OF SIR GUYON AND THE LADY MEDINA
Archimage did not suffer long from his overthrow by Sansloy, for he had
devices at his command by which he could recover himself from all
sicknesses, howsoever sore they might be. And, being recovered, he set
himself to do some hurt to the Red-Cross Knight, who, by this time, had
bidden farewell to the Lady Una, and was journeying to render service to
Queen Gloriana.
As he was travelling with this purpose in his heart, he came upon a very
noble knight, clad in armour from top to toe, who was riding slowly
along the road, reigning back his horse’s pace to suit the steps of a
venerable pilgrim, who journeyed by his side. Archimage laid his hand
upon the neck of the knight’s horse and said: “Sir Knight, I pray you to
help one who is sadly in need of succour for himself and for another, of
whom he is in charge.” And while he spoke he made great pretence of fear
and trouble, trembling and weeping.
“Speak on,” answered Sir Guyon, for this was the knight’s name. “Speak
on, and I will not fail to help you, and the other of whom you speak.”
“Oh, sir,” said Archimage, “I am a squire, and I have a lady in charge
to deliver her to her parents, but there is a certain evil-minded Knight
who hinders me. I know not what I shall do, and she goes in deadly fear
that some great harm will happen to her.”
“And where is the lady?” asked Sir Guyon.
“Come, sir,” the false squire made answer, “and I will bring you to
her.” So the two went together, and found a lady sitting under a tree,
weeping sore, with her garments all dishevelled and torn.
“Fair lady,” said Sir Guyon, “it troubles me much to see you in this
plight. But take heart; I will surely call him who has done you any
wrong to strict account. But let me hear your complaint.”
So she told him her tale. And when she had ended he said: “But who is
this man; by what name or by what signs shall I know him?”
“His name,” said she, “I know not; but this I know, that he rode upon a
steed of dappled grey, and that he carried a shield of silver with a red
cross upon it.”
“Now by my head,” cried Sir Guyon, “I know this same Knight, and I
wonder such that he should have behaved so ill. He is a good Knight and
a true, and, I hear, has won great renown in the cause of a fair lady. I
was myself present in the Queen’s court when he took this task upon
himself, which he has now performed with great honour. Nevertheless, I
will try him in this matter, and he must needs either show that he is
free from blame, or make due amends.”
Now she that made all this show of grief was the false Duessa, and
Archimage had found her wandering in miserable plight after Prince
Arthur had dealt with her as has been told above. And having found her,
he decked her out with robes and ornaments, and made her to appear
passing fair, such arts he had. This he did because she helped him much
when he would tempt a knight into evil ways.
“And now, squire,” said Sir Guyon, “can you lead me to the place where
the Knight of whom you make this complaint may be found?”
“That can I,” said Archimage; and he led him to a shady valley hard by,
in the midst of which was a stream both clear and cold, and on the bank
of the stream sat a knight with his helmet unlaced, who drank of the
water as one who was resting after a long journey. “Sir,” said
Archimage, “yonder is the evil Knight; he would fain hide himself from
the punishment of his deeds.”
Then Sir Guyon addressed himself to the fight, and the Red-Cross Knight
likewise. But ere they encountered each other they stayed their hands:
“Pardon me, fair sir, that I had well-nigh set my spear against the
sacred badge which you bear upon your shield.”
“And I, too,” answered the Red-Cross Knight, “would likewise crave
pardon for like violence to that fair image of a maiden which is your
device.”
Then they held converse together. Sir Guyon told his tale, but when he
had ended it he looked, and lo! the false squire, the deceiver
Archimage, had fled, knowing that his device had come to naught. And now
the pilgrim that bore Sir Guyon company came up, and when he saw the
Red-Cross Knight, he said: “Fair son, God give you praise and peace for
ever. You indeed have won your place; but ours is yet to win.”
“His be the praise,” answered the Red-Cross Knight, “by whose grace I am
what I am.” So they parted with much courtesy, going each his several
way.
After a while they came to a fair castle by the sea where the Lady
Medina had her dwelling, Sir Guyon toiling painfully on foot, because,
when he was helping an unhappy traveller, a knave had stolen away his
horse. This Lady Medina was one of three sisters, and of the three
Elissa was the eldest and Perissa the youngest. These two were always at
variance, not a little with Medina, but still more with each other, and
she being always of an equal mind, and wise conduct, had the chief
authority in the place, though, indeed, their father had left it to the
three in equal shares. Elissa had for lover a certain Sir Hudibras, a
famous knight, but in deeds scarce equal to his high repute. He had a
most mighty body and sturdy limbs, but his wit was small. Perissa’s
knight was Sansloy, of whom mention has already been made. Never was man
more reckless, indeed, more careless of right and wrong. So soon as
these two heard that a stranger knight was come to the castle, then they
issued forth to fight with him, their ladies following; yet such was
their folly that even on the way they fell out and joined in deadly
fray, to the great disturbance of the house. Much did Sir Guyon marvel
as, entering the hall, he saw the fray.
“This,” said he to himself, “must have an end,” and, carrying his shield
on his left arm and with his right hand unsheathing his sword, he ran in
between the two. They with one consent turned their arms against him,
just as a bear and tiger in the desert plains of Africa, when some
traveller comes in sight, leave their strife and fall upon him with one
mind. It was a strange fight indeed, and Sir Guyon had fared ill, but
for his surpassing strength and courage, and even these might have
failed him in a conflict so unequal, but that the Lady Medina, hearing
in her bower of what had befallen, ran forth, with bare bosom and
dishevelled hair, and fell on her knees and besought them to abate their
strife: “Now, my lords!” she cried, “by the mothers that bare you, and
by the love that you have for your fair ladies, and by the knighthood to
which you owe your homage, I beseech you to put away this fury and to be
at peace among yourselves.” So she besought them, and though the two
sisters stood by, not helping a whit, but rather stirring up each her
champion to fiercer wrath, she prevailed. The knights let fall their
swords, and bowed their heads before her, and vowed to do her bidding.
Then she, fearing that their resolve might be unstable, bound them by a
treaty, which they, on their part, swore, on their knightly honour, that
they would keep for all time to come.
This done she bade them all, both knights and ladies, to a fair banquet.
And when they had had enough of meat and drink, she said: “Tell us, Sir
Knight, on what errand you are come and what end you seek.”
Then said Sir Guyon: “What you ask brings to my mind that great Queen,
fairest and best of all that are in the wide world. She is wont to make
a great feast on the first day of the New Year, to which come all
knights that seek adventure and desire to gain honour for themselves. At
this feast, at the beginning of the self-same year, I was present; and
it came to pass that this pilgrim whom you have bidden with me to your
feast, stood forth before the Queen, and made his complaint of a certain
wicked fairy that wasted the land wherein he dwelt, and wrought great
damage to its inhabitants. And when he had ended the Queen set this task
to me, unworthy as I am. Nor did I refuse to take it in hand. Now the
name of this wicked fairy is Acrasia. Three times has the moon waxed and
waned since that day, and I have already seen full proofs of the
mischief which she works. To subdue her, therefore, and to bring her
captive into the presence of Queen Gloriana is the purpose which I set
before myself.”
Then, the night being now far spent, all the guests betook themselves to
sleep.