ARCHIMAGE AND DUESSA
So the two, the Knight and the Lady, rode on, the Dwarf following as
before. After a while they chanced to meet an old man by the road. He
was clothed in black and barefooted, and he had a long white beard, and
a book was hanging from his belt. A very wise old man he seemed, sober
and even somewhat sad, and as he went along he seemed to be praying; and
now and again he would beat upon his breast, saying, “God be merciful to
me a sinner!” He made a humble reverence to the Knight, and the Knight
in his courtesy made his salute, and said: “Sir, do you know of any
adventure that a Christian man may undertake?”
“My son,” said the old man, “how should one who lives in his cell and
tells his beads and does penance for his sins know aught of wars and
enterprises by which glory may be won? Nevertheless, I can tell of a
very evil man who dwells in these forests and wastes all the
country-side.”
“Ah!” cried the Knight, “it is for such an adventure, the setting right
of wrong, that I seek. Bring me to this villain’s dwelling and I will
reward you well.”
“Willingly,” said the old man, “will I guide you thither, but the way is
long and painful.”
“And surely,” said the Lady Una, “you are wearied with your late
encounter. I take it that he who lacks rest lacks strength, however
stout of limb he be. Take your rest then with the sun, and begin your
new work with the new day.”
“This is wise counsel, Sir Knight,” said the old man, “and wise counsel
ever wins the day. The day is far spent; come, then, and take such poor
entertainment as my home can give.”
With this the Knight was well content. So they followed the old man to
his dwelling. It was a lowly hermitage, in a valley, close to the
forest, with a chapel hard by, and by this chapel a brook crystal clear.
Humble was their fare, but the rest after the day’s toil made it sweet
enough, as also did the old man’s talk, for he discoursed of many things
and many men, saints and popes, and the great deeds which they had done.
Then, as the night drew on and sleep began to fall upon their eyes, he
showed them the places where they should lodge for the night.
Now this old man, who seemed so pious and good, with his long white
beard, and his prayers, and his beating of his breast, was really a
wicked magician. So soon as he had taken his guests to their lodgings,
he went to his study, where he kept his books of charms with other
contrivances of his art, and taking one of these books from the shelf on
which it stood, opened it, and began to mutter some dreadful words which
it were a great sin for anyone to write or read. With these he brought
up from their dwelling-place in the lower parts of the earth a very
legion of evil spirits. To these he gave a part of his evil work to do,
and some of this work he kept to himself; and the work was this: To
cheat the hearts of those whom he wished to deceive with false dreams
and visions. What these were, it is best not to tell: let it be enough
to say that they wrought such doubts concerning the Lady Una in the
heart of the Red-Cross Knight that, as soon as the morning dawned, he
rose from his bed, and clothed himself with all haste, and crying for
the Dwarf that he should bring him his horse, rode away as fast as the
beast could carry him.
He had not ridden many miles before there met him a paynim knight. A
tall warrior and a strong he was, armed from top to toe, and carrying a
great shield on which were written in scarlet letters the words “_Sans
Foy_,” which, being interpreted, mean “Without Faith.” With him there
rode a fair lady, clad also in scarlet, with ornaments of gold and
necklaces of coral, and on her head a Persian cap set round with crowns
of gold. Her horse also had gay trappings, and her bridle was set with
bells of gold, which tinkled bravely as she rode. So soon as she saw the
Red-Cross Knight she said to her companion, “See now, here comes your
enemy; make ready.”
No sooner had she spoken, but he stuck spurs in his horse, and rode at
the Red-Cross Knight. Nor did the knight hold back from the fray, for he
also put his spear in rest and charged. So the two met fully and fairly,
with so fierce a shock that the two horses stood, as it were, struck to
stone, and the riders were borne backwards in their saddles, holding
each of them in his hand his broken spear. Then the Saracen drew his
sword from the scabbard, and addressed himself again to the fray. So did
the Christian also; blow for blow did they deal one to the other, till
the sparks flew from their shields, and when they chanced to strike
home, the blood flowed forth and dyed the earth under their feet. After
a while cried the Saracen: “Now curse upon that Cross which keeps your
body from harm! You had been dead long since but for that magic power.
For all that, I bid you now beware, and keep safe your head if it may
be.”
So saying, he dealt a blow so fierce that it shore away half the
Christian’s crest, yet glancing down upon the shield harmed him no more.
Yet was it not struck in vain, for it roused him of the Red Cross to
such rage that he made a more than like reply. Full on the Saracen’s
helmet he dealt his stroke. Right through the steel it passed, and cleft
the head, so that the Saracen fell a dead man from his horse.
When the lady saw her champion fall, not a moment did she stay to see
how it had fared with him, either to tend his wounds, or to weep for his
death, but fled away as fast as her horse could carry her. Then the
Red-Cross Knight, crying to the Dwarf that he should pick up the dead
man’s shield to be a memorial of the fight, rode after her, and
overtaking her, bade her halt: “You have no cause to fear, fair lady,”
he said.
[Illustration: The Red Cross Knight and Sansfoy.]
Then she, turning back, cried aloud: “Fair Sir, have mercy on an unhappy
woman!”
Much was he moved to see her humbleness, for she was beautiful to look
on, and richly clad, as one of noble birth might be. “Lady,” said he,
“be of good heart. It pitieth me to see you in such distress; tell me
now who you are, and whence you come, and who was this your champion?”
“Sir,” she answered, weeping the while, “I have suffered much from evil
fortune. I was the only daughter of an emperor, who had wide dominion
over the land of the West, setting his throne where flows the famous
stream of Tiber. Being such, I was betrothed in my early youth to the
only son and heir of a most wise and mighty king. Never surely was
prince so fair and faithful as he, never one so gentle and debonair. But
alas! ere the day appointed for our marriage came, my lord fell into the
hands of cruel enemies, and was most foully slain. When this ill news
came to me, I said to myself: ‘Now will I at least do due honour to the
dear body of him whom I loved.’ So I set forth from my father’s house
upon this quest. Long did I wander over the world, a virgin widow, nor
did I find that for which I sought. At last I chanced to meet this
Saracen, who now lies dead upon the plain. He constrained me to go with
him, and would fain have won me for his wife, but I ever said him nay.
And now he lies dead. An evil man he was, one of an evil brotherhood of
three—Sansloy, the eldest; Sansjoy, the youngest; and this Sansfoy, of
middle age between the two.”
“Be contented, fair lady,” answered the Knight; “you have done well. You
have found a new friend and lost an old foe. Friend, be he ever so new,
is better, I trow, than foe, new or old.”
So the two rode on, he making merry with gay talk, as became a courteous
knight, and she, with much modest show of bashfulness. After a while
they came in their journey to two fair trees, which spread their
branches across the road. Lovely trees they seemed, and fair was the
shade which they cast. Yet was the place held in ill-repute of all the
country-side; never did shepherd sit beneath them to rest or play upon
his oaten pipe, for all men held it to be unlucky ground. But of this
the good Knight knew nothing, so, the sun being now high in heaven, and
of so fierce a heat that a man might scarcely abide it, he dismounted
and bade the lady do likewise, so that they might rest awhile, and anon,
in the cool of the evening, might pursue their journey. So the two sat
them down and talked.
Now the Knight, being in a merry mood, said to himself: “Surely, this is
the fairest of women; it is meet that she should be crowned.” So saying,
he plucked a branch which he would have shaped into a garland for the
lady’s head. Then, lo! from the place where the branch had been plucked
came trickling drops of blood, and there issued forth a lamentable voice
which said: “Stranger! Tear not in this cruel fashion the tender human
limbs which are covered by the bark of this tree. Fly also from the
place, fly, lest haply the same fate should come upon you as came upon
me in this place, both on me and on the dear lady also who was my love.”
Much was the Knight astonished to hear such words, and for a while he
stood speechless. Then he said: “What ghost is this from the world
below, what wandering spirit that talks in this strange fashion?”
Then there came this answer: “No ghost am I from the nether world, nor
wandering spirit of the air. I was a man, Fradubio by name, as now I am
a tree, being charmed by the arts of a wicked witch. But I am yet a man,
for I feel the winter cold and the summer heat in these branches, even
as a man might feel.”
Then said the Knight: “Tell me now, Fradubio, be you tree or man, how
you came to suffer in this fashion. It is good for a man to tell his
trouble; he who hides it in his heart makes his griefs to be twice as
great.”
Then did Fradubio tell his tale, “Know, stranger, that I suffer this
trouble through the arts of a false sorceress, Duessa by name; nor I
only, for she has brought many knights into a like evil case. In my
youth, which indeed is not long passed, I loved a fair lady, whom you
may see, not indeed in the fashion of a lady, but as yonder tree which
joins its branches with these. Once upon a time, when I was riding
abroad with her, I chanced to meet a knight, who also had a fair lady
for a companion. A fair lady I called her, and so she seemed, but she
was in truth this same false witch Duessa. Said the strange Knight: ‘I
do declare that this lady is the fairest dame in all the world, and this
I will make good with my sword and spear against all the world.’ For the
witch had cast her spells over him and deceived him. And when I put
forth the same challenge for my own lady, we fell to fighting, and he
fared so ill, that he fell by my hand.
“So now there were two fair ladies, for so it seemed, Fraelissa, who was
fair in truth, and Duessa, who by her wicked arts had made herself so to
seem. And I knew not to which I should give the prize of beauty, for it
seemed the due of each. But while I doubted, this wicked witch raised by
evil arts such a mist as made Fraelissa’s face to lose all its fairness.
Which when she had accomplished, she cried: ‘See now how this false dame
has lost her beauty, for indeed it was but borrowed. Many has she
deceived in time past, even as now she has deceived you.’ When I heard
this, I would fain have killed the fair lady that had been my true love.
But this the false Duessa, feigning compassion, would not suffer. Only
with her magic arts she changed her into that tree which you see yonder.
“Now you must know that for every witch, be she as crafty as she may,
there is one day in every year when she is constrained to take her true
shape. And on this day I chanced to see Duessa as she was in truth, old
and foul of hue, fouler than one had thought woman could be. Nor did she
fail to perceive that I had discovered the truth, though indeed I sought
to bear myself as before, having it in my mind secretly to escape, and
fly from her company. So she practised upon me the same wicked arts that
she had used with my Fraelissa, changing me into the semblance of a
tree. And here we stand, banished from the company of men, and wasting
weary days and nights.”
“But,” said the Knight, “how long shall this endure? What is the
appointed end of your sufferings?”
“We must here abide till we shall be bathed in a living well,” Fradubio
made answer.
“Can I find this same well?” asked the Knight.
“That shall be as the Fates may decree,” said Fradubio.
All this Duessa—who called herself Fidessa—heard, and knew it for truth.
She well-nigh fainted for fear; but the time for the discovering of her
falseness was not yet.