembled and\nblushed, no knight but a very woman. But when the passion had passed,\nand she had gathered her strength together, she said: \u201cSir Knight, I\nwould have you know that from a child I have been trained in things of\nwar, to carry a shield, and to put spear in rest, that the life of ease,\nwhich women, for the most part, follow, pleased me not; and as for\nfingering the fine needle and the slender thread, by heaven! I had\nsooner be struck dead by a foeman\u2019s spear! And so, all my heart being\nset on deeds of arms and perilous adventures, by sea and by land,\nwheresoever they might be met, I came from my own country, which men\ncall the Greater Britain, into this land. For it was told me that in\nthis same fairy land many such adventures were to be found, and much\nglory and honour won thereupon. And now, courteous sir, I would ask you\none question: Know you, perchance, of one Artegall, for he has done me a\nwrong for which I would fain requite him?\u201d\n\nScarcely had she spoken the words, when she fain would have called them\nback. But Sir Guyon, taking them up with no small heat, made answer:\n\u201cFair warrior, surely you do ill to accuse so true and loyal a knight as\nis Sir Artegall with ill-behaviour. Truly of all who have ever taken\npart in tilt or tourney, there is not one that stands in better repute\nthan he. It were indeed the greatest of marvels that he should do an\nunworthy act, or even think in his heart an unworthy thought. And if you\nhave come with such a purpose in your heart, then I say that you have\njourneyed far on a false errand.\u201d\n\nNow Britomart, in her secret heart, was glad to hear such praises of Sir\nArtegall. For, indeed, as will be seen, she loved him, and it was her\nwoman\u2019s craft, by speaking ill of him to his friends, so to call forth\nhis praises. And when, with this thought in her heart, she had again\nuttered some injurious words concerning him, Sir Guyon answered: \u201cIt\nwould be well, lady, that you should listen to reason in this matter.\nTruly he is not one whom you can compel by force to do this thing or\nthat, for there is not, I take it, a knight upon earth that can match\nhim in equal fight. And, indeed, for what you ask me, where is Sir\nArtegall to be found, I cannot tell you. He is not one who will remain\nfor long time in any certain place; rather he wanders round the world,\nseeking occasion for great deeds, by which he can help to right such as\nsuffer wrong.\u201d\n\nBritomart was greatly pleased to hear such praises of the knight. Still\nshe dissembled the matter and said: \u201cWhether it be easy or hard to find\nthe man I know not; but at least I would know how I may profitably seek\nhim. Tell me some mark by which I may know him, the manner of his\nshield, the fashion of his arms, the bearing of his steed, and other\nthings by which I may certainly know the man should I chance to\nencounter him.\u201d Then Sir Guyon told her all that she would know, and\nshe, listening to all that he said, found it most welcome to her heart.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XVI\n OF MERLIN\u2019S MAGIC MIRROR\n\n\nThere was a certain king of old time in the land of Deheubarth, which\nmen now call South Wales. His name was Ryence, and he had for his\nprincipal counsellor one Merlin, who was a great magician. This Merlin\nmade by his art a wonderful mirror, which was so contrived that he who\nlooked in it could see anything from the lowest parts of the earth to\nthe highest part of the heavens, if only it concerned him. If a foe\ncontrived any evil against him, if a friend had used any falsehood in\nrespect of him, there he could see it plainly set forth. This mirror\nMerlin gave to the king for a protection, that if at any time an enemy\nshould invade his dominions, he should know of his design before tidings\ncould come to him from without, and so should be able to be beforehand\nwith him. Never had prince a more noble present, nor one more worthy of\nreward, for there could be no treason within the realm or enmity without\nbut that it came straightway to the king\u2019s knowledge.\n\nNow Britomart was the daughter of King Ryence, and it chanced on a\ncertain day that she came into his closet, for he kept nothing secret\nfrom her, seeing that she was his only child and the heir of his\nkingdom, and there saw Merlin\u2019s mirror. She had seen it indeed not once\nor twice only, and knew its virtues. There came into her head the\nthought that she might see therein the image of the man who should be\nher husband. Such a thought maidens are wont to entertain, and\nBritomart, being her father\u2019s only child, and knowing that she would one\nday come to the kingdom, was the more curious in this regard, nor had\nshe had to that time any thought of one man more than of another. So\nlooking into the mirror she saw a very comely knight, armed cap-\u00e0-pie.\nHe had the visor of his helmet up, showing a face that would strike fear\ninto an enemy and be loving to a friend. He was tall of stature, and\nbore himself with a manly grace. For his crest he had a hound couchant,\nand his armour seemed of ancient fashion, massive and strong to look at;\non it was written in old letters these words, \u201cThe Arms of Achilles\nwhich Artegall did win.\u201d The shield was of seven folds, and it bore an\nermilin crowned, white on a field of blue. The maiden looked and liked\nwell what she saw, and went her way, not knowing\u2014such was the simplicity\nof her age\u2014that she had seen with her eyes the fate that should rule the\nfortunes of her life. That keen archer Love had wounded her with his\narrow, but she knew it not. Yet from that day she began to droop. No\nlonger did she carry herself with princely pride. Sad and solemn was\nshe, and full of fancies, yet knew not why. That she ailed somewhat she\nwas well aware, but thought it was not love, but some passing mood of\nmelancholy. Such was she by day, and at night, when she laid herself\ndown to rest, sleep fled far from her eyes. She kept a sorrowful watch\nas the hours of the night went by, and she watered her couch with her\ntears; and if, when nature was worn out with these long watchings, she\nfell into some brief slumber, then some fearful dreams would come and\nbring with them a worse unrest.\n\nOne night her nurse, Glauc\u00e9 by name, caught her in her arms as she was\nleaping from her bed, and held her down by force. \u201cAh, my child,\u201d she\ncried, \u201chow is it that you are in this evil plight? What is it that has\nchanged your cheerful mood to this sadness? Surely there is some cause\nfor these troubles that haunt you by night, and drive away sleep from\nyour eyes. And in the days when your equals in age disport themselves,\nyou mope in solitary corners, and have no enjoyment of your princely\nlife. I doubt much whether the cause be not love; yet if the love be\nworthy of your race and royal birth\u2014and that it is I seem to myself to\nread by many signs and tokens\u2014then I do swear most solemnly to help you.\nAway, dear child, with your fears! Neither danger or death shall keep me\nfrom bringing you due relief.\u201d Then she caught the maid in her arms, and\nembraced her in all tenderness, and chafed her limbs to drive away the\ncold, and kissed her eyes, still entreating that she should show the\nsecret of her heart. For a while the maid was silent; then she said,\n\u201cDear nurse, why should you grieve for me? Is it not enough that I must\ndie? Must you die also?\u201d\n\n\u201cTalk not of dying,\u201d cried the nurse; \u201cnever was wound yet for which no\nsalve could be found. The god who has wounded you has, I doubt not, in\nhis quiver another arrow for your lover\u2019s heart.\u201d\n\nSo they talked together; the maid would have it that there was no remedy\nfor her trouble; the old nurse still steadfastly affirmed that the cure\ncould easily be found. At last the damsel told the secret of her grief,\nas it seemed to her: \u201cAlas, dear mother,\u201d she said, \u201cit is no living man\nwhose image dwells in my heart and makes this pain; it is but the shadow\nand semblance of a knight; I saw him one day in the magic mirror of the\nking my father; this is the baited hook which, as some foolish fish, I\nswallowed; it is this thought that brings me to my death.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs this all, my daughter?\u201d cried the nurse; \u201cthen is nothing strange or\nagainst nature here. Why should you not set your heart on one who seemed\nso worthy of your love?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, mother,\u201d answered the girl, \u201cI seemed to myself like the Greek boy\nof old who saw his own face in the fountain and perished miserably.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d cried the nurse, \u201che was but the lover of a shadow, and rightly\nfaded into a flower. But of this image which you saw, there is, be sure,\na substance somewhere, and there are arts by which it may be found. And\nnow, dear child, let me give you my counsel. If you can banish this\nthought from your mind till the convenient time be come, then do so. If\nit is too strong for you, then I vow and promise that, by one means or\nanother, I will find this very knight whose image you beheld.\u201d\n\nThe maid was somewhat encouraged by these words, and slept awhile. But\non the morrow, and as the days went by, the old trouble came again, and\nGlauc\u00e9, seeing that neither words nor prayers, nor strange spells of the\nmagic art, for such she tried, were of any avail, judged that some other\nremedy must needs be found. What this remedy might be she long doubted\nin herself. At last it seemed to her that he who had made the mirror,\nthat is to say, the wise magician Merlin, might tell her in what land\nthe knight of the image might dwell, for though he dwelt in farthest\nInd, yet find him she would. Forthwith these two, that is to say, Glauc\u00e9\nand the maiden Britomart, disguised themselves in mean attire, that no\none might learn their purpose, and betook themselves to Maridunum,\nwhere, in a cave which he had hollowed out for himself beneath the\nearth, so as to escape from the curious eyes of men, Merlin had his\nabode. When they were come to the place they stood awhile without, in\ndoubt and fear, whether they had done well in making so bold a venture.\n\nAt last the maid, moved by love, which is ever bold, led the way, and\nGlauc\u00e9 following, they stood within the cave. There they found the\nmagician busy on some wonderful work, for he was writing strange\ncharacters on the ground, the spells by which he bound the spirits of\nthe earth to his service. He was not one whit moved at their coming, of\nwhich, indeed, he was aware beforehand, for indeed by his art he knew\nthe secret thoughts of others. Nevertheless he made as though he knew\nnot their errand, saying: \u201cTell me now on what business you are come?\u201d\n\nThen Glauc\u00e9 answered: \u201cBlame us not, kind sir, that we have thus\ndisturbed you in your solitude, coming thus unbidden, but the need was\ngreat.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpeak on,\u201d said Merlin.\n\nThen she began: \u201cThree months have passed since this maiden here began\nto sicken of some strange disease. What it is, and whence it began, I\nknow not; only this I know, that unless you can find some remedy she\nmust shortly die.\u201d\n\nThe magician smiled at her woman\u2019s craft, knowing well that she had in\nher heart that which she would not tell. \u201cMadam,\u201d he said, \u201cI take it\nfrom what you say that this damsel has more need of the physician\u2019s art\nthan of any skill of mine. They who may find a remedy for their trouble\nelsewhere, do ill to have recourse to the magic art.\u201d\n\nThe old dame was not a little disturbed by these words, but yet was\nloath to show her true purpose. \u201cSir,\u201d she said, \u201cthe trouble has taken\ntoo strong a hold on this maiden\u2019s life that the physician\u2019s art could\nwork a cure. I fear me much that some bad spell has been cast upon her.\nSome witch or evil spirit has done this thing; therefore it is that we\nseek your help.\u201d\n\nWhen he heard these words Merlin could no more contain himself, but\nlaughed aloud. \u201cGlauc\u00e9,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat avails this pretence by which\nyou seek to hide your purpose? And you, fair Britomart, why have you\nthus disguised yourself in mean attire, as the sun hides himself behind\na cloud? You have come, by the ordering of Fate, to the very place where\nyou shall find the help which you need.\u201d The maiden, hearing her name so\ncalled, blushed a rosy red; but the nurse, not one whit dismayed, but\nrather taking heart at Merlin\u2019s words, said:\n\n\u201cSir, if you know our troubles, and, indeed, what is there that you do\nnot know, have pity upon us, and help us in our need.\u201d\n\nMerlin sat silent awhile, for many thoughts were in his mind. At last he\nspoke: \u201cMost noble maid, who have learned to love in this strange\nfashion, be not dismayed by this hard beginning of your life. It was no\nchance look, O Britomart, in the mirror of the king your father, but the\nunchanging course of the purposes of Heaven, that showed you this image.\nBelieve me, it is no ill-fortune that you love this noble knight. Submit\nyourself, therefore, to the purposes of God, and be content to do His\nwill.\u201d\n\nThen said Glauc\u00e9: \u201cTell us, man of wisdom, what means she shall use,\nwhat ways she shall take, to find this man. Or has she no need of toil,\nbut may sit still while her fate is fashioned for her?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe fates,\u201d answered Merlin, \u201care firmly fixed; not the less it becomes\nthose whom they concern to do their own endeavour, and to be\nfellow-workers with God.\u201d Then he told Britomart the true name and\nlineage of Sir Artegall, how that he was son to Gorlo\u00efs, King of\nCornwall in time past, and brother to Cador, then king of the same land.\nThen he turned to Britomart and opened to her the future, how she should\nbe wife to Sir Artegall, and how from them would come a line of kings\nwho should reign with great glory. Many things that should come to pass\nin after days, both good and evil, did Merlin unfold to her.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XVII\n HOW BRITOMART TOOK TO ARMS\n\n\nFrom Merlin\u2019s cave these two, Britomart and Glauc\u00e9, her nurse, went back\nto their own home. There they consulted together many days how they\nmight best carry out their purpose of seeking Sir Artegall. At last\nGlauc\u00e9 said: \u201cMy daughter, I have conceived in my heart a scheme,\nsomewhat bold, I must confess, yet such as may be accomplished if you\nare both brave and prudent. And above all things, it is in good accord\nwith the conditions of these present days. You must know that the good\nKing Uther has of late made war against the pagan brothers, Octa and\nOza, who are newly come to this country from the lands which lie about\nthe Northern Sea, and has won a great victory over them and their\npeople, and that all Britain is now in a great flame of war. My counsel\ntherefore is, seeing that armed men are everywhere, let us make\nourselves as armed men. Let our hands, weak though they be by nature,\nlearn to handle the spear and the sword, nor shall we fail therein, for\nthere are no scholars so apt as they who have need for their teacher.\nAnd, indeed, my daughter, you are one who should easily learn such\nmatters, for you are both tall and strong, and need practice only, which\nbeing had, you should be as truly martial a maid as you could wish. Nor\nis such a thing unknown in the race from which you come. Such was the\nbold Boadicea, who reigned in old time over the Iceni, for she made\nhaughty Rome to tremble before her, and others, as Gwendolen and\nEmmilen. Hear also this thing which I saw with my own eyes. On the\nbattlefield at Menevia, where King Uther last fought against the pagan\nhosts, there was a Saxon virgin who thrice struck to the earth the great\nUlfin himself. Verily she had slain him as he lay, but that Caradoc held\nher hand, and Caradoc himself had much ado to escape from her without\nhurt.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me, I pray you, her name,\u201d said Britomart.\n\n\u201cThey call her Angela,\u201d the nurse made answer, \u201cand she is as fair as\nshe is strong. She is the leader of a tribe who are more to be feared\nthan all other Saxons; they call themselves Angles.\u201d\n\nMuch was the maiden moved by this tale, so that she made her resolve,\nunknown to her father, to take upon herself all the duties and\nadventures which were fitting to a knight. And she said to her nurse:\n\u201cSee, Glauc\u00e9, that you have all things ready that are convenient to my\nnew estate.\u201d And this Glauc\u00e9 did with all readiness and care. Fortune\nalso helped in the matter; for about this time a band of Britons, being\nabroad on a foray, took a great spoil of Saxon goods, and among them\ngoodly armour decked with gold, and arms of proof which belonged to the\nSaxon queen Angela. These spoils King Ryence commanded to be hung up in\nthe chapel of his palace, that they might be a memorial for all time of\nthe great victory which God had given to his arms. Into this same chapel\nGlauc\u00e9 led the maiden Britomart late in the night when no one was near,\nand taking down the armour, clad her in it, and she gave her the arms\nalso, chief among these being a wonderful spear which King Bladud had\nmade by magical arts many years before. This virtue it had, that\nwhosoever might be struck by the point thereof, could not stay in his\nsaddle, but must be borne to the ground. And when Glauc\u00e9 had so\nfurnished the maiden with due equipment of war, then she took for\nherself such arms and armour as befitted a squire, and put them on. This\ndone, they left the place by secret ways, unseen of any. Thus did it\nhappen that Britomart came in guise of a knight into the company of Sir\nGuyon and the Red-Cross Knight.\n\nNot long after this they parted from each other, for the Knight had an\nerrand of his own, and Britomart was bent on the finding of Sir\nArtegall. Many miles did she ride, and through many lands did she\ntravel, till at last she came to the shore of the sea. There she lighted\nfrom off her horse and bade Glauc\u00e9 unlace her helmet, and sat down upon\na rock to rest awhile and refresh herself with the breeze that blew from\noff the waves. And as she sat, she thought within herself: \u201cAh me, how\nlike is love to this restless sea! How shall my frail bark escape where\nthere are so many dangers, and no certain guide?\u201d So she spake to\nherself, sighing the while; weep she would not, for tears, she thought,\ndid not become a knight. But Glauc\u00e9 comforted her, calling to her mind\nwhat Merlin had prophesied about the things to come. Nor were these\nwords in vain; but there soon befell a thing which roused her more than\nmany words. She spied a knight in shining armour riding towards her in\nall haste, with his spear in rest as one that had some hostile purpose.\nQuickly she mounted her horse, and bade Glauc\u00e9 lace her helmet, and\naddressed herself without delay to battle. Now, by the time she had put\nher shield in place and made ready her spear, the knight was close at\nhand.\n\n\u201cSir Knight,\u201d said he, \u201cknow you that you travel on this road against my\nstrict commands? I suffer not any to pass by this way. Others who have\nso trespassed have come by their death. Therefore I counsel you to go\nback while there is yet time.\u201d\n\nShe made answer in few words: \u201cLet them fly who have need for flight.\nYou may frighten children with your words. As for passing by this way, I\nam prepared to do it, even without your leave. Verily, I will pass or\ndie.\u201d Scarcely had she spoken when the stranger knight rode at her with\nhis spear in rest. He smote her full on the breast, and she bowed her\nhead, so fierce was the stroke, till it well-nigh touched the crupper of\nher saddle. But her counter-stroke was deadlier by far. The spear-point\npassed through his shield and through his cuirass, and, glancing thence,\npierced his left side. The power of the stroke bore him from the saddle,\nand laid him bleeding on the ground, where he lay wallowing in his\nblood. So fell the knight, Sir Marinell, upon the shore which he called\nhis own. And Britomart rode on; and as she went she saw pearls and\nprecious stones of every kind, and ingots of gold half buried in the\nsand. Much she wondered to see such riches, but she would not descend\nfor a single hour. What were jewels or precious stones or gold to her,\nthat they should hinder her in her quest?\n\nThe story of Sir Marinell, briefly told, is this. His mother was a\ndaughter of Nereus, God of the Sea, and his father a mortal man. He was\nreared up in arms, and became a great and famous knight. And he had for\nhis possession this same shore; a place in which Nature of her own will\nhad set much riches, pearls and precious stones and the like, and to\nwhich, by the ordering of Nereus, great store of the treasure which the\nsea swallows up through shipwreck was brought, for his daughter made\nrequest of the same for her son. This coast, then, he most jealously\nguarded against all comers. And being, as has been said, valiant and\nstrong and expert in arms, and also because he knew the place and was\nable to take a new-comer unawares, he seemed to be invincible. Many\nknights, seeking to pass along the coast, for, indeed, the fame of its\ntreasures was spread abroad, were slain, and yet more, being vanquished\nin battle, for life\u2019s sake, submitted themselves to him, and became\nvassals and servants to him. One hundred knights, men of name all of\nthem, were so bound to his service. In the end, Sir Marinell, what with\nthe multitude of his riches, and the pride of having so many knights of\nrenown at his beck and call, became not a little puffed up, and his\nmother, knowing that the wise man had said of old, \u201cPride goeth before a\nfall,\u201d would fain know how he might be kept from mischief. So she went\nto a certain god of the sea, Proteus by name, who had the gift of\nforetelling things to come. And Proteus said to her: \u201cMy daughter, keep\nthis thy son from all womankind, for from a woman he shall have a deadly\nhurt.\u201d And the mother, taking these words to be spoken of woman\u2019s love,\nset her son\u2019s mind against all such things, and did most carefully keep\nhim from all company of women. And he, to do her pleasure, obeyed her in\nthis matter, yet could not so escape his fate. And this fate was all the\nharder, because this knight was beloved of a fair and virtuous maiden,\nFlorimell by name, whom he might have wedded much to his joy and profit.\nOf this same Florimell more shall be told hereafter.\n\nBritomart, after having thus vanquished Sir Marinell, still went on her\nquest, and came at night to the castle of a certain Malbecco. To this\nsame place there had also come, earlier by the space of an hour or so,\ntwo other knights, Sir Paridell and Sir Satyrane. It was this same\nSatyrane that helped the Lady Una in her wanderings when she was parted\nby evil chance from the Red-Cross Knight. To them Sir Paridell\u2019s squire\nhad said: \u201cMy lords, you will not find entertainment here. The master of\nthis castle, Malbecco by name, is a mere churl, and hates all company,\nand this for two reasons: the first of these reasons is that his mind is\nwholly set on riches, and he hates all doings by which they may seem to\nbe wasted; and the second is that he, being old and crabbed, is wedded\nto a very fair young wife, whom he would fain keep from the sight of all\neyes but his own. Verily he keeps her as in prison.\u201d\n\nWhen Sir Paridell heard the squire\u2019s story, he said: \u201cWhy do we suffer\nthis old dotard to behave himself in this churlish fashion? \u2019Twere\nbetter to kill the villain and spoil his home.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said Sir Satyrane, who was a loyal and true knight, and would\nfain bear himself honestly to all men; \u201cwe will first gently entreat\nthis man to give us entertainment. And if he will not listen to gentle\nwords, then will we threaten him; for some who heed not fair words will\ntake account of foul. And if we accomplish nothing either by entreaties\nor by threats, then we will make our way into his dwelling by force, and\ndeal with him as he deserves.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it,\u201d said Sir Paridell, and coming to the gate he knocked. \u201cSir\nPorter,\u201d he said, \u201ctwo knights seek shelter and entertainment.\u201d\n\nNow the porter was Malbecco himself, for it was his custom to play the\nporter\u2019s part. He answered: \u201cAll in this house, my friend, are now gone\nto their beds, and the keys have been taken to the master of the house,\nand he also is in his bed, nor is there anyone so bold that would\nventure to wake him from his sleep. I pray you, therefore, to be patient\nand to seek entertainment elsewhere.\u201d\n\nThe two knights were not a little wroth at this fellow\u2019s churlishness,\nbut knew not what they should do, for he took no heed, neither of\nblandishments nor of threats. And while they parleyed with him, the sky\nwas overcast, and there came so bitter a blast of wind and so fierce a\nstorm of rain and hail that they were constrained to depart and seek\nshelter in a little hut that was near at hand, being a sty for pigs.\nWhile they were faring as best they could in this place, there came\nanother knight to the castle gate. He also sought for entertainment and\nwas denied, and he also, under compulsion from the storm, sought shelter\nin the hut. And when, the place being indeed already filled, he was not\nsuffered to enter, he fell into a great rage.\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said he, \u201cthis will I not suffer. Either I will lodge with you,\nor you shall be dislodged. Choose then whether of these two things ye\nwill have.\u201d The two knights scarce knew how they should answer him. They\nliked not to deny him lodging, and they liked not to yield to his\nboasting. But of the two Paridell was the less disposed to take the\nmatter patiently.\n\n\u201cWho is this fellow,\u201d said he, \u201cwho talks to me as though he were rating\na dog in a kennel? Of a truth, if he is a dog of spirit, he would rather\ndie than lie like a coward in a corner.\u201d So saying, he issued forth, and\ncame to blows with the stranger. And doubtless mischief had been done\nbut that the good Satyrane made peace between them. This done, they\nagreed together to punish the lord of the castle for his churlishness.\nSo they went back to the gate, and Paridell cried aloud: \u201cHark, Sir\nPorter, whoever you are, if you open not this gate, then we will burn\nthis place and all that is therein with fire.\u201d\n\nWhen Malbecco heard this, perceiving that they were in earnest, he ran\nwith all speed and called to them from the castle walls. \u201cBear with me,\nfair sirs,\u201d he cried, \u201cand pardon me, seeing that I am so ill-served.\nThese loutish knaves of mine know not their duty, and fail to attend as\nthey should upon strangers.\u201d When they heard this, the knights consented\nto let the matter be, though they believed not a word of what the man\nhad said. So they entered the castle. Being within the walls, they rid\nthemselves of their armour, for they were fain to dry their garments at\nthe fire. And lo! when the last come of the three took off his helmet,\nthe hair, which was of golden hue, broke loose from its tie and fell\ndown to her feet, like the sunbeams that fall from a cloud; and when she\ndoffed her coat of mail and let down the pleated frock she had tucked up\nfor convenience\u2019 sake in riding, then it was plain to see that she was a\nwoman, and indeed the very fairest of women; for in sooth this last come\nof the three knights was Britomart.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XVIII\n SIR SCUDAMORE AND AMORET\n\n\nBritomart, riding forth on the day following from Malbecco\u2019s Castle,\ncame to a fountain whereby a knight was lying stretched upon the ground.\nHis cuirass and his helmet and his spear lay near him, and his shield,\non which was the emblem of love, as a boy with wings, was thrown\ncarelessly on the ground. He lay with his face upon the ground, and it\nseemed as if he were asleep, so that Britomart of her courtesy held\nback, lest perchance she should wake him. But as she stood, she heard\nhim groan, and after break forth into bitter complaining: \u201cO God,\u201d he\ncried, \u201cwho rulest in bliss among Thy saints, why sufferest Thou such\ncruel deeds to be done? Hast Thou no care for the cause of the innocent?\nIs Thy justice asleep? What doth it profit a man to do righteously if\nrighteousness find no reward? Never was there on earth a creature more\ngracious than my Amoret; and lo! for seven months the tyrant Busirane\nholds her in prison, and all, forsooth, because she will not deny her\nScudamore. And I, this same Scudamore, am safe and sound, and yet can\nhelp her not at all!\u201d Then he burst forth into a storm of sobs. So\nshaken and disturbed was he with the torment of his grief, that\nBritomart feared that he might even die. So, stooping down, she touched\nhim lightly on the shoulder. Whereat he, starting up, looked to see what\nhad happened; and finding that it was but a stranger knight, he threw\nhimself again upon the ground.\n\nThen said Britomart: \u201cSir Knight, whose sorrow seems to overpass your\npatience, I would counsel you to submit your will to the providence of\nGod. Remember, if you will, that virtue and faith are mightier than the\nvery worst of sorrows. Surely he who cannot bear the burden of this\nworld\u2019s distresses must not think to live, for life is a distressful\nthing. And now, tell me what this villain of whom you speak has done.\nMaybe this hand of mine may help you to win relief and redress.\u201d\n\nThen said the knight: \u201cAh me! it is idle to complain of what may not be\ncured. I fear me much that there is no remedy for this trouble. How can\nwe deliver my Amoret from the dungeon in which this tyrant holds her,\nand all because she will not accept his love, nor be false to me? For,\nindeed, he has fortified the place with such magic charms that no power\nof man can overcome them.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless,\u201d said Britomart, \u201cwe will make our endeavour.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should you die for me?\u201d said the knight. \u201cIt is enough that I\nshould perish, who deserve it well.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d cried Britomart, \u201clife is not lost if the fame that dies not be\nbought with it.\u201d\n\nSo at last she persuaded him to rise from the ground. His armour she\nhelped him to put on, and his horse, which had strayed away, she brought\nback to him. Then they set off for the magician\u2019s castle, which was but\na bow-shot away. But when they were arrived, lo! there was no gate, no,\nnor porter, nor watchman, but in the porch there was a flaming fire and\na great smoke of sulphur; so fierce was the fire and so thick the smoke\nthat they were compelled to fall back.\n\n\u201cTo run into danger without thought, Sir Knight,\u201d said Britomart, \u201cis\nbecoming to a beast, not to a man. Let us think, therefore, how we may\nmost prudently deal with this enemy.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas!\u201d answered Sir Scudamore, for this was the knight\u2019s name, \u201chere\nyou see the doleful straits in which I stand. This is the trouble of\nwhich I complained. By no cleverness or strength or valor may these\nflames be quenched, for no man can undo the enchantments by which they\nhave been kindled. Leave me to my complaints. Fair Amoret must dwell as\nbefore in this evil prison, and Scudamore must die of sorrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy heaven!\u201d cried Britomart, \u201cit were a shameful thing to give up some\nnoble purpose for fear of danger, without some venture made. Let us make\na trial at the least, and see what shall come to pass.\u201d\n\nAnd as she spoke the bold maiden threw her broad shield before her face,\nand pointing her sword straight in front of her, threw herself upon the\nfire; and behold the flames straightway parted asunder, leaving a space\nin the middle through which she passed, as a flash of lightning passes\nthrough the clouds. And when Sir Scudamore saw how she had traversed the\nfire safe and untouched, he essayed to follow her. But whether it was\nthat there was a certain jealousy in his heart, or some less pure\ndesire, or some lack of faith, to him the flames yielded not one jot.\nHis pride and fierceness availed him nothing; he was constrained to\nreturn most piteously burnt. Greatly was he troubled at this defeat, so\nthat he threw himself on the ground and groaned aloud in the bitterness\nof his heart.\n\nBritomart meanwhile had made her way into the palace of the Enchanter.\nThe first chamber was a wondrous place, all its walls being covered with\ntapestries picturing the triumphs of love. Many a strange tale of the\ngods might there be seen, and with the gods was shown a great multitude\nof men and women, both of high degree and low, kings and queens and\nknights and ladies, and peasants and women who worked with their hands,\nfor love has no respect of person, and there are none but feel his\npower. And round about the tapestries was woven a border of broken bows\nand shivered arrows, and through them flowed as it were a river of\nblood. At the end of the chamber was an altar, and on the altar was set\nthe image of a boy. Blindfolded was he, and in his hand he held a deadly\nbow with an arrow set. And on his shoulders he carried a quiver, and\nsome of the shots were tipped with gold and some with lead, and under\nhis foot was a dragon which had been smitten through with a dart. Under\nhis feet was written this inscription: \u201cThe Conqueror of the Gods.\u201d All\nthis the maid beheld, and also she saw that over every door in the\nchamber, and there were many such doors, the words were written: \u201cBe\nBold!\u201d But over one door at the very end of the chamber were these words\nto be seen, \u201cBe not Over-Bold.\u201d Much she marvelled to see no living\ncreature, for the whole place was silent and empty. But the day being\nnow far spent, she lay down to sleep, but was careful to keep her arms\nclose at hand should need arise.\n\nShe slept not untroubled. First there was the sound of a great trumpet;\nbut whether it were blown for victory or for warning she knew not. And\nafter the trumpet there was a great storm of wind, with thunder and\nlightning, and after the lightning an earthquake, and after the\nearthquake a great stench and smoke of sulphur, yet was not Britomart\none whit dismayed. Then, as she wondered what these things might mean, a\ngreat whirlwind blew throughout the house, and the door over which the\nwords \u201cBe not Over-Bold\u201d were written, flew open of its own accord. And\nout of it there issued a marvellous array.\n\nFirst came Fancy, in likeness of a lovely boy, and after him Desire, and\nthen Doubt, ever looking about him with restless eyes, and Danger, and\nFear, who ever kept his eye on Danger, and Hope in the semblance of a\nhappy maiden, and Suspicion, and Grief and Fury, and many more, which it\nwere long to name one by one. Thrice did they march round the chamber,\nand then returned to that within from which they had come forth. And\nwhen the last had passed through, the door shut as it had opened at the\nfirst, of its own accord. And when the maid would have passed through\nit, she found it locked fast against her and beyond all her strength to\nopen. Then, finding that she could do nothing by force, she had recourse\nto craft, purposing not to depart from the chamber till the next night\nshould come, and with the night the same procession of figures should\ncome forth. And so it fell out, and when the door opened next of its own\naccord, then Britomart went boldly in. Not one single figure did she see\nof all that wondrous company. There was no living creature in the\nchamber, save one lady of woeful aspect, whose hands were bound fast\ntogether, while round her waist was a chain which bound her to a pillar.\nAnd before her sat the Enchanter, making strange characters, which were\namong the devices of his art. In blood he drew them, and the blood\nseemed to be drawn from the woeful lady\u2019s heart by an arrow which was\nfastened in her side. When the Enchanter saw the maid he cast his magic\nbook in haste to the ground, and drawing from his vest a murderous\nknife, made as though he would have thrust it into the lady\u2019s side. But\nthe maid caught his hand and mastered him. Not so completely did she\nquell him but that with a sudden wrench he turned the dagger upon her\nand struck it into her chest. It was but a shallow wound, but it moved\nher wrath, and she, drawing forth her sword, dealt him a mighty blow, so\nthat he fell half dead upon the ground. But as she made ready to smite\nhim again, the woeful lady cried: \u201cSlay him not, for if he die then am I\nhere fast bound for ever; for only he that has bound can loosen.\u201d\n\nFull wroth was Britomart to spare so foul a wretch. Nevertheless, for\nthe lady\u2019s sake, she held her hand, and said: \u201cO wicked man, death, or\nthat which is worse than death, if such there be, is the due reward of\nyour crimes. Nevertheless you may live if you will restore this lady to\nher first estate.\u201d To this the wretch, so reprieved beyond all hope,\ngave a willing consent, and taking up his book began to reverse his evil\ncharms. Many a dreadful thing did he read which the lady heard with\ntrembling, seeing that they had brought her to this evil plight. And all\nthe while Britomart stood, with her sword drawn over his head, ready to\nsmite him if he should fail of his promise. And now all the house began\nto shake around them, and the doors to rattle. Yet was not the maid\ndismayed, but watched the villain as he undid the charm. And now the\nchain was broken from off the lady\u2019s hands, and that which did bind her\nto the pillar was severed, and the pillar itself fell into ruins, and\nthe steel by which her life-blood was drained away came forth from the\nwound, no one drawing it, and the wound itself was closed and the lady\nherself restored to her first estate.\n\nWhen she found herself thus whole again, she poured out her heart in\nthanks to the maid, throwing herself upon the ground before her. \u201cGentle\nlady,\u201d said Britomart, \u201cit is reward enough to have done you this\nservice. And now forget your trouble, and take comfort to yourself and\ncomfort also the true knight who has suffered so much for your sake.\u201d\nRight glad was Amoret to hear such kindly words of the man whom she\nloved. Then did Britomart take the chain with which Amoret had been\nbound and bind the Enchanter with it. And this was a fit beginning of\nthe punishment which was to fall upon him. This done, they turned to\ndepart, and as they passed through the Enchanter\u2019s abode, lo! all the\ngrace and glory had departed from it; all the fair picturings were\ndefaced, and when they came to the fiery porch, the flames were\nvanished, and the place was like to a torch that is half burned.\n\nBut as nothing in the world is without trouble, so to their great\ntrouble they found no one awaiting them; neither did Amoret see Sir\nScudamore, nor Britomart her squire.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XIX\n OF SIR PARIDELL AND OTHERS\n\n\nIt was, in truth, a great deliverance that Britomart had worked for the\nLady Amoret. Nevertheless this same lady was somewhat in doubt how she\nshould bear herself to her deliverer. For, on the one hand, she was well\naware that all her love and homage was due to Sir Scudamore, nor was\nthere aught in her heart that hindered her from rendering it. It should\nbe told indeed that she was not only betrothed to this same Scudamore,\nbut verily wedded, only it had come to pass on the very wedding-day,\nwhen the guests were somewhat overtaken with wine, that the enchanter\nBusyrane had entered the palace, and, under cover of a jest, had carried\nher away into captivity. So now she said to herself:\n\n\u201cThis is a very noble knight, and it irks me to show him any\ndiscourtesy; yet, on the other hand, I fear me much lest I should seem\nin any wise disloyal to my own dear lord,\u201d for she knew not that\nBritomart was a maid. And Britomart, on her part, desiring that the\nsecret should not be known, bore herself with a certain freedom. Nothing\nunseemly did she say or do; but none had guessed her to be what she was.\n\nAs they journeyed together they came to a castle, where a great company\nof knights and ladies had assembled to hold a tournament. Now it was a\ncustom of tournament that every knight entering the lists bore the\ncolours of some lady, and averred that she was the fairest of all\nladies, and that he would prove it with spear and sword. Thus it came to\npass that when the knights were gathered together, and the master of the\nceremony asked of each his lady\u2019s name, a certain young and lusty knight\ncried out, \u201cMy lady is the fair Amoret, and that I will avow with spear\nand sword.\u201d\n\nWhen Britomart heard these words she was not a little wroth;\nnevertheless she dissembled her anger, and said only, \u201cI am loath to\nmake strife; but this young man must needs make good his words!\u201d So they\njousted together, and the knight was easily overthrown, being thus made\nto suffer for coveting that which was not his. But Britomart, seeing\nthat he was a brave man, and being herself as courteous as she was\nstrong, cast about how she could save his honour. She said, therefore,\nto the master of the ceremony: \u201cLet me have this knight for my\nchampion.\u201d And as she spoke she doffed her helmet, and her golden hair,\nwhich had been cunningly coiled up within, fell down to her very feet.\nAll that stood by, both ladies and knights, were not a little amazed.\n\nSome said, \u201cThis is wrought by magic!\u201d others, \u201cThis is Bellona\u2019s self\nthat has come among mortal men.\u201d As for the young knight, he worshipped\nher as though she were divine, and the fair Amoret, all her doubts being\nremoved, was knit to her in the closest bonds of affection and\ntenderness.\n\nThe next morning they departed together from the castle, the one ever\ncherishing in her heart the thought of Sir Artegall and the other of Sir\nScudamore. After a while they were aware of two knights riding towards\nthem, having each a lady at his side; ladies, indeed, they were not,\nsave in outward appearance, for one was the false Duessa, the other was\ncalled At\u00e9, which name by interpretation is Strife, than whom there is\nno more baleful creature under the sun, and she has her dwelling hard by\nthe gates of hell. Many ways are there by which a man may go into that\nplace, but none by which he may come forth. And the walls on every side\nare hung with the rent robes and broken sceptres of kings, shivered\nspears and shields torn in twain, spoils of Babylon and of Rome, relics\nof great empires that have been and are no more. At\u00e9 herself was hideous\nto behold, if one could see her as she was in truth. But now she was\nfair to look at, for she had put on, as can all evil things, the\nsemblance of beauty.\n\nThe knight who rode by her side was a certain Blandamour, gallant and\nstrong, and most expert in arms, but of a fickle and inconstant heart;\nand he that was companion to the false Duessa was Sir Paridell. When Sir\nBlandamour saw from afar Britomart and Amoret, he said to Sir Paridell:\n\u201cSee you, my friend, that knight with a lady by his side? There is a\nfair adventure for you!\u201d But Sir Paridell, for now they were near enough\nto discern the fashion of Britomart\u2019s arms, perceived that this knight\nbore the like scutcheon to one by whom he had of late been worsted in\nbattle; nor was he minded to tempt his fate again.\n\n\u201cI know that knight full well, Sir Blandamour,\u201d he said; \u201che proved his\nskill on me, and I count it folly when he who has escaped a danger\nchallenges it again.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I,\u201d replied Sir Blandamour, \u201cwill try my fortune; take you,\nmeanwhile, this dame in charge.\u201d And he laid his spear in rest and\ncharged. Britomart, on her part, made ready to receive him, and gave him\nan uncouth welcome. Scarce had they met than he found himself lying\nhelpless on the ground. Meanwhile his conquering adversary rode on, not\ndeigning so much as to say a single word.\n\nWhen his companions saw in what an evil plight he was, they hastened to\nhis help, and put him on his steed, for mount himself he could not, and\nheld him up as he rode. Ill-content he was that he had ventured so much\nand won so little.\n\nAfter that they had journeyed awhile, they saw two knights coming\ntowards them across the plain. When Sir Blandamour perceived them, he\ngrieved more than ever for his late mishap, for he saw that one of them\nwas his old enemy Sir Scudamore, knowing him to be such by the device\nthat he wore, to wit, the god of love with his wings spread out on this\nside and on that. \u201cHere,\u201d he said to himself, \u201cis evil fortune! Yonder\nis my enemy, and I am so bruised with this late encounter that I cannot\ndo battle with him.\u201d Then he said to Sir Paridell: \u201cMy friend, will you,\nof your affection, do somewhat for me, even as I have done for you? My\nhurts keep me back from battle, but I have just cause of enmity against\nyonder knight. Will you, therefore, maintain this my cause against him?\u201d\n\nSir Paridell answered: \u201cTrouble not yourself. There is a proverb that\nthe left hand rubs the right. As you have fought for me, so will I for\nyou.\u201d Forthwith he laid his spear in rest, and charged, swift as an\narrow from a bow. Nor was Sir Scudamore slow to make himself ready. So\nthey met in fierce encounter, and with so great a shock, that both were\ndriven from their saddles, and they lay stretched upon the ground. Sir\nScudamore was soon on his feet again, and said to the other: \u201cLaggard,\nwhy lie you so long?\u201d But Sir Paridell lay tumbled in a heap, without\nsense or speech, all unheeding of his adversary\u2019s reproach. Then his\ncompanion ran to him, and unlaced his helmet, and loosened his coat of\nmail, and so brought him back to feeling; but not a word did he speak.\nThen said Sir Blandamour:\n\n\u201cFalse knight, you have overcome by craft a better man than yourself. It\nis well for you that I am not in such good case to-day that I can avenge\nhim.\u201d\n\nTo this Sir Scudamore made no answer, though there was great anger in\nhis heart. Then the false Duessa, not seeing how her ends would be\nserved by a quarrel between these two, would have made peace between\nthem. But, on the other hand, At\u00e9 made up a fresh contention, for she\nturned Sir Scudamore against Amoret, slandering that true lady with\nfalse tales of how she had given her love to a stranger knight, who,\nindeed, was none other than Britomart. Nor was she content with this,\nbut she made a quarrel also between Paridell and Blandamour. And the\ncontention between these two grew so hot that they were ready to do\nbattle with each other. What had been the end thereof none can say, but\nby good luck there came that way a certain squire who was well known to\nboth, and not a little beloved by them. No easy thing was it for him to\nget hearing from the two, so full of fury were they. Yet, at the last,\nhe persuaded them to stay their hands. This done, he said: \u201cBrave\nknights, you ought to be at peace and not at variance. There are those\nthat seek your harm, and you would do well to ally yourselves against\nthem.\u201d Thus he persuaded them to swear friendship again. So being\nreconciled, they pursued their journey. After a while they saw two\nknights and two ladies with them, and they sent on their squire to\ninquire who these might be. And when the squire came back to his company\nhe said: \u201cThese are two famous knights, brave Cambell and stout\nTriamond; and the ladies are Cambina, who is wife to Cambell, and\nCanac\u00e9, who is wedded to Triamond. But would it please you, gentle sirs,\nto hear their story, for I know it well, and it is worth the hearing?\u201d\n\nSir Blandamour answered, \u201cSpeak on.\u201d So the squire told this tale that\nfollows.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XX\n THE STORY OF CANAC\u00c9 AND THE THREE BROTHERS\n\n\nThere was a great lady in Fairyland, Agap\u00e9 by name, who had three sons,\nborn all of them at one birth; and the names of the three were Priamond,\nDiamond, and Triamond. Also she had a daughter, Cambina by name. Now the\nLady Agap\u00e9 greatly desired to know how long her sons should live, for\nthey, having a mortal for their father, must needs die some day, whereas\nshe, being of fairy race, was immortal. Having, therefore, this thought\nin her mind, she made her way to the place where the three Fates sit by\nthe distaff spinning the lines of Life. One sister draws out the thread,\nand another turns the spindle, and yet another, sitting by with the\nshears in her hand, cuts the thread when the due time is come. Deep in\nthe hidden places of the earth was the dwelling of the three, and the\nway thereto was dark and hard to find; but Agap\u00e9 had in her heart all\nthe wisdom of Fairyland, nor did she fail to accomplish her purpose.\nWhen she had come to the place she sat awhile, and watched the sisters\nat their work. At last, having seen all that they did, she declared why\nshe had come: \u201cI have three sons,\u201d she said, \u201cmortal men, though I\nmyself am immortal; and I greatly desire to know how long they will\nlive.\u201d One of the sisters, she that held the shears, was very angry when\nshe heard these words: \u201cYou have done ill,\u201d she said, \u201cin coming here on\nthis errand. These things are not for anyone, mortal or immortal, to\nknow. You deserve to be smitten with the Curse of Jupiter\u2014you and your\nchildren with you.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: Agap\u00e9 approaching the Dwelling of the Fates.]\n\nAgap\u00e9 was greatly frightened at these words. Still she held to her\npurpose, and with many prayers and entreaties prevailed upon her that\nheld the spindle, for she was less hard of heart than the sister who\nheld the shears, to show her the threads of the three youths. When she\nsaw them she cried, \u201cI pray you draw them out longer and of a stouter\nthread.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said the sister, \u201cthink you, O foolish one, that the purposes of\nthe Fates may be changed as are the purposes of men? It is not so; what\nthey decree stands fast for ever; the gods may not move it by one\nhair\u2019s-breadth, no, nor the ruler of the gods himself.\u201d\n\nThen answered Agap\u00e9: \u201cIf this be so, if you cannot add one jot to the\nthread of any man\u2019s life, still there is a boon which you can give me. I\nsee the thread of my eldest son, and it is, I perceive, the shortest of\nthe three. Grant that when it is cut with the shears, it may be added to\nthe thread of the second, and that in like manner when the thread of the\nsecond is cut, it may be joined to the third. So shall he have a treble\nportion, and yet the whole shall not have been increased.\u201d\n\nThe sisters said, \u201cThis shall be so.\u201d Thereupon the Lady Agap\u00e9 departed\nto her own home. She told her sons nothing of this journey which she had\ntaken, or of the things which she had seen and heard, or of the boon\nwhich had been granted to her in the matter of their lives. But she said\nto them, not at that time only, but after, whenever she could find\noccasion: \u201cO my sons, be careful and walk in safe ways; but, above all\nthings, love one another, whatever may befall.\u201d And this they did all\ntheir lives. Never was there any strife between them, but only great\nfriendship and concord, of which the most signal proof is now to be\ntold.\n\nThere was a fair lady in those parts, Canac\u00e9 by name, who was wiser than\nall the women of her day. She knew all the powers of nature, and could\nsee beforehand the things that should come to pass, and knew the speech\nof beasts and birds. And as she was wise above all others, so also did\nshe excel in goodness. To these things she added also a singular beauty,\nso that many lords and knights of the land came to woo her. To these she\nbare herself rightly courteously, but favoured none, no, not so much as\nby a word or a look. But it came to pass, as is the way in such matters,\nthat the more she held herself aloof, the more eagerly did these lords\nand knights urge their suit upon her. And not a few quarrels came about\non her account, one suitor meeting another in battle. Now this Canac\u00e9\nhad a brother, Cambell by name, as brave and stout a knight as ever\nlived. And he, seeing that great mischief might arise out of these\nquarrels concerning his sister, caused all her wooers to come together,\nand made this proclamation among them:\n\n\u201cYe Lords and Knights that seek my sister Canac\u00e9 in marriage, choose now\nfrom among yourselves the three whom you judge to be the boldest and\nmost skilful in battle among you, and let them meet me in combat, man by\nman, and it shall be that whosoever of the three shall prevail over me\nshall have my sister to wife.\u201d\n\nNow this Cambell was, as has been already said, a brave knight and a\nstout; yet for all his strength and courage he had scarcely dared to\nstand up in this fashion against so many. For, indeed, it might well\ncome to pass, such are the chances of battle, that one or other might\nprevail over him, not being the better man, but by reason of some\naccident. But there was that which encouraged him to dare so much, to\nwit, a magic ring which his sister had given him. It was a ring of many\nvirtues, but the chief of them all was this, that if he who wore it\nshould be wounded, this ring straightway staunched the bleeding.\n\nNow this matter of the magic ring and its marvellous virtues was known\nto all, and the suitors of the Lady Canac\u00e9 were, for the most part,\nterrified by it, so that they would not venture on the battle. \u201cFair she\nis without doubt,\u201d they said, \u201cbut it would be a fool\u2019s part to venture\nlife even for her.\u201d Nevertheless there were three among them who were\nnot of this way of thinking, and these three were the brothers Priamond,\nDiamond, and Triamond. They all loved the Princess, and yet, so\nbrotherly were they in heart and mind, that there was not a thought of\nanger or jealousy among them. \u201cLet her choose,\u201d said they, \u201cbetween us,\nand we will be content with her choice. Or, if the judgment be left to\nthe sword, then let him be preferred who shall overcome this her brother\nCambell.\u201d\n\nSo the three addressed themselves to the battle in the order of their\nage. First came Priamond, the eldest, a stout knight to hold his place,\nbut he was not so strong to strike as are some. He loved to fight on\nfoot, and his arms were the spear and the battle-axe. Next to him was\nDiamond; he was one to deal mighty blows, but he was not so good in\nholding his ground. Whether he were on horseback or on foot he cared\nnot, so that he had his battle-axe in hand, for with this he loved to\nfight. Last of all came Triamond. There was no man better than he,\nwhether to stand or to strike; the fight on horseback pleased him best,\nand his arms were spear and shield.\n\nOn a set day the lists were prepared. Barriers were made to keep off the\npress of the people. At one end sat six judges, who should see that all\nthings were done decently and in order, and that neither this warrior\nnor that should take undue advantage; and at the other was set the fair\nCanac\u00e9 on a stage, that she might see the battle and herself be seen.\nThe first that came into the lists was Sir Cambell. Noble was his mien\nand assured his look, as of one that knew certainly that he should\nprevail. After him advanced the three brothers, bravely attired and\nshining in arms, each with his banner borne before him. Thrice did they\nbow themselves before the fair Canac\u00e9, and then a blast of the trumpet\ngave the signal for battle.\n\nFirst of the three to meet Sir Cambell came Priamond; well skilled in\narms were the two, and for long they fought without advantage to one or\nthe other. Mighty the blows that they dealt, but both had watchful eyes\nand ready skill to turn the deadliest stroke aside. The first gain fell\nto Sir Priamond, for his spear, whether by good fortune or by skill it\nwere hard to say, passed by his adversary\u2019s shield and pierced the\nshoulder where a joint of the armour gave it access. Deep was the wound,\nand though no blood flowed therefrom\u2014such was the virtue of the magic\nring\u2014it stung the warrior to the quick with keenest pain. There are\nwhose spirit is quelled with pain; but Sir Cambell was not of these. The\nsmart did but rouse his courage to the utmost, and put new strength into\nhis arm. Straightway he drave his spear close underneath Sir Priamond\u2019s\nshield and smote him on the thigh. The coat of mail did not stay it, but\nthat it made a grisly wound, and the stout knight tottered with the\nblow, even as an old oak, withered and sapless, rocks with every blast\nof the wind. Nor did Cambell fail to use the occasion. He smote him yet\nagain upon the side, making another deadly wound, and though the spear\nbrake with the blow, he did not abate his onset, but drave the shaft\nthrough the visor of Sir Priamond\u2019s helmet, and laid him low upon the\nground. So fell the first of the three brothers; yet did not his soul\ndepart, but by virtue of the gift of the Fates it passed into the bodies\nof the two that yet remained, making them stronger and more eager for\nthe fray.\n\nNevertheless, when Sir Diamond addressed himself to the battle, the\nlists having been cleared afresh, and the trumpet sounded a second time,\nhe fared no better than his brother. For a while the two stood face to\nface, giving and receiving equal blows, but without advantage either to\nthe one or to the other. But then a great gust of wrath swept through\nSir Diamond\u2019s soul, driving away all thought but of how he might most\nspeedily avenge his brother. And, indeed, the very soul of the brother\nstirred within him. So he lifted high his mighty battle-axe, swinging it\nover his head, and bringing it down on his adversary with all the force\nthat was in his body. And, surely, had the blow fallen as it was meant,\nthere had been an end of strife. No magic ring had availed to stay so\ndreadful an onset. It had crushed out Sir Cambell\u2019s life, whether with\nor without the shedding of blood. But fortune helped him in his need,\nfor judging where the axe would fall, he swerved aside, so that the\nstroke missed the mark, and the striker\u2019s right foot slid from under\nhim. So we may see a hawk strike at a heron with all his might; so\nstrong is the blow, that it would seem as if nothing could turn it\naside; but the heron, a wary bird, sees it come, and lightly avoids it,\nso that the hawk is well-nigh brought to the ground ere the force of his\nonset is sped. So fared it with Sir Diamond; not only so, but while he\nreached forward with his left arm to recover himself, he left his side\nunguarded by the shield. Which thing Sir Cambell did not fail to\nperceive, for swinging his axe, he smote him between the topmost rings\nof the coat of mail and the lowest rings of the helmet, which spot is\never dangerous to the warrior, how well soever he be armed. There did\nSir Cambell smite Sir Diamond, with an arm so sure and deadly that he\nshore his head from his body.\n\nAnd now ensued the fiercest fight of all, yea, and also the strangest.\nWell might a man wonder to see how Sir Cambell stood up, neither faint\nnor weary, for all that he had been changing blows for the space of an\nhour and more. Yet did he seem even fresher and brighter than at his\nfirst taking of arms, just as some great serpent wakes from the long\nsleep of winter, when the warm breath of spring has touched him, and\nthrows off the ragged skin of his old estate, and raises himself in the\nsunshine with all the glory of his youth renewed. Such freshness and\nvigour did the magic ring work in calling out all the strength that he\nhad, for all the magic in the world had not availed to help a coward or\na sluggard. Against him stood a worthy foe, with the might of three\nstout champions in his heart and in his limbs. Once and again, yea, many\ntimes, did it seem that this or that warrior had prevailed. Now was\nCambell beaten to his knee, till all the company thought he must needs\nlose the day, and now was Triamond stretched upon the ground, like to\none who has received a mortal wound. And once, indeed, the two lay\ntogether at full length, as though they had been dead. The judges rose\nfrom their place, and the marshals of the lists came forward as to carry\nthe two corpses to the appointed place, and the fair Canac\u00e9 cried out in\nher despair, for it seemed as if both brother and lover had been taken\nfrom her at once. But lo! in a moment the two were standing on their\nfeet again, and addressing themselves anew to the battle. What had been\nthe end, whether the virtue of the magic ring had overcome the triple\nmight of him in whom dwelt the spirits of three brave men, who can say?\nFor now there was heard such a clamour, such a confusion of voices, such\na shouting of men and wailing of women and shrill crying of children,\nthat all turned their faces to look, and the two champions by common\nconsent stayed their hands till they could see what strange things had\nhappened. And, indeed, it was a marvellous sight that they saw. There\ncame speeding along the ground, fast as a thunder-cloud that rides the\nsky, a chariot richly adorned with gold and purple in the Persian\nfashion. Two lions from the forest drew it, mighty beasts, such as could\nnot be surpassed for strength and fierceness in any land, but now they\nhad forgotten their savageness to obey the pleasure of their driver. And\nthis was a lady of wonderful beauty, and not less wise than fair, for\nshe had been taught all the arts of wholesome magic by the fairy, her\nmother. In her right hand she carried a wand with two serpents twined\nabout it, and in her left a cup filled to the brim with nepenthe, the\nwondrous drink of which he that tastes straightway forgets all grief and\nanger and care.\n\nThis was the Lady Cambina, daughter of Agap\u00e9, and sister to Sir\nTriamond, and she, knowing by her art in what deadly peril her dear\nbrother stood, came to his help. All the people made a way for her to\npass, so that she could approach the lists. These first she struck with\nher wand, and they fell at the stroke. Then she said to the two\nchampions, \u201cCease now your strife and be at peace.\u201d And when they would\nnot hear, but made as if to renew the battle, she cast herself upon her\nknees and besought them with many prayers and tears to cease from their\nanger; and when they still hardened their hearts, she smote them lightly\nwith her wand. So soon as they felt the touch, the swords dropped from\ntheir hands. Then, as they stood astonished, not knowing what had\nbefallen them, she gave the cup first to one and then to the other; and\nthey, as being consumed by mighty thirst, drank each a mighty draught.\nStraightway the magic liquor turned all their strife to love; they\nclasped hands, and plighted troth to each other, and swore that they\nwould be friends for ever. And such indeed they were to the end of their\ndays; ay, and Cambell took to wife Cambina, and Triamond wedded the fair\nCanac\u00e9.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXI\n THE STORY OF FLORIMELL\n\n\nIt has been related before how Sir Guyon and Prince Arthur parted\ncompany with Britomart with the purpose of relieving a fair lady in\ndistress. Now the name of this same lady was Florimell. She was courted\nby many knights of high degree, but her love was given to Sir Marinell,\nthe same that was overthrown by Britomart in the passage by the sea; but\nhe, on his part, had no thought for her, being mindful of his mother\u2019s\ncounsel that he should hold himself aloof from all womankind. So fast\ndid Florimell fly, for she was in grievous fear, that the two knights\nwho followed with intent to give her help, could by no means overtake\nher. After a while the strength of the white palfrey on which she rode\nwholly gave out, and she, alighting, made her way on foot, a thing which\nshe had never done in all her life before, so delicately bred was she.\nBut need teaches many lessons, this being chief among them, that Fortune\nholds the lots of all in equal scales, and has no respect of persons. So\ntravelling, she came to a hillside, from which, looking down, she espied\na valley thickly covered with trees, and through the tree-tops a thin\nvapour of smoke issuing forth. \u201cHere,\u201d she said to herself, \u201cis a\ndwelling of man, where haply I may find shelter and rest.\u201d So she bent\nher steps thither, and after a while reached the place, being now sorely\nspent with trouble and weariness. A dwelling there was, but of the\nhumblest kind, a little cottage, built with reeds and wattled with sods\nof grass. In this there dwelt a witch woman. Most sparely did she live,\ncareless of all common things, for her mind was wholly given to her art,\nfor the better and more secure practice of which she lived far from all\nneighbours.\n\nWhen Florimell came in the witch was sitting on the ground, and was so\nbusied with one of her enchantments that she was taken wholly unawares.\nAt the first she was overcome with fear, for she would not that any\nshould surprise her while she was busy with her art. Then, her fear\nchanging to anger, as, indeed, it is commonly wont to do, she cried in a\nloud voice: \u201cStranger, what mischief has brought you hither? Here, of a\ntruth, you will find no welcome.\u201d\n\nFlorimell answered: \u201cMother, be not angry with a simple maid, who has\nbeen brought to your dwelling by hard chance, and asks only for leave to\nrest awhile.\u201d And as she spoke the tears came trickling down her cheeks,\nand she heaved a sigh, so softly and sweetly, that there could be no\ncreature so hard and savage that would not have pitied her. Even the\nwitch, for all that her soul was given to mischief, was much moved at\nthe sight, and sought to comfort her in such rude fashion as she knew,\nfor even in her the sight of such beauty and virtue moved the hidden\nsense of womanhood. So, wiping the tears from the damsel\u2019s eyes, she\nbade her rest awhile. This she was nothing loath to do, and sat down\nupon the dusty floor, as a bird spent with tempest cowers upon the\nground. After a while she began to set aright the garments that she\nwore, and to put in order her golden hair. All this the witch woman saw\nwith wonder that still waxed greater and greater. \u201cIs this a mortal\nmaid,\u201d she said to herself, \u201cor one of Diana\u2019s train?\u201d\n\nThis same witch woman had a son, very dear to her, and in a sort the\ncomfort of her age, but a lazy, evil-minded loon, always idling away his\ntime, and loath to follow any honest trade. He was abroad when Florimell\ncame to the cottage, and when he returned, he was not a little amazed to\nsee so fair a creature sitting by his mother\u2019s hearth. But the maiden\nbore herself so meekly, fitting herself to the low condition of the\nplace, that she soon ceased to be strange to mother and son. This was a\nthing to be desired; yet it had in it this discomfort, that the witch\u2019s\nson began to love her. He would bring gifts for her, such as birds which\nhe taught to speak her name, and squirrels which, he said, were as\nfellow-slaves with himself, and flowers to make garlands for her head.\nAll these she graciously received. Nevertheless she was not a little\ntroubled in her heart, for she could not but perceive the love which the\nyoung man bore her. Therefore she determined in herself to depart.\n\nBy this time her palfrey was well rested from its weariness, for,\nindeed, the young man, the son of the witch, had tended it with all\ncare. Early, therefore, one morning she put its strappings on the beast,\nand so departed.\n\nGreat was the anger of the witch and her son when they knew that\nFlorimell was gone. As for the disappointed lover, his fury passed all\nbounds. He beat upon his breast and scratched his face, and tore his\nflesh with his teeth. When his mother saw him in so evil a plight, she\ndid all that she could to comfort him. Tears and prayers she used, and\ncharms and herbs of might; but all were of no avail. When she saw this,\nfearing lest, in his despair, he should bring himself to a violent end,\nshe said within herself: \u201cI must bring the creature back.\u201d So she called\nout of the cave a hideous beast that served her. It was a creature\nlikest to a hyena, for its back and sides were covered with spots. But\nnever was seen anything that could be matched with it, so fierce of\naspect was it, and so swift. The witch said to him: \u201cFollow this woman,\nand do not leave following till you overtake.\u201d\n\nSo the monster followed Florimell, and, as she rode leisurely, soon\novertook her. When she saw him, she set spurs to her palfrey, and he, so\nlong as he was fresh and full of breath, kept her out of the creature\u2019s\nreach. But when his breath failed him, then the monster drew near. This\nFlorimell perceiving, leapt from her saddle and fled away on her feet.\nNow it chanced that she was close to the seashore, and she, being minded\nto be drowned, rather than be overtaken by so foul a beast, ran to the\nvery edge of the waves. There, by good hap, she saw a little shallop\nlying, in which the fisherman, an old man and poor, lay asleep, the\nwhile his nets were drying. Into this she leapt, and pushing off the\nshallop with an oar, was safe awhile. The monster would not venture on\nthe sea, for it was not to his liking, and so set out to return to his\nmistress the witch, to tell her how his quest had failed. But first he\nturned upon the palfrey and rent it.\n\nScarcely had the beast done this, when there came that way a gallant\nknight, Sir Satyrane by name, the same that had befriended the Lady Una\nin her distress. He, seeing the palfrey lie dead upon the ground, knew\nit for that on which the Lady Florimell had been wont to ride; also he\nfound the golden girdle which she had been wont to wear, for it had\nfallen from her in the haste of her flight. These things greatly\ntroubled him, and when, looking round, he also saw the monstrous beast\nwhich had pursued her, standing by, his fear was changed to anger, and\nhe flew upon it and dealt it many blows with all his might. Many wounds\ndid he give it, causing much blood to pour out of its carcase; but the\nbeast he subdued not, with such spells had the witch woman fortified it\nagainst all assault. At the last he threw away his sword, for in truth\nthe steel seemed to avail nothing against the creature\u2019s hide, and\ncaught it in his arms as if he would have crushed the life out of it;\nalso he took the girdle of Florimell and bound the beast with it. Never\nin truth had it known such constraint, for in a moment all its rage was\nquelled, and it followed him meek as a lamb which the shepherd has\nrescued from the lion\u2019s mouth. And this, without doubt, it had continued\nto do, but for this chance, that Sir Satyrane was called away upon\nanother adventure. He spied a giantess riding on a dappled grey steed,\nholding before her a squire fast bound with chains of wire, and a knight\npursuing her. Therefore he made haste to put himself in her way. She\nwould have passed him by, but he would not suffer it, running at her\nwith his spear. Thereupon she was constrained to deal with him, and\nwould have smitten him with a great mace of iron which she carried in\nher hand, and with which she had already slain not a few. But ere she\ncould deal the blow, his spear came full upon her shield. So great was\nthe shock, that her horse staggered to and fro; but she was not moved\none whit in her place, nor was the shield broken. Rather the shaft of\nthe spear was shivered on it, for all it was big and strong. Nor did she\ndelay to strike him with the mace of iron. Full on his helmet\u2019s crest\nshe smote him, and that so sturdily that he bowed his head upon his\nbreast and reeled to and fro like to a drunken man. Which the giantess\nperceiving, caught him in her arms, and put him on the saddle before\nher, for the squire she had already cast to the ground. Then truly had\nSir Satyrane been in an evil plight, but for the knight that was\npursuing. He, indeed, seeing what had chanced, made the greater haste to\novertake her, but she, not desiring another battle, or because she\nespecially feared the other knight, threw Sir Satyrane to the ground,\nand thus he was delivered. But meanwhile the witch\u2019s monster had\ndeparted.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXII\n OF THE FALSE FLORIMELL\n\n\nThe monster sped on as fast as it could to the dwelling of its mistress,\nthe witch woman. When she saw it, she perceived how it was bound with\nFlorimell\u2019s girdle. At this she rejoiced greatly, and showed the thing\nto her son, thinking that he also would rejoice. \u201cSee,\u201d said she, \u201cthis\nthankless creature has not escaped. Behold her girdle.\u201d\n\nBut he was otherwise minded. \u201cSurely,\u201d he cried, \u201cshe is dead, this\nfairest of all maidens!\u201d And it seemed as if he would have torn the very\nheart out of his breast. So mad was he with anger and grief, that he\nwould have slain his mother where she stood. Only she hid herself in a\nsecret place where she was wont to call up the evil spirits which served\nher. And now she summoned them to her help, telling them what had come\nto pass. \u201cCounsel me,\u201d she said, \u201cfor my son is distraught with anger\nand grief and love, and either he will lay violent hands on himself, or\nhe will slay me, though I have done my very best to serve and help him.\u201d\n\nSo the spirits took counsel together in the matter, and by their advice,\nher own wicked wit helping, she contrived a marvellous thing. She set\nherself to make another Florimell, a false maid, like in all things to\nthe true, so far as concerned shape and outward semblance. The substance\nof which she made her was snow, which she gathered in a secret glade of\nthe Thracian hills, the spirits of the mountains having revealed to her\nthe place. This snow she tempered with fine mercury and virgin wax,\nwhich had never been touched with fire. These she mingled with\nvermilion, so making a rosy red in the cheeks. And for eyes she set two\nlamps, whose fire was marvellously attempered to the likeness of life;\nand hair she made of golden wire, more marvellously light than ever was\nhair of woman; and for life to make this dead mass move and breathe\u2014for\ndead it was for all its beauty\u2014she put one of the spirits which served\nher. A wicked spirit was this, none more wicked or crafty, or with a\nmore cunning art to take the semblance of goodness. There was no need to\nteach him how to bear himself. This he knew already; there was no\nsubtlety or craft in all the wit of woman with which he was not\nacquainted. Such was the false Florimell.\n\nThis creature she arrayed in some of the garments which the true\nFlorimell had left behind her, and so brought her to her son, where he\nlay groaning on the earth. \u201cSee, my son,\u201d she said, \u201cthe maid herself\nhas come back to us.\u201d And when he saw her, he leapt from the ground, and\nwould have caught her in his arms. But she held back, for the spirit\nwithin her knew well how women bear themselves in such a case, neither\nseeming too fond, yet giving such encouragement as might the more\nconfirm him in his passion. Such was the charge which the witch woman\nlaid upon him.\n\nOne day, as the son was walking with the false Florimell in the wood,\nthere chanced to come by a certain knight with a squire attending him.\nAnd now it must be said who this fellow was, for, indeed, he was no true\nknight. It has been already told how that Sir Guyon, when he was helping\na traveller in distress, had his horse and his spear also stolen from\nhim. The thing was done by a vain fellow, Bragadocchio by name, who,\nseeing the horse and spear ready to his hand, thought that by taking\nthem he might make himself into a veritable knight. Little had he of his\nown but a ready tongue; but this same tongue was no small help with the\nmore foolish sort. He then, mounting the steed, and taking the spear in\nhand, rode on, and so vain was he, and full of self-conceit, that he\nhoped to be courteously received for what he seemed to be. And in this\nnotion his first adventure confirmed him. As he rode along he saw a man\nsitting idly on a bank; and he said to himself: \u201cHere is one whom I will\nmake captive to my spear.\u201d With that he smote his steed upon the flank,\nand set his spear in rest and charged. The man, when he saw him coming\non, fell flat on the ground for fear, and cried for mercy, holding up\nhis hands. At this Bragadocchio took a wonderful conceit of his own\nstrength and courage: \u201cWho are you, caitiff?\u201d he cried. \u201cYou are not\nworthy to breathe the air along with honest men. Prepare for death, or\nyield yourself to be my prisoner for ever. \u2019Tis no small favour that I\ngive you time to answer!\u201d\n\nThe man cried: \u201cHold your death-dealing hand, my lord, I am your\nthrall!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it,\u201d said the sham knight, \u201cyour fate has baulked my will, and\ngiven you life when I had purposed death. So be it; life I give you.\nFall on the ground, and kiss my stirrup. So pay your homage.\u201d\n\nThen the wretch threw himself on the ground, and kissed the stirrup, and\ndeclared himself to be Bragadocchio\u2019s man. For a while he held his\nmaster in great respect, but when he found out how hollow was his show\nof courage, then he grew bolder, and practised upon him for his own\nends. Trompart was his name, which, being interpreted, means deceiver; a\nworthy squire he was for such a knight.\n\nThey had not long companied together when they chanced to meet\nArchimage, who was looking out for some men-at-arms to help him in his\nevil designs. He, coming close to Trompart, said to him under his\nbreath: \u201cWho is this mighty warrior, who has a spear only and no sword?\u201d\n\nSaid Trompart: \u201cHe is indeed a mighty warrior; as for his sword, he has\nmade a vow that he will use none till he shall be avenged for a certain\nwrong that has been done to him. Meanwhile his spear is enough: he can\ndo to death with that as many as he will.\u201d Then Archimage, louting low\nbefore him, told a false tale about the Red-Cross Knight and Sir Guyon,\nwhich when Bragadocchio had heard, he cried with a loud voice: \u201cOld man,\ntell me where these false knights are hiding themselves. I will soon\npunish them for all their misdeeds.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will I do without delay,\u201d answered Archimage, \u201cand will help you\nalso when you come to deal with them. Meanwhile I would give you this\ncounsel, that you give no odds to your adversaries, but provide yourself\nwith a sword before you do battle with them, for, indeed, they are\nsturdy fighters.\u201d\n\n\u201cOld man,\u201d said Bragadocchio, \u201cyou dote. Doubtless your wits have failed\nyou by reason of age, or you would not judge of a man by his coat of\nmail or his sword. A man, be he indeed a man, can quell a host without\nsword or shield. Little do you know what this right hand of mine has\nachieved; but they who have seen it can tell if they will.\u201d\n\nNot a little abashed was Archimage at these high words; well he knew in\nhis heart that whoso should do battle with the Red-Cross Knight or Sir\nGuyon would need all his arms, and yet he feared to offend this knight.\nThen Bragadocchio said further: \u201cOnce upon a time I slew seven knights\nwith one sword. And I took a great oath, having done this, never again\nto use a sword in battle, unless it should be the sword of the very\nnoblest knight in all the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cWait you for that,\u201d said Archimage, \u201cthen you shall have it by\nto-morrow at this time. \u2019Tis the sword of Prince Arthur, and it flames\nlike a burning fire. Lo! I go to fetch it.\u201d And as he spoke he vanished\ninto air.\n\n\u201cWhat is this?\u201d thought the two to themselves in sore dismay, for they\nliked little to have aught to do with such a sword. And they fled from\nthe place as fast as they could to hide themselves in a wood which was\nnear at hand. This they had scarcely reached when they heard the clear\nringing of a horn. Thereupon Bragadocchio leapt from his horse and hid\nhis coward head in a thicket. As for Trompart, he was not easily moved,\nbut abode in his place to see what should happen. Soon there came into\nthe glade where they were a very fair lady dressed in huntress fashion.\nShe had a fair white tunic with an edge of gold and gilded buskins, and\na boar-spear in her hand, and on her shoulder a bow and a quiver filled\nwith steel-headed arrows. And all about them flowed loosely down her\ngolden hair. When she spied Trompart she said: \u201cSaw you a hind with an\narrow in her right haunch? If so, tell me which way she went, that I may\nfollow up the chase.\u201d But while she was speaking, she saw the bush stir\nin which Bragadocchio lay hid, and thinking it was some beast of prey,\nwould have shot an arrow into it.\n\nBut Trompart cried: \u201cForbear, I pray you, whether you be nymph or mortal\nmaid. That is no mark for your arrows. My master, a famous knight, rests\nawhile under the shade.\u201d So she stayed her hand, and Bragadocchio came\nforth from his hiding-place on his hands and knees, and after stood up,\nmaking as if he had been newly roused from sleep. After this they talked\nawhile, and when the lady had passed on, Bragadocchio said to Trompart:\n\u201cI had from my birth this grace, not to fear any mortal thing. But of\nthe heavenly powers and of the fiends in hell I do stand, I do honestly\nconfess, in great dread. And when I heard that horn, I took it for some\nsignal from the sky, and hid myself for fear. And now let us depart\nhence.\u201d\n\nSuch was Bragadocchio, the false knight who came upon the son of the\nwitch woman as he was walking in the wood with the false Florimell. When\nhe saw the two, and perceived that the lady was very fair to look upon,\nand that he who was with her was no man of war, he rode up, with his\nspear in rest, crying, \u201cClown, how is this? This lady is my love.\nGainsay it if you dare!\u201d\n\nThe churl dare not answer him a word, but yielded the damsel to him; and\nhe, mounting her upon Trompart\u2019s horse, rode on, not a little proud of\nthe valiant deed which he had done. Nor had he ridden long when there\ncame in view a stranger knight, who cried: \u201cHo there! Yield the damsel\nto me; I have a better right than you!\u201d\n\nSorely dismayed was Bragadocchio at such a challenge, but dissembled his\nfear, saying, \u201cThink you, Sir Knight, to steal away with words what I\nhave won by many blows? Yet, if you will have trial of my strength or\nprove your own, let it be so.\u201d\n\n\u201cTurn your horse,\u201d said the stranger, \u201cor I will strike you dead!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it,\u201d answered Bragadocchio, \u201cif nothing else will content you.\nLet us then retire our horses for a furlong either way, and tilt\ntogether as is the custom.\u201d So they turned their horses, and retired\neach a furlong\u2019s length; but Bragadocchio came not again, but fled away\nas fast as his horse could carry him.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXIII\n SIR SATYRANE\u2019S TOURNAMENT\n\n\nBy sundry adventures, which there is no need to set forth in their\nplace, the girdle of Florimell came into the possession of Sir Satyrane,\nwho forthwith resolved to hold in honour of it a great tournament. In\nthis same tournament there should be, so he proclaimed, two contests;\nfirst, a contest of knights, who should joust with each other, so\nshowing who excelled in strength and courage; second, a contest of fair\nladies, she who should most fittingly wear the said girdle being\nadjudged the most excellent.\n\nThe beginning of the tournament was that Sir Satyrane came forth from\nhis pavilion, holding in his hands an ark of gold. This ark he opened\nwith much solemnity, and drew forth from it the girdle. A wondrously\nfair thing it was, curiously embossed with pearls and precious stones;\nthey were all costly things, but the workmanship was costlier yet. This\nhe held up for the general view; and all eyes were drawn to it, for\nindeed it was a thing greatly to be admired; nor was there one in all\nthat company but said in his heart: \u201cHappy the knight who shall win so\nfair a prize! Happy the dame who shall be deemed to wear it most\nfittingly.\u201d\n\nThe girdle having been thus displayed in the sight of all the concourse,\nthe knights disposed themselves for the jousting. And first of all Sir\nSatyrane came forth holding in his hand the great spear which he was\nwont to wield; no man in those days bore one greater, or, indeed, so\ngreat. He was the challenger, and it became him thus to be first in the\nfield. Behind him were ranged the knights of Fairyland, owning\nallegiance, all of them, to the great Queen Gloriana. On the other side\nwas ranged a great company of knights, who had come from all parts.\nFirst of these rode up a pagan knight, Sir Bruncheval, surnamed the Bold\n(he jousted with Sir Satyrane), whose mastery of arms had been tried in\nmany battles. Fierce was their onset, so fierce that neither could\nresist the other; but both were tumbled on the plain, holding, indeed,\ntheir spears in their hands, but not able to move them so much as a\nhair\u2019s-breadth. When Sir Ferramont saw his leader in this plight, he set\nspurs to his horse, and rode forth. Against him came out Sir Blandamour,\nputting all his strength into his stroke; but his strength availed him\nnothing, for he was tumbled on the ground, he and his horse together.\nAnd when Sir Paridell rode forth to his rescue, he fared no better. The\nnext in turn to contend was Bragadocchio, but the thing was not to his\nliking, and he stood still in doubt what he should do, or rather in\nfear. Thereupon Sir Triamond, vexed indeed that a brave-seeming knight\nshould bear himself so basely, but rejoicing in the occasion, rode forth\nwith his spear in rest, and charged on Sir Ferramont with all his might.\nSo sure was the stroke, that both man and horse were laid prostrate on\nthe ground, nor could they lift themselves again for a space. And when\nSir Devon rode forth from the Fairyland array he fared no better; nor\ndid Sir Douglas, nor Sir Palimord, when in turn they made trial of him.\nEither they were stretched on the plain or went sorely wounded.\n\nBy this time Sir Satyrane had woke out of the swoon in which he had lain\nso long. Looking round, he was sorely dismayed to see the havoc which\nSir Triamond had wrought among the knights of Queen Gloriana. \u201cTruly,\u201d\nhe said to himself, \u201cI had rather been dead than laid here helpless\nwhile such deeds were done.\u201d Then, gathering strength, he laid hold of\nhis spear, which lay close beside him; his horse also, by good fortune,\nwas at hand. Mounting, therefore, he rode forth again to where the brave\nTriamond was carrying all before him. Not a man could stand up against\nhim, so heavy were his strokes, so deadly was his hand. But now there\ncame a stay to his achievements; Sir Satyrane smote him on the side with\nhis great spear, and the point made a most grievous wound. So grievous\nwas it, that though he was not forthwith overthrown, he was fain to\nwithdraw himself from the field. Then the challengers ranged over the\nlists, claiming to be conquerors, and, indeed, no one was ready to take\nthem in hand. And now the night fell, and the trumpets sounded a\nretreat. That day, therefore, Sir Satyrane was adjudged to have won the\nprize.\n\nOn the second day of the tournament Sir Satyrane rode forth, with Queen\nGloriana\u2019s knights following him, to challenge all comers. And on the\nother side also were many famous warriors, eager all of them to win the\nprize for himself. But Sir Triamond was not one of these; his wound was\nso grievous that it hindered him from making a trial of arms. So he was\nconstrained to stand aside, but it grieved him sorely. This his close\nfriend Sir Cambell perceiving, said to himself: \u201cI cannot cure his hurt,\nnor undo the thing which has been done; but this I can do; I can win\nhonour for him.\u201d Therefore he took Sir Triamond\u2019s arms, none knowing,\nneither Sir Triamond himself, nor anyone else, for he said to himself:\n\u201cIf I fare ill in this matter, the blame will not fall on my friend.\u201d\n\nHe went therefore to fight, no one doubting that he was the veritable\nTriamond. When he was come, he found Sir Satyrane, full of joy and\ntriumph, for no one was able to stand up against him. At him, therefore,\nhe charged, with his spear in rest; nor did Sir Satyrane, on his part,\ndraw back from the encounter. With so great a shock did they meet that\nboth were driven from their saddles to the ground. Rising, therefore,\nthey drew both of them their swords, and fought therewith such a fight\nas had scarce been seen before in that land. And now Sir Satyrane\u2019s\nhorse, for, by this time, they had both again mounted their steeds,\nchanced to stumble, so that his rider was well-nigh cast to the ground.\nThis Sir Cambell perceiving, was not slow to seize the occasion, but\ndealt him so sore a blow on the crest of his helmet that he fell to the\nground. Then Sir Cambell leapt from his steed, and would have spoiled\nhim of his arms. But this, which, indeed, is a custom of the battlefield\nrather than of the tourney, the knights who were of Sir Satyrane\u2019s party\nwould not suffer. Hastening to their comrade\u2019s help, they closed his\nadversary in so close a ring that though he laid about him most bravely,\nyet could he not deliver himself\u2014for what could one against so many? So\nhe was taken prisoner and led away.\n\nIt chanced somehow that the news of what had befallen Sir Cambell came\nto Sir Triamond where he lay in his bed. In a moment of time he leapt\ntherefrom, wholly forgetting his wound, and sought for his armour. He\nsought, but he found it not, for indeed, Cambell was wearing it at the\nvery time. But the arms and armour of Sir Cambell he found. These he\ndonned without delay, and issued forth to take such chance as might\nbefall him. There he saw his friend and companion Cambell as he was led\naway captive in the midst of a great press of knights, and the sight\nmoved him to great wrath. He thrust himself into the thickest of the\npress, and smote down all that were in his way till he came to where\nCambell was led a prisoner between two knights. Fiercely did he assail\nthese two, and they, for their own lives\u2019 sake, were constrained to let\nhim go. Then he, seizing a sword from one of them, laid about him with\nall his might, for both his own wrong and the wounding of his friend\nstirred a great wrath in him. So these two made great havoc over all the\nfield, till the trumpet sounded the end of the battle for that day. By\ncommon consent the prize of the day was adjudged to these two, Cambell\nand Triamond, but to which of the two was doubtful, for they strove\ntogether, each advancing the other\u2019s cause, so that the matter was\npostponed.\n\nOn the third and last day of the tournament many valiant deeds were\ndone, not without great hurt and damage to many that contended in the\nfield. There might be seen that day full many a shivered shield, and\nswords strewn upon the ground, horses also running loose without their\nriders, and squires helping their lords who were in evil plight. But,\nfor the most part, the knights of the Queen fared the better, and among\nthe knights there was not one that fought with better success than the\nbrave Sir Satyrane. Now and again his fortune failed him; but ever it\nreturned again, and he was the best stay and support of his side.\n\nBut when it was now past noon, there came forth from the other side a\nstrange knight whom no one knew. Strange he was and strange was his\ndisguise, for all his armour was covered with moss from the wood, and\nhis horse had trappings of oak leaves, and on his shield, which had\nragged edges, was written this motto: _Salvagesse sans Finesse_. He, as\nsoon as he had come upon the field, charged the first knight that was in\nhis way. This was the stout Sir Sanglier, a valiant man, well approved\nin many battles; but now he was laid low at the very first encounter.\nAnd after him Sir Brianor came to a worse fate, for he was killed\noutright. Seven knights, one after the other, he overthrew; and when his\nspear was broken, then he worked no less damage with his sword. Shields\nand helmets he broke through, and wasted all the array of knights, as a\nlion wastes a flock of sheep. So Satyrane and his party were turned to\nflight, for, indeed, no man could stand before him. And when they would\nfind out his name, no one knew it, so that they were constrained to call\nhim the Savage Knight. But he was in truth Sir Artegall.\n\nIt was said by a wise man of old time that no man should be accounted\nhappy before the end, because it cannot be known what change of fortune\nmay befall him. And so it proved that day with Sir Artegall. For when\nthe sun was laid low in the heavens, but before the trumpet had sounded,\nthere came forth from the ranks of the Queen\u2019s knights a stranger. First\nhe charged at Sir Artegall and tumbled him backwards over his horse\u2019s\ntail, with so heavy a fall that he had small desire to rise again. This\nwhen Sir Cambell saw he charged with all his might; and he, too, could\nbe seen lying on the plain. In like manner fared Sir Triamond when he\nwould have avenged his friend\u2019s disgrace. Nor did Sir Blandamour succeed\nwhere these had failed. Many another famous knight was overthrown that\nday, yet without loss of honour, for they had to yield to the enchanted\nspear of Britomart. So when the trumpet sounded on the third day of Sir\nSatyrane\u2019s great tournament, the honour rested with the knights of Queen\nGloriana.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXIV\n OF FLORIMELL\u2019S GIRDLE\n\n\nThe tournament being ended, the next thing in order to be done was to\nadjudge the prizes. For the first day the prize was given to Sir\nSatyrane, as has been told before, because, having been first at the\nbeginning, he was also first at the end. For the second day Sir Triamond\nwas held to have excelled all others: Cambell, indeed, was victor, but\nthen Triamond had saved him from imprisonment, and he who saves the\nvictor is, without controversy, first of all. For the third day the\nprize was adjudged to Britomart, or, as men called her, the Knight of\nthe Ebony Spear, for who she was in truth no one knew. Nor could this\njudgment be disputed, for, whereas the Savage Knight had overthrown all\nothers, so was he overthrown by her. And this third prize was held to be\nthe most honourable of all, and the knight to whom it was given the\nfirst of all. And because by good right beauty and valour go together,\nthere must needs be a trial of the dames, who should be reckoned the\nfairest, with the girdle of Florimell for prize.\n\nFirst came Sir Cambell, leading his wife, the fair Cambina, clad in a\nveil which covered her from head to foot, which being taken away, such\nwas her beauty that all hearts were won. Nevertheless, when Sir\nTriamond, coming next, showed his wife Canac\u00e9, they were not less moved\nby the sight. And some greatly admired the false Duessa, when Sir\nParidell led her forth before the company, for some hearts are moved by\none thing and some by another. Nor did the Lady Lucida, whose champion\nwas Sir Ferramont, want for worshippers; nor, indeed, did any one of the\nhundred dames assembled in that place, lack some to champion her. Yet,\ndoubtless, the great number of the votes had been given to Amoret, when\nBritomart led her forth, but that she also was surpassed in the common\njudgment by Sir Blandamour\u2019s Florimell, not the true Florimell, it must\nbe understood, but the false which the witch woman had made. For in\ncomparison of her all others seemed but base, even as the stars seem to\ngrow dull when the moon is shining at her full. \u201cThis,\u201d said they all,\n\u201cis no mortal creature, but an angel from heaven.\u201d\n\nEven so when some cunning smith overlays base metal with covering of\ngold, he lays upon it so fair a gloss that it seems to surpass the true\ngold itself. So they who had looked upon the true Florimell thought to\nthemselves, \u201cThe dame is fairer than ever before!\u201d For ever it is that\nfalse things do seem to excel the true, so weak and false are the\njudgments of men.\n\nThen, by common consent, the girdle was adjudged to her as being the\nfairest of all; but lo! when they thought to bind it round her waist,\nthey could not prevail to do it. So soon as they fastened it, it seemed\nto loose itself and fall away, as if there was some secret hindrance and\nwant of fitness. And so it fared with many other dames when they assayed\nthe same; when they would have girt the thing about their waists, they\ncould not. However fast it seemed to be, it was soon seen to be loose.\nThen a certain squire, who thought scorn of women, cried aloud: \u201cSurely\nthis is a sorrowful sight, that out of so many fair dames not one can\nfit to herself the girdle of beauty! Shame on the man who thought of\nthis fatal device! May he never find fair lady to love him!\u201d At which\nsaying all the knights laughed loud, and all the ladies frowned.\n\nAnd now the gentle Amoret, coming last of all that company, took the\ngirdle in her hands, and put it around her waist, and lo! it fitted to a\nmarvel. But the false Florimell snatched it away as if in anger, and\nwould have clasped it round her own waist. She clasped it, but it fitted\nas ill as before. Nevertheless it was adjudged to her as her right, for\nsuch the common voice had been; and she herself was assigned to the\nKnight of the Ebony Spear, that is, to Britomart. But she was\nill-content: \u201cNay, nay,\u201d she said, all thinking that it was the Knight\nof the Ebony Spear that spoke, \u201cI am no light of love; I am still\nsteadfast to my own Amoret.\u201d Then she was adjudged to the Savage Knight,\nbut he had already departed in great wrath; and then to Triamond, but he\nwas faithful to his Canac\u00e9; and after Triamond to Sir Satyrane. He\nindeed was well content. But then arose great strife, and, like enough,\nthere had been a drawing of swords, but for this strange happening. Sir\nSatyrane stood forth and said:\n\n\u201cSurely we have had enough of battles; why should we fight again the old\nquarrels? Let the fair lady choose for herself. Surely the love that\ncomes of her will is the sweetest of all!\u201d To this they all consented.\nAnd so the choice was given to the false Florimell. Long looked she upon\neach gallant knight, for it seemed as if she would willingly have\npleased them all; but at the last she turned to Bragadocchio, for he\nalso stood among the rest, and said:\n\n\u201cThis is the man I choose!\u201d Great was the wrath of all the company of\nknights, for they knew not how fitting it was that the false beauty\nshould choose the valour that was false.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXV\n OF BRITOMART AND ARTEGALL\n\n\nBritomart grew not a little weary of these strivings of knights and\ndames. Therefore she departed, taking with her the Lady Amoret, for she\nwas still bent on finding the Knight of the Mirror. An unlucky maid she\nwas, in truth, thus seeking one who had been her adversary, to whom she\nhad been so near, though she knew it not. Great was her grief, and great\nalso her toil, for neither grief nor toil did she spare, thinking that\ncould she find him, there would be both an end of her own toil and a\nsolace for her grief. The gentle Amoret also, who was her companion, had\na sorrow of her own, for she sought for her Scudamore; but he, unhappy\nman, had his heart full of hatred and revenge. For that evil hag, whose\nname was At\u00e9 or Strife, had poisoned it with suspicion. The very one who\nhad best served him, he hated most, even Britomart. Neither could\nGlauc\u00e9, for she went with him, serving him as a squire, abate his rage,\nfor all that she could say.\n\nAnd now, as though the evil counsels of Strife had not wrought trouble\nenough for him, he must needs put another burden on his soul. As they\njourneyed on, the night came upon them unawares, very heavy with cloud\nand rain. They, seeking some place where they might find shelter,\nperceived upon a steep hillside what seemed to be a poor man\u2019s cottage.\nAnd underneath there ran a little stream, but the water was muddy and\nthick, and had an evil smell. As they came near they heard the sound of\nhammers, and judged that it must be a blacksmith\u2019s forge. Entering in,\nthey found the goodman of the place busy with his work. He was of a mean\nand wretched aspect, spent, it would seem, with weariness. His eyes were\nhollow, and his cheeks fallen in, like to one who had been many months\nin a prison cell; his face was begrimed with smoke and his beard ragged,\nas if neither comb nor shears had ever passed upon it. Rude were his\ngarments, and hanging in rags, and his hands were blistered with\nburning, with nails long left unpared. Care was his name, and his trade\nwas the working of wedges of iron. To what purpose they could serve,\nneither he nor anyone knew. Such are the idle doubts and fears which\nCare drives into the hearts of men. Nor was it he alone that was busy\nwith this toil; six stout workers stood about the forge, all with huge\nhammers in their hands, which they plied in order. Much did Sir\nScudamore wonder to see their work; but when he had watched it awhile,\nhe asked them of its purpose, saying, \u201cWhat make you?\u201d But they answered\nnot a word, nor did they hold their hands for a moment; the bellows blew\nlike to a cold blast from the north, and the din of the hammers ceased\nnot.\n\nWhen the knight saw that no one answered, he laid himself down upon the\nfloor, seeking to rest his weary limbs; Glauc\u00e9 did the like; and sore\nwas her need of rest, for she was old and feeble, and they had journeyed\nthat day a long and weary way. She slept indeed, but to Sir Scudamore\nthere came no sleeping. Now he would lie on this side, now on that; now\nhe lay in one place, now in another. Anon he would rise from his place,\nand then lie down again. But every change was to no purpose, and every\nplace seemed full of pain. Also the dogs howled and barked all the night\nlong, and the cocks crowed, and the owls hooted; and if by chance\nslumber came down upon his eyes, then one of the workers smote his\nheadpiece with a hammer, for they indeed rested not all the night. As\nmorning drew near, he fell into a sleep, so utterly wearied was he, but\nsleep was worse than waking, for it brought evil thoughts of those whom\nhe was most bound to love and trust.\n\nThe next day Sir Scudamore and Glauc\u00e9, serving him as his squire,\nstarted betimes from the house of Care, for his was the dwelling where\nthey had spent the night. After a while they espied a knight sitting\nbeside a wood, while his horse grazed in the field hard by. The man\nmounted, so soon as he saw them, and rode forward, as did also Sir\nScudamore. But when the two were near enough that each could discern\nwhat arms the other wore, the Knight of the Wood lowered his spear and\nturned his horse aside, saying, \u201cGentle Scudamore, pardon me, I pray\nyou, that I had unknowingly almost trespassed against you!\u201d\n\n\u201cI blame you not,\u201d answered Sir Scudamore; \u201csuch happenings may well be\nto knights who seek for adventures. But, sir, as you call me by my name,\nmay I be bold enough to ask you yours?\u201d\n\nThe other made answer: \u201cI pray you pardon me if I withhold my name for a\ntime; the time serves not that I should make it known. May it please you\nto call me the _Savage Knight_, for thus I am commonly known.\u201d\n\nSir Scudamore said: \u201cThis place seems to suit well the arms which you\nare pleased to wear. But tell me, have you any special purpose to serve\nthat you abide in this place?\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d replied the other, \u201cbe it known to you that a stranger knight did\nme but the other day a great shame and dishonour, and I wait till I can\ntake vengeance on him.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d answered Sir Scudamore, \u201cwho it is that wronged you.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis name,\u201d said the Savage Knight, \u201cis unknown, yet he himself is known\nto many, especially by the ebony spear which he carries. It was but the\nother day that with this spear he overthrew all that met him in the\ntourney, and reft from me the honour of the day; not only so, for of\nthese things a knight may not complain, but he took from me the fairest\nlady that ever was, and withholds her still.\u201d\n\nThen Sir Scudamore knew that he spoke of Britomart, who, as he thought,\nhad taken from him his love. All his heart was full of rage, and he\ncried out: \u201cNow, by my head, this is not the first time of this knight\u2019s\nplaying an unknightly part, for I know him by this same spear which he\nbears. From me also did he carry away my love. If you purpose to take\nvengeance on him, I will give you all the help that I can.\u201d So these two\nagreed to join together in wreaking their wrath on the Knight of the\nEbony Spear, that is to say, on Britomart.\n\nWhile they were communing together on this matter, they saw in the\ndistance a knight riding slowly towards them, somewhat strangely\nattired, and bearing strange arms, whom approaching they perceived to be\nthe very one of whom they were speaking.\n\nThen said Sir Scudamore: \u201cI beseech you, Sir Savage Knight, that as I\nwas first wronged, so I may first take vengeance. And if I fail, then\nthe lot comes to you.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: Sir Scudamore overthrown by Britomart.]\n\nTo this the other gave his assent. Thereupon Sir Scudamore charged at\nher with all his might and at his horse\u2019s top speed, which she\nperceiving, made herself ready, and gave him so rough a welcome that she\nsmote to the ground both horse and man; and this so strongly, that\nneither had any mind to rise therefrom. This Sir Artegall perceiving,\nfelt in himself a yet greater anger than before, and laying his lance in\nrest, charged also with all his strength. But he also was laid upon the\nground, for there was nothing that could withstand the enchanted spear.\nNevertheless he fared better than his fellow, in that he rose lightly\nfrom the ground, and drawing his sword, leapt fiercely at his adversary.\nSo sore were his strokes, that though she was on horseback, she was\nconstrained to give place before him. As they turned this way and that,\nit chanced that a blow which Sir Artegall aimed at the Princess,\nglancing down the corslet which she wore, lighted on the back of her\nhorse, wounding him so sorely upon the back, in the rear of the saddle,\nthat she was compelled to alight. Not a whit was she dismayed at this\nmischance, and casting down her enchanted spear, betook herself to use\nsword and shield. And now the fortune of the fight changed somewhat, for\nhe was not a little spent by long fighting on foot, and she, having been\nmounted hitherto, had the advantage. Hence it followed that she drove\nhim backwards, and even, so heavy were her blows, wounded him through\nhis coat of mail. And now behold! another change. She was over-hasty in\nher assault, and her breath began to fail; and he on the other hand\nreserved his strength, and dealt his blows as thick as the hailstones\nfall upon a roof\u2014unhappy man, who came so near to slaying the fairest\ncreature in all the world! Still was the battle waged between these two,\nbut ever Sir Artegall grew the stronger and Britomart the weaker. At\nlast he dealt a stroke that, had it been aimed aright, had surely gone\nnear to slay her; but, by good chance, it did but shear away the visor\nof her helmet, so that her face could plainly be seen, somewhat reddened\nindeed by long toil, and with the sweat standing on it in great drops,\nbut yet fair beyond all comparison. And at the same time her hair, its\nband being broken, fell down as it were a river of gold flowing about\nher. Already had the knight lifted his hand to strike again; but when he\nsaw the fair face and golden hair his arm was, as it were, benumbed, his\nsword dropped from his hand, and he himself fell upon his knees.\n\n\u201cSurely,\u201d he said to himself, \u201cthis is some goddess that I see before\nme.\u201d She stood, indeed, in great wrath, for she had been in sore\nstraits, and anger ever follows close on fear, and made as if she would\nstrike him, but he could do nothing but ask for pardon. Nor was Sir\nScudamore less amazed, for he had by this time recovered from his swoon,\nwhen he saw the sight.\n\nAnd now Glauc\u00e9, glad at heart to see again the mistress whom she had\nmissed so long, drew near, and made her a reverence, saying: \u201cTruly I\nrejoice to see you safe after so many toils and dangers. And now, dear\ndaughter, as you love me, grant these knights a truce.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it,\u201d Britomart made answer. Thereupon they lifted up their\nvisors, so that their faces could be seen. And when Britomart looked on\nthe face of Artegall, behold it was the very countenance of the knight\nwhom she had seen long since in the magic mirror! And as she saw it her\nhaughty spirit abated. She could never again lift hand against him; nay,\nwhen she thought to use her tongue, and reproach him with angry words,\neven her tongue failed her.\n\nAnd now Sir Scudamore, greatly rejoiced to know that all his fears and\nsuspicions were false, drew near and said: \u201cSurely it makes me glad, Sir\nArtegall, to see you who were wont to despise all dames, bow yourself\nbefore one in so lowly a fashion.\u201d And when Britomart heard the name of\nArtegall, her heart leaped within her breast, nor for all her feigning\ncould she hide the gladness which she felt. Then said Glauc\u00e9 again:\n\u201cGentle knights, be thankful for the happy chance which has brought so\nstrange an ending to your fears and troubles. Here is no thief that\nwould take away from you the ladies whom you love. And you, Sir\nArtegall, who call yourself the Savage Knight, count it no shame that a\nmaid has so bravely held her own against you, and strive no longer\nagainst love, which is the very crown of knighthood. And you, fair lady,\nturn away your wrath; if there is fire in your heart, let it be the fire\nof love.\u201d Britomart blushed deep to hear these words, and Sir Artegall\nwas glad at heart.\n\nAnd now Sir Scudamore, who was divided between hope and fear concerning\nhis Amoret, spoke, saying: \u201cPardon me if I ask you for tidings of my\nAmoret. I know that you delivered her at no small peril from the\nEnchanter\u2019s prison. Where is she? for I would seek her, as is, indeed,\nmy bounden duty.\u201d\n\nBritomart answered: \u201cSir Knight, it grieves me much that I cannot tell\nyou what you seek to know. After I had delivered her from the Enchanter,\nas you know, I kept her safe. And truly there never was companion more\ndear to me than she. But one day, as we travelled, we lighted from our\nsteeds by the wayside, to rest awhile. Then I laid myself down to sleep;\nbut when I woke from my sleep, she was nowhere to be seen. I called her;\nI sought her far and near; but nowhere could I find her, or hear tidings\nof her.\u201d\n\nWhen Sir Scudamore heard these words, he was greatly troubled, and stood\nlike to a man who has received a mortal blow. But Glauc\u00e9 said: \u201cBe not\ndiscouraged, fair sir; hope still for the best; why should you trouble\nyourself in vain?\u201d\n\nLittle comfort did he take of these words, but when Britomart said,\n\u201cTruly you have great cause for trouble; yet take comfort, by the light\nof day I swear that I will never leave you till I find and give her back\nto you,\u201d then was he not a little comforted, for he had a great trust\nthat what Britomart promised she would surely perform.\n\nThen they all journeyed together to a castle that was near, Sir Artegall\nbeing their guide. There they rested till their wounds were healed and\ntheir strength repaired. Meanwhile Sir Artegall paid court to Britomart,\nwho, after much persuasion, though, indeed, she was not unwilling in her\nheart, consented to take him for her husband. Nevertheless their\nmarriage could not be yet, because Sir Artegall was bound on a great\nadventure which he must needs carry through. Nor could she refuse to\nallow him to depart, seeing that his honour was bound in the matter.\nOnly it was agreed that when three months had waxed and waned, then he\nshould return. So the knight departed, Britomart going with him for a\npart of his journey. Full loath was she to leave him, finding ever new\noccasions for delay. And when these were all spent, then with a heavy\nheart did she return to the castle, for she also had business in hand,\neven to seek together with Sir Scudamore for the lost Amoret.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXVI\n OF THE FORTUNES OF AMORET\n\n\nIt shall now be told how the fair Amoret was lost. She and Britomart,\nriding away from the place where Sir Satyrane had held his tournament,\nchanced in their journey upon a wood. There it seemed good to them to\nrest awhile. Britomart, being not a little wearied with fighting in the\nlists, fell fast asleep, but Amoret walked in the wood. As she walked a\ngiant rushed out of a thicket hard by and seized her; she cried aloud;\nbut Britomart heard her not, so deep was she in slumber. A horrible\nmonster to behold he was, feeding on the raw flesh of men and beasts,\nwith a face red as blood, and two great ears, like to the ears of an\nelephant. He was covered with shaggy hair, and in his hand a young oak\nwith sharp snags that had been hardened in the fire, till they were as\nsteel. He carried her through the wood to his cave, and threw her in.\nFor a while she lay without sense; then, being somewhat recovered, she\nheard someone sighing and sobbing, and inquired who it was that spoke.\n\nThen that other said: \u201cListen, unhappy one, and I will tell you my\nstory, from which you may learn in what plight you yourself are. Twenty\ndays have I dwelt in this dreadful place; and in these twenty days have\nI seen seven women slain and devoured. And now he has for store three\nonly, yourself and me and an old woman yonder; and of these three he\nwill surely devour one to-morrow. And if you ask my history it is this.\nI am daughter to a lord of high degree, and it happened to me to love a\nsquire of low degree. Of low degree he was, but so comely as to be a fit\nmate for the proudest lady in the land. Nevertheless, my father, loving\nme well after his fashion, and seeking my advancement, would have none\nof him. But I, being steadfast in my mind, made a resolve to flee far\nfrom my home, and take with my lover such a lot as fortune might bring.\nOn a certain day, therefore, it was appointed that I should meet him at\na certain place. To which place I came, but he, alas! was not there.\nThen this monster found me, and carried me away as an eagle carries off\na dove.\u201d\n\nAfter they had talked awhile, lo! the monster himself came back to his\ncave. And Amoret, as soon as she saw him, leapt from her place, which\nchanced to be near to the mouth of the cave, and fled away on her feet\nas fast as she could; and the monster, perceiving her flight, pursued\nher. Fleet of foot was she, but it had fared ill with her but for a\nhappy chance which brought her help beyond all hope, as shall now be\ntold.\n\nThere dwelt in those parts a famous huntress, Belph\u0153be by name; this\nBelph\u0153be was own sister to Amoret. That day she was following the chase,\npursuing leopards and bears, of which beasts there was a great multitude\nin those woods. With her were her companions, the forest nymphs, and\nalso a gentle squire, who was her lover. Now the squire chanced to be\nseparated from the rest of his company, and so came to the very place\nwhere the monster was in chase of Amoret. By this time he had overtaken\nher and caught her up in his arms. And when the squire perceived it, and\nset upon him, seeking to deliver her out of his hands, the villain used\nthis crafty device. When the squire would have thrust at him with the\nhunting-spear which he carried, then the monster would shield himself\nwith the body of Amoret. And when the squire held back his blow, or when\nthe blow chanced to fall ever so lightly on the dame, then the monster\nlaughed aloud. So they two contended awhile; but at the last the squire\ndealt his adversary a shrewd blow and wounded him sorely. But this did\nnot abate his rage, for, throwing Amoret on the ground, he set upon the\nsquire so fiercely with his club, that the man had much ado to save\nhimself from being beaten down. Nor can it be known what had been the\nissue, for now Belph\u0153be, hearing the sound of the strokes through the\nwood, and guided by her ear, drew near, holding her bow in her hand,\nwith an arrow upon the string, ready to be despatched. When the monster\nsaw her, he, knowing how deadly was her aim, turned and fled. Nor did\nshe fail to pursue; swift of foot was she, and ere he could reach his\ncave, she smote him on the back of the neck with an arrow. He fell to\nthe ground with a great crash, and when she came up, thinking to put an\nend to him, lo! he was already dead. Thereupon she went into the cave,\nand while she wondered that a place could be so foul, she heard a\nwhispering and a low sort of groaning. Then she said to herself: \u201cAre\nthese spirits that suffer in this place of dread and darkness?\u201d and\nafterwards aloud, \u201cIf there be any here, let them come forth, if only\nthey be free to move.\u201d Thereupon \u00c6milia stood up from the place where\nshe had been lying, and told her story. \u201cCome forth,\u201d said Belph\u0153be,\nwhen she heard the tale; \u201chaply, I may give you help.\u201d So she led her to\nthe place where she had left the squire and the fair Amoret. And now\nthere befell an evil chance which brought about no small trouble.\n\nAmoret was in a piteous plight, as may easily be believed. For first she\nhad been affrighted almost to death by the monster, and then she had\nbeen sorely bruised when he cast her so roughly to the ground. So she\nlay as one without life, and the gentle squire was full of compassion\nwhen he saw her hurts, especially the wound which he himself had made\nwith his hunting-spear, when the monster held her before him as a\nshield. And now Belph\u0153be, coming back from the cave, saw him looking at\nher, as it might be, in lover\u2019s fashion, and a great pang of jealousy\nand anger moved in her heart. At first she thought to slay them both\nwith the arrow which she held in her hand. But keeping herself back from\nthis, she cried: \u201cIs this, then, the faith you keep?\u201d And, with the\nword, she turned her face and fled into the wood. The squire, knowing\nthat he was wrongly blamed, made haste to follow her, yet, overtaking\nher, he did not dare to come near; and when he would have told her the\ntruth, she would not listen, but made as if she would slay him with an\narrow. So, after having long followed her in vain, he turned back, and\nfinding a solitary place in the depth of a forest, made there a cabin\nfor himself, where he dwelt in most unhappy sort. His weapons of war he\nbroke, and vowed never to use them again. Also he swore a great oath\nthat he would never more speak to woman; his garments, which were of the\nseemliest fashion, he cut into the strangest shape, and his hair he\nsuffered to grow as it would and fall untrimmed about his shoulders. So\nhe lived for many days.\n\nIt chanced one day that a turtle dove which also had lost its mate came\nnear, and, as if it could understand what was in his heart, behaved in a\nmost friendly and familiar fashion. And this it did again and again. The\nbird would sit upon the branch of a tree hard by, and sing to him; and\nhe, by way of guerdon for its song, would share with him such slender\nmeals as he had. On a certain day he brought out from a certain place\ncertain gifts which Belph\u0153be had bestowed upon him in the days when the\naffection between them was yet unbroken. Among these was a ruby of the\nfinest water, with a gold setting in the shape of a heart and a chain of\ngold fastened to the setting. This jewel he took, and binding it with a\nriband of his lady\u2019s colour, tied it round the neck of the dove, and\nsolaced his mind by gazing on it. But no sooner had the bird felt the\njewel tied about his neck than he spread out his wings and flew away.\nNot a little troubled was he at this matter, for he had lost, not the\ncompanionship of the bird only, but the jewel also. So was his trouble\nnot a little increased. But the bird flew in a straight line to the\nabode of Belph\u0153be, and found her sitting in an arbour, taking rest from\nthe toils of the chase. For she still followed in the ways of a\nhuntress, though, in truth, she was not a little troubled that she had\nlost her lover. So soon as she saw the bird, she spied the jewel about\nhis neck, and knew it for her own gift, and the riband also wherewith it\nwas bound. Thereupon she rose from her place, and would have caught it\nin her hand, but the bird flew away. For a short space it flew, and then\ntarried for a space, and then when Belph\u0153be came near, flew away once\nmore. So it drew the lady on from place to place, ever seeming ready to\nbe caught, yet ever again escaping, till it brought her to the place\nwhere the squire dwelt in his unhappiness. There it perched on his hand,\nand sang a song, sweet and sad, as if to suit his sorrowful estate. So\nspent was he with grief and trouble that the lady knew him not, but only\nsaw that he was in great misery, yet judged that he had fallen into it\nfrom better things. Thereupon she said: \u201cUnhappy man, what has brought\nyou into this evil plight? If it is Heaven\u2019s will, then we must submit;\nbut if it is of man\u2019s wrongdoing, then may the wrong be set right. But\nif it is of your own will, know that no man should so neglect the gifts\nof God, who wills that all should be happy.\u201d\n\n\u201cO lady,\u201d answered the squire, \u201csurely it is no one but yourself that\nhas brought me into this trouble.\u201d And he showed her the whole truth.\n\nSo peace was made again between the two.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXVII\n OF SIR ARTEGALL AND THE KNIGHT SANGLIER\n\n\nIt is now time that the story of Sir Artegall should be told; how he was\nbred up in the ways of justice. Now this story, as it was commonly\nreported, was this: Astr\u00e6a, who was the Goddess of Justice, found him\nwhen he was a child playing with other children of a like age; she,\nliking him well, and finding him innocent and without guile, took him\naway with her to a solitary place where she dwelt\u2014for as yet she lived\nupon the earth\u2014and there instructed and trained him to be such an one as\nshe desired. She taught him to weigh right and wrong in equal scales,\nand to measure out equity according to the rule of conscience. And\nbecause there were no men in the place, she taught him to seek\nexperience of the right way among the beasts of the forest; for these\nalso oppress their own kind. Also she caused him to be instructed in the\nuse of arms, in which use he became in due time most expert, so that he\ncame to be held in high repute, as being one who could not only\ndistinguish most truly between right and wrong, but could also maintain\nthe same by force of arms. Also she gave him a sword of great repute\nwhich Jupiter himself had used in his war against the Titans; Chrysaor\nwas its name, which, being interpreted, is \u201cSword of Gold.\u201d Of finest\ntemper was it, and beautiful to behold. Also she gave her servant to\nattend upon him\u2014Talus was his name. This same Talus wielded an iron\nflail with which to thresh out falsehood and separate the truth.\n\nThis Artegall, being now come to years of manhood, betook himself, as\nwas the wont of all worthy knights in those days, to the Court of Queen\nGloriana. And she gave him as the task which he should accomplish, the\nsuccouring of a distressed lady, Irene by name, from whom a tyrant, whom\nmen called Grantorto, withheld the heritage which was rightly hers. For\nshe judged that there was no man who could better discern the right, and\nhaving discerned it could more effectually cause it to prevail.\n\nSo it came to pass that he and Talus, who was his squire, rode off on\ntheir errand. On their way they saw as sorry a sight as ever was seen by\nmortal eyes, a squire sitting upon the ground in most doleful fashion,\nand hard by him, lying on the ground, the headless corpse of a lady. It\nwas indeed a piteous thing to see the gay apparel of the dead, most\ncruelly drenched in blood.\n\n\u201cNow tell me,\u201d cried Sir Artegall, \u201cby what foul mischance this dreadful\nthing has happened.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, sir,\u201d answered the squire, \u201cas I sat here with the lady whom I\nlove, there came riding by a knight who had in his company this fair\ndame whom you see lying here. And whether he was taken with the sight of\nmy love, or was weary of his own, I know not; but this he said: \u2018Ho!\nfellow, let us make exchange.\u2019 And when I denied his request, and the\ntwo ladies also cried out upon him, then he threw down the dame his\ncompanion on the ground, and lawlessly taking away from me my own, set\nher upon his horse. And when his lady saw what he had done, and how he\nwas riding away, she followed him as fast as she could, and laying hold\nof his arm, cried out: \u2018Leave me not in this fashion; slay me rather!\u2019\nAnd he in a fury drew his sword, and with a single stroke shore off her\nhead, even in the place where now she lies. And now he has gone, taking\nmy love with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d said Sir Artegall, \u201cby which way he went. Tell me also by\nwhat signs I may know him.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, fair sir,\u201d the squire made answer, \u201che has gone so long that you\ncan scarce hope to overtake him. Yet, if you would know the way, he rode\nacross the plain.\u201d And he pointed with his hand to the course which the\nknight had followed. \u201cAs for the marks, know that he carried on his\nshield a broken sword on a field of blood; and, indeed, it seemed to be\na fitting emblem.\u201d\n\n\u201cFollow him,\u201d said Sir Artegall to his page Talus. And the page followed\nhim swift as a swallow flies over a field. Nor was it long before he\novertook the knight\u2014Sir Sanglier he was called\u2014and bade him come back\nwith him, and answer for his deed. No little scorn did the knight feel\nto be so commanded, and, setting down the lady whom he carried on his\nsteed, rode at the page Talus with all his force. Full on the body he\nstruck him, but moved him no more than a rock is moved by some stone\nthat is thrown at it. On the other hand, Talus dealt him such a blow\nthat he laid him prostrate on the ground. Ere he could recover himself,\nTalus had seized him in an iron grip, and forced him to follow him, the\nlady also, though she would have fled in her fear, following. So they\ncame to Sir Artegall.\n\n\u201cWhat is this that you have done?\u201d said Sir Artegall.\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said the knight, \u201cI did it not: I am guiltless of the blood of\nthis dame, and this I will prove on the body of this false squire, if he\nwill meet me hand to hand.\u201d\n\nNow the squire was not of such prowess as to meet so doughty a knight.\nThen said Sir Artegall: \u201cThis is a doubtful cause, which it were not\nwell to try by arbitrament of battle. Will you therefore commit the\nmatter to me, and abide by my judgment and sentence?\u201d\n\nTo this they both consented. Then said Sir Artegall: \u201cSince each of you\ndenies that this lady came by her death through his deed, and each\nclaims the living lady as his own, my judgment is that both the living\nand the dead shall be equally divided, and each shall have his part both\nof one and of the other. Also I decree that if either of you two shall\nreject this my sentence, he shall carry this head as a penance for\ntwelve months, by way of witness that he brought about her death.\u201d\n\nSir Sanglier gladly accepted the doom, but the squire was ill-content,\nfor he really loved the dame who had been reft from him. \u201cNay,\u201d said he,\n\u201cI would rather by far that she should live, though I lose her.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis well said, squire!\u201d cried Sir Artegall, \u201cand now I perceive that\nyou are indeed guiltless in this matter. As for you, Sir Knight, who\ncare so little for the living or the dead, take this head and carry it\nfor a twelve months\u2019 space, to be a witness of your shame and guilt.\u201d\nSir Sanglier was ill content with this sentence, and would have refused\nto abide by it. Only, when he saw Talus approaching with intent to\ncompel him, he made his submission, for he knew by experience how great\nwas his strength.\n\nThen said the squire: \u201cOh, sir, you have done me such service as I can\nnever repay. Let me therefore attend you as your squire, and that\nwithout fee or favour.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so,\u201d Sir Artegall made answer, \u201cI am well content to be as I am. Do\nyou follow your own affairs. As for me, Talus here will be sufficient\nfor my needs.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXVIII\n OF OTHER ADVENTURES OF SIR ARTEGALL\n\n\nAs Sir Artegall, with Talus following, rode on, he met a dwarf who was\ntravelling with all the speed that he could use. \u201cStay awhile,\u201d he said,\n\u201cfor I have somewhat to ask of you.\u201d And the dwarf, though somewhat\nloath, could not but yield. Now the dwarf\u2019s name was Dony, and he served\nthe fair Florimell. Not a little of his discourse, therefore, concerned\nthe said Florimell. He told how Marinell was recovered of the grievous\nwound which Britomart had given him, and how he was to wed the fair\nFlorimell.\n\n\u201cSay you so?\u201d cried Artegall. \u201cTell me, therefore, when the marriage\nshall be, for I would fain be present at the celebration.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn three days\u2019 time, as I am informed,\u201d answered the dwarf, \u201cand I too\nshould be there, and the place is the castle by the seashore; only there\nis a hindrance in the way, for a little farther on from this place, a\ncruel Saracen keeps the bridge by which one must needs pass. Much harm\nhas he done already to travellers, and men are fain to shun the way that\nlies thereby.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me more about the villain,\u201d said Sir Artegall. Then Dony set forth\nthe whole matter.\n\n\u201cHe is a man of great strength, and expert in battle. Moreover, he is\nnot a little helped by the charms with which the wicked witch, his\ndaughter, supports him. Thus he has gathered together much wealth, store\nof gold, and lordships and farms. This wealth he daily increases,\ngreatly by means of this same bridge which he holds by force of arms. No\none will he suffer to go over unless he first pays a toll, be he rich or\npoor. If the traveller be poor, then a squire whom he sets over this\nbusiness extorts from him this tribute. As for the richer sort, these he\ndeals with himself. Men call him Pollent\u00e9, which, being interpreted, is\n\u2018Powerful,\u2019 and the name is fitting, for much power he has. And besides\nthe power he has not a little cunning, for he is wont to fight on this\nsame bridge. Exceeding long is it and narrow, and full of pitfalls which\nhe knows, but a stranger knows not. And often it happens that the\nstranger falls through one of these said pitfalls into the river\nbeneath. And while he is confused with his fall, Pollent\u00e9 leaps into the\nriver and takes him at a disadvantage, and either slays him outright or\ncauses him to drown. Then he takes the spoils of them who perish in this\nfashion, and brings them to his daughter, who dwells hard by. Thus she\nhas gathered together great store of wealth, so that she exceeds even\nkings. Her they call Munera. Very fair is she, and gorgeously attired;\nmany lords have sought to have her for a wife, but in her pride she\nthinks scorn of them all.\u201d\n\nThis is the story which Dony the dwarf told to Sir Artegall. When the\nknight heard it, he cried, \u201cNow, by my life, I will go none other way\nbut this, God helping me.\u201d\n\nSo he went on with Talus, and the dwarf followed. When they came to the\nbridge, there came to them an evil-looking villain, who said, \u201cGive me\nthe passage-money, according to the custom of the place!\u201d\n\n\u201cHere,\u201d answered Sir Artegall, \u201cis my passage-money,\u201d and therewith\ndealt him such a blow that he fell dead upon the ground. When the\nSaracen knight saw this, he was very wrath, and charged at Sir Artegall\nfull tilt; nor did Sir Artegall lag behind. They met in the middle of\nthe bridge, where there was a trap cunningly devised. The Saracen looked\nthat his adversary should fall into it unawares and be sorely bruised\nand wounded; but Sir Artegall, having been forewarned by the dwarf,\nleapt into the river, clear of all that might do damage to horse or man.\nThe Saracen leapt in like fashion, and the two met in the water, not one\nwhit less hotly than had they been on the dry land. And here the pagan\nhad no small advantage, for he was accustomed to fight in this fashion,\nand his horse also could swim like a fish. Sir Artegall, perceiving that\nthe odds were against him, saw that he must close with his adversary\nwithout delay. Long they wrestled together, and Sir Artegall never\nloosened his grip one whit, and at last forced him from his saddle, so\nthat he no longer had the advantage of the swimming of his horse. And\nyet the issue of the fight was doubtful awhile, for the Saracen was both\nbrave and expert in arms. Nevertheless Sir Artegall had the better\nbreath, as one that followed temperance in all things, and so prevailed\nuntil the Saracen was compelled to turn from the river to the land,\nhoping so to escape. Yet even as he lifted his head from the stream to\nthe brink, the knight dealt him so heavy a blow that it clean shore the\nhead from the neck. And this being done, then he went his way to the\ncastle where the pagan\u2019s daughter dwelt.\n\n[Illustration: Sir Artegall and the Saracen.]\n\nHere he was denied entrance, being received with so great a shower of\nstones that he was forced to retreat. Then he sent Talus, bidding him\ncompel an entrance. And this he did without damage to himself, and with\nhis iron flail he battered the door so fiercely that the whole place\nshook from the foundation to the roof. All who were within were greatly\ndismayed, and the Lady Munera herself came out, and stood upon the\ncastle wall. When she saw in what peril she was, she used all the\ndevices which she could imagine to deliver herself. First she besought\nthe adversary with many prayers to cease from his attack\u2014and, indeed,\nshe was not wont to beseech in vain. Then she tried what enchantments\ncould do, and of these she had a great store at her command. And when\nshe found that prayers and enchantments availed nothing, she thought to\ncorrupt the man with great gifts. She caused sacks of gold and precious\nthings to be brought, and poured from the castle wall, thinking to\nherself that he would surely cease from his battering, and give her, at\nthe least, some respite and delay.\n\nBut the riches moved him no more than the entreaties and enchantments.\nStill he battered with his iron flail till he broke down the door and\nmade a way for his master to enter. No one dared to lift a hand against\nthem: all through the castle they moved at their will. The Lady Munera\nfor a while they could not find. At the last Talus, than whom a\nbloodhound was not more keen to scent a runaway, found her hidden under\na heap of gold. Thence he drew her from her lair, pitying her not at\nall. For now even Sir Artegall, seeing how fair she was, had some\ncompassion in his heart, and when she knelt before him would have given\nher some remission of the penalty. But there was no such thought in the\nheart of Talus. He cared for naught but to do justice to the full. So he\ntook her by the waist, she crying loudly the while, and cast her into\nthe river. And when he had wrought this justice upon her, he took all\nthe pelf that he found in the castle, and ground it small to powder, and\nthrew it into the water. This done, he razed the castle to the ground,\ndestroying it utterly, so that no one in days to come should think to\nset it up again. After this Sir Artegall reformed the evil customs of\nthe bridge, ordering that in time to come it should be free for all to\npass over.\n\nThis good deed accomplished, they journeyed on to the castle by the sea,\nwhere the nuptials of Sir Marinell and the fair Florimell were to be\ncelebrated with great honour. There were great feastings and rejoicings,\nto which an infinite concourse of lords and ladies resorted from all\nquarters; no knight that was held in repute for valour and deeds of arms\nwas absent. When the banquet, which was furnished with all rare meats\nand drinks that the heart of man could desire, was finished, then the\ncompany addressed themselves to feats of arms. First came forth Sir\nMarinell and six knights with him, declaring to hold the field against\nall comers, in right of Florimell, and to affirm that she was the\nfairest of all the ladies upon earth. Against these there came from all\nparts such as desired to try their fortune in the lists\u2014none were\ndebarred. Many feats of arms were wrought that day; many knights were\nunhorsed, and some were wounded; but none, so it was judged by common\nconsent, bore themselves more bravely than did Sir Marinell. His name,\ntherefore, did the heralds proclaim as the champion of the day. And on\nthe second day the event was the same. There was much fighting, many\nsuffered loss and overthrow; and in the end the heralds proclaimed, as\nthey had done before, the victory of Sir Marinell. But on the third day\nthings fell out otherwise, for the knight pursuing his adversaries when\nhe had put them to flight, somewhat rashly, was surrounded by them and\ntaken prisoner. While they were leading him away, it so chanced that Sir\nArtegall came into the tilting-yard, and close behind him followed\nBragadocchio, who had in his company the false Florimell.\n\nWhen Sir Artegall understood what mishap had befallen Sir Marinell, he\nsaid to Bragadocchio: \u201cI would fain help this brave knight; but I would\nnot have anyone know who I am: therefore, I pray thee, change shields\nwith me.\u201d And Bragadocchio full willingly did so, thinking that he might\nthus win to himself renown without cost or danger. Sir Artegall,\ntherefore, taking Bragadocchio\u2019s shield, set upon the knights who were\nleading away Sir Marinell. There were a hundred in all. Of these fifty\nassailed him, and the other fifty stayed behind to guard the prisoner.\nBut for all that there were so many they could not stand against him.\nThe fifty who assailed him he speedily put to flight, and the fifty who\nwould have kept the prisoner did not hinder Sir Artegall from setting\nhim free. Then Sir Marinell being delivered and armed anew, for they had\ntaken his arms from him, the two joined their forces and drove their\nadversaries out of the field. There was not one among them who could\nhold up his head or make a stand against them. When Sir Artegall had\naccomplished this, then he gave back the shield to Bragadocchio, who had\nstayed to see the issue of the day, keeping with him the false\nFlorimell.\n\nAfter this the trumpets sounded, and the judges rose up in their place\nand summoned the company, saying: \u201cHear! All ye knights who have borne\narms to-day, and know to whom the prize of valour is awarded.\u201d Then came\nforth the fair Florimell from the place where she sat, as queen of the\ntourney, that she might give to each knight his proper guerdon, and to\nhim who should be held to have best acquitted himself, the first prize\nof all. Loudly did they call for the stranger knight who had wrought\nsuch prodigies of valour and strength in delivering Sir Marinell. He did\nnot come forward, but in his stead Bragadocchio presented himself, with\nthe shield bearing the device which all men knew\u2014namely, a sun shining\nin a field of gold. When the company saw this, they, thinking that this\nwas indeed the champion, set up a great shout, and the trumpets sounded,\nand Florimell rose up and greeted him most graciously, thanking him for\nhis championship. But all this praise turned the vain fellow\u2019s mind.\n\u201cNot for your sake, madam,\u201d said he, \u201cbut for my own dear lady\u2019s sake\ndid I this,\u201d adding other words such as could not pass the lips of a\ntrue knight. Then he called to Trompart his squire, saying, \u201cBring forth\nthe fairest of all dames!\u201d Thereupon Trompart led forth the false\nFlorimell; for he had her in keeping, hidden by a veil from the common\nsight.\n\nGreat was the astonishment of the company when they saw her. \u201cThis\nsurely is Florimell,\u201d they said to themselves, \u201cor, if it be not, then\nit is one fairer than she.\u201d Never were men more perplexed than the\nguests that day. Nor was Sir Marinell himself less amazed than the rest,\nand, as he gazed, the more and more steadfastly did he believe that this\nfalse Florimell was indeed the true.\n\nBut now Sir Artegall, who stood in the press of the crowd, closely\ndisguised, heard the false boaster\u2019s words, and could not contain\nhimself any more, but came forth and cried with a loud voice: \u201cFalse\nboaster, strutting thus in borrowed plumes, and doing dishonour to\nothers with your lies, verily when each shall have his due, great will\nbe your disgrace! \u2019Tis true that the shield which you bear was this day\nborne by him who delivered Sir Marinell, but yours was not the arm which\nstruck the blow. And now hold forth your sword and let it show what\nmarks of battle it bears, and if you bear in your body the mark of a\nwound, let this company behold it; nay, boaster, this is the sword which\nwon the victory, and these the wounds which were endured in the\nwinning!\u201d And here he showed his sword, which bore the dint of many a\nblow, and the wounds which he carried on his arms and his body. \u201cAnd,\u201d\nhe further said, \u201cas for this Florimell of yours, I warrant she is no\ntrue dame, but only a fit companion for such as you.\u201d Then he took the\ntrue Florimell by the hand and led her, she blushing the while, for the\ncolour on her fair face was of roses mixed with lilies, and set her by\nthe side of the false. And then, lo! a great marvel! The false dame\nmelted away as snow melts in the sunshine! In a moment naught remained\nof her save only the empty girdle which once had compassed her waist. So\non a day of storm we see a rainbow spanning the sky with all its goodly\ncolours, and in a moment it vanishes from our sight, so did this lovely\ncreature, the false Florimell, vanish from before the eyes of that\ncompany. And now Sir Artegall took up the golden girdle which alone\nremained of all that fair show, for this, indeed, was true, while all\nelse was false. This he presented to the true Florimell, and she\nforthwith fastened it about her waist. Many a fair dame before had\nessayed to do it, but not one had found it truly and rightly fit.\n\nBut the end of these things was not yet, for now Sir Guyon came forth\nfrom the crowd to claim his own good steed, which, as has been told, had\nbeen stolen from him in time past by this false thief. With one hand he\nseized the golden bit, and with the other he drew forth his sword from\nits sheath, for he would have smitten the knave with a deadly blow, but\nthat the press hindered him, for now there was a great tumult in the\nplace. Thereupon Sir Artegall came forth and would fain know how the\nknight had been robbed of his horse. Then Sir Guyon told the story how,\nwhile he was busy setting right a grievous wrong, some knave had stolen\nhis horse. \u201cAnd now,\u201d said he, \u201cI challenge the knave who robbed me of\nit to deadly combat.\u201d So he spoke, but Bragadocchio held back. He had no\nliking for such things.\n\nThen said Sir Artegall: \u201cThis is truly the law of knighthood, that if\none man claim a thing and offer to make good his claim by might of arms,\nand the other will not, the judgment goes against the latter by default.\nNevertheless, for further and clearer discovery of the truth, can you\nwho claim this horse as your own declare some tokens in proof?\u201d\n\nTo this answered Sir Guyon: \u201cMost truly I can. Such a token there is: a\nblack spot in the beast\u2019s mouth like in shape to a horse\u2019s shoe.\u201d But\nwhen they thought to look into his mouth so as to discern the token, he\nwounded first one and then another so sorely that they were like to die.\nFrom no one would he suffer such a thing. But when Sir Guyon called him\nby his name\u2014Brigador\u2014he, hearing the voice, stood still, as if he had\nbeen bound, and suffered them to open his mouth, so that all could see\nthe mark as it had been described. Nay more, he would follow Sir Guyon,\nbreaking the band with which he was tied, and frisked right gaily, ay,\nand bent his knee.\n\nThen said Sir Artegall: \u201cNow it may be plainly discerned that the horse\nis indeed yours. Take it therefore, with its saddle of gold, and let\nthis boaster go horseless, till he can win a steed for himself.\u201d\n\nMuch was Bragadocchio moved to be so shamed in the presence of all that\ncompany\u2014so moved that for a while he laid aside his very cowardice, and\nbroke forth into angry words against Sir Artegall. The knight made as if\nhe would have slain the knave with his sword, but Sir Guyon stayed him.\n\u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cit would ill suit your dignity to vent your wrath on\nsuch a knave as this. The meetest punishment for him is to be put to\nopen shame in the sight of all this company.\u201d\n\nBut Talus was not minded to let the knave escape so easily. He caught\nhim by the neck and led him out of the hall, and shaved his beard, and\nreft away his shield, and blotted out the escutcheon, and defaced all\nhis arms. Nor did the false squire, Trompart, fare better, though he\ncunningly had essayed to fly, for Talus overtook him and served him in\nthe like way. So may all makers of falsehood fare!\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXIX\n SIR ARTEGALL DOES JUSTICE\n\n\nThe marriage of Sir Marinell and the fair Florimell having been duly\ncelebrated with much rejoicing and great festivity, Sir Artegall set\nforth again upon his travels. On his way, which for a while lay by the\nseashore, he came upon two men who were wholly taken up with a great\nquarrel. They were brothers, as might clearly be seen by the likeness\nbetween them. Near them stood two fair dames who would fain have\nreconciled them; but the brothers took no heed of their words, whether\nthey spoke gently or in threatening fashion. Between them stood a strong\nchest, bound about with bands of iron; it seemed to have been much\nbattered, whether by the violence of the sea or by the chances of long\ntravel from foreign parts. It was indeed for this that the two seemed to\nbe contending, for now the one and now the other would lay his hands\nupon it; so did they well-nigh come to blows, but the two damsels had so\nfar hindered them from coming to this extremity. Not the less were they\nbent on trying their cause by the sword. It seemed as if it could not be\ndecided in any other fashion. But when they were on the point to do so,\nnotwithstanding all that the damsels could say or do, then did Sir\nArtegall appear.\n\n\u201cSirs,\u201d said he, \u201care you content to tell me the cause of your strife?\u201d\nTo this the two gave a common consent.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the elder\u2014Bracidas was his name\u2014\u201cour father, who was a\nknight, Milesio by name, divided between us, by his testament, his\nestate, that is to say, two islands which you see yonder. One is but a\nlittle mount, but in years past it was fully as long and broad as that\nwhich you see on the other side of the bay. To me he bequeathed that\nisland which you see to be so small; for the sea, as years have passed\nby, has wasted it, and in so doing has largely increased the other, for\nwhat the waves took away from my land they added unto his. There is also\nthis to be told. I was betrothed to that fair lady who stands yonder,\nPhiltera by name, and with her I was to receive a goodly dowry, so soon\nas we should be linked together in bonds of wedlock. My younger brother,\nwhose name is Amidas, was betrothed to that other dame whom you see\nyonder, Lucy by name. She had but small dower, but much of that which is\nfar better\u2014to wit, goodness. Now when the lady Philtera saw that my\nlands had been greatly decayed and the lands of my brother not less\nincreased, she deserted me and betook herself to my brother, who, that\nhe might receive her, deserted his own betrothed, to wit, the fair Lucy.\nThereupon this damsel, in her unhappiness, thinking it better to die\nthan to suffer such a contumely and pain, threw herself into the sea.\nBut while she floated among the waves, being, I take it, buoyed up by\nher clothing, she chanced upon this chest which you see. And now there\nbefell her what has often befallen others in like case. She, who had\nthought death to be better than life, when she saw his terrors close at\nhand, changed her mind, and desired to live. Catching hold, therefore,\nof this chest, she clung to it, and after much tossing by the sea, was\nat last thrown upon my island, and I, chancing at that time to be\nwalking on the shore, espied her; and she being by this time much spent\nwith hunger and cold, and little able to help herself, I did, so to\nspeak, save her from death. And she, being not a little grateful for\nthis same help, bestowed upon me the dowry which fortune had given her,\nto wit the chest on which she had chanced, and what was far more\nprecious, her own self. When we had opened the chest, we found in it a\ngreat store of treasure, and took it for our own use. But now this\ndamsel, Philtera, maintains that this chest is hers by right, that she\nwas bringing it from foreign lands that she might deliver it to her\nhusband, and that she suffered shipwreck by the way. Whether this be so\nor no, I cannot say; but this I do maintain, that whatever by good\nfortune or by the ordering of God has been brought into my hands is\nverily mine, I not having in any wise contrived the same. My land he\nhas, and also my betrothed, though of that I take no count, but my good\nluck he shall not have!\u201d\n\nTo this the younger of the two made this answer: \u201cAs for the two\nislands, it is as my brother has said. I do not deny the truth. But as\nfor this chest and the treasure therein, which has been cast by the sea\nupon his island, that I do affirm to belong to the Lady Philtera, my\nwife, as she can prove by most certain signs and tokens, and I do claim\nthat it be straightway rendered up to her.\u201d\n\nSir Artegall said: \u201cIt were no hard thing to decide this matter, if you\nwould refer it to the judgment of some just man. Are you content so to\ndo?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the two with one voice, \u201cyou shall be a judge between us,\nand we will abide by the judgment that you shall give.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen lay down your swords under my feet,\u201d said Sir Artegall, and they\nlaid them down.\n\nThen Sir Artegall, turning himself to the younger of the two brothers,\nsaid to him: \u201cTell me now by what right you hold for yourself, and\nwithhold from your brother, the land which the sea has taken from him\nand added to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do so,\u201d the man made answer, \u201cbecause the sea bestowed it upon me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are in the right,\u201d said Sir Artegall; \u201cit is yours, keep it.\u201d Then\nturning himself to the elder, he said: \u201cBracidas, by what right do you\nhold this treasure of which your brother and his wife affirm, and not\nwithout reason, that it is theirs?\u201d\n\n\u201cI hold it,\u201d said he, \u201cbecause the sea bestowed it upon me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou also are in the right,\u201d said Sir Artegall; \u201cit is yours; keep it.\u201d\nThen, speaking to both, he thus declared his sentence: \u201cThat which the\nsea has taken is his own. None who before possessed it has claim upon\nit. He may bestow it as he will. The land which he took from Sir\nBracidas he gave to Sir Amidas; let it therefore remain in his hand. The\ntreasure which he took from Sir Amidas, or from the Lady Philtera, his\nwife, he gave to Sir Bracidas; let him also keep it.\u201d\n\nThe matter being settled, the knight went on his way. After a while he\nespied a great rout of people, and turned aside from the road that he\nmight discover what it might mean. When he came near he saw a great\ncrowd of women, in warlike array, with weapons in their hands. And in\nthe midst of them he saw a knight, with his hands tied tightly behind\nhis back, and a halter about his neck; his face was covered, but his\nhead was bare. It was plain that the man was about to be hanged. And, as\nthey went, the women reviled him in bitter words. When Sir Artegall came\nnear, he said: \u201cTell me, pray, what this may mean.\u201d\n\nTo this they gave no answer, but made as if they would assault him.\nThen, at the knight\u2019s bidding, Talus went among them, and with a few\nstrokes of his iron flail sent them flying hither and thither. Then he\ntook the knight, who would otherwise have been put to death, and brought\nhim to Sir Artegall.\n\n\u201cSir Turpine, unhappy man\u201d\u2014it so chanced that he knew the man\u2014\u201chow came\nyou into this evil plight? How is it that you suffered yourself to be\nthus enslaved by women, who should rather be subject to men?\u201d Sir\nTurpine was sore ashamed and confounded, and could say but little in his\nexcuse for himself; but this was the story which he told.\n\n\u201cI was desirous, as was indeed my knightly duty, to find some adventure\nwhich would be praiseworthy in itself, and also bring me to honour. And\nI heard a report that there was a proud amazon who was accustomed to\ndefy all the knights of Queen Gloriana. Some she had put to shame, and\nsome she had slain. And the cause of her rage was this. She had loved\nthe bold Bellodant, and when he disdained her, then her love was turned\nto hatred, not towards him only, but towards all knights, to whom she\nworked, as, indeed, she still works, all the mischief that she can\ndevise. Any whom she can subdue, either by force or fraud, she treats in\nthe most evil fashion. First she takes from them their arms and armour,\nand then she clothes them in women\u2019s garments, and compels them to earn\ntheir bread by women\u2019s work, spinning and sewing and washing and the\nlike. And all the food that she gives them in recompense is but bread\nand water, so as to disable them from taking their revenge. And if\nanyone is of so manly a mind that he sets himself against her pleasure,\nhim she causes to be hanged out of hand on that gibbet which you see\nyonder. And in this case I stood. For when she overcame me in fight,\nthen she put me into that base service of which I have spoken; and when\nI refused, then she sent me with that rabble of women whom you\ndispersed, that I might be done to death.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy what name do they call this amazon?\u201d said Sir Artegall, \u201cand where\ndoes she dwell?\u201d\n\n\u201cHer name,\u201d answered Sir Turpine, \u201cis Radigund; a princess is she of\ngreat power and pride, well tried in arms and skilled in battle, more\nthan I could have believed had I not known it by my own experience.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d said Sir Artegall, \u201cby the faith which I owe to my queen, and\nthe knighthood which I bear, I will not rest till I have made trial of\nthis same amazon, and have found out for myself what she has of strength\nand skill. And now, Sir Turpine, put off these unseemly clothes which\nyou wear, and come with me that you may see how my enterprise shall\nprosper, and whether I shall avenge the cause of knighthood upon this\nwoman.\u201d\n\nTo which request Sir Turpine consented with all his heart.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXX\n RADIGUND\n\n\nRadigund the amazon dwelt a mile or so from the place where the gallows\nhad been set up, in a city which she had called Radigone, after her own\nname. On the walls of the city were set watchmen to warn the queen of\nthe coming of strangers. One of these espied Sir Artegall and his\ncompany, and gave warning accordingly, saying: \u201cI see three strangers;\none of them is a knight fully armed, and the others have a warlike\nlook!\u201d Thereupon all the people ran in haste to arm themselves, like to\nbees when they come forth in a swarm from their hive, and Radigund\nherself, half-arrayed as a man, came forth from her palace. Meanwhile\nthe three drew near to the city gate, and when the porter, thinking\nscorn of them because they were so few, did not trouble to open to them\nthe gate, they beat upon it with many blows, threatening the man also\nthat he should suffer much for his insolence.\n\nWhen the queen heard this she fell into a great rage and cried: \u201cOpen\nthe gate; these fellows shall soon know to what a city they have come!\u201d\nSo the porter threw wide the gate, and the three pressed forward,\nmeaning to pass through. But lo! of a sudden there fell upon them such a\nstorm of arrows that they had perforce to halt.\n\n\u201cThese women,\u201d said Sir Artegall, \u201care stout fighters; let us be careful\nwhat we do.\u201d And when they halted, the rout set upon them more fiercely\nthan ever. As for Queen Radigund, when she saw Sir Turpine, and knew\nthat he had escaped from the doom which she had decreed for him, and was\nnow dealing blows to her women, she was carried away with rage, and flew\nat him headlong, as a lioness flings herself at an ox, and dealt him so\nfierce a blow as brought him headlong to the ground. And when she saw\nhim lying she set her foot upon his neck, with intent to make him pay\nwith his life for his disparagement of her authority. So does a bear\nstand over the carcase of an ox, and seem to pause awhile to hear its\npiteous crying. When Sir Artegall saw what had befallen Sir Turpine, he\nmade all haste to help him, and dealt the queen so mighty a blow that it\nreft her of her senses; nay, but that she somewhat broke its force, for\nshe was expert in arms, it had laid her dead upon the ground. For a\nwhile she lay without speech or hearing; then, recovering herself, she\nwould have assailed him with all her might, for never before had she\nendured such disgrace. But when her maidens saw it, for a great company,\narmed for battle, accompanied her, they thrust themselves between; for\nthey deemed that she was not wholly in fit condition for fighting. Thus\nwere Sir Artegall and Queen Radigund perforce kept apart. As for the\nrest, Talus, with his iron flail, drove them hither and thither,\nbreaking their bows and marring their shooting, and they fled before him\nas sheep fly from a wolf.\n\nWhen evening came, Queen Radigund bade the trumpeters sound a recall, so\nthat the soldiers should cease fighting. All the people she made pass\nback into the city; and she caused all them that were wounded to be\ncarried to houses where their hurts might be healed. Then Sir Artegall\ncaused his tent to be pitched, on the open plain, not far from the gate\nof the city. There he and Sir Turpine took their ease, but Talus, as was\nhis custom, kept watch all the night. But Radigund was ill-content with\nwhat had happened that day; never before had her pride been so rebuked.\nShe could not rest, but cast about in her mind how she could avenge\nherself for the shame which had been put upon her that day, and that for\nthe first time in her life. After a while she made this resolve in her\nmind; that she would meet the knight in single combat and make trial of\nhis strength, for that her people should suffer such waste and ruin as\nshe had seen that day was a thing not to be endured. Then she asked for\none of her maidens, Clarin by name, whom she judged to be most\ntrustworthy, and fit to do her errand, and said to her: \u201cClarin, go\nquickly, and bear a message to the stranger knight, who has so\ndistressed us this day, saying that I will meet him to-morrow in single\ncombat, that we may see whether he or I be the better. Say also that\nthese are my conditions: If I overcome him, then he shall render me\nobedience and be bound for ever to my service; and I, if he should\nvanquish me, do promise to do the same. Go, therefore, taking with you\nsix of your fellows, arrayed as finely as may be, that they may be\nwitnesses of this covenant! Take with you also wine and meats, that he\nmay eat. Verily, if I have my will, he shall sit hungry many a day!\u201d\n\nSo the damsel did as she was bidden, taking with her six companions, and\nmeat and drink also. When she came to the gate of the city she bade the\ntrumpeter blow a blast for warning to the knights. And when Talus came\nforth, she said that she would fain speak with his master. So being\nbrought with her companions into the tent, she delivered to him the\nmessage of the queen. Sir Artegall received her right courteously, and\nwhen she had departed\u2014not without gifts\u2014he betook himself to sleep.\n\nThe next day the two adversaries made themselves ready for battle. Sir\nArtegall was accoutred as knights commonly are; not so Queen Radigund.\nShe wore a purple cloak, embroidered with silver, with ribands of\ndiverse colours, nicely ordered upon it. This cloak, for easier motion,\nshe shortened to her thighs; but when she pleased, she could let it fall\nto her heels. She had for defence of her body a cuirass of chain-mail;\nbuskins she had, finely embroidered with bars of gold; at her side she\nhad a scimitar hanging to a most gorgeous belt; her shield was finely\ndecked with precious stones, it was like the moon when it is at the\nfull. In this guise she came out of the city gate, a noble sight to see;\nabout her was a bodyguard of maidens, some of whom made music with\nshawms and trumpets. Her people had pitched a pavilion for her, where\nshe might rest till the fight should begin. After this Sir Artegall came\nout of his tent, fully armed, and first entered the lists. Nor did\nRadigund long delay to follow him. And when the lists had been barred\nagainst the crowd, for a great multitude of people were gathered to see\nthe issue of the battle, the trumpets sounded the signal, and the combat\nbegan.\n\nThe queen charged first in the most furious fashion, as if she would\nhave done her adversary to death out of hand. But he, having had much\nexperience in such matters, was not carried out of himself by her rage,\nbut was content to defend himself from her assault; the greater was her\nfury, the more calmly did he bear himself. But when her strength began\nto fail her, then he took the other part; even as a smith, when he finds\nthe metal grow soft, plies his hammer with all his might. Even so did\nSir Artegall deal blow upon blow as if she were an anvil; and the sparks\nflew from her armour, and from her shield also, for with this she\nguarded herself in right skilful fashion from his assault. But now\nthings began to go ill with her; for off this same shield the knight\nwith one stroke shore away a full half, so that her side for half its\nlength was exposed. Yet not one whit was she dismayed, but, smiting him\nwith her scimitar, wounded him on the thigh, making the blood flow\namain. Loud did she boast when she saw the blood, thinking that she had\nwounded him to death; but he, provoked by her boasting, struck at her\nwith all his might, and when she put her shield to ward the blow, lo!\nthis was shattered altogether, and fell in pieces on the plain. Next, as\nshe was thus left without defence, he smote her again, this time upon\nthe helmet; so that she fell from her horse, and lay upon the plain,\nlike to one that was dead. When he saw her lying thus, he leapt from his\nsteed and unlaced her helmet, with intent to sever her head from her\nbody. But when he had unlaced her helmet, lo! her face was discovered to\nhim. So fair it was, even though covered with blood and sweat, that he\nstood amazed; it was as when a traveller sees the face of the moon\nthrough a foggy night. And at the sight, all the cruel purpose departed\nout of his heart. So great was his pity that he threw his sword from\nhim, for, indeed, there is no heart so hard but that the sight of beauty\nwill soften it.\n\nAs he stood thus astonished, she recovered herself from her swoon, and\nsaw the knight standing by her side without a weapon. Then she lifted\nherself from the ground and flew upon him with all her former rage. He,\nindeed, could but ward off her blows with his shield, as well as he\ncould. And now, being without hope, he entreated her to withhold her\nhand. \u201cNot so,\u201d said she, \u201ctill you have yielded to me your shield in\ntoken of submission.\u201d Nor could he refuse so to do. He had overcome her\nin fair fight, yet now was he himself overcome by his own misdoing, for\nhe had of his own accord given up his sword, and so lost that which he\nhad attained. Then she struck him on the shoulder with the flat of her\nsword, in token that he was from henceforth her subject. As for the\nunhappy Sir Turpine, he was indeed born under an unlucky star, for they\ntook him back to the place from which he had escaped, and there hanged\nhim shamefully by the heels. Talus they could not take, for all that\nthey sought to lay hands upon him. He laid about him so unmercifully\nwith his flail, that they were right glad to let him escape. Many did he\nwound and some he slew; the rest he put into great fear. Yet he would\nnot seek to rescue his lord. \u201cNay,\u201d said he to himself, \u201cSir Artegall\nhas yielded himself of his own accord, and I must e\u2019en let him be.\u201d\n\nQueen Radigund took the knight who had thus made himself her subject,\nand despoiled him of all his arms and armour, and put upon him woman\u2019s\nclothing, with a white apron in place of a breast-plate. Having thus\narrayed him, she brought him into a great chamber, on the walls of which\nwere many memorials of other knights whom she had dealt with in the same\nfashion. His arms and armour she caused to be hung up among these, and\nhis sword, lest it should work mischief to her, she broke in twain. When\nhe was come into this place, he saw sitting there many brave knights\nwhose names he knew right well, bound all of them to obey the amazon\u2019s\nlaw, and spinning and carding wool. This they did under constraint, for\nthey were bound to finish their task by the appointed time, nothing\nbeing given them whereon to dine or sup but what they could earn by this\nwoman\u2019s work. The queen set him in the lowest place of all, and put a\ndistaff into his hands, and bade him spin flax and tow. Truly it is the\nhardest of all lots to be a woman\u2019s slave! But he consented to her will,\nsaying to himself: \u201cShe vanquished me in battle, and I must abide by my\nown word.\u201d\n\nAfter a while the queen began to feel the beginning of love for the\nknight. Long time she strove against it, thinking shame to be so\novercome; but finding that her passion was not to be put away, she sent\nfor the same Clarin, whom she had before made her messenger, and said to\nher: \u201cClarin, you see that fairy knight, who has been made my subject,\nnot by my valour, but by his own honourable mind. He gave me my life,\nwhen it was lost; why should he suffer there in this cruel bondage? Why\nshould I recompense him with ill for so good a deed? I would fain give\nhim his freedom, yet in such a fashion that in giving it to him, I may\nwin his free goodwill. I would loose him, and yet have him still bound\nto me, not with the bonds of violence and compulsion, but of benevolence\nand love. Now if you can by any means win him to such a mood, but\nwithout discovering, mark you well, my thought, you will win a goodly\nreward from him, and have me also greatly beholden to you. And now, that\nyou may be able to pass freely to and fro, I give you this ring as a\ntoken to Eumenias\u201d\u2014this was the keeper of the knights\u2019 prison. \u201cGo then,\nmy Clarin; use to the best all thy wits, employing both enticing looks\nand fair speeches.\u201d\n\nSo Clarin, promising that she would use her best endeavour to win Sir\nArtegall to such thoughts as her lady desired, departed on her errand.\nShe had recourse to all the arts she knew to win his favourable regard,\nand one day she said to him: \u201cSir Knight, you have had but an evil\nfortune; you sit drowned in despair, and yet you might raise yourself,\nif you were but willing, to something better.\u201d\n\nHe was in doubt what this speech might mean, and so made answer: \u201cFair\ndamsel, that you regard me with compassion is in itself a kindness for\nwhich I am in your debt. But you must know that a brave heart bears with\nequal courage fair weather and foul, frowns of ill fortune or smiles of\nprosperity. At this moment my life is overcast with cloud, yet I hope\nfor sunshine to come.\u201d\n\n\u201cYea,\u201d answered the maiden, \u201cand what say you if you should see an\noccasion ready to your hand for entering on better things?\u201d\n\n\u201cTruly,\u201d answered Sir Artegall, \u201cI count him to be unworthy of good\nfortune who should not promptly take such occasion, so that it come\nwithin his reach.\u201d\n\nThen said Clarin: \u201cWhy do you not set about to win your liberty by\nseeking the favour of the queen? \u2019Tis true that she has passed her days\nin war, yet she is not born of tigers or bears. She scorns the love of\nmen, yet she does not forget that she is herself of the kindred of man.\u201d\n\nTo this Sir Artegall replied: \u201cBelieve me, fair damsel, that not from\nobstinacy or disdain have I neglected to seek her favour. \u2019Tis lack of\nmeans that has kept me back from so doing; and if you can in any way\nsupply this lack, then shall I be bound to you for ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis fish bites at the bait,\u201d said the damsel to herself, \u201cbut it is\nnot yet surely caught.\u201d But even while she spoke, she herself, foolish\nmaiden that she was, was caught herself. For, as a fisher who, while he\nseeks for the prey, falls into the brook, so Clarin, seeking to serve\nher mistress\u2019s ends, conceived a great pity for this captive knight, and\nfrom pity it is but a short journey to love. But her love she durst not\ntell, neither to the knight, lest haply she should be disdained, nor to\nanyone else, lest that by any means it should come to the knowledge of\nthe queen, for that she knew would mean a sure sentence of death.\nTherefore she kept the matter in her heart, watching for such occasion\nas might arise.\n\nQueen Radigund, growing impatient of the delay, bade her unfold the\ntruth. \u201cHow have you fared?\u201d she said, \u201cWhat is the temper of the man?\nHas captivity brought him to a more humble mind?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so,\u201d said Clarin; \u201che is as stern and obstinate as ever. He scorns\nall offers and conditions; he would sooner die\u2014so he declares\u2014than look\nwith any favour on those who have done him so great a wrong. This in\nbrief is his resolve; in truth these are his very words: \u2018My body may be\nthrall to the queen, but my heart is free.\u2019\u201d\n\nWhen she heard these words the queen fell into a mighty rage. But coming\nto herself, and perceiving that anger would profit her nothing, she said\nto her minister: \u201cClarin, what remains for us to do? It were a shame to\nhave laboured in vain, and still more a shame to sit down content when\nthis fellow flouts us in such fashion. Nevertheless, that his guilt may\nbe seen to be the greater, and my grace the more admirable, I will bear\nwith this folly of his till you shall have made another trial of him.\nAnd you I charge to leave nothing that can be done or said to work upon\nhim. Leave nothing unpromised that may help to persuade him. Tell him\nthat he shall have life, freedom, grace, and store of gifts, for by\ngifts even the hearts of gods are touched. And to these promises add all\nyour arts and woman\u2019s wiles. And if your arts avail nothing, then let\nhim feel the weight of your hand. Diminish his victuals; maybe he is too\nproudly fed; put more labour upon him, and with harder conditions; let\nhim lodge less softly, lying upon straw; do aught that may abate his\ncourage and his pride; put a chain of cold iron upon him, and deny him\nall that he may desire. And when you have done all this, tell me how he\nbears himself. If need be, I will deal with him, not as a lover, but as\na rebel.\u201d\n\nAll this Clarin heard, and made pretence to fulfil her lady\u2019s commands.\nBut her mind was turned to quite another thing, that is to say, to play\nher mistress false, and to gain the knight\u2019s love for herself. To him\ntherefore she made as great a show of goodwill as she could, telling him\nthat she was making suit for him to the queen, that she should set him\nat liberty, but that she could not persuade her.\n\n\u201cThe more I entreat her,\u201d she said, \u201cthe sterner and the harsher she\nis.\u201d Then from the knight she would go to the queen and say: \u201cThe more\ngrace I show, the more haughty and unbending is he.\u201d As for Sir\nArtegall, he spoke the woman fair, but never did he depart from his\nloyalty to his own fair lady.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXI\n HOW SIR ARTEGALL WAS DELIVERED\n\n\nWhile Sir Artegall lay thus in evil plight under the tyranny of Queen\nRadigund, the Lady Britomart was in no small distress of mind. For now\nthe latest date that had been fixed for his return was long past, and\nyet no tidings of him had come. Sometimes she thought that some mishap\nhad befallen him in his adventure, and sometimes that his false foe had\nentrapped him, and sometimes\u2014and this was the most grievous fear of\nall\u2014that he had bestowed his love upon another. She knew no ill of him,\nnor ever had heard any; yet could she not forbear to think ill. Now she\nblamed herself, and now she condemned him as being faithless and untrue.\nThen again she would think to herself: \u201cSurely I have miscounted the\ntime,\u201d and she reckoned the days and weeks and months again; and,\nindeed, the days were as weeks and the weeks were as months. Also she\nconsidered within herself what she should do; should she send someone to\nsearch for him, and yet who could go on such an errand but herself? She\ncould not rest in her dwelling, no place could please her; yet that\nwhich displeased her least was a certain window which looked towards the\nwest, for it was from the west that Sir Artegall was due to come. It\nchanced then that as she sat at this same window on a certain day she\nsaw someone approaching at full speed. No sooner did she see him, though\nshe could not discern his face, than she said to herself, \u201cThis is\nsomeone from my love.\u201d And truly, when he came nearer, she perceived\nthat it was Sir Artegall\u2019s groom Talus. The sight filled her heart both\nwith hopes and with fears; nor could she stay in her place, but ran\nforth to meet him, crying, \u201cWhere is your lord? Is he far from here? Has\nhe lost or has he won?\u201d\n\nTalus, albeit he was made of iron, and was without feeling of pain and\nsorrow, yet was conscious within himself that his news was ill, and\nstood silent as if he would rather that she should discern his tidings\nthan that he should declare them. Then she said: \u201cTake courage, Talus;\ntell me what you have to tell, be it good or be it bad.\u201d\n\nThen he answered: \u201cIf I must tell my evil tidings, so be it. My lord\nlies in wretched bondage.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow came that to pass?\u201d said Britomart; \u201cdid the tyrant, his enemy,\nvanquish him?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so,\u201d quoth Talus, \u201cno tyrant man did vanquish him, but a tyrant\nwoman.\u201d Great was the rage of Britomart when she heard these words.\n\n\u201cAnd you are not ashamed, evil newsmonger, to come here with such\ntidings of your lord\u2019s disgrace?\u201d And she turned her back upon him,\nseeking her own chamber; and there with much self-torturing she spent\nmany weary hours.\n\nThe next day she sought out Talus again, and being now in a milder mood,\nshe said: \u201cTell me now plainly how came Sir Artegall into this\ncaptivity. Does he woo this tyrant lady?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! madam!\u201d answered Talus, \u201che is in no state to woo; he lies in\nthraldom, weak and wan; and yet, for the truth must be told, it was by\nhis own doing that he came into this state.\u201d\n\nThen Britomart\u2019s anger was kindled again. \u201cAre you not leagued together\nto deceive me? You say that he came into this bondage of his own accord;\nis he not then false?\u201d\n\nThen Talus unfolded the whole story of how Sir Artegall fought, and how\nhe was vanquished, not by the strength of his adversary, but by his own\ncompassion. When Britomart heard this same story, she was, so to speak,\ntorn asunder by anger and grief, nor would anything content her but that\nshe must straightway put on her armour, mount her horse, and ride forth\nto deliver Sir Artegall, Talus being her guide. After they had ridden\nfor a space they came upon a knight who was riding slowly across the\nplain, a man well stricken in years, and of a very modest and peaceable\nbearing. He saluted Britomart right courteously, and she, though in her\nsad mood she would sooner have remained without speech, answered him\npleasantly. Then he began to talk of many things, and she, though wholly\noccupied in her mind with one matter, to wit, the deliverance of Sir\nArtegall from his prison, made such replies as were suitable. After some\nconverse he said: \u201cFriend, night is about to fall, and there are tokens\nof rain in the heavens; will you not lodge with me at my house?\u201d And\nBritomart, seeing that the day was far spent, consented.\n\nThey rode therefore to the knight\u2019s dwelling, which was, indeed, hard\nby. There he most hospitably entertained them, both with good cheer and\npleasant conversation. When the hour of rest came, Britomart was\nconducted to the bower where she should sleep. There she found grooms\nwho offered to undress her, but she would not doff her arms for all her\nhost\u2019s entreaties. \u201cNay,\u201d she said, \u201cI have vowed a vow that I will not\ntake off these arms till I have taken vengeance for a great wrong that\nhas been done to me.\u201d\n\nWhen she made this answer, it might have been perceived that her host\nwas somewhat troubled. Nevertheless he took his leave right courteously,\nand departed. Britomart watched all the night; if sleep seemed about to\nsettle for a moment on her eyes, she shook it off with a right resolute\nwill. And Talus watched also; outside her door did he lie in no small\ntrouble of mind, as a dog that keeps guard over his master\u2019s chamber. So\nnight passed, but about the dawn, when the cock commonly crows for the\nfirst time, Britomart perceived that the bed in her chamber began to\nsink through the floor, and that after awhile it was raised again. And\nwhile she waited to see what this might mean, though indeed it was clear\nthat it meant treachery of some sort, there came two knights to her\nchamber door, with a rabble rout of followers after them. But these came\non a vain errand. Talus, having his iron flail ready to his hand, laid\nabout him with a right goodwill. They fled before him, both knights and\nthe rabble also. Some he struck to the ground as they fled, and others\nas they strove to hide themselves in dark corners of the house.\n\nNow the true story of the matter is this. This knight, who seemed so\ngentle and courteous, was one Dolon, a man of great cunning and of an\nevil mind. He had been a knight in his youth, yet had achieved no\nhonour; only by his craft he had undone many men who were better than\nhimself. Three sons he had, of the same temper as himself, full of fraud\nand guile. One of these, the eldest in birth, Guizor by name, had been\nslain by Sir Artegall in battle, not without his deserving, for he had\nsought to compass some treachery. And now this Dolon would have taken\nvengeance for this injury. Britomart he took for Sir Artegall, chiefly\nby reason of the page Talus, with the iron flail, whom he had seen in\nhis company. The next day, so soon as it was light, Britomart departed.\nAnd when the two knights would have stayed her going, and this on the\nbridge where Artegall had fought Pollent\u00e9, she vanquished them. And one\nshe caught up in her arms, and carrying him to the bridge end, cast him\ninto the water, where he perished miserably.\n\nAfter journeying awhile, Britomart, with Talus her guide, came to the\ncity of Queen Radigund. The queen, when she was advised of her coming,\nwas greatly rejoiced, for she had not had the great joy of battle for\nmany days, and it always pleased her greatly to have experience of a new\nadversary. She commanded that a pavilion should be set up outside the\ncity gate for the new-comer. There Britomart rested that night, Talus\nkeeping watch, as was his wont, at the door. The townsfolk also kept\nwatch upon the walls. At sunrise the queen caused a trumpet to be blown\nto warn the stranger that the hour of battle was come. Such warning\nBritomart needed not, for she had slept but ill, so troubled was she in\nheart with jealousy and anger. Then the two made ready for the combat.\nBut first the queen would have her adversary bind herself to perpetual\nservice if the fortune of the day should go against her.\n\nBut Britomart cried: \u201cI will have no such conditions, no terms will I\naccept but such as are prescribed by the laws of chivalry!\u201d Then the\ntrumpets sounded again, and the two ran at each other with great fury.\nIt seemed to them who looked on that both the one and the other had\nforgotten all their skill in arms, so possessed were they with rage.\nThey sought not to ward off blows, but only to strike. And, indeed, none\ncould have said who struck the harder.\n\nAt last Radigund, thinking that she had her adversary at a disadvantage,\ndealt her a blow with all her might, saying at the same time: \u201cYou love\nthis man; here then is a token of your love, which you may show him; for\nwhat could be a surer proof than to die for him?\u201d\n\nBut Britomart answered: \u201cHave done with idle words about my love,\u201d and\nthough she was sorely wounded by the stroke, for the blade, breaking\nthrough the shoulder-plate of her armour, bit to the bone, she gave in\nreturn even more than she had received. The sharpness of the pain gave a\nnew force to her arm, and she struck the queen so fierce a blow on the\nhead that it broke through her helmet and laid her senseless on the\nground. Nor did Britomart wait for her adversary to recover herself;\nbut, urged by injured love and pride, and the fresh smarting of her\nwound, with one blow cleft both helmet and head. When her guards\nperceived this dreadful sight, they fled headlong to the city, but did\nnot so escape, for Talus, taking up his flail, entered at the gate along\nwith the rout of fugitives, and dealt death in every direction. Small\nneed had they, I ween, of a physician on whom one of his strokes had\nlighted. Verily he had destroyed them all, but that the heart of\nBritomart was moved to see such great slaughter.\n\n\u201cHold your hand,\u201d she cried; \u201cit is enough!\u201d Then she commanded that\nsomeone should lead her to the prison where Sir Artegall was kept in\nbonds. Much was she moved to see these knights in their womanish attire,\nplying distaff and spindle. But when she espied Sir Artegall himself,\nand saw how pale and wan and wasted he was, her heart was well-nigh\nbroken in her breast. Bitterly did she repent of her unkind suspicions:\nthis was no lover of women whom she saw before her in so sad a plight!\n\nThen she bade take him to a chamber where he might put off these\nuncomely garments, and put on the apparel that belonged to a knight, and\ntake again his arms and armour, of which there was a great store in the\nplace. Not a little rejoiced was she when she saw how he became again\nlike to the knight whom she had seen long since in the magic mirror.\n\nFor a while they tarried in the city, for he needed to rest, and she had\nwounds which it was well to heal. And she, being now queen of the land\nin the place of the dead Radigund, wholly changed the form of the\ncommonwealth. She did away with this same monstrous rule of women, and\nordered all things according to the ordering of nature, and showed such\njustice and wisdom that the people gladly made submission to her\ngovernment. The knights whom she found in the prison-house she set free,\nand made them rulers in the city, having first caused them to take an\noath to be loyal to Sir Artegall. There was but one thing that troubled\nher: to wit, that her lover must now proceed on the errand to which he\nwas bound.\n\nThis he did in not many days\u2019 time, Talus travelling with him as before.\nAfter a while they saw a damsel on a palfrey, flying as fast as she\ncould, and two knights pursuing her also at their utmost speed; they saw\nalso how another knight was riding after these two. Each was intent on\nhis own business, the two knights on chasing the damsel, the single\nknight on chasing the two, the damsel seeking if, by any means, she\ncould escape. But when she saw Sir Artegall, being at her wits\u2019 end, she\nturned her course towards him, hoping that he might give her help. The\nforemost of her pursuers\u2014pagan knights both of them\u2014continued his\ncourse, and with his spear in rest charged Sir Artegall. But there he\nhad met more than his match; the Christian was both stronger and more\nskilful in arms, and drove him out of the saddle full two spears\u2019\nlength, and it so chanced that in falling he lighted on his head, and so\nwas killed outright.\n\nMeanwhile his companion had fared as ill, for the single knight\novertaking him, had compelled him to stand and do battle, in which\nbattle he was defeated and slain. This done, he still followed, and\ntaking Sir Artegall for the other pagan, charged him at full tilt. They\nmet with a great crash, and both their spears were broken, and though\nneither was driven from his saddle, yet they tottered as two towers\nwhich an earthquake makes to rock. But when they drew their swords to\nrenew the combat, the damsel, seeing that her two friends were like to\ncome to as ill an end as had her two foes, ran up, crying out: \u201cOh,\nsirs, stay your hands till I shall tell you how the matter stands. \u2019Tis\nI that have been wronged, and you have brought me help, slaying these\ntwo pagans who were pursuing me. These lie dead upon the ground; what\nquarrel have you against each other? If there be still any wrongdoer or\ncause of trouble, truly it is I.\u201d\n\nWhen the two heard these words, they held their hands, and, lifting up\nthe visors of their helmets, looked each in the other\u2019s face. And when\nSir Artegall saw the last comer, who was no other than Prince Arthur, he\nwas sure that he was a very noble knight, and said: \u201cPardon me, fair\nsir, that I have erred in lifting my hand against you. I will make what\namends you will.\u201d\n\n\u201cTalk not of amends,\u201d answered the prince; \u201cI was in equal error, taking\nyou for this dead pagan.\u201d So they swore friendship, and made a covenant\nof mutual help.\n\nThen said Sir Artegall, \u201cTell me, sir, who were these knights that have\ncome by this bad end?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat I know not,\u201d answered the prince, \u201cbut know that this damsel was\nin distress, and that I sought to succour her. But doubtless she herself\nwill unfold the whole matter to us.\u201d\n\nThen the damsel told her story. \u201cKnow, sirs,\u201d she said, \u201cthat I serve a\nmaiden queen of these parts, Mercilla by name, a lady known far and\nwide, and envied also, for her prosperity and her goodness. Enemies she\nhas, and chief among these is a pagan prince, who is bent on\noverthrowing her kingdom, yea, verily, and on slaying her sacred self.\nTo this wickedness he is stirred up by his evil wife, Adikia[2] by name.\n\u2019Tis she who, trusting in her power, moves him to all kinds of wrong.\nNow my liege lady, being desirous of peace, and willing for sake of it\nto give up something of her just right, sent me to make a treaty with\nthis same Adikia, so that there might be quietness in the land. Now, as\nyou know, it has been a custom of all time that such messengers have\nliberty to come and go without hindrance or harm. But this evil woman,\nwithout any offence given on my part, broke forth in railing upon me,\nand not only this, but thrust me from her door as if I were a dog. Yea,\nand when I had departed, she sent these two knights after me to take me\nprisoner. To you, therefore, for myself and for the queen, whose\nmessenger I am, I render you most hearty thanks.\u201d\n\nWhen they had heard the damsel\u2019s story, the two knights, Sir Artegall\nand Prince Arthur, counselled together what should be done in this\nmatter. Of which consultation the conclusion was that they should punish\nthose who were guilty of this wrongdoing, that is to say the sultan and\nhis wife and the knights who lent themselves to do their evil will.\nFurther, they concluded to carry out this purpose in the way now to be\ndescribed. Sir Artegall should disguise himself in the accoutrements of\none of the dead pagan knights, and should take with him the damsel to\nthe sultan\u2019s court, making as though she was his prisoner.\n\nSir Artegall therefore having donned the armour of one of the two\nknights, took the damsel with him, as being a prisoner, and so came to\nthe sultan\u2019s court. And the sultan\u2019s wife, who chanced to be looking\nfrom the window, saw them, and did not doubt but that her errand had\nbeen performed, and sent a page who would show the knight what he should\ndo. The page therefore brought them to the place appointed, but when he\nwould have eased Sir Artegall of his armour, the knight refused, for he\nfeared to be discovered.\n\nMeanwhile Prince Arthur, coming to the gate of the city, sent to the\nsultan this message: \u201cI demand that there be delivered to me the Lady\nSamient\u201d\u2014this was the damsel\u2019s name\u2014\u201cbeing the ambassador of Queen\nMercilla, whom you wrongfully detain in custody.\u201d\n\nWhen the sultan heard this message, he was filled with anger, and\ncommanded that his armour should be brought. This he straightway put on,\nand mounted his chariot. This same was armed in dreadful fashion with\niron hooks and scythes, and was drawn by savage horses, whom he was wont\nto feed on the flesh of men. The poor wretches whom in his cruelty he\nslew, he was wont to give when they were but half dead to these beasts.\nIn this guise he came forth from the city gates, where he found Prince\nArthur awaiting him, mounted on his steed, with Talus standing at his\nstirrup.\n\nThe sultan drove straight at his adversary, thinking to overthrow him by\nthe rush of his chariot, and that his horses would trample him in the\ndust. But the prince perceiving his design, withdrew himself a pace, and\nso escaped the danger. Nor was he hurt by the dart which the sultan cast\nat him as he passed; this also he avoided, and it was well that he did\nso, else of a certainty it had pierced either him or his horse from side\nto side. But when Prince Arthur sought to approach the sultan, the\nhorses carried the chariot out of his reach, so swift of foot were they.\nOn the other hand, the sultan, having a store of darts ready to his hand\nin the chariot, cast them at the prince, and with one of them pierced\nthe prince\u2019s cuirass, and made a grievous wound in his side. So did the\ncombat rage between these two, the prince being at this disadvantage\nalso, that his horse could not endure the look of the sultan\u2019s horses,\nso fierce and fiery of aspect were they. At the last, finding that all\nother means were of no avail, he drew the covering from his shield\u2014a\nthing which he was not wont to do save in the last extremity\u2014and held it\nso that the light shining from it fell full on the eyes of the sultan\u2019s\nhorses. As a flash of lightning did it fall upon them, and they\nstraightway turned and fled. Nor could the sultan stay their flight. The\nreins were of no avail; they heeded them not; and when he called to\nthem, they would not hear. Over hill and dale they carried him, he\nvainly dragging at the reins, and cursing aloud; while the chariot,\nswaying from side to side, tossed him to and fro. Still the prince\nfollowed close behind, but still found no opportunity to strike. Nor,\nindeed, had he need, for coming to some rocky ground, the horses overset\nthe chariot, and the sultan was torn in pieces by his own contrivance of\nscythes and hooks. Then the prince took up his shield and armour from\nwhere they lay, sorely bent and broken, upon the ground. These he\ncarried back to the city, and hanged them on a tree before the palace\ndoor. When the wicked wife saw what had happened, she ran down from her\nchamber like to one mad, saying to herself, \u201cI will be avenged on that\ndamsel who has brought upon me all this trouble.\u201d And she ran, knife in\nhand, to the place where she had been put. But Sir Artegall stayed her\nhand. And she, being made yet more furious, ran forth into the woods,\nand there abode, in the form\u2014so some men said\u2014of a tigress. Sir Artegall\nmeanwhile vanquished the sultan\u2019s knights, and established a new order\nin the city.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXII\n OF THE KNAVE MALENGIN\n\n\nThe two knights delivered the city, when they had ordered it anew, to\nthe Lady Samient, to hold for Queen Mercilla. This done, they would have\ndeparted on their own business, but Samient was not content that they\nshould depart without seeing the queen, and this, overborne by her\nentreaties, they consented to do. As they journeyed, the damsel said to\nthem: \u201cThere abides in this region a very sturdy villain, who is wont to\nrob all the country round about; and carries the spoil to a rock which\nhe makes his dwelling, and to this place no man can get, so hard of\naccess is it. Also he is marvellously light of hand and nimble of foot,\nsmooth of face, and so subtle in his talk that he can deceive well-nigh\nanyone.\u201d\n\nWhen the two knights heard this tale, they desired with one accord that\nthe damsel should take them to the place where this villain abode.\n\n\u201cThat would I willingly do,\u201d said she, \u201conly that the going thither\nwould hinder your journey to Queen Mercilla.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet not that stay you,\u201d said the prince, and Sir Artegall gave also his\nconsent.\n\nSo they travelled onwards together. After a while the damsel said to the\nknights: \u201cWe are close to the place!\u201d Then Sir Artegall and Prince\nArthur consulted together what was best to be done. They agreed that the\ndamsel should sit by the robber\u2019s cave, and raise a great uproar, and\nthat when he should come to see what was the cause of the disturbance,\nthey should set upon him, and hinder his return. So the Lady Samient\nwent to the cave, and there threw herself upon the ground, and then made\na great uproar, with much wailing and many cries of grief. When the\nvillain heard it he came forth from his den, thinking that something had\ncome in his way. A dreadful creature he was to see, with hollow eyes,\nand long curling hair which fell over his shoulders, and a most uncouth\nand ragged garment. In his hand he carried a long staff with iron hooks\nat the end of it, and on his back he bore a wide net. This he used, not\nfor fishing in the brook, but to catch such prey as he desired on the\ndry land, taking them unawares.\n\nWhen the damsel saw this strange creature standing close by her she was\nnot a little dismayed, and cried out for help in good earnest. But he,\nwith guileful words, would have persuaded her that she had nothing to\nfear; and then, while she listened, as she could scarce refrain from\ndoing, suddenly he threw his net about her, and lifting her from the\nground ran with her to his cave. But when, as he came near to the cave\nmouth, he saw the two knights barring the way, he threw down on the\nground his net with its burden, and fled away: like to a wild goat did\nhe leap from rock to rock, and he ran along the cliff-side without fear,\ninto places where Sir Artegall, for all his courage, durst not follow\nhim. So the knight sent his iron man, Talus, to follow him. And when the\nknave saw that the new-comer was not less swift of foot than he was\nhimself, and did not grow weary or scant of breath, then he left running\non the hills and came down again to the plain. And here he had recourse\nto a new device, changing himself into various shapes. First he made\nhimself into a fox, but Talus was not slow to hunt him as a fox is\nhunted; then into a bush, but the iron man beat the bush with his flail;\nand from the bush he made himself into a bird, but Talus threw stones at\nthe bird, and with so sure an aim that he soon brought it to the ground,\nas if it had been itself a stone. This Talus took from the ground and\nbrought it to the knights, and gave it to Sir Artegall, saying at the\nsame time: \u201cTake it, Sir Knight, but beware! Hold it fast!\u201d And lo! even\nwhile he held it fast, it was changed into a hedgehog, and pricked the\nknight\u2019s hand so sorely that he threw it away. And the villain returned\nto his own shape and would have fled. But when Talus perceived it, he\nfollowed and overtook him and led him back. Then did he change himself\ninto a snake; but this Talus struck so heavily with his iron flail that\nhe broke all his bones, and left him dead for the fowls of the air to\ndevour.\n\nAfter this they came to the palace of Queen Mercilla, as fair and noble\na palace as was ever seen upon the earth. The porch stood open day and\nnight, so that all comers might enter in. But a warder of giant form sat\nthere, to keep from entering all that harboured guile or malice, and\nsuch as with flattery and dissembling work such harm in the courts of\nkings. The warder\u2019s name was Awe. Such as were permitted to pass in were\nmarshalled in the hall by another warder, whose name was Order. There\nthey saw many noteworthy things, and chief of all the Queen Mercilla\nherself, where she sat on her throne, with a sceptre in her hand, a\npledge of peace and clemency. And under her feet lay a great lion, very\nfierce of nature, but wholly tamed in that presence. So then the two did\nobeisance, and stood aside while the queen judged affairs of state, and\nministered justice and equity to her people. Of all these affairs the\nchiefest was the trial of a great lady who stood before the throne, most\nfair and royally arrayed. Many accusations were brought against this\nlady, the prosecutor being one Zeal. Nor could this be wondered at, for\nthis great lady was no other than the false Duessa. It was surely proved\nagainst her that she had deceived knights, and brought them to shame,\nand even to death; also that she had wrought upon two vain knights,\nBlandamour and Paridell, to devise hostility against Queen Mercilla\nherself. Sir Artegall was so moved by these accusations that, being a\nlover of justice, he was firm in taking the contrary part against her.\nPrince Arthur, on the other hand, was not a little touched by the\npleadings on her behalf. When all had been heard on either side, Queen\nMercilla gave judgment, and although Duessa\u2019s guilt was clear beyond all\ndoubt, yet she, being true to name and nature, did not adjudge the\nextreme penalty of death, but ordered that she should be so kept as not\nto do any mischief more.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXIII\n OF THE LADY BELG\u00c9\n\n\nWhile the two knights tarried at the court of Queen Mercilla, being\nentertained by her in the most liberal fashion, there came two youths\nfrom a foreign land, praying for help for their mother, the Lady Belg\u00e9.\nIt was a piteous story that they told before the Queen Mercilla and all\nthe knights and ladies of her court. The Lady Belg\u00e9 had been in former\ndays among the most fortunate of women. She had to husband a most worthy\nand noble prince, of wide dominions and great wealth; she had also a\nvery fair progeny, even seventeen sons, fair children, and of great\npromise. Anyone who saw them in those days would surely have said that\nnot Niob\u00e9 herself, before she moved the wrath of Apollo and Diana, was\nmore blessed in her progeny. Now the beginning of troubles to this\nhonourable lady was that her husband died in his prime, before any of\nhis children had come to such an age that they could fill his place. And\nbecause the times were ill-suited to a woman\u2019s rule, she was constrained\nto look for someone who should give her help and protection. Now there\nwas in those parts a monstrous creature, Geryoneo by name, son of that\nGeryon who was slain by Hercules. He was terrible to look upon, and\nmarvellously strong, for he had three bodies joined in one, the legs and\narms of three men, as it were, to help him in the fighting. He, feigning\nhimself to be just and kind, proffered his service to the Lady Belg\u00e9\nwhile she was yet in the first trouble of her widowhood, undertaking to\ndefend her against all enemies both from within and from without. This\nproffer she gladly accepted, and he, for a time, kept the promise which\nhe had made well and loyally. But having established himself in the\ncountry, and Belg\u00e9 having given into his hands all the power, he began\nto bear himself most cruelly. Many wrongs did he do to this most unhappy\nlady, but of all the wrongs the worst was this, that he took of her\nchildren, one after another, to offer up in sacrifice to a horrible idol\nwhich he had made of his father Geryon. Twelve had he taken, one by one,\nso that now there were left to the unhappy mother but five only. And\nnow, all other hope having been lost, she bethought her of the gracious\nQueen Mercilla, and sent her two eldest sons to entreat her help.\n\nWhen they had told their story there was for a while silence in the\ncourt, no one caring to take this adventure upon himself. And when\nPrince Arthur saw that no one offered himself, he stood forth and said:\n\u201cGrant me leave, gracious queen, to succour this distressed lady!\u201d\n\n\u201cReadily do I grant it,\u201d said the queen. Thereupon he began straightway\nto prepare himself for his journey, for he would not lose time; even on\nthe morrow would he start on this adventure. And so it was. So soon as\nthe next morning came the prince set forth, not without gifts from the\nqueen. Sir Artegall he left to follow his own business, but the two\nyoung sons of the Lady Belg\u00e9 went with him, guiding him on his way.\n\nIt was but a short journey to the place where the Lady Belg\u00e9 dwelt. The\ntyrant had shut her out from the cities of her land, and from all the\npleasant spots; she had her abode in the midst of marshes and fens, and\nwas glad to find shelter in them from the cruelty of her oppressor. In\nsuch a dismal region did Prince Arthur find her, living quite alone, for\nher children had left her, seeking safety elsewhere. And she herself,\nwhen she caught sight of a man clad in armour, made ready to fly. But\nthen, spying her own two sons, she took heart, and looked up joyfully,\nfor she knew that the stranger was come to give her help. Then she threw\nher arms round the necks of the two lads as they knelt before her,\ncrying, \u201cOh, my sweet boys, now I seem to live again, so joyful a thing\nis it to see you! Surely the sun shines brighter than its wont, thanks\nto your coming and to the presence of this noble knight.\u201d Then turning\nto Prince Arthur she said: \u201cNoble sir, who have taken all this trouble\nto help a miserable woman, may heaven reward you for your goodness.\nReward have I none to give, for all that is left to me is bare life, and\nthat life so full of misery that it is more like to a lingering death!\u201d\n\nThe prince was not a little moved at these sorrowful words, and sought\nto comfort her. \u201cTake heart, dear lady,\u201d he said, \u201cfor help is at hand,\nand these, your troubles, will have an end. But now come with me, and\nfind some spot where you may more conveniently dwell than in this\nmiserable place.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh sir,\u201d she answered, \u201cto what place shall I go? The enemy dwells in\nmy palaces, my cities are sacked, my towers are levelled with the\nground, and what were abodes of men are fields where the wild flowers\ngrow. Only these marshes, the abode of efts and frogs, are left to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, good lady,\u201d answered the prince, \u201cthink better things than these.\nWe will find some place to harbour us. And if it yield not itself\nwillingly, then will we compel it; for all that your adversary may do,\nwe will purchase it with spear and shield; and if not, then the open\nfield shall give us welcome; earth has a lodging for all its creatures.\u201d\nWith such words did the prince encourage her, so that she made ready to\ngo with him.\n\nThey set out therefore and came to a city which once had been the Lady\nBelg\u00e9\u2019s own, but had been taken from her by her enemy. He had pulled\ndown its stately towers, closed its harbour, marred the trade of its\nmerchants, and brought its people to poverty. And he had built a great\nfort from which he dominated the place. For a while the city had\nresisted his tyranny, but had now submitted itself to him, so purchasing\nlife, but losing all else that is worth the having. Many things did it\nsuffer from his tyranny, but of all that it endured the worst was this,\nthat it was compelled to offer sacrifices of human life to a hideous\nidol which the tyrant had set up in a chapel which he had built and\nadorned with costliest fittings of gold and ivory. In this city he had\nput a strong garrison, and in command of this garrison he had set a\nseneschal, a very stalwart knight, who had vanquished hitherto all the\nknights that had ventured to come against him. He had vanquished them,\nand when he had them in his power he had dealt with them in the most\nshameful fashion.\n\n[Illustration: Prince Arthur slaying the Seneschal.]\n\nWhen the Lady Belg\u00e9 knew the place, she said to the prince, \u201cOh, sir,\nbeware what you venture; very many knights have been undone at this\nplace.\u201d To this warning he paid no heed, but riding up to the wall of\nthe city, called to the watchmen, \u201cI challenge to single combat the\nseneschal of this fortress.\u201d Nor did the man delay to come, but donning\nhis armour, rode forth from the city gate. The two combatants met in\nfull tilt in the open field, charging each the other with his spear full\nupon the shield. But the spear of the seneschal made no way, of so pure\nand well-refined a metal was the prince\u2019s shield. Broken was it into\npieces without number. But the spear of the prince passed through the\npagan\u2019s cuirass, and made a deep wound in his body, so that he fell from\nhis horse to the ground. There the prince left him to lie, for he was\ndead almost before he touched the ground, and rode straight to the\nfortress seeking entrance. But as he rode he spied three knights\nadvancing towards him at the top speed of their horses. All three\ncharged him at once, all aiming their spears at one place in his armour.\nBut the prince did not swerve from his straight seat in his saddle, no,\nnot by a hair\u2019s-breadth. Firm as a tower he sat, and with his spear he\nsmote that one of the three who had the middle place. Nor was his\nsmiting in vain, for he drove the spear through the shield and through\nthe side of the man, so that he fell dead straight-way on his\nmother-earth. When his fellows saw how easily he had been overcome, they\nfled away as fast as their steeds could carry them. But the prince\nfollowed yet faster, and overtook them hard by the city gate. There, as\nthey hasted to enter, one hindered the other, and the prince slew the\nhindmost. The third, striving to shut the gate in his adversary\u2019s face,\nwas hindered by the carcase of his companion, for it lay in the way. So\nhe fled into the hall which stood at the entering in of the gate, hoping\nso to save himself, but the prince following hard after him, slew him\nthere. When they that were left of the garrison saw how it had gone with\nthese three, they were sore afraid, and fled in great terror, escaping\nby a postern door. When the prince found no more to oppose him, he\nreturned to the Lady Belg\u00e9, and brought her into the city, her two sons\nbeing with her. Many thanks did she render for the good service which he\nhad done her.\n\nWhen the tidings of what had befallen the seneschal and his knights came\nto the sultan, he was carried out of himself with rage. Nevertheless\nthere was something of fear mingled with his rage, for his conscience\nsmote him with the thought that the recompense of his evil deeds was at\nhand. Nevertheless he comforted himself with this: \u201cThere is but one of\nthem, and he cannot always prevail.\u201d Therefore he armed himself: also he\ntook with him all the followers that he had, and marched to the gate of\nthe city, and there demanded entrance, saying, \u201cYield me up this place\nstraightway, for it is my own.\u201d\n\nTo this summons the prince made no answer, but rode forth through the\ngate, ready armed for battle. And being on the farther side he said,\n\u201cAre you he that has done all this wrong to the noble Lady Belg\u00e9,\nexiling her from her own land in such fashion that all the world cries\nshame on you?\u201d\n\nThe tyrant answered, \u201cI stand on my own right; what I have done, that\nwill I justify!\u201d So saying he ran furiously at the prince, beating upon\nhis armour with a great battle-axe as if he would have chopped it in\npieces. So fierce was his onset that the prince was constrained to give\nplace awhile. So heavy were his strokes, one had thought they would have\nriven a rock asunder. Also he had the advantage of his threefold form.\nThree pairs of hands he had, and he could shift his weapon from one to\nthe other as occasion served. So crafty was he and so nimble, that an\nadversary scarce could know where and when he should defend himself. But\nthe prince was his match and more. Ever he watched the motion of his\nhands, and parried the blow wherever it might fall. And the tyrant,\nbeing thus baffled again and again, roared for very rage, till, at the\nlast, gathering up all the strength of the three bodies into one stroke,\nhe thought to fell his adversary to the ground. What had happened had\nthe stroke come upon the man none can say, but it lighted on the horse\nand brought him to the ground. So now the prince was constrained to\nfight on foot, and the giant laughed aloud to think that he had him at a\ndisadvantage. But the fortune of the fight went not so. Now this arm and\nnow that did the prince shear away with his good sword, and he himself\nwas sheltered safe under his shield; so faultless was its temper, that\nno blow could shatter it. And ever the giant was more and more carried\naway by his rage, till, at the last, offering his whole side to the\nattack of the prince, he was brought to the ground a corpse, nay, three\ncorpses, for all were smitten to death by the one stroke, and lay a\nbloody heap upon the plain.\n\nAll this while the Lady Belg\u00e9 watched the fortunes of the fight from the\ncity wall, with her two sons standing on either hand. And when she saw\nthe issue she hastened to greet him; the people of the city also, who\nhad waited to see to whom the victory should fall, hastened to do him\nhomage. Right glad were they to be rid of the giant\u2019s tyranny.\n\nWhen the Lady Belg\u00e9 had rendered the prince her thanks, which he\nreceived with due modesty\u2014\u201c\u2019Tis not the strength nor courage of the\ndoer,\u201d said he, \u201cbut the justice of his deed that should be looked\nto\u201d\u2014she said: \u201cO noble sir, you have freed me from my chief foe;\nnevertheless there remains yet something to be done. I pray you not to\nstay your victorious arms till you have rooted out all that remains of\nthis vile brood, and established my peace for ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me, lady,\u201d he answered, \u201cwhat is this that remains?\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d she answered, \u201cin this temple hard by there is, as you have\nheard, a monstrous idol which this tyrant set up, and to which he\noffered up sacrifices, taking, alas! of my dear children, and many\nchildren also of this people. Now in a cavern underneath this idol there\nlies a most hideous monster, which is wont to feed upon the flesh of\nthese sacrifices. No man, they say, has ever looked upon its shape, so\nfearful is it, and lived.\u201d\n\nWhen the prince heard this he was occupied with a great desire to deal\nwith this same monster, and demanded that the queen should show him the\nplace where it abode. \u201cIt is beneath the altar,\u201d said she; and he\nuncovered his shield, for the need was such as to demand the help. The\nidol he saw, but not the monster. Then he took his sword, and with the\nnaked blade he struck three times, as if in defiance, and at the third\ntime the monster came from out its hiding-place. Hideous it was to see,\nhuge of size, as long, it seemed, as the whole chapel, with the face of\na woman and the body of a dog; its claws were like to lion\u2019s claws; it\nhad a tail with a deadly sting, and eagle\u2019s wings. Nevertheless, for all\nits strength, it was dismayed to see the knight, and especially the\nburning brightness of his shield. It would have fled again to its\nhiding-place, but that the prince would not suffer. Seeing, then, that\nit had to fight, the monster flew at the prince\u2019s shield, and caught it\nwith its claws, purposing either to break it, or, if that might not be,\nto wrench it out of his hands. Long did they struggle together, but at\nthe last the prince, with a stroke of his sword, shore off the monster\u2019s\nclaws. Exceeding loud was the bellowing which it made, seeming to make\nthe whole chapel rock to its foundations. Next it struck at the prince\nwith its great tail, and well-nigh brought him to the ground; but before\nit could strike a second blow, he had severed the last joint with his\nsword. Last of all, it raised itself on its great wings and flew at his\nhead; doubtless it had hurt him sore but that he held his shield\nbetween. While he so warded off the attack, he struck full at the\nmonster\u2019s belly, and so did it to death.\n\nGreat was the rejoicing in the city when the people knew that the\ncreature which had oppressed them so long was slain. They crowned the\nprince with bays, and led him through the streets with solemn pomp.\nAfter this he tarried awhile in the city, establishing Queen Belg\u00e9 on\nher throne, and setting all things in due order, till the time came when\nhe had to depart for the completing of his task.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXIV\n OF SIR ARTEGALL AND GRANTORTO\n\n\nWhile these things were doing, Sir Artegall set forth to accomplish his\ntask, having Talus with him as before. After he had journeyed awhile, he\novertook an old man who was travelling alone, and perceived that he was\nthe same that had attended the Lady Irene when she came to the court of\nQueen Gloriana. He had been a famous knight in his day, but had long\nsince foregone the use of arms, being stricken with age.\n\n\u201cHail, Sir Sergis,\u201d he cried, \u201cthere lives no truer knight, I know; but\ntell me, what is your errand? How fares the Lady Irene? How comes it\nthat you have left her? Is she in prison? Does she yet live?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe lives,\u201d answered the old knight, \u201cbut she is in sore trouble.\nTrusting to your promise that you would come to be her champion, and do\nbattle with him who was oppressing her, she came at the appointed time,\nbut found you not. And now Grantorto has thrown her into prison, and has\nappointed her a day, saying that if by that time no champion shall\nappear to justify her and prove her clear of the crimes of which she is\naccused, she shall suffer death.\u201d\n\nSir Artegall was sorely troubled to hear these words, knowing that she\nsuffered these things through his default. \u201cVerily,\u201d he said, \u201cI am to\nblame for this fair maiden\u2019s trouble, in that I was not present to\nmaintain her cause; but, as you know, I was not wholly to blame for that\nwhich hindered me. But tell me, how many days has the tyrant allowed for\nthe finding of this champion?\u201d\n\n\u201cTen days he has given,\u201d answered the old knight, \u201cbut he knows that\n\u2019tis only a form, for he guards all the coasts and approaches by which\nsuch a champion might come. Indeed, he counts her to be already dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cTurn again, dear knight,\u201d said Sir Artegall; \u201csurely, if I live, she\nshall have the champion whom she needs within the appointed time!\u201d So\nthey two went on together.\n\nAs they rode they were aware of a great rout of people who seemed to be\nlooking on at some affray. Coming nearer, they perceived a number of\nrude fellows setting on a single knight, and chasing him to and fro as\nif they would make him prisoner. And he, on the other hand, sought to\nmake his way to a lady who might be seen in another part of the field,\nholding up her hands and praying for help. Wheresoever he turned they\ngave way before him, yet ever returned and renewed their attack, and, so\ngreat were their numbers, pressed him sorely. So harassed was he with\ntheir assailing, that he threw away his shield, a most dishonourable\nthing for any knight to do, and one that marks him with shame without\nend. When Sir Artegall saw in what an evil plight the man stood, he rode\nforward to his help, yet he was himself so rudely assailed that he was\nconstrained to give place for a while. But when Talus began to use his\niron flail, then the multitude fled for their lives, being scattered as\nthe wind scatters the chaff on a threshing-floor. When the knight had\ngiven thanks for his deliverance, Sir Artegall said to him:\n\n\u201cWhat is the occasion of this uproar? Who are you, and who are these\nvillains that attacked you so furiously?\u201d\n\nThe knight answered: \u201cMy name is Burbon; I have won honour as a knight,\nand have been in good repute till of late trouble has overtaken me. This\nlady is by name Fleur de Lys; my love she is, though of late she has\nscorned me; I know not whether by her own choice or by constraint of\nothers. It cannot be denied that she was once betrothed to me of her own\nfree choice; but a certain tyrant, whom men call Grantorto, won her by\ngifts and lying words. This host of villains he sent to take her away\nfrom me by open force.\u201d\n\nThen said Sir Artegall: \u201cI see, Sir Knight, that you have suffered\ngrievous things, yet not without fault of your own. But let us first rid\nyou of these villains. That done, we can make a settlement of other\nmatters.\u201d\n\nThis then they did, Talus greatly helping with his flail. But when they\ncame to the lady, who had been left by them who had taken her prisoner,\nthey were in no little doubt in what mind she was, for she seemed to be\nneither glad nor sorry. One thing was certain, to wit, that she was\nwondrous fair and clad in splendid robes. When Sir Burbon, lighting from\nhis horse, ran to her and would have clasped her in his arms, she turned\nfrom him in high disdain. \u201cBegone,\u201d she cried, \u201cand touch me not.\u201d Then\nsaid Sir Artegall: \u201cFair lady, you cast a very great blemish on your\nbeauty, if you change a plighted faith. Is there aught on earth so dear\nand so precious as faith and honour? Love surely is dearer than life,\nand fame is more to be desired than gold; but a plighted troth is more\nto be honoured than even love or fame.\u201d At this rebuke the lady seemed\nmuch abashed, and Sir Burbon, lifting her in his arms, set her on her\nsteed, nor did she repulse him. So they rode away, but whether wholly\nagreed or not, no one can say.\n\nThese matters being accomplished, Sir Artegall with Sir Sergis pursued\nhis journey till they came to the seashore. There by good fortune they\nfound a ship ready equipped for sailing. This they hired, that it should\ntake them whither they would, and embarking in it, found wind and\nweather serve them so well that in a single day they came to the land\nwhich they sought. There they saw drawn up on the shore great hosts of\nmen who should hinder them from landing. But they did not for this\nforego their purpose. So soon as they approached so near to the shore\nthat they could see the bottom beneath the waves, Talus leapt from the\nship into the sea. The enemy sought to overwhelm him with stones and\ndarts, but he heeded them not at all. Wading through the waves he came\nto the shore, and once having put his foot upon the land, chased all the\nmultitude away, even as an eagle chases a flock of doves. The way being\nthus made clear, for there was now no one to hinder them, Sir Artegall\nand the old knight landed, and made their way to a city that was hard\nby. The tyrant Grantorto, being made aware of their coming by some of\nthose that had fled from Talus, gathered a host of men and came against\nthem. But these also did Talus discomfit with his flail, pursuing them\ntill Artegall himself bade him hold his hand, for he would settle the\nquarrel in more orderly fashion. Therefore he called a herald and bade\nhim take a message to King Grantorto to this purport:\n\n\u201cI came not hither to fight against your people, but to maintain the\ncause of the Lady Irene against you in single combat. Do you therefore\ncall your people back that they may suffer no further damage, but fix a\ntime and place for us two to fight together in the cause of the Lady\nIrene.\u201d\n\nThat night he pitched his tent outside the city, and would suffer none\nto come near him; only Sir Sergis kept him company, and gave such\nservices as were needful. Now the Lady Irene had not heard of the coming\nof Sir Artegall, and this being the day on which, lacking a champion who\nshould defend her cause, it was appointed for her to die, she arrayed\nherself in squalid garments, fit for such occasion, and prepared herself\nfor her doom. But her mood was changed to joy when, coming to the\nappointed place, she found Sir Artegall ready to do battle for her.\n\nAnd now, the lists having been made ready, Grantorto came forth prepared\nfor battle. He was clad in armour of iron, with a steel cap, rusty brown\nin colour, on his head, and in his hand he carried a huge pole-axe. He\nwas of mighty stature, standing up as a giant among other men, and\nhideous of aspect. Very expert in arms was he, and of great strength; no\nman had ever stood against him in fight and held his own.\n\nThen the trumpets sounded and the two met. Fast and furiously did\nGrantorto rain his blows upon his adversary. This was his manner of\nfighting, to wit, to overbear his foe by the fierceness of his attack,\ngiving him no respite or breathing-time. But of this Sir Artegall was\nwell aware, and bore himself accordingly. It was as when a sailor sees a\nstorm approaching and strikes his sails and loosens his main-sheet. So\ndid Sir Artegall stoop his head, shunning the great shower of blows.\nSmall shame it is to stoop if a man shall thereafter raise his head the\nhigher. For a time, indeed, it might seem that the tyrant would prevail,\nso heavy was the shower of blows that he poured upon him, and so many\nthe wounds which the great pole-axe made even through his armour. But\nere long the occasion came for which the knight had waited. When the\ntyrant raised his arm high to strike what should be, he hoped, a mortal\nblow, Sir Artegall smote under his guard and drove his sword deep into\nhis flank, so that the blood gushed forth in a great stream. Meanwhile\nthe blow of the pole-axe had fallen, and, despite the shield which the\nknight had raised to defend his head, had bitten so deep that the giant\ncould by no means loose it again. Then Sir Artegall let go his shield,\nand struck Grantorto on the head with such strength that he brought him\nto the ground, and, as he lay, with yet another stroke severed his head\nfrom his body.\n\nThen all the people, glad to be rid of the tyrant, joyfully hastened to\npay their homage to Queen Irene. So she was established on her throne.\nSir Artegall tarried awhile to order all things in peace and justice,\nTalus helping much in the seeking out and punishment of offenders.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXV\n OF SIR CALIDORE AND THE LADY BRIANA\n\n\nAs Sir Artegall was returning from his latest enterprise, he met a\ncertain Sir Calidore, who was in high repute among the knights and dames\nof Fairyland for his courtesy and honesty. These two had been friends in\nold time, and now were right glad to meet.\n\n\u201cHail, noble sir,\u201d said Sir Calidore, \u201ctell me, I pray you, how you have\nprospered in your enterprise.\u201d\n\nAnd when the other had unfolded the whole matter in order, what\nhindrances he had encountered, and what success he had achieved in the\nend, \u201cHappy man,\u201d he said, \u201cthat have accomplished so great an\nenterprise! You are at the end of your labours, but I am but beginning\nmine, nor do I know where to begin; the way is all untried. I know not\nwhat dangers await me, nor what provision I must make.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, then, is this enterprise of yours?\u201d said Sir Artegall.\n\n\u201cI pursue,\u201d answered the other, \u201cthe Blatant Beast, a monster that,\nhaving been nurtured in the regions below, has now come forth on the\nearth to be the plague and bane of men. My task is to follow him, if\nneed be, all over the world, till I can destroy him.\u201d\n\n\u201cSuch a creature I myself saw,\u201d said Sir Artegall, \u201cafter that I left\nthe Savage Island. It seemed to have full a thousand tongues, and with\nall of these it bayed and barked at me; I heeded him not, and this\nseemed to move him to still greater rage.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoubtless,\u201d answered Sir Calidore, \u201cthat is the monster which I\nfollow.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on and prosper,\u201d said Sir Artegall; and so they parted in all\nfriendship and amity.\n\nAfter Sir Calidore had travelled a mile or so, he came upon a squire, a\ncomely youth to behold, whom his enemies had bound to a tree. The same\nloudly called on him for help, which he, without waiting to ask\nquestions, promptly rendered. When he had loosed his bonds he said:\n\u201cTell me, unhappy man, how you came into this evil plight; who was it\nthat captured you and bound you in this fashion?\u201d\n\n\u201cSir Knight,\u201d said the man, \u201cbe assured that it was by misfortune only,\nnot by fault committed, that I came into this condition. Not far from\nthis place there is a very strong castle, where they keep this evil\ncustom. No man may pass along the road\u2014and the road so lies that none\nmay pass without leave obtained from them who hold the castle\u2014without\npayment of toll. And the toll is this\u2014from every lady her hair, and from\nevery knight his beard.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs shameful a custom as ever came to my ears!\u201d cried Sir Calidore, \u201cand\none speedily to be overthrown! But tell me how it came about, and what\nwas its beginning?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn this castle,\u201d the squire made reply, \u201cthere dwells a certain lady,\nBriana by name; there is no one on earth more proud, and it vexes her\nsorely that she loves a certain Sir Crudor, and that he will not deign\nto return love for love, until she shall make for him a mantle lined\nwith the hair of ladies and the beards of knights. And she to gain this\nend uses the castle, having for her minister in the matter a certain\nMaleffort, who, indeed, does her will in the most cruel fashion. This\nvery day, as I journeyed by the road with the lady whom I love, this\nMaleffort made an assault upon us. Me first he took prisoner, for I\ncould not withstand him, so strong was he. This done, he pursued the\ndamsel, binding me to this tree until he should come back. But whether\nhe has found her or not, I know not.\u201d\n\nWhile he was yet speaking, they heard a loud shriek from hard by, and\nlooking to the place saw the knave holding a lady by her garments and\nabout to shear the tresses from her head. When Sir Calidore saw this he\nwas greatly moved with wrath; the squire he left, and turned to pursue\nthe villain. \u201cHold!\u201d he cried, \u201cleave that evil doing, and turn to\nanswer me!\u201d\n\nThe fellow, trusting in his strength, which, indeed, had never failed\nhim, answered him scornfully. \u201cWho,\u201d said he, \u201care you that defy me in\nthis fashion? You take this maiden\u2019s part; will you then give your\nbeard, though it be but little, for her locks? Nay, nay, you may not\npurchase them so cheaply.\u201d So saying he ran at Sir Calidore in a mighty\nrage, and rained upon him a great shower of blows. The knight, who was\nwell skilled in arms, held back awhile, standing on his defence, and let\nhim spend his strength. But when he perceived that he was failing\nsomewhat, then he began to press him; the more he gave way the more\nstrongly he assailed him. At last the fellow lost heart, and turned to\nfly, hoping to gain the castle and find shelter. So he fled, Sir\nCalidore pursuing; and now he had reached the gate and cried aloud that\nthey should open to him without delay. This indeed they who were within,\nseeing in what extremity he was, made haste to do, but even as he stood\nin the porch Sir Calidore dealt him a mighty blow with his sword, and\ncleft his head from the crown to the chin. He fell down dead where he\nstood, and when they would have shut the gate, they could not, for the\ncarcase blocked the way, and Sir Calidore entering in, slew the porter\nwhere he stood. Then all who were in the castle set at him, but in vain;\nhe swept them aside full easily, as an ox, standing in a meadow on a\nsummer day, sweeps away the flies which trouble him. So he passed from\nthe porch into the hall, where the Lady Briana met him, and assailed him\nwith angry words, calling him villain because he had slain her steward,\nand was now come to rob her of her possessions.\n\n\u201cNay, nay, fair lady,\u201d he made answer, \u201cI deserve not these reproaches.\nI came to abate an evil custom that you wot of. Such things do dishonour\nto the laws of courtesy. I pray you, therefore, of your own accord, to\ndo away with this evil. Rather show kindness and hospitality to all such\nas pass by this way; so shall you gain a glory that is better far than\nearthly love.\u201d\n\nThese words did but make her wrath more strong. \u201cKnow, sir,\u201d she cried,\n\u201cthat I disdain all this talk of kindness and courtesy, and defy you to\nthe death.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hold it no shame,\u201d answered Sir Calidore, \u201cto take defiance from a\nlady; but were there one here who would abide the trial with his sword,\ngladly would I prove my words upon him.\u201d\n\nThen the lady in great haste called to her a dwarf who served her, and\ntaking from her hand a ring of gold, gave it to him, saying: \u201cTake this\nwith all speed to Sir Crudor; and tell him that there is a knight here\nwho has slain my steward and done much damage to my people;\u201d for it had\nbeen agreed between them, that when urgent need should arise she should\nsend this ring. So the dwarf departed with the ring, and travelled all\nthat night. Meanwhile Sir Calidore abode in the castle, the lady being\nnow scornful, now angry, and he enduring her moods with all patience and\ncourtesy.\n\nThe next day, before the sun rose, came the dwarf, bringing a message\nfrom Sir Crudor that he would come to her help before he had broken his\nfast, and would deliver to her the enemy alive or dead; and he sent his\nhelmet as a true token. Greatly did the Lady Briana rejoice to have such\nnews, and behaved herself more scornfully than ever to Sir Calidore. He\ntook no heed of her ways, rather rejoicing that he should have someone\nwith whom to settle this quarrel. So he donned his arms, and waited for\nthe coming of Sir Crudor. Nor did he wait long. Right soon did he espy a\nknight riding across the plain. \u201cThis,\u201d said he to himself, \u201cis the Lady\nBriana\u2019s champion,\u201d and without staying to ask of anyone who this\nnew-comer might be, he rode forth to meet him. The two came together in\nthe middle of the plain with so strong a shock that both were rolled\nupon the ground, each rider with his horse. Sir Calidore rose lightly\nfrom the ground, while his adversary still lay without sense or speech,\nbut he disdained to do him any damage; it would ill become a courteous\nknight to strike a sleeping foe. But Briana, where she stood upon the\ncastle walls, thought that her champion was dead, and loudly bemoaned\nhim, and made as if she would throw herself from the walls to the earth.\n\nAfter a while Sir Crudor raised himself from the ground, but in listless\nfashion, like to one who can scarcely rouse himself from sleep. But when\nhe saw his adversary, his spirit returned to him as before, and he\nrenewed the fight, hoping that he would fare better on foot than he had\nfared on horseback. Long did they fight, dealing each to other fearful\nblows. Not once, so fierce were they, did they pause to take rest. At\nthe last, when, as if by common consent, both lifted their swords high\nin the air to deal what might be a final blow, and so finish the fight,\neither for this champion or for that, Sir Calidore, being more nimble\nand quicker of sight than his adversary, was beforehand with him, and\nstruck him with so sharp a blow upon his helmet that he brought him to\nhis knee. Nor did he fail to follow up his advantage, but redoubling the\nfierceness of his strokes, brought him altogether to the ground. As he\nlay there he would have unlaced his helmet, and given him his\ndeath-blow, but the vanquished man begged for mercy. Then Sir Calidore,\nmastering his anger, such was his courtesy, said: \u201cMercy I grant with\nall goodwill. Do you learn not to treat strangers with such rudeness.\nThis ill befits a knight, for his first duty is to conquer himself. And\nnow I give you your life on these conditions, that you help to the best\nof your power all wandering knights, and also give aid as you can to all\nladies in need.\u201d\n\nThese things the knight, being thus delivered beyond all hope from the\nfear of death, promised to do, and swore fealty to Sir Calidore as being\nhis liege lord for all his life. All this time the Lady Briana was\nlooking in great dismay and trouble of mind; and now Sir Calidore,\nbidding her to approach, told all that had been agreed between him and\nSir Crudor. She was overcome by so great a courtesy, and thanked him\nwith all her heart, for indeed it was in her inmost heart that she was\nmoved. She threw herself at his feet, and declared herself to be wholly\nbound to him. After this they all betook themselves to the castle, where\nthe lady entertained them in most joyous fashion.\n\nThe banquet ended, she said: \u201cSir Calidore, I do bestow this castle upon\nyou freely and without price, by way of token of how great is my debt to\nyou.\u201d\n\nThen answered Sir Calidore: \u201cLady, I thank you for this gift; but I am\nnot minded to take any hire or reward for any good deed that it may be\ngiven me to do.\u201d So he gave the castle to the squire, that he and the\ndamsel might dwell there. And when he had tarried there certain days,\nand was now made whole of his wounds, he went forth again on his quest.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXVI\n OF THE VALOUR OF TRISTRAM\n\n\nAs Sir Calidore went on his way he saw a young man of great stature\nfighting on foot with a knight on horseback. Not far from these two\nstood a lady, clad in very poor array. Sir Calidore would have inquired\nof her the cause of the strife, having it in his mind to part the two\ncombatants, if this might be done. But before he could come at the\nplace, the youth had slain the knight, a thing at which he wondered not\na little. This same youth was very goodly to look at, slender in shape,\nand of but seventeen years or so, as it seemed, but tall and fair of\nface. He was clad in a woodman\u2019s jacket of Lincoln green, embroidered\nwith silver, with a huntsman\u2019s horn hanging by his side. He had a dart\nin his right hand, and in his left a boar-spear.\n\n\u201cWhat means this?\u201d said Sir Calidore. \u201cYou, who are no knight, have\nslain a knight, a thing plainly contrary to the law of arms.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would not wish,\u201d answered the youth, \u201cto break the law of arms; yet\nwould I break it again, sooner than suffer such wrong as I have of this\nman, so long as I have two hands wherewith to defend myself. The quarrel\nwith him was not of my seeking, as this lady can testify.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me therefore,\u201d said Sir Calidore, \u201chow things fell out.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir Knight,\u201d answered the lad, \u201cI was hunting in the wood, as I am wont\nto do for lack of graver employment, for which my years are not fit,\nwhen I saw this knight, who lies dead yonder, passing over the plain,\nwith this lady in his company. He was on horseback, but she followed on\nfoot, and when she lagged behind, as she must needs do, so rough was the\nground, then he smote her with the butt of his spear, taking no heed of\nher tears and prayers. This sight I saw with no small indignation, and\nbeing moved with wrath said: \u2018Surely, Sir Knight, you should rather\ntakeup this lady to ride behind you than make her travel so uneasily.\u2019\nTo this he answered in angry words, bidding me hold my peace, nor meddle\nwith things that concerned me not. \u2018Or,\u2019 said he, \u2018I will whip you as a\nmalapert boy should be whipped!\u2019 So after some angry talk, he struck me\ntwice with his spear, and I threw at him a dart, fellow of this which\nyou see here in my hand; nor did I throw it in vain, for it struck him\nbeneath the heart so hard that presently he died.\u201d\n\nSir Calidore was not a little pleased with his manner of speech, so bold\nand honest was it, and he admired also the sturdiness of the stroke\nwhich had broken to such effect the coat of mail. And when, after\nquestion put to the lady, he found that it was even as the lad had told,\nhe said: \u201cI do not condemn this youth, but rather hold him free of\nblame. \u2019Tis the duty of knights, and indeed of all men, to bear\nthemselves kindly and courteously to women, and he did well to maintain\nthis good custom. But now I would have you tell me, lady, if you will,\nhow it came about that the man whom he slew treated you in so unseemly a\nfashion?\u201d\n\n\u201cSir Knight,\u201d answered the lady, \u201cI am loath to bring accusations\nagainst the dead; yet I must needs declare the truth. This day, as this\nknight and I were passing on our way, we came upon a glade in the wood\nwhere there sat two lovers, a comely knight and a fair lady. The knight\nmy companion being taken with the lady\u2019s beauty, bade me dismount. And\nwhen I was unwilling to do so, thrust me out of my seat with violence.\nWhich when he had done, he said to the other: \u2018Now, yield me up that\ndame!\u2019 And when the other\u2014though, indeed, he was not prepared for\nbattle\u2014refused, then he wounded him sorely with his spear. This he did,\nthough the other had proffered to do battle with him, if only he would\nappoint a day when they might try their strength on equal terms.\nMeanwhile the lady had fled into the wood, and had hidden herself to\nsuch good purpose, that when my knight sought to find her, he spent all\nhis labour in vain. At this baulk he was greatly enraged. He would not\nset me on his horse again, but constrained me to follow on foot, smiting\nme with his spear if ever I lagged behind, and taking no heed of my\ntears and complaining. So we went on till we fell in with this young\nman, and he, being moved with pity at my evil plight, rebuked the\nknight. How the matter ended you have seen for yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis boor has received his due,\u201d said Calidore. Then turning to the\nlad, he said: \u201cTell me now who you are, and how you came to be in this\nplace. Never did I see greater promise in anyone, and I would help you\nto bring it to as good fulfilment as may be.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir Knight,\u201d the youth made answer, \u201cit may be that the revealing of my\nname and lineage may be to my hurt, for of such danger I have been\nwarned; nevertheless, so courteously have you borne yourself to me, that\nI will tell you the whole truth. I am a Briton, Tristram by name, son of\ngood King Meliogras, who once reigned in the land of Cornwall. He dying\nwhile I was yet of tender years, his brother took the kingdom. Thereupon\nmy mother, Queen Emiline, conceiving me to be in danger from this same\nuncle, thought it best to send me into some foreign land, where I should\nnot be within his reach, if the thought of doing me a mischief should\narise in his heart. So, according to the counsel of a wise man of whom\nshe inquired in her perplexity, she sent me from the land of Lyonesse,\nwhere I was born, to the land of Fairy, where, no one knowing who or\nwhat I was, none would seek to do me wrong. I was then ten years of age,\nand I have abode in this land ever since, not wasting my days in vain\ndelights, but perfecting myself in all the arts of hunting. But now it\nis time, I hold, to look to higher things. Therefore, this being such an\noccasion as might not again befall, I would entreat of you that you\nadvance me, unworthy though I be, to a squire\u2019s degree, so that I may\nduly learn and practise all the use of arms. And for this I have this\nbeginning, to wit, the arms of this knight, whom I slew in fair\nencounter.\u201d\n\nSir Calidore answered, \u201cFair child, I would not by any means baulk this\nyour honourable desire to follow the profession of arms; only I could\nwish that I could set you to some service that should be worthy of you.\nKneel therefore and swear that you will be faithful to any knight whom\nyou shall serve as squire, and be true to all ladies, and never draw\nback from fear of any deed that it may be fitting for you to do.\u201d So\nTristram knelt down upon his knees, and took his oath to do according to\nthese words.\n\nThereupon Sir Calidore dubbed him a squire, and he bloomed forth\nstraightway in all joy and gladness, even as a bud opens into a flower.\nBut when Tristram besought him that he might go with him on his present\nadventure, vowing that he would follow him to the death, Sir Calidore\nanswered: \u201cI should be right glad, most courteous squire, to have you\nwith me, so that I might see the valour which you have show itself in\nhonourable achievement, but this may not be. I am bound by vow to my\nsovereign, who set me this task to accomplish, that I would not take\nanyone to aid me. For this reason I may not grant your request. But now,\nseeing that this lady is left desolate, and is in need of safe convoy,\nyou will do well to succour her in this her need.\u201d\n\nThis service the youth gladly undertook, and Sir Calidore, taking leave\nof him and the dame in courteous fashion, set forth again on his quest.\nHe had not travelled far before he came to the place where the knight\nwho had been so discourteously treated by him whom Tristram had slain,\nlay in a most sorrowful plight. He was bleeding from many wounds, so\nthat all the earth about him was red; and the lady sat by him weeping,\nand yet doing all that she could with careful hands to dress his wounds\nand ease his pain. Sir Calidore, when he saw this sorry sight, was\nwell-nigh moved to tears; from which, scarce refraining himself, he\nsaid: \u201cTell me, sad lady, if your grief will suffer you, who it was that\nwith cruel hand wrought such mischief to a knight unarmed, for surely,\nif I may but come near him, I will avenge this wrong upon him.\u201d\n\nThe lady answered: \u201cFair sir, this knight whom you see here and I sat\ntalking in lover\u2019s fashion, and this man charged him, unarmed as he was,\nand dealt him these deadly wounds. And if you would know what manner of\nman he was, he was of tall stature, clad in gilded armour, crossed with\na band of blue, and for device on his shield he had a lady rowed in a\nsummer barge across rough waves.\u201d\n\nWhen Sir Calidore heard this, he was assured that this indeed was the\nknight whom Tristram had slain, and he said: \u201cLady, take to yourself\nthis comfort, that he who so foully wronged your knight lies now in yet\nmore evil case. I saw him with my own eyes lying dead upon the earth, a\njust recompense for the foul wrong that he did to your fair knight. And\nnow bethink you what we may best do for this wounded man, how you may\nbest convey him hence, and to what refuge.\u201d\n\nShe thanked him for his courtesy and friendly care, yet knew not what to\nsay, for being a stranger in that country she could not think of a\nfitting place, nor could she ask him to carry the wounded man. This he\ndid not fail to perceive, and said: \u201cFair lady, think not that I deem it\na disgrace to carry this burden; gladly will I help you.\u201d Taking\ntherefore his shield, and first pouring the healing balm, which he\nalways carried with him for such needs, into the knight\u2019s wounds, he put\nhim thereon, and bare him, the lady helping, to a castle that was hard\nby. And it so chanced that the lord of this castle was father to the\nwounded knight, a man far advanced in years, who had been a famous\nman-at-arms in the days gone by, and was of most courteous and\nhospitable temper. Aldus was his name, and his son\u2019s name was Aladine.\nGreat was his grief when he saw his dear son brought home in such a\nplight.\n\n\u201cDear boy,\u201d he cried, \u201cand is the pleasure with which I thought to\nwelcome you to this your home turned to such sorrow!\u201d Nevertheless he\nput a brave constraint upon his sorrow, and turned himself to entertain\nhis guests with all hospitality. To this welcome Sir Calidore made a\ncourteous return, but the lady, whose name was Priscilla, could not by\nany means be cheered. She was daughter to a noble lord that dwelt hard\nby, and had seen and loved this same Aladine, though he was of meaner\nbirth and smaller estate; and now she was much troubled, thinking both\nof her lover\u2019s perilous state and of how her father would take the\nmatter. So, while Sir Aldus entertained Sir Calidore, she sat and tended\nthe wounded man, and at the last, with infinite pains, brought him out\nof the swoon in which he lay, and restored him to himself.\n\nThe next day, when Sir Calidore came to see how the wounded man was\nfaring, he found him not a little bettered in state of body, but anxious\nin mind, especially for his lady\u2019s sake, because of the displeasure\nwhich her father might have concerning her love for him. Thereupon he\ntold to Sir Calidore the whole story of his love, and besought his help,\nwhich he, much moved by pity for their sorrowful case, gladly promised\nthat he would give. This promise he most fully did perform. First he\nwent to where the carcase of that misbehaved knight lay upon the ground,\nand shore the head from the body. This he took in his hand, and brought\nthe lady to her father\u2019s house. He, indeed, was greatly troubled to\nthink what had befallen his child, and was much rejoiced to see her\nagain safe and sound.\n\nThen said Sir Calidore: \u201cYour daughter was like to suffer wrong from an\nevil knight; but he suffered for his evil intent\u2014lo! here you see his\nhead.\u201d\n\nThen did the noble lord most gladly receive her again to her home, and\nSir Calidore, after a short sojourn, departed again upon his quest.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXVII\n SIR CALEPINE AND THE LADY SERENA\n\n\nAs Sir Calidore passed on his way he came upon two lovers, Sir Calepine\nand the Lady Serena, as they sat talking together. They were abashed to\nsee him, and he, being the very soul of courtesy, made most humble\napology for so disturbing them. Then said Sir Calepine: \u201cSit down and\nrest awhile, and let us talk together;\u201d to which Sir Calidore\ncourteously assented. While they talked, the Lady Serena, tempted by the\nfairness of the place, and seeking to make a garland of flowers, of\nwhich there was great store, wandered away.\n\nThereupon the Blatant Beast, the same monster which Sir Calidore had it\nin charge to seek, rushed out of a wood that was hard by, caught her in\nhis mouth, and carried her away. She cried aloud to the two knights for\nhelp, and they, hearing her voice, started up to succour her. Sir\nCalidore, being the more swift of foot of the two, overtook the beast\nbefore it had gone far. Thereupon it cast down the lady out of its mouth\nand fled. Nor did Sir Calidore delay to pursue the beast. \u201cThe lady,\u201d\nsaid he to himself, \u201cwill be cared for by her own knight; but as for me,\nI must not abandon my quest.\u201d How he fared in the pursuit will be told\nhereafter; but we will follow in the meanwhile the fortunes of the two\nlovers.\n\nSir Calepine found the lady in very sad plight, being sorely wounded on\nboth sides by the monster\u2019s teeth, so that she lay upon the ground in a\nswoon, as if she were dead. With much ado he brought her back to life,\nand, setting her on his horse, held her up with his arms, till they\ncould find some place where she might rest and be healed of her wounds.\nSo they journeyed till they came to a river, on the other side of which\nstood a fair castle, in which he hoped that he might find shelter. But\nwhen he came to the water\u2019s edge he found that the stream could scarce\nbe forded on foot. While he doubted what it were best to do, there came\na knight to the river\u2019s side, with a lady riding on a palfrey by his\nside. Thereupon Sir Calepine, with all due courtesy, made a request of\nthe new-comer, that he would take this wounded lady to the other side.\n\n\u201cNot so,\u201d replied the other; \u201cif you have no horse of your own you shall\nhave no help of mine. Go on foot, and let this lady do the same. Or, if\nyou like it better, carry her on your back, and so prove yourself a\nman.\u201d\n\nThe lady on the palfrey was much displeased at the rudeness of this\nspeech, and, pitying the plight of Serena, would have helped her with\nher own palfrey. For this courtesy Sir Calepine thanked her, but, being\nvery angry with the knight, would have none of her help. Stepping down,\ntherefore, into the river, he held himself up against the stream with\nhis spear in one hand, and with the other hand stayed the lady on his\nhorse. All the while the discourteous knight stood on the bank jeering\nand laughing.\n\nWhen Sir Calepine had won in safety to the farther bank, he called aloud\nto the other, saying, \u201cUnknightly man, disgrace to all who bear arms, I\ndefy you. Fight if you dare, or never be bold to bear arms again.\u201d But\nthe fellow took no heed of this challenge, but laughed aloud, as if to\nsay that his adversary was of so mean estate that a man of honour need\nnot trouble to regard his words. So, crossing the stream, he came to the\nfair house on the farther bank, for indeed this was his house.\n\nTo this same house came Sir Calepine, for indeed there was no other\nhouse where he could find shelter, and asked admittance for the lady\u2019s\nsake. But the porter said: \u201cWe find no lodging here for any wandering\nknight, unless he is willing first to fight with the master of the\nhouse.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who is he?\u201d said Sir Calepine.\n\n\u201cHis name,\u201d answered the porter, \u201cis Sir Turpin; a mighty man and a\ngreat fighter; he bears a great grudge against all wandering knights, by\nreason of some wrong that was done him by such a knight in time past.\u201d\n\nThen said Sir Calepine: \u201cGo your way to your master, and tell him that a\nwandering knight craves shelter for a wounded lady, and that he is\nwilling to fight, but craves that Sir Turpin will, of his courtesy,\npostpone this issue till the day following.\u201d To this request no answer\nother than had first been delivered was made, and Sir Calepine perforce\nturned away, not knowing what else he could do. All that night he\nsheltered the lady under a bush as best he could. The next day he went\non his way, hoping to find some more hospitable place, and walking as\nbefore by the lady\u2019s side.\n\nBut he was not suffered to proceed far; for Sir Turpin, filled with\nhatred and malice, pursued after him and overtook him, and having him at\na disadvantage, for he had the charge of the lady on his hands, went\nnear to slaying him. Slain without doubt he had been, but for help that\ncame to him beyond all hope. A savage man, who dwelt in the wood,\nhearing the lady\u2019s cry, hastened to discover what had befallen. He was\nas a brute beast, and had never before felt in his breast any touch of\npity; but now, seeing the knight so hardly pressed, was moved to help\nhim. Neither armour had he nor arms, being wont to strike with such\nthings as came to his hand, and for protection he had a magic charm,\nwhich from his birth had made him proof against all wounds. He took no\nthought how he could best attack Sir Turpin, but ran at him with great\nfury. The knight struck him full upon the breast with his spear, but\nmade no wound. And when the wild man\u2019s fury grew greater and greater,\nand he caught hold of the knight\u2019s shield, and the knight on the other\nhand perceived that neither spear nor sword availed anything against\nhim, then Sir Turpin left his shield and his spear also and fled. Nor\nhad he then escaped but for the fleetness of his steed, for the savage\nalso was the fastest of runners. So near did he come that Sir Turpin\nshrieked aloud for fear, a most unbecoming thing for a knight to do;\nnevertheless, by the speed of his horse he escaped to his castle.\n\nThe savage man, therefore, seeing his labour of pursuit to be vain,\nreturned to the place where he had left the knight and the lady. Both he\nfound in very evil case, and tended them with all care, staunching the\nbleeding of their wounds with juices of healing herbs which he found in\nthe woods. Also he took them to a dwelling which he had in the wood hard\nby, and gave them such entertainment as he could, beds of leaves on\nwhich to sleep, and wild fruits of the wood for food, for the savage man\nnever would slay any living creature.\n\nBut now there befell these lovers a great mishap. Sir Calepine, being\nnow whole of his wounds, was wandering in the wood, when he heard the\ncry of an infant which a bear was carrying off in his mouth. This indeed\nhe rescued, but in the chase went so far that he wholly lost his way,\nand could not by any means return to the place where he had left the\nLady Serena. Long did she wait for his coming, being in great doubt and\ntrouble as to what had befallen him, and when, after many days, he was\nstill absent, she purposed to leave the abode of the Savage Man. He\nwould not suffer her to go alone, but clad himself in Sir Calepine\u2019s\narmour\u2014his sword the knight had put in some secret place\u2014and so set\nforth; nor, indeed, was ever a stranger pair seen in company.\n\nThey had not journeyed far before, by great good fortune, they met\nPrince Arthur. To him Serena told all that had befallen her and Sir\nCalepine, the misdeeds of Sir Turpin, and the wandering away of the\nknight. And when Prince Arthur had heard her tale, he said: \u201cYou I will\nbestow with a good and wise man, a hermit, who dwells in these parts. My\nsquire also, who has suffered no little damage, I will leave; as for\nthis discourteous knight who calls himself Turpin, I will punish him\nforthwith.\u201d\n\nAnd this he did in most effective fashion, slaying him and hanging him\nafter by the heels upon a tree, that others might take warning by his\npunishment.\n\nAnd now shall be told what befell the Lady Serena, and how it came to\npass that she and her lover were found one of another. It chanced one\nday as she walked in the wood with Prince Arthur\u2019s squire that he was\nset upon by two knaves, and she, doubting to what end the battle might\ncome, fled away on her feet, and, losing her way, could not by any means\nreturn to the hermit\u2019s abode. Being wearied out with long wandering, she\nlay down in the wood to sleep.\n\nNow there dwelt in those parts a savage tribe which was wont to live by\nrobbery. They did not till the ground, nor breed cattle, nor deal in\nmerchandise, but they lived by spoiling of their neighbours\u2019 goods. And\nthey had this evil custom also, that they lived on the flesh of men,\ndevouring all strangers whom they might chance to find within their\nborders. Some of these savages, as they wandered in the forest, chanced\nto see Serena, as she lay asleep. Great was their joy to see her, not\nfor her beauty, but because she would make, they thought, so goodly a\nmeal. First they debated whether they should wake her or let her sleep.\nAnd it seemed to them better that she should sleep her fill. \u201cShe will\nbe the better,\u201d they said, \u201cfor her sleep.\u201d Also they agreed together\nthat she should be offered in sacrifice to their god. \u201cHe,\u201d said they,\n\u201cshall have her blood, and we, after the sacrifice, will have a goodly\nfeast on her flesh.\u201d This they set about to do, and having built an\naltar, they stripped her of her ornaments and robes and laid her upon\nit; and the priest stood ready to slay her with a knife of stone in his\nhand, when their evil purpose was baulked.\n\nSir Calepine, by some happy chance, had come to this same grove, which\nthey had fixed for the place of the sacrifice, and for the feast which\nwas to come after. He was still searching for Serena, and having\ntravelled far that day, had laid himself down to sleep. And now, there\nbeing a great noise of bagpipes and horns, for with these they\ncelebrated the solemnity, he started up; and, looking through the\nbranches that were about him, saw the altar set, and the woman lying on\nit, and the priest, stretching out his hand to slay her. Who she was he\nknew not, but ran to her help, as was a knight\u2019s duty, and the priest he\nslew, and not a few of the savages that were gathered round, and the\nrest fled like to doves that fly before a hawk. So did Sir Calepine\nrecover the lady of his love.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXVIII\n OF SIR CALIDORE AND PASTORELLA\n\n\nNow must be told what befell Sir Calidore in his quest. For many days he\npursued unceasingly the Blatant Beast. Over hills and through valleys,\nthrough forests and across plains, he made his way, and wearied not. The\nmonster he suffered not to rest, nor did he rest himself, save only when\nNature commanded; for he feared disgrace, if haply should he, for reason\nof sloth, forego his task, and the monster should escape. Therefore he\nwent from Court to city, and from city to country, and in the country\nnothing would content him but he must search in every farm. On a day\nwhile he thus urged the pursuit, he came on a company of shepherds who\nwere playing on pipes and singing country ballads, the while their\nflocks fed near them among the broom bushes with their flowers of gold.\nWhen he came near to them he inquired of them whether they had chanced\nto see such a beast as he sought.\n\nThey answered him: \u201cWe have seen none such in this country, nor have we\nanything that threatens harm to us or to our flocks. And we pray to the\ngood God that He will keep such creatures far from us.\u201d And one of them,\nperceiving that the knight was hot and weary, offered him drink, and if\nhe chanced to be hungry, something that he might eat. This courteous\noffer he gladly accepted, and sat him down, well content with such\nsimple fare as suits the dweller in the country. When he had ended his\nmeal he saw a fair damsel who wore a crown of flowers tied with ribbons\nof silk, being clad in a gown of home-made green which she had worked\nwith her own hands. She sat on a little hillock in the middle of the\ncompany, with company of lovely maids about her, and round these again\nwas a ring of shepherds, piping and singing the praises of their queen,\nfor indeed she did shine as a queen in the midst of her subjects. Fair\nof face she was and of just proportions, and commended her beauty to all\nbeholders by the modesty of her carriage. There was not one in the place\nbut honoured, and not a few sighed for her in love: but she had no\nliking for anyone.\n\nGreatly did Sir Calidore admire both her beauty and her carriage, for\nthey seemed to him to far excel the shepherd\u2019s estate. \u201cSurely,\u201d he said\nto himself, \u201cthis may be a princess who thus disguises her high\ncondition.\u201d And even while he thought the thought in his heart, Love\ntook him unawares. So he sat musing, and, for a while, so taken was his\nheart with this new thought, forgot the chase.\n\nAnd now the evening was come and it behoved the shepherds to fold their\nflocks. So there came an aged sire, Melib\u00e6us by name, who was commonly\nreputed to be the father of the fair maiden\u2014Pastorella was her name. So\nindeed it was believed, but, in very truth, he had found her as an\ninfant lying in an open field, and taking her home, had brought her up\nas his child, for child of his very own he had none. The old man said,\n\u201cNight falls, and we must fold the flocks.\u201d Nor was there any want of\nhelpers to the fair Pastorella. Many were eager to manage her sheep, and\nnone more eager than Corydon.\n\nThen Melib\u00e6us, seeing how Sir Calidore sat alone, seeming to have no\nplace of abode, and that night was now near at hand, said to him: \u201cFair\nsir, I have but a humble cottage; yet is this a better lodging than the\nbare field; I pray you to take up your abode with me this night.\u201d To\nwhich Sir Calidore gladly agreed, for indeed there was nothing that he\nmore desired.\n\nA hearty welcome did the old man and his wife accord to the knight.\nShortly after, the fair Pastorella came back from folding her flock, and\nthey all sat down to sup in high content, and had much pleasant talk\nconcerning the shepherd\u2019s life, the delights of which old Melib\u00e6us set\nforth. \u201cLet those who will seek after honour and wealth and the good\nthings of this world: I am content with what I have. My nights I spend\nin quiet sleep, my days in honest toil. I take good care that the fox\nshall not harm my lambs; I catch birds in snares, and fishes with hook\nand net. When I am weary, I rest my limbs under the green tree; when I\nam thirsty, I drink of the brook. Time was when I was not content with\nthese simple things, but must raise myself above my fellows, and seek\nfortune elsewhere. So I left my home and betook myself to the King\u2019s\nCourt, and worked for hire. But I perceived that in this life there was\nvanity and discontent; after ten years, therefore, had passed, I came\nback to my home and to peace, and I have learnt to love it daily more\nand more.\u201d While the good man talked, the knight was well content to\nlisten. Much he liked to hear such speech, but more to look at the fair\nPastorella.\n\nAfter a while he said to the old man, \u201cGood father, I would gladly rest\na while in this peaceful place. The ship of my life has of late been\ngreatly tossed by tempestuous winds and in stormy seas. Let it therefore\nfind haven here, and I meanwhile will meditate what course I shall\nfollow for the time to come. But I would not that my entertainment\nshould be a burden to you. Your simple fare and such lodging as you can\ngive content me well; but for these you should have fair guerdon.\u201d So\nsaying he drew from his pouch a great store of gold, and would have the\nold man take it. But Melib\u00e6us pushed it from him.\n\n\u201cI desire it not,\u201d he said; \u201cthis is the thing that breeds such mischief\nin the world. But if you are content to abide here and lead our\nshepherd\u2019s life, be it so; I am well content.\u201d\n\nSo Sir Calidore abode in the old man\u2019s house, delighting himself with\nthe daily sight of the fair Pastorella, and bearing her company whenever\nhe could find excuse. Very high courtesy did he show to the maid; but\nshe, having been used to more lowly things, held it in but light esteem.\nThis the knight did not fail to perceive. So he doffed his knightly\nattire, and clad himself in shepherd\u2019s dress, and laid aside his spear\nfor a shepherd\u2019s crook. One had thought him another Paris when for\n\u0152none\u2019s sake he fed her flocks on the Phrygian Ida. So did the shepherd\nCalidore go day by day to the fields with Pastorella\u2019s flock. He kept\nwatch against the wolf while the maid sported and played, and at\neven\u2014such is the might of love\u2014he would essay to help in the milking of\nthe ewes.\n\nThese things were little to the liking of Corydon, who had long courted\nthe maid. He wore a scowling face and would complain that old service\nwas forgotten, and bore himself in most injurious fashion. Calidore, on\nthe other hand, never abated one jot of his usual courtesy, showing no\nsign of rancour or offence, but rather seeking, as it seemed, to commend\nhis rival to the good opinion of the maid. So when they danced to the\npiping of Colin Clout, and the others would have Calidore lead the ring,\nthe knight took Corydon and set him in his place. And when Pastorella\ntook the garland of flowers from her head and set it on Calidore\u2019s, he\nagain put it on the head of Corydon, much to the youth\u2019s content.\nAnother time, when the shepherds had games and contests of skill and\nstrength, the prize being a garland which the fair Pastorella had twined\nwith her own hands, Corydon stepped into the ring and challenged the\nknight to a bout of wrestling. He was himself well skilled in the art,\nand being supple and strong sought to put his rival to open shame. But\nhe was much mistaken in his man, for the knight far excelled him both in\nstrength and in skill, and gave him such a fall as well-nigh broke his\nneck. Nevertheless, when Pastorella bestowed on him the crown, he passed\nit to Corydon, saying that he in truth deserved it more, and that he had\nprevailed by fortune rather than by skill. Thus did the knight, so\ncourteous was he and large of heart, win the fair maiden\u2019s favour. But\nthere was nothing which advanced him more than that which is now to be\ntold.\n\nOn a certain day when these three, to wit, Pastorella and Sir Calidore\nand the shepherd Corydon, went out into the wood to gather strawberries,\na tiger suddenly rushed out from a thicket, and with wide gaping mouth\nran at the maid. She, seeing herself alone, for her companions chanced\nto be divided from her, cried aloud for succour. And when Corydon, who\nwas the nearer of the two, heard the cry, he ran to help her. But when\nhe saw how fierce a beast it was that was attacking her, his courage\nfailed him, and he fled, putting his life before his love. But Calidore,\nwho also had heard the crying, coming not far behind, when he saw the\ntiger and the maiden held in his claws, ran at the beast with all his\nstrength, and first striking him to the ground with such a blow that the\ncreature could not stand under it, then cut off its head and laid it at\nthe maiden\u2019s feet. Small wonder is it that she gave her love to a knight\nso courteous and so bold. So for a while they abode in great content,\nsave that Sir Calidore had put out of his mind the quest on which he was\nbound, concerning which quest he had sworn to the great Queen Gloriana\nthat nothing should hinder him from it.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXIX\n THE END OF SIR CALIDORE\u2019S QUEST\n\n\nIt chanced one day that while Sir Calidore was hunting in the woods\u2014it\npleased him more to be hunter than to be shepherd\u2014a company of lawless\nmen who never used the spade or plough, but lived by the spoiling of\ntheir neighbours, fell upon the shepherds\u2019 village, and spoiled their\nhouses and drove away their flocks. Many of the men they slew, and many\nthey led away captives. Among these was old Melib\u00e6us and the fair\nPastorella and also Corydon. These the brigands carried away to an\nisland where they dwelt, a close place, hidden with great woods round\nabout, meaning, when occasion offered, to sell them to merchants who\ndealt in such wares.\n\nWhen they had remained in ward for a while the captain of the brigands,\nseeing Pastorella how fair she was, conceived a great love for her, and\nwhen she spake him fair, would have had her marry him. This she was\nill-content to do, but could not devise any other means to stay his\nimportunities than to feign a sudden sickness. While she was making this\npretence there came to the island a company of slave merchants, who,\ninquiring whether there were any of the wares in which they dealt, were\nbrought to the captain.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the brigands to the captain, \u201chere be the merchants; \u2019twould\nbe well that all the captives whom we have should be brought out and\nsold for such a price as may be agreed upon, and the money divided in\nequal shares.\u201d\n\nTo this the captain could not but consent. The captives, therefore, were\nbrought forward, Melib\u00e6us and Corydon and the others, and the merchants\nset a price upon them. This being finished, said one of the brigands,\n\u201cThere is yet another captive, a very fair maid, for whom, without\ndoubt, you would pay much money, so beautiful is she to look upon.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d cried the captain, \u201cthat maid is not for selling. She is my wife,\nnor has anyone any concern with her. She, too, is now so wasted and worn\nwith sickness that no one would be willing to pay for her a price,\nhowever small.\u201d\n\nSo he took them to the chamber where she abode. A poor place it was,\ngloomy and dark, and the maiden was wasted and wan. Nevertheless the\nmerchants were astonished at her beauty. \u201cThe others,\u201d said their\nspokesman, \u201care but common wares. We will buy them, if you will, but on\nthis condition only, that we may buy this maiden also.\u201d And he named for\nher a price of a thousand pieces of gold.\n\nThe captain\u2019s wrath was much moved at these words. \u201cMy love,\u201d he cried,\n\u201cshall not be sold. With the others you may do as you will, but to her I\nhold.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said the one who was chief among the brigands, \u201cyou do us great\nwrong. We have our equal share in her, and we demand that she be sold\nwith the rest.\u201d\n\nWhen he heard this, the captain drew his sword from its sheath, and\nshouted that anyone who should dare lay hands on her should straightway\ndie. On this there followed a great battle. But first they slew the\nprisoners, lest haply they should turn against the weaker side. Thus did\nold Melib\u00e6us die and with him many others, but Corydon escaped. This\nbeing done, the thieves fought among themselves; and soon the captain,\nwho was ever more careful of Pastorella than of his own life, was slain,\nand she, being wounded with the same stroke by which he was bereft of\nlife, fell upon the ground, being hidden under a pile of dead bodies.\nThe captain being dead, the strife of which he was the beginning and the\nchief cause soon came to an end. The brigands, searching among the dead,\nfound the maid still lived, though sorely wounded; they gave her,\ntherefore, such care as could be found in so rude a place.\n\nIn the meanwhile Corydon had made his way to the village where he dwelt,\nand there he encountered the knight, who, seeing the house in which he\ndwelt utterly spoiled and void of all inhabitants, was overwhelmed with\ntrouble and fear. To him he told the story of how he, with the rest, had\nbeen led into captivity, and how the brigands had fallen out among\nthemselves, and how the captain had fought with the others, and had been\nslain, and with him Pastorella, for so the shepherd believed.\n\nFor a while Sir Calidore was wholly mastered by his grief. Yet coming to\nhimself, he considered that Corydon had not seen with his own eyes all\nthat he had told, because he had fled away before the strife had so much\nas begun; and so hope, which is ever hard to kill in the hearts of men,\nsprang up within him, and he made a great resolve that he would find her\nif she yet lived, or avenge her if she had died. He therefore said to\nCorydon: \u201cCome now, and show me the place where these brigands dwell,\u201d\nwhich thing Corydon was at the first unwilling to do; for he was not\nminded to run again into the danger from which he had escaped.\nNevertheless Sir Calidore so wrought upon him that he consented to go.\n\nThe two therefore set out together clad in shepherd\u2019s clothing, and\ncarrying each a shepherd\u2019s crook; but Sir Calidore had donned his\narmour. After a while they saw on a hill which was not far away some\nflocks and shepherds tending them, and approached them, hoping to learn\nsomething about the matter with which they were concerned. Then they\nperceived that these flocks were indeed the same as the brigands had\ndriven away, for Corydon knew his own sheep when he saw them, and wept\nfor pity, being in grievous fear because he perceived that they who kept\nthem were none other than the brigands themselves. These, however, were\nbut ill shepherds, for they lay fast asleep. Corydon would have had Sir\nCalidore slay them as they slept. But the knight hoped that he might\ngain from them some tidings of her whom he was seeking. So, waking them\ngently, he gave them courteous greeting. And when the brigands would\nknow who he was, he answered that he and his companion were used to the\nkeeping of cattle and the like, and now, having run away from their\nmasters, sought to find service elsewhere.\n\n\u201cTake service then with us,\u201d said the brigands, \u201cfor this work is not to\nour liking.\u201d To this the two agreed, and took charge accordingly.\n\nWhen night fell the brigands took them to the cave where they dwelt.\nThere Sir Calidore learnt many things which he desired to know, and\nchief of all that Pastorella was yet alive. At midnight, when all were\nsleeping sound, Sir Calidore, fully armed, for he had found a sword,\nthough but of the meanest sort, went to the cave wherein dwelt the new\ncaptain of the band. It was indeed barred, but the knight soon broke\ndown the bars, and when the captain, roused by the noise, came running\nto the entrance, slew him. Pastorella, being within, was at the first\nnot a little alarmed at this new intruder, yet was greatly comforted to\nsee again her own lover, and he also was overcome with joy, and catching\nher in his arms, kissed her most tenderly. Meanwhile the thieves had\ngathered together, perceiving that some new danger threatened them. But\nSir Calidore, standing in the opening, slew them as they approached. In\nthe end he utterly vanquished the whole company, and spoiled their\ngoods. As for the sheep, he gave them as a gift to Corydon. The fair\nPastorella he bestowed in the house of a certain Sir Bellamour and the\nlady Claribell his wife.\n\nNow must be told the true name and lineage of this same maiden\nPastorella. Sir Bellamour in former time had served a very great lord of\nthose parts who had one daughter, Claribell by name. This same lord had\npromised her in marriage to the lord of Pictland, which was the\nneighbouring dominion, thinking that the two domains might thus be\nconveniently joined together. Claribell meanwhile loved Sir Bellamour,\nwho was a very gallant knight. So fondly did she love him that she\nconsented to a secret wedlock, having good hopes that her father might\nrelent. But when he continued to be hard of heart, she having borne a\nmaiden babe, was constrained to commit the child to a woman who waited\nupon her. This same woman, taking the babe into the field, laid it under\na bush, and having hidden herself hard by, waited to see what should\nhappen, for she trusted that someone, hearing its cry, would take it up.\nBut first she noted that it had on its breast a little spot of purple\ncolour, like to a rosebud. After a while the shepherd Melib\u00e6us passing\nby, heard the voice of the babe, and taking it from its place, carried\nit home to his wife, who, being herself childless, gladly took it in\ncharge, and reared it for her own. No long time after the Lady\nClaribell\u2019s father died and left to her all that he had, and she having\nnow no cause why she should conceal her marriage, took Sir Bellamour\nopenly for her husband, and had lived with him in great content until\nthe coming of Sir Calidore into those parts.\n\nAnd now Sir Calidore bethought him of his quest, that he must not delay\nits accomplishment any longer, and, indeed, he feared lest he should\nsuffer in fame because he had put it aside in thinking of other things.\nNow, therefore, he departed, leaving Pastorella in the charge of the\nLady Claribell, the same undertaking this care most willingly, for the\nmaid was fair and gracious, and was altogether one to be loved. Sir\nBellamour also, having a friendship for Sir Calidore, with whom he had\nserved the Queen Gloriana in time past, was glad to help him in this\nfashion.\n\nIt chanced on a day that the Lady Claribell\u2019s waiting woman, Melissa by\nname, being the same that in time past had served her in the matter of\nthe new-born babe, was doing service to the fair Pastorella in the\nmatter of her attire. Being so engaged, she spied the mark on her bosom\nand said to herself, \u201cSurely this is the very mark of a rosebud that I\nsaw on the Lady Claribell\u2019s maiden babe, and the years of her age, as\nfar as may be guessed, agree thereto.\u201d Having this in her mind, she ran\nstraightway to the lady, her mistress, and unfolded the whole matter,\nhow she had noted the mark, and how the old shepherd had taken the babe\nfrom the ground. That this shepherd and his wife had been as father and\nmother to the maiden was of common knowledge. Nor did the Lady Claribell\ndelay to search out the matter with her own eyes, and, being satisfied\nthat this was indeed her very child, took her to herself with great joy,\nas did also her husband, Sir Bellamour.\n\nMeanwhile Sir Calidore pursued the Blatant Beast, and at the last\novertook him. The monster, having spoiled all the other places in the\nrealm, was wasting the church, robbing the chancel and fouling the\naltar, and casting down all the goodly ornaments. When he saw the knight\nhe fled, knowing that he was in peril, yet could he not escape. In a\nnarrow place Sir Calidore overtook him and compelled him to turn. Sore\nwas the conflict between these two, for the beast ran at the knight with\nopen mouth, set with a double range of iron teeth, between which were a\nthousand tongues giving out dreadful cries as of all manner of beasts,\ntongues of serpents also spitting out poison, and of all other venomous\nthings that are upon the earth. Not one whit dismayed, the knight ran in\nupon him, and when the monster lifted himself up on his hind legs, and\nwould have rent him with his claws, he threw his shield between and held\nhim down. Vainly did the beast rage and strive to lift himself from the\nground; the more he strove, the more hardly and heavily did the knight\npress upon him. At the last, when the creature\u2019s strength now failed\nhim, the knight put a great muzzle of iron with many links in his mouth,\nso that he should no more send forth those evil voices. And to the\nmuzzle he fastened a long chain with which he led him, he following as a\ndog, so utterly was he subdued. Through all Fairyland he led him, the\npeople thronging out of their towns to see him, and much admiring the\nknight who, by his great strength and valour, had subdued so foul and\nfierce a creature.\n\n\u2019Tis true that in after days, whether by some evil chance or by the\nfolly of those who had charge of the monster, these bonds were broken;\nfor even now the creature wanders about the world doing great harm to\nall estates of men. For it must be known that his name is Slander.\n\nBut in the good times of old it was not so. So did Sir Calidore fulfil\nhis quest. And afterwards he lived in all happiness, as became so brave\nand loyal a knight, with his wedded wife, the fair Pastorella.\n\n\n\n\n FOOTNOTES\n\n\n[1]The story may be read at length in _Stories from the Greek\n Tragedians_. Briefly put, it is this: Hercules slew the Centaur who\n would have carried off his promised wife. The dying monster gave his\n mantle, dyed as it was with his blood, to the woman, saying: \u201cKeep\n this as my last gift: it will be a sure means of keeping your\n husband\u2019s love.\u201d In after years the woman, thinking that her husband\n had ceased to love her, sent him the robe as a gift, and he, putting\n it on, was so grievously burned by the poison that he died.\n\n[2]Adikia = Unrighteousness.\n\n\n\n\n BOOKS BY ALFRED J. CHURCH\n\n THE ODYSSEY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS\n THE ILIAD FOR BOYS AND GIRLS\n TOLD FROM HOMER\n _With colored illustrations. Each, 12mo, $1.50_\n THE STORY OF THE ILIAD\n THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY\n _Cloth, 12mo, with illustrations after Flaxman. Each, $1.00_\n _In the new Standard School Library, without illustrations, each, 50\n cents._\n\n\n THE BURNING OF ROME\n A Story of the days of Nero. 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Stone\n Alice\u2019s Adventures in Wonderland\n By Lewis Carroll With forty-two illustrations by John Tenniel\n Aunt Jimmy\u2019s Will\n By Mabel Osgood Wright Illustrated by Florence Scovel Shinn\n The Bears of Blue River\n By Charles Major With illustrations by A. B. Frost and others\n The Bennett Twins\n By Marguerite Hurd\n Bible Stories retold for Young People (In one volume)\n\n The New Testament Story\n By W. F. Adeney, M.A. With illustrations and maps\n\n The Old Testament Story\n By W. H. Bennett, M.A. With illustrations and maps\n Boy Life on the Prairie\n By Hamlin Garland Illustrated by E. W. Deming\n Children of the Tenements\n By Jacob A. Riis With illustrations by C. M. Relyea and others\n The Children who ran Away\n By Evelyn Sharp With illustrations by Paul Meylan\n Dogtown\n By Mabel Osgood Wright\n Profusely illustrated from photographs by the author\n Eight Secrets\n By Ernest Ingersoll Illustrated\n The General Manager\u2019s Story\n By Herbert Elliott Hamblen Illustrated\n A Little Captive Lad\n By Beulah Marie Dix With illustrations by Will Gref\u00e9\n The Merry Anne\n By Samuel Merwin\n With illustrations and decorations by Thomas Fogarthy\n Merrylips\n By Beulah Marie Dix With illustrations by Frank T. Merrill\n Pickett\u2019s Gap\n By Homer Greene With illustrations\n Tales of the Fish Patrol\n By Jack London With illustrations\n Through the Looking Glass\n By Lewis Carroll With fifty illustrations by John Tenniel\n Tom Benton\u2019s Luck\n By Herbert Elliott Hamblen With illustrations\n Tom Brown\u2019s School Days\n By An Old Boy\u2014Thomas Hughes\n With illustrations by Arthur Hughes and Sidney Hall\n Trapper \u201cJim\u201d\n By Edwyn Sandys With many illustrations by the author\n The Wonder Children\n By Charles J. Bellamy Illustrated\n The Youngest Girl in the School\n By Evelyn Sharp With illustrations by C. E. Brock\n The Railway Children\n By E. Nesbit With illustrations by Charles E. Brock\n The Ph\u0153nix and the Carpet\n By E. Nesbit Illustrated by H. R. Millar\n \u201cCarrots\u201d: Just a Little Boy\n By Mrs. Molesworth Illustrated by Walter Crane\n Us: An Old-Fashioned Story\n By Mrs. Molesworth Illustrated\n Cuckoo Clock\n By Mrs. Molesworth Illustrated\n The Dwarf\u2019s Spectacles and Other Fairy Tales\n By Max Nordau\n Illustrated by H. A. Hart, F. P. Safford, and R. McGowan\n The Story of a Red Deer\n By J. W. Fortescue\n The Little Lame Prince\n By Dinah Mulock Craik, author of \u201cJohn Halifax, Gentleman\u201d\n\n\n _Stories from some of Scott\u2019s Novels, told_\n By S. R. CROCKETT\n _Author of \u201cThe Raiders,\u201d etc._\n\n Red Cap Tales\n Stolen from the Treasure Chest of the Wizard of the North\n With sixteen illustrations in color by Simon Harmon Vedder\n _Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net; by mail, $1.67_\n\n\u201cIn this simple recounting of adventures there lurks a really high art,\nand not a little humor. Mr. Crockett is aiming to bring home to his\ncritical small audience the liveliness, the excitement, the breathless\nadventuresomeness, of these great novels. He is luring his hearers on to\nread for themselves. He tells them enough about the people and the\nevents to make them hurry to the books to fill out\ndetails.\u201d\u2014_Churchman_.\n\n\u201cNot the least attraction of the book is the clear print, on good paper,\nand the really superb colored pictures, delicately tinted and full of\nartistic beauty. So far this is the best book we have seen in\nanticipation of Christmas gifts, and it is not exorbitant in\nprice.\u201d\u2014_New York Christian Advocate_.\n\n\u201cMr. Crockett has adapted Scott for the benefit of his own and other\npeopled children, making a little story of each of the main incidents in\nsequence, so that the outline and a good deal more of each romance is\npresented. Characteristic interludes acquaint one with the\nstory-teller\u2019s first audience, among them the dear little maid of\n\u2018Sweetheart Travellers.\u2019 The naturalness of their comment and criticism\nwill delight the reader as surely as will Mr. Crockett\u2019s clever\nrehearsal accomplish its purpose \u2018to lure children to the printed book\u2019\nof his great original\u2014and along with the youngsters many \u2018oldsters\u2019 (Mr.\nCrockett\u2019s word) as well.\u201d\u2014_The Outlook_.\n\n\n THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\n * * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s note:\n\n--Silently corrected obvious typographical errors; left archaic\n spellings unchanged.","title":"The Faery Queen and Her Knights: Stories Retold from Edmund Spenser","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":79875}