She held out her hand, and Ogier placed his within it, and thus they

entered the castle. Then she went to her closet and drew a casket from

it, and from the casket she took a ring, which she slipped on Ogier's

finger. Afterwards she placed on his head a wreath of golden laurels

intertwined with bays, and his white hair became once more like

sunshine, and the wrinkles faded from his brow. And with the wrinkles

faded also the recollection of the battles he had fought, and of

Charlemagne himself, and even of Belissande, whom he had loved so well.

Soft sounds of singing floated through the palace, and fairies trailing

flowers glided in and out in the dance. While Ogier stood entranced and

dumb, there entered King Arthur, to whom spoke Morgane le Fay:

'Draw near, Arthur, my lord and brother, come and salute the flower of

chivalry, the boast of the court of France, he in whom courtesy,

loyalty, and all virtue are united.'

And Arthur drew near, and they embraced each other.

* * * * *

Two hundred years passed as a single day, till one morning when Ogier

was lying on a bank listening to the birds which sang like no birds

which mortal ears have ever heard, he took for an instant the crown from

off his head. In a moment the memories of his old life flashed across

him, and, starting up, he sought Morgane le Fay, and bade her give him

his sword, for he was going to fight for fair France again. In vain the

fairy besought him not to forsake her, but he would hear nothing, and

she was fain to do as he wished. So by her magic she conjured up a

little boat which bore Ogier to Marseilles, whence he hastened to the

war, which was being carried on in Normandy.

* * * * *

Great was the surprise of the warriors and ladies of the court at the

sight of the new-comer, whose face was as young and fresh as their own,

but whose arms and whose speech were of a time long gone by. At first

some were inclined to try him with jests, but they speedily found that,

strange though his manners might seem, it were wiser to accept them.

Indeed, it was not long before Ogier's presence had caused itself to be

so felt throughout the camp that he was given command of an army that

was about to march against the enemy who were invading France and

utterly routed them. In gratitude the king begged him to counsel him in

all things, and in a few months some of Ogier's strength and wisdom had

passed into the people.

Now night and day Ogier wore the ring which Morgane le Fay had placed on

his finger, and as long as it was there no youth about the court was

fairer and more splendid than he. The gift with which he had been

endowed in his cradle had lost none of its power, and as he passed

through the crowd, towering full a head over other men, the hearts of

the ladies went out towards him. _He_ could not help it, and _they_

could not help it. It had been so ordained by the fairy. Even age could

not preserve them; nay, it seemed to render them an easier prey.

Amongst the noble ladies whose pulses beat faster at the sight of

Ogier's golden hair was the Countess of Senlis. Old was she, and

withered of face, but she had never ceased to think that she was young,

and she mistook the kindliness and courtesy of Ogier's manner for the

love that man bears to woman.

One morning, in crossing the garden to attend upon her mistress the

queen, the countess came upon Ogier lying asleep under the trees. She

stopped and looked upon him tenderly; then her eyes fell upon the ring

on his finger, whose stone, of a strange green hue, was graven with

devices.

'If I could see them close, perchance I might guess who he is and whence

he came,' said she to herself, and, stooping, she drew lightly the ring

from his hand, not knowing that the queen had crept up and stood behind

her. But what an awful change came over him all at once! His limbs grew

shrivelled, his hair white, his eyes so shrunken that they seemed hardly

more than points; but when the queen turned with horror to ask her lady

what it meant, the change in her was hardly less wondrous, for, though

the old countess was ignorant of it, fifty years had been swept from

her, and she was straight and winsome as of yore.

They were still standing, dumb with surprise, when Ogier awoke and

glanced about him with feeble, uncertain gaze. Catching sight of the

ring, which the countess was still holding, he stretched his shaking

hand towards it. The action was more than the queen could bear.

'Give it back to him,' she said; and, unwilling though she was to part

with such a treasure, the countess was forced to obey.

Tremblingly Ogier restored the ring to its place, and in an instant his

youth and beauty returned to him.

Soon after this the king of France died, and when the time of mourning

was over the queen made known to Ogier that she wished to take him for

her second husband. Gentle was she and fair, and easy it was for Ogier

to love her, and his heart beat high at the thought of sitting on the

throne where Charlemagne had once sat. The people rejoiced greatly when

they heard of the marriage, for with Ogier for their king they were

safe, they thought, from invaders.

The wedding day had come, and scarce a man or woman in Paris had closed

their eyes the night before. Magnificent indeed would the procession be

that was to end in the new cathedral; gorgeous would be the trappings of

the horses, dazzling the dresses of the ladies that would ride, some in

litters and some on horses, through the streets that bordered the river.

Early was the queen astir, to be tired by her maidens, and if Ogier's

slumbers lasted longer--well, it was not the first time that he had been

crowned a king.

At length he was awakened by the sound of a voice calling his name:

'Ogier, Ogier!' and at the sound the present was forgotten, and the past

rushed back. 'Ogier, Ogier!' whispered the voice again, and, looking, he

saw standing by his bed not the queen, but Morgane le Fay.

'Rise quickly,' she said, 'and put on your wedding garments. Clothe

yourself in the mantle Charlemagne wore, and the crown that was placed

upon his brow. Set on your feet his shoes of gold, and let me see you

once as France would have seen you.'

He did her bidding, and she gazed at him awhile, then slowly drawing

nigh she lifted the crown from his hair, and in its stead she put on him

the wreath of laurel which brought peace and forgetfulness.

'Now come with me,' she said, holding out her hand, and together they

left the palace unseen, and entered a barge that was waiting in the

river, and in the sunrise they sailed away to the castle of Avallon.

[Adapted from Dunlop's _History of Prose Fiction_, and Morris's _Ogier

the Dane_.]

_HOW THE ASS BECAME A MAN AGAIN_

Once upon a time there lived a young man who would do nothing from

morning till night but amuse himself. His parents were dead and had left

him plenty of money, but this was fast vanishing, and his friends shook

their heads sadly, for when the money was gone they did not see where

more was to come from. It was not that Apuleius (for that was the name

of the youth) was stupid. He might have been a good soldier, or a

scholar, or a worker in gold, if so it had pleased him, but from a child

he had refused to do anything useful, and roamed about the city all day

long in search of adventures. The only kind of learning to which he paid

any heed was magic, and when he was in the house he would spend hours

poring over great books of spells.

Fond though he was of sorcery, he was too lazy to leave the town and its

pleasures--the chariot-racing, the theatre, and the wrestling, and to

travel in search of the wizards who were renowned for their skill in the

art. However, the time came when, very unwillingly, he was forced to

take a journey into Thessaly, to see to the proper working of some

silver mines in which he had a share, and Thessaly, as everybody knows,

is the home of all magic. So when Apuleius arrived at the town of

Hypata, where dwelt the man Milo, overseer of his mines, he was prepared

to believe that all he saw was enchanted.

Now, if Thessaly is the country of magic, it is also the country of

robbers, and Apuleius soon noticed that everybody he met was in fear of

them. Indeed, they made this fear the excuse for all sorts of mean and

foolish ways. For instance, Milo, who loved money and could not bear to

spend a farthing, refused to have any seats in his house that could be

removed, and in consequence there was nothing to sit upon except two

marble chairs fixed to the wall. As there was only room in these for one

person, the wife of Milo had to retire to her own chamber when the young

man entered.

'It was no use,' explained Milo, 'in laying out money on moveable seats,

with robbers about. They would be sure to hear of it and to break into

the house.'

Unlike his guest, Milo was always occupied in adding to his wealth in

one form or another. Sometimes he sent down a train of mules to the sea,

and bought merchandise which the ships had carried from Babylon or

Egypt, to sell it again at a high price. Then he dealt in sheep and

cattle, and when he thought he might do so with safety made false

returns of the silver that was dug up from the mines, and kept the

difference for himself. But most often he lent large sums at high

interest to the young men of the neighbourhood, and so cunning was he

that, whoever else might be ruined, Milo managed to make large profits.

Apuleius knew very well that his steward was in his way as great a

robber as any in Thessaly, but, as usual, he found it too much trouble

to look into the matter. So he laughed and jested with the miser, and

next morning went out to the public baths and then took a stroll through

the city. It was full of statues of the famous men to whom Hypata had

given birth; but as Apuleius had made up his mind that nothing in

Thessaly _could_ be what it seemed, he supposed that they were living

people who had fallen under enchantment, and that the oxen whom he met

driven through the streets had once been men and women.

One evening he was returning as usual from a walk when he saw from afar

three figures before Milo's house, who he at once guessed were trying to

force an entrance. 'Here is an adventure at last,' thought he, and,

keeping in the shadow, he stole softly up behind them, and drawing his

short sword he stabbed each one to the heart. Then, without waiting to

see what more would befall, he left them where they were and entered the

house by a door at the back.

He said nothing of what had happened to Milo his host, but the next day,

before he had left his bed, a summons was brought him by one of the

slaves to appear before the court at noon on a charge of murder. As has

been seen, Apuleius was a brave man and did not fear to face three times

his number, but his heart quailed at the thought of a public trial.

Still, he was wise enough to know that there was no help for it, and at

the hour appointed he was in his place.

The first witnesses against him were two women with black veils covering

them from head to foot. At the sound of the herald's trumpet, one of the

two stepped forward and accused him of compassing the death of her

husband. When she had ended her plaint the herald blew another blast,

and another veiled woman came forward and charged him with her son's

murder. Then the herald inquired if there was not yet a third victim,

but was answered that his wound was slight, and that he was able to roam

through the city.

After the witnesses had been called, the judge pronounced sentence.

Apuleius the murderer was condemned to death, but he must first of all

be tortured, so that he might reveal the names of the men who had

abetted him. By order of the court, horrible instruments were brought

forward which chilled the blood of Apuleius in his veins. But to his

surprise, when he looked round to see if none would be his friend, he

noticed that every one, from the judge to the herald, was shaking with

laughter. His amazement was increased when with a trembling voice one of

the women demanded that the bodies should be produced, so that the judge

might be induced to feel more pity and to order more tortures. The

judge assented to this, and two bodies were carried into court shrouded

in wrappings, and the order was given that Apuleius himself should

remove the wrappings.

The face of the young man grew white as he heard the words of the judge,

for even a hardened criminal cares but little to touch the corpse of a

man whom he has murdered. But he dared not disobey, and walked slowly to

the place where the dead bodies lay. He shrank for a moment as he took

the cloth in his hand, but his guards were behind him, and calling up

all his courage he withdrew it. A shout of laughter pealed out behind

him, and to his amazement he saw that his victims of the previous night

had been three huge leather bottles and not men at all!

As soon as Apuleius found out the trick that had been played on him he

was no less amused than the rest, but in the midst of his mirth a sudden

thought struck him.

'How was it you managed to make them alive?' asked he, 'for alive they

were, and battering themselves against the door of the house.'

'Oh, that is simple enough when one has a sorceress for a mistress,'

answered a damsel, who was standing by. 'She burned the hairs of some

goats and wove spells over them, so that the animals to whom the hairs

and skins had once belonged became endowed with life and tried to enter

their former dwelling.'

'They may well say that Thessaly is the home of wonders,' cried the

young man. 'But do you think that your mistress would let me see her at

work? I would pay her well--and you also,' he added.

'It might be managed perhaps, without her knowledge,' answered Fotis,

for such was the girl's name; 'but you must hold yourself in readiness

after nightfall, for I cannot tell what evening she may choose to cast

off her own shape.'

Apuleius promised readily that he would not stir out after sunset, and

the damsel went her way.

That very evening, Hesperus had scarcely risen from his bed when Fotis

knocked at the door of the house.

[Illustration: APULEIUS CHANGES INTO AN ASS]

'Come hither, and quickly,' she said; and without stopping to question

her Apuleius hastened by her side to the dwelling of the witch Pamphile.

Entering softly, they crept along a dark passage, where they could peep

through a crack in the wall and see Pamphile at work. She was in the act

of rubbing her body with essences from a long row of bottles which

stood in a cupboard in the wall, chanting to herself spells as she did

so. Slowly, feathers began to sprout from her head to her feet. Her arms

vanished, her nails became claws, her eyes grew round and her nose

hooked, and a little brown owl flew out of the window.

'Well, are you satisfied?' asked Fotis; but Apuleius shook his head.

'Not yet,' he answered. 'I want to know how she transforms herself into

a woman again.'

'That is quite easy, you may be sure,' replied Fotis. 'My mistress never

runs any risks. A cup of water from a spring, with some laurel leaves

and anise floating in it, is all that she needs. I have seen her do it a

thousand times.'

'Turn me into a nightingale, then, and I will give you five hundred

sesterces,' cried Apuleius eagerly; and Fotis, tempted by the thought of

so much money, agreed to do what he wished.

But either Fotis was not so skilful as she thought herself, or in her

hurry she neglected to observe that the bird bottles were all on one

shelf, and the beast bottles on another, for when she had rubbed the

ointment over the young man's chest something fearful happened. Instead

of his arms disappearing, they stretched downwards; his back became

bent, his face long and narrow, while a browny-grey fur covered his

body. Apuleius had been changed, not into a nightingale, but into an

ass!

* * * * *

A loud scream broke from Fotis when she saw what she had done, and

Apuleius, glancing at a polished mirror from Corinth which hung on the

walls, beheld with horror the fate that had overtaken him.

'Quick, quick! fetch the water, and I will seek for the laurels and

anise,' he cried. 'I do not want to be an ass at all; my arms and back

are aching already, and if I am not swiftly restored to my own shape I

shall not be able to overthrow the champion in the wrestling match

to-morrow.'

So Fotis ran out to draw the water from the spring, while Apuleius

opened some boxes with his teeth, and soon found the anise and laurels.

But alas! Fotis had deceived herself. The charm which was meant for a

bird would not work with a beast, and, what was worse, when Apuleius

tried to speak to her and beg her to try something else, he found he

could only bray!

In despair the girl took down the book of spells, and began to turn over

the pages; while the ass, who was still a man in all but his outward

form, glanced eagerly down them also. At length he gave a loud bray of

satisfaction, and rubbed his nose on a part of the long scroll.

'Of course, I remember now,' cried Fotis with delight. 'What a comfort

that nothing more is needed to restore you to your proper shape than a

handful of rose leaves!

The mind of Apuleius was now quite easy, but his spirits fell again when

Fotis reminded him that he could no longer expect to be received by his

friends, but must lie in the stable of Milo, with his own horse, and be

tended, if he was tended at all, by his own servant.

'However, it will not be for long,' she added consolingly. 'In the

corner of the stable is a little shrine to the goddess of horses, and

every day fresh roses are placed before it. Before the sun sets

to-morrow you will be yourself again.'

Slowly and shyly Apuleius slunk along lonely paths till he came to the

stable of Milo. The door was open, but, as he entered, his horse, who

was fastened with a sliding cord, kicked wildly at him, and caught him

right on the shoulder. But before the horse could deal another blow

Apuleius had sprung hastily on one side, and had hidden himself in a

dark corner, where he slept soundly.

The moon was shining brightly when he awoke, and looking round he saw,

as Fotis had told him, the shrine of Hippone, with a branch of

sweet-smelling pink roses lying before it. It was rather high up, he

thought, but, when he reared himself on his hind legs, he would surely

be tall enough to reach it. So up he got, and trod softly over the

straw, till he drew near the shrine, when with a violent effort he threw

up his forelegs into the air. Yes! it was all right, his nose was quite

near the roses; but just as he opened his mouth his balance gave way,

and his front feet came heavily on the floor.

The noise brought the man, who was sleeping in another part of the

stable.

'Oh, I see what you are at, you ugly beast,' cried he; 'would you eat

roses that I put there for the goddess? I don't know who may be your

master, or how you got here, but I will take care that you do no more

mischief.' So saying, he struck the ass several times with his fists,

and then, putting a rope round his neck, tied him up in another part of

the stable.

Now it happened that an hour or two later some of the most desperate

robbers in all Thessaly broke into the house of Milo, and, unheard by

anyone, took all the bags of money that the miser had concealed under

some loose stones in his cellar. It was clear that they could not carry

away such heavy plunder without risk of the crime being discovered, but

they managed to get it quietly as far as the stable, where they gave the

horse some apples to put it in a good temper, while they thrust a turnip

into the mouth of Apuleius, who did not like it at all. Then they led

out both the animals, and placed the sacks of money on their backs,

after which they all set out for the robbers' cave in the side of the

mountain. As this, however, was some distance off, it took them many

hours to reach it, and on the way they passed through a large deserted

garden, where rose bushes of all sorts grew like weeds. The pulse of

Apuleius bounded at the sight, and he had already stretched out his nose

towards them, when he suddenly remembered that if he should turn into a

man in his present company he would probably be murdered by the robbers.

With a great effort, he left the roses alone, and tramped steadily on

his way.

It were long indeed to tell the adventures of Apuleius and the number of

masters whom he served. After some time he was captured by a soldier,

and by him sold to two brothers, one a cook and the other a maker of

pastry, who were attached to the service of a rich man who lived in the

country. This man did not allow any of his slaves to dwell in his house,

except those who attended on him personally, and these two brothers

lived in a tent on the other side of the garden, and the ass was given

to them to send to and fro with savoury dishes in his panniers.

The cook and his brother were both careful men, and always had a great

store of pastry and sweet things on their shelves, so that none might be

lacking if their lord should command them. When they had done their work

they placed water and food for their donkey in a little shed which

opened on to the tent, then, fastening the door so that no one could

enter, they went out to enjoy the evening air.

On their return, it struck them that the tent looked unusually bare, and

at length they perceived that this was because every morsel of pastry

and sweets on the shelves had disappeared, and nothing was left of them,

not so much as a crumb. There was no room for a thief to hide, so the

two brothers supposed that, impossible though it seemed, he must not

only have got _in_ but _out_ by the door, and, as their master might

send for a tray of cakes at any moment, there was no help for it but to

make a fresh supply. And so they did, and it took them more than half

the night to do it.

The next evening the same thing happened again; and the next, and the

next, and the next.

Then, by accident, the cook went into the shed where the ass lay, and

discovered a heap of corn and hay that reached nearly to the roof.

'Ah, you rascal!' he exclaimed, bursting out laughing as he spoke. 'So

it is you who have cost us our sleep! Well, well, I dare say I should

have done the same myself, for cakes and sweets are certainly nicer than

corn and hay.' And the donkey brayed in answer, and winked an eye at

him, and, more amused than before, the man went away to tell his

brother.

Of course it was not long before the story reached the ears of their

master, who instantly sent to buy the donkey, and bade one of his

servants, who had a taste for such things, teach him fresh tricks. This

the man was ready enough to do, for the fame of this wonderful creature

soon spread far and wide, and the citizens of the town thronged the

doors of his stable. And while the servant reaped much gold by making

the ass display his accomplishments, the master gained many friends

among the people, and was soon made chief ruler.

For five years Apuleius stayed in the house of Thyasus, and ate as many

sweet cakes as he chose; and if he wanted more than were given him he

wandered down to the tent of his old masters, and swept the shelves bare

as of yore. At the end of the five years Thyasus proclaimed that a great

feast would be held in his garden, after which plays would be acted, and

in one of them his donkey should appear.

Now, though Apuleius loved eating and drinking, he was not at all fond

of doing tricks in public, and as the day drew near he grew more and

more resolved that he would take no part in the entertainment. So one

warm moonlight night he stole out of his stable, and galloped as fast as

he could for ten miles, when he reached the sea. He was hot and tired

with his long run, and the sea looked cool and pleasant.

'It is years since I have had a bath,' thought he, 'or wetted anything

but my feet. I will take one now; it will make me feel like a man

again'; and into the water he went, and splashed about with joy, which

would much have surprised anyone who had seen him, for asses do not in

general care about washing.

When he came back to dry land once more, he shook himself all over, and

held his head first on one side and then on the other, so that the water

might run out of his long ears. After that he felt quite comfortable,

and lay down to sleep under a tree.

He was awakened some hours later by the sound of voices singing a hymn,

and, raising his head, he saw a vast crowd of people trooping down to

the shore to hold the festival of their goddess, and in their midst

walked the high priest crowned with a wreath of roses.

At this sight hope was born afresh in the heart of Apuleius. It was long

indeed since he had beheld any roses, for Thyasus fancied they made him

ill, and would not suffer anyone to grow them in the city. So he drew

near to the priest as he passed by, and gazed at him so wistfully that,

moved by some sudden impulse, the pontiff lifted the wreath from his

head, and held it out to him, while the people drew on one side, feeling

that something was happening which they did not understand.

Scarcely had Apuleius swallowed one of the roses, when the ass's skin

fell from him, his back straightened itself, and his face once more

became fair and rosy. Then he turned and joined in the hymn, and there

was not a man among them all with a sweeter voice or more thankful

spirit than that of Apuleius.

[Apuleius, _The Golden Ass_.]

_GUY OF WARWICK_

Everyone knows about the famous knight Sir Guy, the slayer of the great

Dun Cow which had laid waste the whole county of Warwick. But besides

slaying the cow, he did many other noble deeds of which you may like to

hear, so we had better begin at the beginning and learn who Sir Guy

really was.

The father of Guy, Segard the Wise, was one of the most trusty

councillors of the powerful earl of Warwick and Oxford, who was feared

as well as loved by all, as a man who would suffer no wrong through the

lands which he governed.

Now the earl had long noted the beauty and strength of Segard's young

son, and had enrolled him amongst his pages and taught him all manner of

knightly exercises. He even was versed in the art of chess-playing, and

thus whiled away many a wet and gloomy day for his master, and for his

daughter the fair Felice, learned in astronomy, geometry, and music, and

in all else that professors from the schools of Toulouse and Spain could

teach a maiden.

It happened one Pentecost that the earl of Warwick ordered a great

feast, followed by a tourney, to be held in the open space near the

castle, and tents to be set up for dancing and players on the lute and

harp. At these tourneys it was the custom of every knight to choose out

his lady and to wear her token or colours on his helmet, as Sir Lancelot

did the red sleeve of Elaine, and oftentimes, when Pentecost and the

sports were over, marriages would be blessed by the priest.

At this feast of Pentecost in particular, Guy stood behind the chair of

his master the earl, as was his duty, when he was bidden by the

chamberlain of the castle to hasten to the chamber of the Lady Felice,

and to attend upon her and her maidens, as it was not thought seemly for

them to be present at the great feast.

Although, as we have said, the page had more than once been called upon

to amuse the young damsel with a bout of chess, she had ever been

strictly guarded by her nurse and never suffered to exchange a word with

the youth whose place was so much below hers. On this evening, however,

with none to hinder her, she chattered and laughed and teased her

ladies, till Guy's heart was stolen from him and he quite forgot the

duties he was sent to fulfil, and when he left her presence he sought

his room, staggering like one blind.

Young though he was, Guy knew--none better--how wide was the gulf that

lay between him and the daughter of his liege lord. If the earl, in

spite of all his favour, was but to know of the passion that had so

suddenly been born in him, instant death would be the portion of the

over-bold youth. But, well though he knew this, Guy cared little, and

vowed to himself that, come what might, as soon as the feast was over he

would open his heart to Felice, and abide by her answer.

It was not easy to get a chance of speaking to her, so surrounded was

she by all the princes and noble knights who had taken part in the

tourney; but, as everything comes to him who waits, he one day found her

sitting alone in the garden, and at once poured forth all his love and

hopes.

'Are you mad to think that _I_ should marry _you_?' was all she said,

and Guy turned away so full of unhappiness that he grew sick with

misery. The news of his illness much distressed his master, who bade all

his most learned leeches go and heal his best-beloved page, but, as he

answered nothing to all they asked him, they returned and told the earl

that the young man had not many days to live.

But, as some of our neighbours say, 'What shall be, shall be'; and that

very night Felice dreamed that an angel appeared to her and chided her

for her pride, and bade her return a soft answer if Guy again told her

of his love. She arose from her bed full of doubts and fears, and

hurried to a rose bower in her own garden, where, dismissing her ladies,

she tried to set her mind in order and find out what she really felt.

Felice was not very successful, because when she began to look into her

heart there was one little door which always kept bursting open, though

as often as it did so her pride shut it and bolted it again. She became

so tired of telling herself that it was impossible that the daughter of

a powerful noble could ever wed the simple son of a knight, that she was

about to call to her maidens to cheer her with their songs and stories,

when a hand pushed aside the roses and Guy himself stood before her.

'Will my love ever be in vain?' he asked, gasping painfully as he spoke

and steadying himself by the walls of the arbour. 'It is for the last

time that I ask it; but if you deny me, my life is done, and I die, I

die!' And indeed it seemed as if he were already dead, for he sank in a

swoon at Felice's feet.

Her screams brought one of her maidens running to her. 'Grammercy, my

lady, and is your heart of stone,' cried the damsel, 'that it can see

the fairest knight in the world lying here, and not break into pieces at

his misery? Would that it were _I_ whom he loved! I would never say him

nay.'

'Would it _were_ you, and then I should no more be plagued of him,'

answered Felice; but her voice was softer than her words, and she even

helped her maiden to bring the young man out of his swoon. 'He is

restored now,' she said to her damsel, who curtseyed and withdrew from

the bower; then, turning to Guy, she added, half smiling:

'It seems that in my father's court no man knows the proverb, "Faint

heart never won fair lady." Yet it is old, and a good one. _My_ hand

will only be the prize of a knight who has proved himself better than

other men. If _you_ can be that knight--well, you will have your chance

with the rest.'

The soul of the youth leaped into his eyes as he listened; for he knew

that this was much for the proud Felice to say. But he only bowed low,

and with new life in his blood he left the castle. In a few days he was

as strong as ever he had been, and straightway sought the earl, whom he

implored to bestow on him the honour of knighthood.

'Right gladly will I do so, my page,' answered Rohand, and gave orders

that he would hold a solemn ceremony, when Guy and twenty other youths

should be dubbed knights.

Like many young men, Sir Guy thought that his first step on the road was

also to be his last, and instantly sought the presence of Felice, whom

he expected to find in the same softened mood as he had left her. But

the lady only laughed his eagerness to scorn.

'Think you that the name of knight is so rare that its ownership places

you high above all men?' asked she. 'In what, I pray you tell me, does

it put you above the rest who were dubbed by my father with you to-day?

No troth of mine shall you have until your name is known from Warwick to

Cathay.'

And Sir Guy confessed his folly and presumption, and went heavily unto

the house of Segard.

'O my father,' he began before he had let the tapestry fall behind him,

'I would fain cross the seas and seek adventures.'

'Truly this is somewhat sudden, my fair young knight,' answered Sir

Segard, with a mocking gleam in his eyes, for Guy's father had not been

as blind as fathers are wont to be.

'Other knights do so,' replied Guy, drawing figures on the floor with

the point of his sword. 'And I would not that I were behind them.'

'You shall go, my son,' said Segard, 'and I will give you as companions

the well-tried knights Sir Thorold and Sir Leroy, and Héraud, whom I

have proved in many wars. Besides these, you shall have men-at-arms with

you, and such money as you may need.'

Before many days had passed, Sir Guy and his friends had sailed across

the high seas, and had made their way to the noble city of Rouen. Amidst

all that was strange and new to him, there was yet much that was

familiar to his eyes, for there were certain signs which betokened a

tournament, and on questioning the host of the inn he learned all that

he desired. Next morning a tourney was to be held by order of the

emperor and the prize should be a white horse, a milk-white falcon, and

two white greyhounds, and, if he wished it, the hand of the princess

Whiterose, the emperor's daughter.

Though he had not been made a knight a month ago, Sir Guy knew full well

the customs of chivalry, and presented a palfrey, scarcely less

beautiful than the one promised as a prize, to the teller of these happy

tidings. Then he put on his armour and rode forth to the place of the

tourney.

In the field over against Rouen was gathered the flower of Western

chivalry. The emperor had sent his son, and in his train came many

valiant knights, among them Otho duke of Pavia, hereafter to be Sir

Guy's most bitter enemy. The fights were long and sore, but one by one

the keenest swordsmen rolled in the dust, and the prize was at length

adjudged to the youngest knight there present.

Full courteously he told all who might wish to hear that he might not

wed Whiterose, the princess, for his faith was already plighted to

another across the sea. And to Felice and to her father he sent the

falcon and horse and greyhounds as tokens of his valour. After that he

and his friends journeyed to many lands, fighting tournaments when there

were any tournaments to fight, till the whole of Christendom rang with

the name of Sir Guy.

'Surely I have proved my worth,' he said, when a whole year had gone by.

'Let us go home'; and home they went.

Joyful was the welcome bestowed on him by every one he met--joyful, that

is, from all but Felice.

'Yes, you have done well,' she said, when he knelt before her, offering

some of the prizes he had won. 'It is truly spoken among men that there

are not twelve knights living as valorous as you. But that is not good

enough for me. It matters not that you are "one of the best"; my husband

must be "the best of all."'

In vain Sir Guy pleaded that with her for his wife his strength would be

doubled, and his renown also.

'If you cannot conquer all men for my sake _now_, you will never do it

after,' she answered; and Sir Guy, seeing his words were useless, went

out to do her bidding.

The wrath of his father and mother was great when their son came to tell

them he was going to seek a fresh quest, but, though his heart was sore

rent with their tears, he only embraced them tenderly, and departed

quickly, lest he should make some promise he might not keep.

For long he found no knight whose skill and strength were equal to his

own, and he was beginning to hope that the day was drawing nigh that

should see him stand without a peer, when, in a tourney near the city of

Benevento, his foe thrust his lance deep into his shoulder, and for many

days Sir Guy lay almost senseless on his bed.

Now Otho duke of Pavia had neither forgotten nor forgiven his overthrow

by the young knight at Rouen, more than a year agone, and he resolved to

have his revenge while his enemy was still weak from loss of blood. So

he hid some men behind some bushes, which Sir Guy would needs pass while

riding along the road to the north, 'and _then_,' thought he, 'I will

cast him into prison, there to await my pleasure.'

But though his plans were well laid, the fight went against him, and in

the end Sir Guy, nearly fainting with weariness and loss of blood, was

again the victor, and Otho's best knight, Sir Guichard of Lombardy, owed

his life to the swiftness of his horse. His victory, however, was to Sir

Guy as sad as many defeats, for his constant companions lay dead before

him.

'Ah, Felice, this is your doing,' said he.

* * * * *

Long were it to tell of the deeds done by the noble knight Sir Guy; of

the tourneys that he won, of the cities that he conquered--even at the

game of chess he managed to be victorious! Of course many men were

sorely jealous of him and his renown, and wove plots for his ruin, but

somehow or other he contrived to escape them all.

By this time Sir Guy had grown to love wandering and fighting so well

that he had well-nigh forgotten who had sent him from his native land,

and why he was not dwelling in his father's castle. Indeed, so wholly

had the image of Felice faded from his memory, that when Ernis emperor

of Constantinople, under whose banner he was serving, offered him the

hand of his only daughter and half of his dominions, Sir Guy at once

accepted his gifts.

The sight of the wedding-ring brought him back to his allegiance. He no

longer loved Felice it is true, and he _did_ love a younger and gentler

maiden. But he must abide by the oath he had sworn, though it were to

his own undoing.

His grief at the loss of the princess Lorette sent Sir Guy to his bed

for many days, but as soon as the fever left him he felt that he could

stay at court no longer, and began to make plans to seek other

adventures in company with his friend Héraud and a lion which he had

saved from the claws of a dragon.

Since that day this lion had never quitted his side, except at his

master's bidding, and he always slept on the floor by his master's bed.

The emperor and all his courtiers were fond of the great beast, who

moved among them as freely as a kitten, but Sir Morgadour, the chief

steward of the emperor of the West, who was visiting the court, had ever

been Sir Guy's mortal enemy, and one evening, thinking himself unseen,

gave the lion a mortal wound as he was sleeping quietly in the garden.

He had just strength enough to drag himself to Sir Guy's feet, where he

died, and a damsel who had marked the cruel deed proclaimed loudly that

it was done by Sir Morgadour. In an instant Sir Guy's dagger was buried

in his breast; but when he grew calmer he remembered that his presence

at court might bring injury upon Ernis, as the emperor of the West would

certainly seize the occasion to avenge the death of his steward. So the

next day he left the city, and slowly turned his face towards England.

It was some months before he arrived there, so many adventures did he

meet with on the way. But directly he landed he hastened to York to

throw himself at the feet of Athelstan the king.

'Ah, welcome indeed, fair son,' cried he; 'the fame of your prowess has

reached us these many years past, and we have just received the news

that a fearful and horrible dragon, with wings on his feet and claws on

his ears, is laying waste our county of Northumberland. He is as black

as any coal, and as rough as any foal, and every man who has gone out to

meet him has been done to death ere he has struck a blow. Go, therefore,

with all speed and deliver us from this monster, for of dragons you

have slain many, and perchance this one is no more evil than the rest.'

The adventure was one after Sir Guy's own heart, and that very day he

rode northwards; but even _his_ well-proved courage failed somewhat at

the sight of the dragon, ten times uglier and more loathsome than any he

had ever beheld. The creature roared hideously as he drew near, and

stood up at his full length, till he seemed almost to stretch as far as

Warwick. 'Verily,' thought Sir Guy to himself, 'the fight of old with

the great Dun Cow was as the slaying of a puppy in comparison with

this!'

The dragon was covered thickly with scales all over his body, his

stomach as well as his back. They were polished and shiny and hard as

iron, and so closely planted that no sword could get in between them.

'No use to strike there,' muttered Sir Guy, 'a thrust down his throat is

my only chance.'

But if Sir Guy knew this, the dragon knew it much better, and, though

the knight managed to jump aside and avoid the swoops of his long neck

and the sudden darting of his sharp claws, he had not even tried to

strike a blow himself for fear lest his sword should break in two

against that shining horny surface. This was not the kind of warfare to

which the dragon was accustomed, and he began to grow angry, as anyone

might have seen by the lashings of his tail and the jets of smoke and

flame that poured out of his nostrils. Sir Guy felt that his chance

would soon come, and waited patiently, keeping his eye for ever fixed on

the dragon's mouth.

At length the monster gave a sudden spring forward, and if Sir Guy had

not been watching he could scarcely have leaped out of the way. The

failure to reach his prey enraged the dragon more than ever, and,

opening his mouth, he gave a roar which the king heard on his throne at

York. He opened his mouth; but he never shut it again, for Guy's sword

was buried in it. The death struggles were short; and then Sir Guy cut

off the head and bore it to the king.

After this, his first thought was for his parents, who, he found, had

died many years agone, and having said a prayer over their graves, and

put his affairs in order, he hurried off to Warwick to see Felice, and

tell her that he had fulfilled the commands she had given him long years

ago, when he was but a boy. He also told her of the ladies of high

degree whose hands he had won in fair fight--won--and rejected. 'All of

them I forsook for thee, Felice,' he said.

He had kept his word; but he had left his heart in Constantinople.

Perhaps Felice did not know this, or perhaps she did not set much store

by hearts, and cared more for the renown that Sir Guy had won throughout

Christendom. Anyhow, she received him gladly and graciously, and so did

her father, and the marriage was celebrated with great pomp, and for a

space Sir Guy remained at home, and after a time a son was born to him.

But at the day of his son's birth Sir Guy was far away. In the quiet and

idleness of the castle he began to think, and his conscience pricked him

sore, that all the years of his life he had done ill to many a man

And slain many a man with his hand,

Burnt and destroyed many a land.

And all was for woman's love,

And not for God's sake above.

'The end should be different from the beginning,' he said, and forthwith

he put on the dress of a pilgrim, and took ship for the Holy Land,

carrying with him a gold ring, given him by Felice.

Once more he came back, an old man now, summoned by Athelstan, to

deliver the city of Winchester out of the hands of the Danes, who were

besieging it. Once more he returned to Warwick, and, unseen, watched

Felice training her son in all the duties of knighthood, and once more

he spoke with her, when, dying in his hermitage, he sent her the ring by

his page, and prayed her to come and give him burial.

[_Early English Metrical Romances._]

_HOW BRADAMANTE CONQUERED THE WIZARD_

Many of you will remember reading of the death of Roland, fighting

against the Infidels in the Pass of Roncesvalles. Well, there is another

book called 'Roland the Wrathful,' or in Italian (in which it was

written), 'Orlando Furioso,' telling of the adventures of the great

Paladin when he was a young man, and those of his friends. It is of one

of these stories about a lady named Bradamante that you are going to

hear now.

* * * * *

From childhood, Bradamante had loved all feats of arms, and her chiefest

joy was to mount the most fiery horses in her father's stable. She grew

up very tall and strong, as well as fair to see, and soon put on man's

armour, and began to take her part in tournaments, and it was rare

indeed that she failed to carry off the prize. In truth, it was not long

before her skill was said to be equal to that of Roland's cousin, the

renowned Rinaldo.

* * * * *

Of course so wise and beautiful a maiden had no lack of wooers, but

Bradamante listened to none, save only to the brave Roger, who had

quitted the Moorish court to seek adventures in the lands of Charlemagne

the emperor. But she kept silence as to her love, and was content to

wait till such time as Roger should think fit to claim her as his bride.

Suddenly the tidings came to her that Roger had vanished from among men,

no one knew whither. As was her wont, Bradamante heard, and said

nothing, but the next morning she sharpened her sword, and looked to

the fastenings of her helmet, and rode off to seek him if perchance some

ill had befallen him.

In this quest she met with some adventures of her own, but of these we

have no time to tell. Bradamante, we may be sure, did not linger over

them, but pushed on till she crossed a mountain, and reached a valley

watered by a stream and shaded by large trees.

On the bank lay a young man with his head buried in his hands and

seemingly in a state of deepest misery. He had flung his horse's bridle

over the branch of a beech, and on the same bough he had hung his shield

and sword. His looks and posture were so forlorn that Bradamante was

moved to pity, and he himself was nothing loth to confess his woes,

pretending the while to take her for a man, though he knew well she was

a maiden. He was journeying, such was his tale, to the court of

Charlemagne with a company of spearmen to aid the emperor in the war he

was waging with the Moorish king of Spain. In the company was riding a

damsel whom the knight had but lately freed from the power of a dragon.

The beauty of this damsel had fired his heart, and as soon as the

Infidel was crushed he hoped to wed her. But as they rode along by the

side of a rapid river a winged horse guided by a man in black was seen

hovering in the air above the troop. Swifter than lightning he swooped

down upon the maiden; the rider bent low and snatched her off her

palfrey, and was out of sight in the heavens almost before he knew that

she was gone.

'Since that day,' continued he, 'I have sought her through forests and

over mountains, wherever I heard that a wizard's den was to be found.

But each time it was a false hope that lured me on, and now my horse is

spent and not another step can he go, though at length I know that

hidden among yonder rocks is my captive maiden.'

'If it is there she lies, I will free her,' cried Bradamante; but the

knight shook his head more grievously than before.

'I have visited that dark and dreadful place,' he said, 'which indeed I

think seems more like the valley of death than aught on this fair and

lovely earth. Amidst black and pathless precipices stands a rock, and on

its top is a castle whose walls are of steel. It was built, so I have

since learned, by a magician, and none can capture it.'

'But did you see no man who would take pity on you, and tell you what to

do?' asked Bradamante.

'As I lingered, unable to tear myself away from that loathly prison,

there appeared a dwarf guiding two knights whose faces I had often seen

upon the battlefield and at court. One was Gradasso king of Sericane,

the other and more valiant was the young Roger.'

'And what did they there?' asked Bradamante, casting down her eyes.

'They had come to fight the wizard who dwells in the castle, so said the

dwarf,' replied the knight, 'and I told them my sad tale, and they

answered in knightly fashion, that as long as their lives should last

they would fight for the freedom of my lady. Little need have I to tell

how my bosom was rent as I stood aside waiting for the combat to begin.

'Each good knight was eager that the first blow might fall to him, but

it was Gradasso who seized the horn and blew a blast which rang through

the castle.

'In a moment there shot into the sky the winged horse bearing his

master, clad as before in black armour. He hovered for a little space so

high that even the eagle could scarcely have followed him, then darted

straight downwards, and Gradasso felt a spear-thrust in his side. The

knight struck sharply back, but his sword cleft the empty air, for the

horse was already far out of reach. Roger ran to staunch the blood and

bind up the wound, never thinking of what might befall himself. But, in

truth, how could mortal men fight with a wizard who had studied all the

magic of the East, and had a winged horse to help him? His movements

were so swift that they knew not where to smite, and both Gradasso and

Roger were covered with wounds and bruises, while their enemy had never

once been touched.

'Their strength as well as their courage began to fail in the stress of

this strange warfare. The blows they dealt grew ever wilder and more

feeble, when from off his shield which hung upon his arm the wizard drew

a silken covering, and held the shield towards them as a mirror. As I

looked and wondered, behold the knights fell upon their faces, and I

also, and when next I opened my eyes I was alone upon the mountain.'

'And Roger?' said Bradamante.

'Roger and Gradasso had doubtless been carried by the wizard to the dark

cells of the prison, where my fair lady lies,' answered the knight, and

he again dropped his head upon his hands.

Now the knight was count Pinabello, the false son of a false race, and

woe betide the man or maid who trusted him. But this Bradamante knew

not, and thinking that the end of her quest was come cried joyfully:

'Oh, take me to the castle, sir knight, with all the speed you may, and

I shall be beholden to you for ever!

'If you so desire it I will lead you there,' answered the knight; 'but

remember that I have warned you that the danger is great! When you have

climbed those walls of steel, you will find yourself a prisoner like the

rest.'

'I care nothing for that,' said Bradamante.

* * * * *

So they set forth, but it was not by the road to the castle that

Pinabello led the maiden. Wrapped in his gloom begotten of treachery and

hate, he wandered from the path into a wood, where the trees grew so

thickly that the sky was scarcely visible. Then a dark thought entered

his mind. 'She shall trouble me no more,' he murmured as he went; and

aloud, 'The night is at hand, and ere it comes it were well that we

found a shelter. Rest, I pray you, here a short while, and I will climb

that hill and see if, as I expect, there is a tower not far off where we

can lie. To-morrow we will proceed on our way.'

'Let me go with you,' answered Bradamante, 'lest you should never find

_me_ again, or _I_ the wizard's castle,' and, so saying, she guided her

horse after his.

Thus they rode for some way, when Pinabello, who was in front, espied

among the rocks a deep cavern with sides so steep and smooth that no

mortal could have climbed them. He jumped off his horse and peered to

the bottom, but no bottom could he see. Then his heart leaped at the

thought that now, once and for all, he would be rid of Bradamante.

'Ah, good knight, you did well to follow me,' turning to greet her, as

her horse came panting up the steep hill.

'A damsel lies imprisoned in that dark place, and it is foretold that

only a knight with a white mantle and a white plume in his helm can

deliver her. Now I think that you must be that knight, and if you have

the courage to go down into that cavern as I went, you will get speech

of her, as I did.'

'I will go right willingly,' answered Bradamante, and looked about her

for some means of descending into the cavern. Near the mouth was a stout

oak, and Bradamante cut off a branch with her sword and plunged it down

the mouth of the cave. She gave Pinabello one end to hold fast, and

lowered herself carefully into the darkness.

'Can you jump?' asked the count suddenly, with a laugh, and, giving the

bough a push, it fell with Bradamante into the pit.

But the traitor triumphed without a cause. In the swift passage down the

cave the branch struck the bottom first, and, though it broke in pieces,

Bradamante was saved from being dashed against the floor, where she lay

for a while bruised and shaken.

When she became used to the darkness, she stood up and looked around

her. 'There may be some way out, after all,' thought she, noting that

the cave was less gloomy than she had fancied, and felt round the walls

with her hands. On one side there seemed to be a passage, and going

cautiously down it she found that it ended in a sort of church, with a

lamp hanging over the altar.

At this moment there opened a little gate, and through it came a lady,

bare-footed, with streaming hair.

'O Bradamante,' she said, 'long have I awaited you, for Merlin, who lies

here, prophesied before he entered this living tomb that ages hence you

would find your way hither. He bade me come from a far-distant land, and

be with you at the hour when his spirit, though dead, should tell of the

glories of the race that will spring from you and Roger.'

'I am not worthy of such honour,' answered Bradamante, casting down her

eyes, though her heart beat with joy at the thought that though she and

Roger might be parted now, yet in the end they would be united. 'Let my

lord speak, and I will hearken to him.'

At that a voice rose from the sepulchre where Merlin had lain buried for

many hundreds of years.

'Since it is decreed that you shall be the wife of Roger, take courage,

and follow the path that leads you to him. Let nothing turn you aside,

and suffer no adventure to ensnare you till you have overthrown the

wizard who holds him captive.'

The voice ceased, and Melissa, the kind magician who went through the

world seeking to set wrongs right, showed from a book the glories that

would attend the children of Bradamante.

'To-morrow at dawn,' she said when she had finished and put away the

magic scroll--'to-morrow at dawn I myself will lead you to the wizard's

castle. Till then it would be well for you to seek of the wisdom of

Merlin guidance to overcome the dangers bestrewing your path.'

Next morning Melissa and Bradamante rode out from the cavern by a secret

way, and passed over rushing rivers, and climbed high precipices, and as

they went Melissa held discourse with Bradamante how best to set Roger

free.

'No man, however brave, could withstand the wizard, who has his magic

mirror as well as his flying horse to aid him. If you would reach Roger,

you must first get possession of the ring stolen from Angelica by

Agramante, the African king, and given by him to Brunello, who is riding

only a few miles in front of us. In the presence of this ring all charms

and sorceries lose their power; but, take heed, for to outwit Brunello

is no easy task.'

'It is good fortune indeed that Brunello should be so near us,' answered

Bradamante joyfully; 'but how shall I know him from other men?'

'He is of low stature, and covered with black hair,' replied Melissa;

'his nose lies flat upon his face, and his skin is yellow, as the skin

of those who come from the far lands beyond Scythia. You must fall to

talking with him upon magic and enchantments, but beware lest he guess

who you are or what your business, and lead him on till he offer himself

your guide to the wizard's castle. As you go, strike him dead, before he

has time to spy into your heart, and, above all, before he can slip the

ring into his mouth. Once he does that, you lose Roger for ever.'

[Illustration: BRADAMANTE DEFEATS THE WIZARD WITH THE RING]

Having thus said, Melissa bade Bradamante farewell, and they parted with

tears and promises of speedy meeting. Forthwith Bradamante entered an

inn hard by, where Brunello was already seated, and if she at once

marked him amongst other men he no less knew her, for many a time he had

seen her at jousts and tourneys.

Thus, both feigning, they fell into talk, and held discourse upon the

castle and the knights who lay imprisoned therein. 'Many an adventure as

perilous have I dared,' at length said Bradamante, 'and never have I

failed to trample under foot my foe. So, if our worthy host will but

give me a guide, I myself will challenge this wizard to deadly combat.'

But Brunello would suffer no man to be her guide save himself, and

together they climbed the mountain till they stood at the foot of the

castle. 'Look at those walls of steel that crown the precipice,' began

Brunello; but before he could say more a strong girdle was passed round

his arms, which were fastened tightly to his side; and in spite of his

cries and struggles Bradamante drew the ring off his finger and placed

it on her own, though kill him she would not.

Then she seized the horn which hung from a cord, and, blowing a loud

blast, waited calmly for the magician to answer.

Out he came on his flying steed, bearing on his left arm his

silken-covered shield, while he uttered spells that had laid low many a

knight and lady. Bradamante heard them all, and was no whit the worse

for the blackest of them.

* * * * *

Furious at his defeat, the wizard snatched the cover from the shield,

and Bradamante, knowing full well what was wont to follow, sank heavily

on the ground. At this the wizard covered his shield once more, and

guided his steed swiftly to where the maiden lay. After that, unclasping

a chain from his body, he bent down to find her. It was then that she

lifted her ringed hand, and there stood before her an old man with white

hair and a face scarred with sorrow.

'Kill me, I pray you, gentle lady,' cried he; 'yet know before I die

that my love to Roger has been the cause of these heavy woes to so many

gallant knights and fair damsels. I am that Atlantes who watched over

him in childhood, and as he grew to manhood he was ever the first in all

deeds of chivalry. So reckless was he, that many a time it needed all my

magic to bring him back to life when seemingly he lay dead. At length,

to keep him from harm, I built this castle, and filled it with all that

was beautiful, and, as you know, with knights and ladies to be his

companions. When everything was ready I captured Roger himself.

'Now, take my horse and shield, and throw open wide the castle doors--do

what you will, but leave me only Roger.'

The heart of Bradamante was not wont to be deaf to the sorrows of

others, but this time it seemed turned to stone.

'Your horse and shield I have won for myself,' she said; 'and have you

lived so long in the world without learning that it is idle to war

against fate? It is fate which has given you into my hands, and it is

useless to strive against it. Therefore, lead the way to the gate, and I

will follow.'

They climbed in silence the long flight of steps leading to the castle;

then Atlantes stooped and raised a stone on which was graven strange and

magic signs. Beneath the stone was a row of pots filled with undying

flames, and on these the wizard let the stone fall. In a moment there

was a sound as if all the rocks on the earth were rent, the castle

vanished into the air, and with it Atlantes.

Instead, a troop of knights and ladies stood before Bradamante, who saw

and heard none save only Roger.

[From _Orlando Furioso_.]

_THE RING OF BRADAMANTE_

When Bradamante had freed Roger and his companions from the enchanted

castle, she thought that henceforth they would never more be parted. But

she forgot that she had to deal with a wizard, and that wizards are not

easily outwitted.

On a little plain beneath the mountain the winged horse was grazing, and

when the knights and ladies came gaily down the path Bradamante left the

rest and went up to take it by the bridle. Atlantes, however, had laid

other plans, and had thrown a spell over the horse, so that directly

Bradamante was close to it the creature moved away to a little distance.

At this the knights, thinking to help her, gave chase, but the horse led

them up and down the mountain, over rocks and through streams, till one

by one they dropped behind, and in front there remained only Roger.

As it had been taught by Atlantes, the horse stood still, while Roger,

with a cry of delight, seized the bridle and jumped upon its back. With

a bound it sprang into the air, and, though Roger tried to guide it

downwards to the earth, it was all in vain, for so the enchanter had

willed it. Below stood Bradamante gazing up; her joy turned quickly to

despair, and when the traces of Roger had vanished she rode sadly away,

taking with her the horse Roger had left behind.

Meanwhile Roger was flying through the air swifter than an arrow or the

lightning. Since he could not make the horse swerve an hair's breadth to

the right or left, he ceased his useless efforts, and let himself be

carried this way or that. Suddenly he felt that, instead of going

forward they were gradually dropping down, down, down; and soon the

horse stopped on a lovely island.

Where the island might be Roger did not know, nor could he tell how long

he had been on his journey thither. In truth, he was content to feel

himself on solid ground once more, and to smell sweet flowers and eat

delicious fruits, for how could he guess that this also was devised by

Atlantes--that these sights and sounds might lull his senses, and keep

him safe from war? Atlantes was a great wizard and wise beyond most, but

he had never learned that it was a better thing to die in battle than to

live only for pleasure.

On reaching the ground Roger was careful to hold fast the bridle, having

no mind that the horse should fly up into the air and leave him helpless

on the island. Then, looking round, he saw a strong myrtle, and he tied

the reins tightly to it, so that he himself could roam about as he

would.

At length he grew tired of wandering and returned to the place where he

had left his horse, which he found champing and struggling to shake

itself free. As he drew near a voice cried in melancholy tones:

'If, as I think, you are a knight, and bound by the rules of chivalry,

release me, I pray you, from this monster, who only adds to the pains

which I myself endure.'

Startled at the sound, Roger looked around, but nought could he see save

the myrtle to which the horse was fastened.

'I crave your pardon,' answered he, 'for having unwittingly done you

wrong; but tell me who you are, and what has caused your present

plight?'

[Illustration: Roger borne away from Bradamante]

'I am Astolfo, peer of France,' replied the tree, 'and I was enchanted

by the fairy Alcina, who thus rids herself of her friends and her

servants when they have ceased to please her. Even this island is not

hers by right, but was stolen from her sister Logistilla, who is as wise

and kind as Alcina is wicked. But so beautiful is Alcina, that none can

withstand her if once she looks on them, therefore fly while you may and

ask counsel of Logistilla if there is aught that you would know.'

'Oh, tell me, good tree, how I can escape without crossing the path of

the cruel Alcina?' cried Roger.

'There _is_ a way,' answered the tree, 'but it is rough to the feet, and

beset by fierce and ill-tongued men, placed there by the fairy. He who

would quit Alcina's isle needs open eyes and deaf ears.'

'I will have both,' said Roger.

But, alas! he boasted overmuch, as young men are wont to do. He was

indeed in no wise affrighted at the strange shapes that met him and

sought to bar his progress. Some had heads of apes and feet of goats;

some rode eagles or bestrode cranes; while the captain of all was

mounted on a tortoise. They swarmed on him like a crowd of flies, and

Roger was so sore bested that he gave no thought to his magic shield,

which perchance might have saved him.

For into the _mêlée_ came two maidens of such wondrous beauty that Roger

dropped his lance and stood without defence to gaze his fill. Two

snow-white unicorns bore them from the city gates, and, at their coming,

the noisy rabble vanished as if they had never been. Then the ladies

stretched out their hands, and prayed the knight to follow them into the

city.

'We have need of your brave heart and mighty arm,' they said, 'to

vanquish a giantess who guards a bridge which none can pass'; and well

they knew that, if Roger was to be ensnared by them, it must be by slow

degrees, for not all at once would he drop into the idle life of the

dwellers on the island.

So, nothing loth, Roger gladly did their behest, and went forth to meet

the giantess.

The fight did not last long, and soon the monstrous creature lay

stretched on the ground at Roger's feet; but her life was spared at the

request of the damsels, and at their bidding he followed them over the

bridge and up a hill. On the top was a large meadow full of flowers, in

which maidens were playing at ball or singing sweet songs on the lute,

while others were dancing.

In their midst was a damsel so fair that the rest, even the guides of

Roger, looked swarthy beside her, and she came forth from among them,

and held out her hand for him to kiss.

Vain it were to seek to tell Alcina's charms, but even as his eyes fell

on her Roger felt that everything said by Astolfo in her despite was

false. Even Bradamante was forgotten, as if she had never lived at all;

yet for this Roger was hardly to blame, for how should he stand against

Alcina's magic!

* * * * *

It was here that Melissa, clad in the form of Atlantes, found him after

many months had gone by, during which Bradamante had sought him vainly.

At last fate brought Melissa again across her path, and from her the

forsaken damsel learnt who it was that kept him from her.

'Be comforted,' said Melissa, when she beheld Bradamante's tears. 'You

yourself have the ring which can free him from those evil spells, and

bring him back to your side. So lend it me, I pray, and by to-morrow's

dawn I will be with him.'

Roger was lying on a bed of soft moss, when Atlantes, for so he took her

to be, stood before him.

He lifted his head lazily, and smiled, but the face of his old master

was grave as he said sternly:

[Illustration: THE TWO DAMSELS RESCUE ROGER FROM THE RABBLE]

'And is it _you_, Roger, whom I find thus, your hair curled and scented,

your neck circled with jewelled chains? Was it for this you passed your

boyhood in waging war against fierce beasts, fearing neither hunger nor

thirst as you tracked them to their lair? But, as I loved you once, I

will give you a chance to shake off this shameful life, and to become

once more worthy of Bradamante. Take this ring, and when next Alcina

comes this way mark well the change that is wrought in the queen of this

fair land.'

With shame and repentance burning at his heart, Roger slowly drew the

ring upon his finger; and by its virtue he beheld not Atlantes but

Melissa.

'Yes, it is I,' she said, 'and it is Bradamante who sent me hither, to

save you by means of the ring which she took from the hand of Brunello.

It will break the strongest spells that wizard ever wove, and open wide

the eyes that have been longest blinded.'

With that she vanished, and Roger rose and followed the path which led

to the palace.

On the marble steps he saw, as he went, a troop of ladies standing.

Their clothes were rich and made of shining stuffs, and well became

their golden hair or curly raven locks; but who was she in their midst

whose form was unknown to him? Her back was bowed with age, and scarce a

hair remained upon her head, while all her skin was shrivelled and

yellow. Roger gazed in horror, expecting, as he looked, the lean body to

crumble into dust before him. Yet something, what he knew not, seemed

not wholly strange in that pale and shrunken figure--something that, in

spite of all, spoke to him of Alcina. A thrill of horror ran through

him, but he remembered in time the counsel of Melissa, and, trembling

though he was, he greeted her with fair words.

Dreading lest he should again fall under the fairy's enchantments, Roger

never parted from the ring, and kept guard over himself, lest perchance

Alcina should guess what was passing within him. To gain possession of

his armour, long laid aside, he feigned a wish to prove if his life of

idleness had unfitted him to bear the weight of it, or if his chest had

grown too broad for the clasps of his breast-plate to meet. Then,

laughing still, he strolled carelessly to the stables, calling back as

he went that perhaps his horse might have become as fat and lazy as

himself. But when he reached the stables he passed by the winged steed

which had borne him to the island, for he bethought himself once more of

Melissa's words: 'Beware of the hippogryph,' she had said, 'you will

never wed Bradamante if you mount that.' So he left the great creature

flapping its wings with longing to soar once more into the sky, and led

out a strong black horse. Vaulting on his back, he touched him with his

spurs, and dashed through the guards at the gate before Alcina knew that

her captive had won his freedom.

When the fairy found that the knight did not return, she sent a

messenger for tidings of him, and so great was her wrath when she

learned that he had passed the gate, and was far on the road to her

sister, the good Logistilla, that she ordered all the guards to be put

to death. Then she commanded her ships to be got ready, and put to sea

herself, thinking by that means she might bring him back. But all was

vain, and at last she was forced to believe that Roger had shaken off

her yoke for ever.

[From _Orlando Furioso_.]

_THE FULFILLING OF THE PROPHECY_

For a long while Bradamante waited quietly in Marseilles, thinking that

every day Roger would come to her, but as time passed and he gave no

sign she grew heart-sick and impatient. Some evil must surely have

befallen him, she whispered to herself, yet where to seek him she did

not know.

At length one morning, when hope had almost left her, the enchantress

Melissa stood by her side and smiled at her.

'Have no fear for Roger,' said Melissa; 'he is safe, and counts the

hours to your meeting. But once more he has been taken captive by

Atlantes, who ensnared him by putting on your form and face, and

entering his palace, whither Roger followed eagerly. Never look so cast

down, Bradamante, but listen to my counsel and abide by it, and all will

be well.'

Then Bradamante sprang up, grasping tightly her sword and shield.

'Whatever you tell me to do, I will do it,' cried she; and Melissa went

on:

'This time Atlantes will change his shape for that of Roger, that you

also may fall a victim to his wiles. Beware lest you be deceived, or

instead of saving Roger you will find yourself also a prisoner in the

castle. Harden your heart, and slay him as he stands before you, and

Roger shall be free for evermore.'

So spoke Melissa not once, but many times, before they drew near the

castle, where she bade farewell to Bradamante, dreading that the wizard

should see her and take fright. The maiden rode on till she reached an

open space, where two fierce giants were pressing Roger sore and

well-nigh overcoming him. In a moment all the words of Melissa were

forgotten, or rather she deemed that jealousy or revenge had prompted

her words. And, as these thoughts ran swiftly through her, a cry for

help sounded in her ears. Slay Roger? Melissa must have indeed been mad

when she gave her this counsel, and, spurring her horse, she galloped

after the wounded knight, who, pursued by his foes, was riding at full

speed to the castle.

When they were all four inside the courtyard, the gate swung to and

Bradamante was a prisoner.

Now it was written in the magic book carried by Astolfo, the knight who

had been changed by Alcina into a myrtle tree and restored by Melissa,

that if a stone on the threshold were raised, the whole palace would

vanish into smoke as the other castle had done before. Though he knew it

not, Melissa stood by his side as he rode through the wood, many weeks

after Bradamante had entered the castle, and whispered to him that the

time had come to prove the truth of the prophecy. First blowing a blast

with the horn which affrighted all that dwelt within the walls, with a

mighty heave he raised the magic stone. In an instant the earth rocked,

and he was thrown flat upon the ground, while with a roar the castle

crumbled into dust. The knights and ladies imprisoned therein ran forth

in fear, and it was not until the ill-fated place was left far behind

that they stopped to look about them.

It was then that Roger and Bradamante beheld each other once more, and

in the joy of meeting forgot the pains they had endured since they had

parted. But one promise Bradamante asked of Roger before she would be

his wife. 'I cannot wed an infidel,' said she. 'You must become a

Christian first.'

'Right willingly,' answered Roger, and it was agreed between them that

they should set out at once for a fair abbey, so that the rite might be

delayed no longer.

Thus they talked; but not yet were they to be united. On their way a

distressed damsel met them on the road imploring help, which both knight

and lady readily granted. But, alas! in seeking to give the aid prayed

of them they strayed unwittingly down various roads, and it was long

before fortune again brought them together. For hardly had Roger brought

to an end his adventure than he learned that his liege lord, Agramante

king of Africa, was hard pressed by Charlemagne the emperor, and needed

his vassal to fight by his side. So Roger turned his face to the west,

first bidding his squire ride back to Bradamante and tell her that, once

the war was finished, nothing further should delay his baptism.

The war went ill with Agramante, and many a time Roger was sore wounded

and like to die. Far away, in the house of her father among the

mountains, tales came now and then to Bradamante of Roger's doings in

the fight. Bitterly her soul chafed at not being by his side to help and

tend him; but, if she could not fight against him, far less could she

fight in the ranks of the infidels. Thus, weary at heart, she waited and

sat still, or wandered about the forests, hoping to meet someone who

could bring her tidings of Roger.

For long no one came through the thick dark woods, and Bradamante was

almost sick with despair, when a Gascon knight rode by.

'Are you from the war, brave sir?' asked she, springing up from the bank

where she had cast herself, and going eagerly to meet him. 'Are you from

the war, and have you news from one Roger?'

'Alas! madam,' he answered, 'but a month since he was sore wounded in

fight with one Mandricado, and has since lain in his bed, tended by the

lady Marfisa, who wears a breast-plate as easily as she does a woman's

gown. Had it not been for her skill, Roger would long have been buried,

and when he is able to bear arms again doubtless he will offer his hand

to the damsel in marriage. At least, so say all in camp. But the sun is

low and time presses. I must begone.'

He went on his way, and when he was out of sight Bradamante turned and

loosed her horse from the tree to which she had tied him and rode back

to the castle. Without a word she mounted the stairs to the tower where

she dwelt, and, throwing herself on her bed, gave vent to the torrents

of jealousy which possessed her soul. Then, rising up, she bade her

maidens weave her with all speed a sad-coloured mantle, and when it was

ready she took the lance of gold belonging to Astolfo, which had (though

she knew it not) the gift of unhorsing every warrior whom it touched,

and, going to the courtyard, led out and saddled her horse.

Alone, without even a squire to help her, Bradamante began her journey

to Arles, where the army of Agramante lay encamped. On the road thither

she met with many an adventure, but by the aid of the golden lance

always bore down her foe. After one of these fights she fell in with the

Lady Flordelice, who was herself riding to Arles in the hope of gaining

news of her husband, now a prisoner in the hands of the Moors. By her

Bradamante sent a message challenging Roger to come forth to meet her in

single combat.

'And if he asks my name say it is unknown to you,' she added, 'but that

the stranger knight had bidden you take this horse, and prayed that he

might bestride it in battle.'

Flordelice was careful to fulfil the trust laid upon her, and no sooner

was she within the gates of Arles than she sought out Roger and

delivered him the message and the horse. The young man, perplexed at the

defiance of the nameless knight, sought counsel of his father, who bade

him accept the challenge and prepare for battle without delay. While he

was making ready other knights were not slow to seize the chance of

giving the haughty Christian a lesson, and went out to fight in the

plain beyond the walls. But a single touch of the magic lance was enough

to unhorse them all, and one by one Bradamante sent them to their lord.

'Tell him I await a better man than you,' said she.

'And what is his name?' asked Ferrau of Spain when he rode before her,

having craved permission to try his strength against the stranger.

'Roger,' answered she, and, as her vizor was raised, Ferrau could not

but see the red that flushed her face, though he feigned to notice

nothing.

'He shall come to you,' replied Ferrau, 'but first you must cross swords

with me,' and, spurring his horse, he rode to share the fate of the

rest.

Right glad was Roger to hear that the peerless knight Ferrau had been

borne down like those who had gone before him, and that it was he and no

other whom the victor wished to fight. But the courtiers of King

Agramante now thronged around Ferrau, asking if perchance he had seen

the face of his foe, and knew it for having beheld it elsewhere.

'Yes, I saw it,' said Ferrau, 'and it bore something of the semblance of

Rinaldo. But since we know that it cannot be, and that the young Ricardo

has neither the strength nor the skill to unhorse so many well-proved

knights, it can be none other than their sister Bradamante. Truly she is

mightier even than Rinaldo or her cousin Roland the Wrathful.'

At that Roger started, and his cheeks reddened even as those of

Bradamante had done. He stood silent and awkward under the eyes of the

whole court, for he feared to meet Bradamante and to read in her face

that during the long months of his absence her love had given place to

anger.

While Roger waited, uncertain whether to accept or refuse the challenge

of Bradamante, Marfisa buckled on her coat of mail, and rode out in his

stead to meet the foe. Bradamante felt in her heart who the knight was

with the plume of blue and shining golden corselet, and hate burned in

her soul as fiercely as in the breast of the other.

Thrice the magic lance stretched Marfisa on the ground, and thrice she

rose and sought to avenge herself by a sword-thrust. At this point a

body of knights, with Roger in their midst, arrived upon the field,

while a band of pagan warriors approached from the opposite side. Blows

were soon struck, and Bradamante, caring nothing for her own life,

galloped wildly about seeking to catch sight of Roger.

The silver eagle on a blue shield was hard to find, but Bradamante found

it at last, and crying, 'Traitor, defend yourself!' dashed wildly at

him. Yet, in spite of herself, the arm which had been strong before was

strangely weak now, and Roger could, with one thrust, have borne her off

her horse, but instead his lance remained in air; she might slay him if

so she chose; she had the right, but every hair of her head was safe

from him.

So the day that began so badly ended happily for them all. Roger renewed

his vow and became a Christian, but once more declared that by all the

laws of honour and chivalry he could not desert Agramante in his dire

straits. Fate again divided him from Bradamante, and sent him to join

the army of Agramante, which had been worsted in many battles. The king

had broken a truce with Charlemagne, and was trying to collect men and

ships in Africa, and Roger felt that he was bound in honour to go to his

aid. He put off in a small barque, but a violent tempest drove them up

and down all night, and cast Roger at dawn upon a barren shore. But, so

exhausted was he by his fight with the waves, that even yet he must have

died from hunger and cold had not a hermit who dwelt in a cave close by

come to his help. Here Roger rested till his strength came back to him,

and before he bade farewell to the hermit he had been baptized a

Christian.

No sooner was Roger healed from the hurts given him by the winds and

waves, than he watched eagerly for a passing boat that might take him

back to France. He waited and watched for long, but at length a ship put

into the island, having on board both Rinaldo and Roland. Right welcome

did they make Roger, whom both knew to be the flower of infidel

chivalry, and when they heard that, Agramante being slain in battle,

Roger was free to swear fealty to the emperor, and had besides been

baptized a Christian, Rinaldo at once promised him the hand of his

sister Bradamante.

And now it may well be thought that the time had come for the prophecy

of Melissa to be fulfilled, and for Roger and Bradamante to receive the

marriage blessing. But their happiness was to be delayed still further,

for the old duke Aymon declared that he had chosen a husband for his

daughter in the son of Constantine, emperor of the East, and not all the

tears and prayers of Bradamante and Rinaldo would move him one whit. By

the help of her brother, Bradamante contrived once more to see Roger,

who bade her take heart, as he would himself go to Constantinople and

fight the upstart prince and dethrone his father, then he would seize

the crown for himself, and Bradamante should be empress after all. At

these words Bradamante plucked up her courage and they embraced and

parted.

After Roger had set forth the days hung heavily at duke Aymon's court,

till one night, as Bradamante was lying awake, wondering if the vision

of Melissa would ever come to pass, she saw suddenly a way out of her

distresses. So the next morning she rose early, and fastening on her

armour, left her father's castle for Charlemagne's camp. Craving speedy

audience of the emperor, she besought him as a boon that he would order

proclamation to be made that no man should be given her for husband till

he had first overcome her in battle. To this Charlemagne consented,

although duke Aymon, who had followed his daughter, prayed the emperor

to refuse her this grace, and the old man, waxing very wroth at his

defeat, shut up the damsel in a strong tower between Perpignan and

Carcassonne.

* * * * *

While these things were taking place at home, Roger had reached the

shores of Constantinople, and learned that the emperor of the East was

engaged in a fight with the Bulgars, and that his army was encamped in a

field near Belgrade. Thither Roger rode with all the speed he might, and

finding that the king of the Bulgars had just been slain by the hand of

Leo, son of Constantine, he offered to be the leader of the army, and

soon put the Greeks to flight. Indeed, such were his mighty deeds, that

Leo himself, rival (though he knew it not) of Roger, could not fail to

wonder at them. When the battle was over, the Bulgarian army begged him

to be their king, so sure were they that victory would follow his

banner; but he declined, for the secret reason that he purposed to

follow the prince, and slay him in single combat.

But instead of killing each other these two brave knights ended in

becoming friends and brothers, for Leo delivered Roger from prison,

where he had unjustly been thrown by the sister of Constantine, and they

both journeyed together to France, to enter the lists for the hand of

Bradamante.

Although they travelled with all the speed they might, they only arrived

at the appointed place outside Paris on the day of the combat, when

Bradamante was arming herself for the struggle. The prince knew well by

this time that it was hopeless for him to think of winning for himself

the love that had so long been given to another, and he prayed Roger to

do him the grace to wear his arms and to bear his name in the tourney.

It cost Roger somewhat to lay aside the arms and the name that had stood

him for many a year in such good stead, but he owed the prince too much

to say him nay, although to bid farewell to Bradamante when he had won

the prize in fair fight would be bitter indeed.

* * * * *

With a double-headed eagle on Leo's crimson shield, and Leo's velvet

surcoat over his coat of mail, Roger did obeisance to the emperor and

then walked into the lists. He had chosen to give battle on foot, since

Bradamante was riding his horse Frontino.

All day long the combat lasted, and, as Bradamante had been unable to

bear down her foe, she was proclaimed vanquished. But of what value was

the victory to him, seeing that he had gained the reward for another?

So, hastily stripping off the armour belonging to the Greek prince, he

left the tent unseen, and, catching sight of Frontino grazing quietly

among some trees, sprang quickly on his back and plunged into the

forest.

'Let death come soon,' he said to himself, 'since life is worthless.'

Meanwhile the court in Paris rang with the name of Leo the prince, and

duke Aymon informed his daughter that the marriage feast need no longer

be postponed. But to this Bradamante turned a deaf ear.

'I will wed none but Roger,' she cried, and though her parents taunted

her with her broken vow, and threatened her with the wrath of the

emperor, she would give no other answer.

'I can always die,' she thought to herself.

The court was all confusion and perplexity; the emperor loved

Bradamante, but he did not wish to offend either her powerful father or

the still more powerful Constantine. The test had been proposed by

Bradamante herself, and how could he give permission that she should

break her plighted word?

It was Melissa who once more set this tangle straight. She appeared to

Leo, who was standing idly at his tent door, and told him that Roger was

dying in the depths of the forest. The prince, who had grieved sorely

for the loss of his friend, heard eagerly her tale, and consented gladly

to go with her to seek him.

The Roger whom they found at last was very different from the Roger who

had entered the lists but three days agone. His face was pale, his hair

was damp, his clothes hung loosely on his body. Leo's heart smote him as

he gazed, and, sinking on his knees beside Roger, he pulled his hands

gently down from his face.

It was not long before he had drawn out from the young knight the secret

which Roger had hidden so carefully when he had thought that honour and

gratitude demanded it. Leo listened in amaze and took shame to himself

that he had never guessed it sooner.

'Oh, Roger,' he cried, when at length the tale was ended, 'sooner would

I give up a thousand Bradamantes and all I possess in the world than

lose a friend so noble and generous as you. So rise quickly and let us

hasten back to where Bradamante awaits us.'

And so the prophecy was fulfilled in the end, and everyone was made

happy. Yes, even duke Aymon and his wife Beatrice; for before the

wedding rejoicings were begun an embassy arrived from the Bulgarian

people, begging leave from the emperor Charlemagne to offer their crown

to his vassal Roger. And nobody grudged Roger and Bradamante their

happiness, for they had waited so long for it, and worked so hard for

it.

[From _Orlando Furioso_.]