foreign arms and strange accoutrements, whom on nearer approach, they
recognized as none other than this same Knight of the Heben Spear. Then
Scudamour prayed Sir Artegal to let him make the first attack. Artegal
granted the request, and Scudamour, preparing his spear for battle, ran
fiercely against his foe. Britomart, seeing his intention, prepared to
receive the onset, and so entertained Sir Scudamour, that presently both
horse and rider were on the ground.
And now Artegal, beholding Scudamour's mischance, advanced his lance,
and full of rage and vengeance, rode against the maiden; but lo! all
unawares, Artegal also left his saddle, and to his great amazement,
found himself on the ground. He leapt lightly up, and snatching his
deadly blade, sprang upon Britomart, assailing her with such vigour that
although she was mounted and he on foot, she was forced to give way
before him. Now, as they fought, it happened that Britomart wheeled
suddenly round, when Sir Artegal's sword struck a blow behind her crest,
which falling backward, wounded her steed, and forced her to dismount.
Not a whit dismayed, she cast from her the enchanted spear, and betook
herself to her shield and sword. So furiously did she fight that
Artegal, exhausted by his long combat, had to yield before her, and her
sword pierced through his armour and wounded him so that his blood
flowed freely on the green grass.
But now the tide of battle began to change, for Britomart grew weary,
while Artegal, through very fighting, seemed to gain rather than to lose
strength. He showered blow after blow on his opponent as if he would
tear her body from her soul, and then gathering together all his force,
the Savage Knight upraised his arm to deal a stroke from which it seemed
impossible that Britomart could escape with her life. Down came the
cruel blow, and falling on her helmet, struck off the face-piece, then
glancing aside, did no further hurt.
And now appeared the maiden's beauteous countenance, shining like the
ruddy morn; and all around, her fair hair--loosened from its band by the
stir of the fight--fell like a golden shower glistening as the shining
sand. And as Sir Artegal once more raised his sword, thinking to deal
the last deadly blow, his arm was suddenly arrested; and benumbed with
secret fear, shrank from its revengeful purpose, while the cruel sword
fell from his slackened fingers to the ground. Then Artegal, having
gazed long on the fair and unexpected vision, fell humbly on his knee,
thinking that she who stood before him was a heavenly goddess, and
horror-struck with what he had done, prayed for pardon.
But Britomart, full of wrath because of the stroke that had revealed her
face, still held her arm uplifted, and standing sternly over the knight,
threatened to strike unless he would return to the combat, bidding him
arise or he should surely die. But Artegal only prayed the more
earnestly for pardon, or if that were refused him, besought that she
would take her will and inflict on him what punishment she chose.
And when Scudamour, who now quaked with fear, watched her as she stood
resolute, and beheld how fair and heavenly her countenance appeared, he
crossed himself, and began to worship her as a celestial vision. And old
Glauce seeing this, and knowing that now all jealousy of Britomart would
be at rest, was joyful at the thought of a good ending to her sore
trouble, and greeting her lost nursling, prayed her as she loved her
faithful squire to grant these warriors a truce. The maiden yielded to
her request, and the knights raised their beavers to show who they were.
When Britomart beheld the face of Artegal in all its manly beauty, she
saw that it was the countenance she had beheld in the magic mirror in
her father's house; her angry courage gave way, her haughty spirit
became subdued, and her upraised arm fell quietly by her side.
But the maiden was very proud, and cared not to show that she was
conquered, so by-and-bye she tried to uplift her hand again, as if rage
and revenge still remained in her soul, but it fell harmless, for she
caught sight of Sir Artegal's fair countenance. Then she tried to force
bitter, angry words from her tongue, but it too refused to obey her
will, and instead of wrathful speeches, would utter only mild and gentle
words.
And Scudamour, relieved from all his jealous fears by the vision of her
loveliness, grew sportive in his speech, rallying Sir Artegal on his so
sudden humble behaviour towards his late opponent.
"Indeed, Sir Artegal," he exclaimed, "I delight to see you, who were
wont to despise all fair dames, become so suddenly a lady's thrall."
When Britomart heard the name of Artegal, she knew in very truth that
this was the knight whom Merlin had told her she should wed. Her heart
gave a great leap. She trembled for sudden joy and secret fear, while
the blood rushed through her veins and mounted to her fair face. Then,
fearful of betraying herself, she strove the harder to continue in her
former angry mood, trying thus to hide her newly-awakened feeling.
And now old Glauce began to speak wise words.
"Ye gentle knights," she said, "whom fortune hath brought to be
spectators of the emotion which secret fate hath wrought in this fair
lady, marvel not, and henceforth be not the prey of idle fears and
jealous thoughts. Nor may you, Sir Artegal, again disdain the might of
woman's arm, which hath twice conquered you, nor any longer be
rebellious unto love, which is the crown of knighthood and the bond of
noble minds. And you, fair lady knight," continued the old woman,
"relent, and grant him your grace."
Britomart blushed deeply at her nurse's words, but Artegal rejoiced in
his inmost heart, yet dared not make too sudden a change in his
demeanour, nor show openly the love which her beauty and quiet dignity
of manner, so grave and full of princeliness, inspired within him. But
his passion grew the stronger from the very restraint imposed upon him.
Here Scudamour, whose heart had all this time been racked with fear and
hope, interposed, with a request for tidings of Amoret. This Britomart
at once granted, and went on to relate a sad tale: how, after freeing
her from the enchanter, and guarding her with tender care and love for
many a day, she had lost her in a wild desert, where from sheer
weariness Britomart had fallen asleep.
Poor Scudamour was terribly cast down by these melancholy tidings, and
only plucked up a faint hope when Britomart pledged herself to remain
with him until together they found the missing dame.
Meantime the three combatants being thus reconciled one to another,
mounted their steeds, and rode towards a certain resting-place known to
Sir Artegal, where they were well received and cared for. Here they
remained until their wounds were healed, and their weary limbs
thoroughly rested.
And all the time they sojourned there, Sir Artegal served Britomart with
meek service, watching continually how he might best please her. Thus
day by day he made progress in his suit; and though Britomart in her
womanly pride tried hard to conceal the love she bore him she could not
quite succeed. So well did Artegal woo, so skilfully did he contrive,
that at length he brought the noble damsel to bay and forced her to lay
aside her seeming indifference and to hearken to his words. And as she
listened to the vows with which he swore to love and guard her,
Britomart's reserve gave way, and she yielded a glad consent to love and
own him for her lord until marriage should unite them for ever.
But their marriage might not be yet, for Sir Artegal had been sent out
from the court of Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland, on a hard adventure, and
until it was achieved he might not turn aside from following after it.
And now that his limbs were rested and his wounds were healed, the
knight knew the time was come when he must leave Britomart and continue
on his way, so he told her of the adventure on which he was bound. She,
poor maiden, having just begun to taste of the rest and comfort of his
presence, was sorely grieved and exceeding loth to be so soon parted
from her "dearest love." But he, strong in the sense of duty, persuaded
her to acquiesce, and with fresh vows of love and constancy, promised to
return to her so soon as ever his enterprise was ended, which would not,
he thought, be longer than three months.
Early next morning, Sir Artegal rose and pursued his way unattended,
save by Britomart, who insisted on accompanying him a certain distance.
As they rode, she found first one, and then another excuse for delay,
and talked of the perils he must encounter; perils of which the fearless
maiden would have thought little for herself. But it was of no avail;
all her stratagems but served to wear away the day; evening came, when
they must part. Full often Britomart took leave of her lord, each time
finding some last injunction to give, until at length she had spent all
her words and could find no further pretext for delay, and so with right
heavy heart she left him, and returned to fulfil her promise to
Scudamour.
How Sir Artegal did at last return from his enterprise and marry the
Princess Britomart, Spenser does not say, for he did not live to end all
the tales he had begun. But we know that they were married and lived
happily, for Merlin prophesied this when Britomart and Glauce went
together to his cave.
CAMBELLO AND TRIAMOND.
Faerie Queene. Book IV. Cantos II., III.
Once upon a time there lived a knight named Cambello, who had a sister
called Canacee. This sister was very beautiful, and was the most learned
lady of her day. She was skilled in the works of nature and in magic
arts; she understood the virtues of herbs and the sounds of beasts and
birds, and was as good as she was learned.
Now many lords and knights loved Canacee. She, however, showed favour to
none; but the more difficult she was to gain, the more was she sought
after. Then arose quarrels among her numerous wooers, who ofttimes
fought for her in bloody combat.
When Cambello saw this, he perceived it would cause much mischief, and
he set about to consider how to prevent these unseemly deeds.
So one day, when this bold and mighty company of knights were assembled
together, and were quarrelling as usual, Cambello proposed that if they
really loved his sister they should choose three from among their number
as champions. These three were to challenge and fight him for his
sister's hand, and the bravest was to become her acknowledged suitor.
This was a bold offer on Cambello's part, but Canacee employed her skill
on his behalf. She sent him a ring, which, amongst its many virtues had
the strange power of staunching the bleeding of a mortal wound. The
properties of the ring were well-known, and when her lovers saw Cambello
receive it, they began to falter and to wonder whether it were worth
while to risk life against such odds for a lady of whose favour they
were after all uncertain.
Amongst the knights were three brothers, Priamond, Diamond, and
Triamond. These three were born on the same day and loved one another
dearly. Each had his own way of fighting. Priamond fought on foot, and
for weapons used a spear and cutlass, Triamond on horseback with spear
and shield, while Diamond, who was equally at home on horse or foot,
used only a cutlass. Bolder men never lived.
Now their mother, Agape, was a fairy, and had the power of knowing
secret things, and as her sons grew up and showed a love of daring, she
feared lest they should thereby incur disaster. She therefore determined
to visit the three sister Fates and to inquire of them concerning her
sons. She had to leave the bright earth and go far underground to a deep
dark abyss where was their dwelling.
Agape found the sisters sitting round the fateful distaff, which Clotho
held while Lachesis span the threads that measured out men's lives, and
cruel Atropos cut them in twain. Saluting the Fates she sat by, and as
she watched them spin and cut the threads, her heart grew sad, and she
trembled as she told them the cause of her coming.
They at once consented to reveal to her the fate of her sons, and
proceeded to spin out their threads. Agape trembled still more to see
how short and thin these were. She besought that they might be drawn out
longer, but to this the sisters would not listen.
Then she craved another boon, and asked that when the eldest, whose
thread was shortest, died, his life might pass into the second son, and
that when the second died, both lives might pass into the third. This
boon they granted, and Agape went home to find her sons arrayed in
armour ready for fight. She did not tell them their destiny, but warned
them to beware of danger and exhorted them to love each other.
Now these three brothers were the champions chosen by Canacee's wooers
to challenge Cambello.
The day of combat was appointed, and as soon as it was dawn the knights
assembled in the field clad in shining armour. The lists were enclosed
with rails to keep off the press of people; at one side sat six judges,
while at the other, Canacee, beautifully dressed, was seated on a stage
where she could both see and be seen by those who fought for her.
The first to enter the lists was Cambello, who walked with stately step
and fearless countenance; soon after came the three brothers, bearing
gilt shields and broad banners. They marched three times round the
field, bowing low to Canacee each time they passed her stage, while
trumpets sounded and clarions played.
This ceremony over, Cambello and Sir Priamond advanced from the opposite
sides of the lists; a trumpet blew, and they met in fierce encounter.
They were a well-matched pair, and it was hard for the on-lookers to say
who was the better man.
At length Priamond struck so mighty a blow that it pierced Cambello's
shoulder, and forced him to lower his shield. Yet no blood fell from the
wound, and the pain of it only made Cambello fight the more fiercely.
Driving his spear at Priamond, he smote him in the thigh so that the
knight reeled in agony; then Cambello drove at him afresh, and this time
fixed his spear so firmly that in drawing it out the head broke.
Mad with pain and rage, Priamond now charged, thrusting his spear
through Cambello's beaver. The weapon broke in his hand, and Cambello,
dragging out the broken head, flung it back with fury. It struck
Priamond in the throat, and wounded him so that he died, whereupon his
life passed into Diamond, as the Fates had predicted.
At once Sir Diamond rushed forth into his brother's place, and,
accepting Cambello's challenge, the trumpets sounded, and the fight
began again. Fiercely they fought, while blood flowed freely, and their
weapons flashed fire as stroke fell on stroke; but for a long time the
issue was uncertain.
At length Diamond heaved his axe at Cambello with such force that it
must have killed him had he not seen it and swerved aside. Then Diamond,
who was bowed almost to the ground with the weight of his own blow,
slipped. Seizing his opportunity, Cambello with one dread stroke severed
his opponent's head from his shoulders. And behold! his body remained
upright for a time before it fell senseless to the earth. The spectators
were much astonished, for they did not know the Fates' decree, nor that
the lifeless trunk had been inhabited by a double soul, which lingered
awhile before it passed to Triamond.
Then Triamond, filled with the life and grief of two, leapt forth to
avenge his brothers' death. And, notwithstanding the hard fight and his
many wounds, Cambello met him as fresh as if he had not fought at all,
for the ring not only prevented his wounds from bleeding, but restored
his wearied spirits and revived his powers.
But Triamond was a fearless foe, and fought so desperately that Cambello
was forced to retreat, until from his very fury Triamond grew
breathless. Then Cambello attacked him in turn, compelling him to
retire. And so the fight went on until both were sorely wounded, and
Triamond's strength gave way from loss of blood. But Cambello, through
the virtue of the ring, grew ever stronger, and striking Triamond on the
hauberk, pierced it through, and so wounded him that he fell, to all
appearance, dead.
But only one of his three lives had gone from him, and, to the utter
surprise of all beholders, he suddenly arose and began again to assail
Cambello. Cambello was astounded at this strange sight, and in his
amazement stood still and off his guard, until Triamond's repeated
thrusts compelled him to defend himself. He now fought more cautiously
than he had done before, as if his adversary were some uncanny thing, so
that Triamond imagined the knight was getting faint-hearted, and that
victory was at hand. So thinking, he upheaved his mighty blade and aimed
a terrible blow at Cambello. He, seeing it come, leapt skilfully aside,
and pierced Triamond under the arm, wounding him right through to the
shoulder. But Cambello did not altogether escape the heavy blow, which,
falling on his head, hurt him wofully. Both combatants fell to the
ground, seemingly dead. Thereupon the on-lookers thought the tournament
ended, and the judges rose from their seats. The field-marshals broke up
the lists, and went to remove the armour from the slain warriors, and
poor Canacee wailed aloud for her brother. When, behold! both knights
started lightly from the ground, and once more began the combat.
For a long time they fought fiercely, recklessly, as if caring only to
end the contest. No one could say who would win, and all were watching
eagerly, yet sadly, for the death of one or both, when suddenly a great
noise was heard, so great that the champions themselves stood still. And
lo! driving at a furious speed, there appeared a chariot, drawn by lions
and decked with gold and precious ornaments, in which there sat a lady
of wondrous beauty. She was bounteous as well as beautiful, and learned
in all magic arts, for she was Cambina, the daughter of Agape, and
sister of Triamond, to whose aid she came.
There was terrible confusion as she drove through the thick crowds, for
the people pressed to see her, and her unruly steeds grew restive, and
overthrew many of the mob.
In one hand she held a rod of wondrous power, in the other a cup filled
with Nepenthe, a drink devised by the gods to take away anger from the
hearts of men, and give peace in its stead. As she came up to the lists
she touched the rail with her wand, and it at once flew open. Then she
descended from her chariot, and bid "All hail!" first to her brother and
then to Cambello. But they were eager to return to the combat, and paid
her scant attention. Seeing this, she flung herself on the bloody
ground, and with tears prayed them by all that was dear to them to
cease. Her entreaty availing not, she touched them lightly with her
wand, whereupon their swords fell from them, and as they stood doubtful
whether or not to resume them, she handed them the soothing draught, and
they being very thirsty, drank of it eagerly.
Then was a wonder wrought, for the two fierce combatants ceased
fighting, and kissed each other, and plighted hands as friends for
evermore. When the on-lookers beheld this fair sight they shouted aloud
for joy, and Canacee descended in haste from her exalted seat, and came
to see what the shout portended. When she found the fighting ended and
the foes at peace, she greeted Cambina, the strange lady, and offered
her love and friendship.
The trumpets sounded, and they all arose to depart. Cambina took Canacee
in her chariot, and Triamond and Cambello returned home together, and
the people rejoiced with great feasting in the land.
And after a time Triamond took Canacee, and Cambello took Cambina to be
their wives, and no such friends or lovers were anywhere to be found.
THE STORY OF TIMIAS.
Faerie Queene. Book III., Canto V.; Book IV., Cantos VII., VIII.; Book
VI., Canto V.
You may remember that the good Prince Arthur had a squire named Timias.
He it was who went in pursuit of the forester that so rudely followed
Florimell. He thus became separated from his lord and had many
adventures before he again saw Prince Arthur, who grieved sorely over
the loss of his beloved squire.
Timias' first adventure was an encounter with the forester. He chased
him through thick woods, a long and weary way, and more than once had
nearly avenged the rude fellow's discourtesy towards Florimell. But the
forester managed to escape, either because his horse was swifter or his
knowledge of the woods better than that of Timias. He made his way to
his two brethren, who dwelt with him in the wilds. To them he complained
of the ill done him by the squire, and so excited their wrath that they
determined to set out forthwith and aid him in making an end of Timias.
All three therefore repaired to a hidden glade, close by a narrow ford,
difficult at any time to cross, and now swollen by recent rains. They
knew that Timias must pass this ford, and here they lay in wait.
Things fell out just as the brothers expected. All unaware of danger the
squire rode up, and began to cross the ford. The moment he did so, the
forester stepped out upon the opposite bank, and daring Timias to move
another step, threw a dart at him, which struck his habergeon. The blow
did not harm him but it made him very angry, all the more so that the
bank on which the forester stood was so high that Timias could not reach
his antagonist.
At this moment one of the brothers shot a poisoned arrow out of the
thicket, which wounded the squire, and caused him exceeding pain. Still
he struggled on against all difficulties, and at length reached the
opposite bank, where the third brother now attacked him with a
bill-hook. Timias avoided the blow and killed the man with a thrust of
his spear.
This increased the rage of the surviving brothers, who made a fresh
attack with renewed energy. Timias, however, singled out one, and
directing his whole force against him, struck a blow which cleft his
head from skull to chin. Filled with rage and horror, the last brother
shot an arrow at the squire, and immediately attempted flight, but
Timias overtook him, and just as he entered the stream, struck off his
head.
Timias was now freed from the three brothers, but his troubles were not
over, for his poisoned wound bled so profusely that he soon fell from
his horse in a deadly faint. He was in a sad plight all alone in the
forest, but--
Providence heavenly passeth living thought,
And doth for wretched man's relief make way.
While he lay in the swoon, Belphoebe the huntress, she whom
Braggadochio had seen, came where the squire lay. She found him lying in
a pool of blood, his hair matted and tangled, his eyes fixed and his
lips pale. She recoiled with horror at the sight, but she was a good and
brave woman and looked again, and as she looked her heart grew pitiful,
and stooping down she felt his pulse. Finding that it still beat she
raised his head and rubbed his temples, and then unfastened his armour.
This done, she hastened to the woods, where she found herbs, which she
carefully prepared. The juice of the herbs she poured into the wound and
then bound it with her scarf. By-and-bye Timias opened his eyes and saw
the lady standing by him, her bow and golden quiver lying at her feet.
He thought her an angel or a goddess, and addressing her as such, asked
what service he could render in return for her care. To this Belphoebe
replied that she was only the daughter of a wood-nymph and that she
desired nothing but his recovery for reward.
By this time the damsels of the huntress arrived and were despatched to
recover Timias' strayed steed. Having brought it back, they set him upon
it and led him gently to their dwelling.
It lay in a pleasant glade, surrounded by mountains whose mighty woods
cast great shadows, and in the midst of which a little stream murmured
softly over a rocky bed. By the stream was a fair spot planted with
myrtles and laurels, and among these stood a rich pavilion. Here they
laid Timias on a soft couch, and here Belphoebe daily dressed his
wounds until he became quite well and strong. And then, from gratitude
for Belphoebe's care and admiration of her rare virtues, Timias gave
up all thought of returning to the Prince, and remained in the forest as
her faithful attendant.