OF THE FORTUNES OF AMORET
It shall now be told how the fair Amoret was lost. She and Britomart,
riding away from the place where Sir Satyrane had held his tournament,
chanced in their journey upon a wood. There it seemed good to them to
rest awhile. Britomart, being not a little wearied with fighting in the
lists, fell fast asleep, but Amoret walked in the wood. As she walked a
giant rushed out of a thicket hard by and seized her; she cried aloud;
but Britomart heard her not, so deep was she in slumber. A horrible
monster to behold he was, feeding on the raw flesh of men and beasts,
with a face red as blood, and two great ears, like to the ears of an
elephant. He was covered with shaggy hair, and in his hand a young oak
with sharp snags that had been hardened in the fire, till they were as
steel. He carried her through the wood to his cave, and threw her in.
For a while she lay without sense; then, being somewhat recovered, she
heard someone sighing and sobbing, and inquired who it was that spoke.
Then that other said: “Listen, unhappy one, and I will tell you my
story, from which you may learn in what plight you yourself are. Twenty
days have I dwelt in this dreadful place; and in these twenty days have
I seen seven women slain and devoured. And now he has for store three
only, yourself and me and an old woman yonder; and of these three he
will surely devour one to-morrow. And if you ask my history it is this.
I am daughter to a lord of high degree, and it happened to me to love a
squire of low degree. Of low degree he was, but so comely as to be a fit
mate for the proudest lady in the land. Nevertheless, my father, loving
me well after his fashion, and seeking my advancement, would have none
of him. But I, being steadfast in my mind, made a resolve to flee far
from my home, and take with my lover such a lot as fortune might bring.
On a certain day, therefore, it was appointed that I should meet him at
a certain place. To which place I came, but he, alas! was not there.
Then this monster found me, and carried me away as an eagle carries off
a dove.”
After they had talked awhile, lo! the monster himself came back to his
cave. And Amoret, as soon as she saw him, leapt from her place, which
chanced to be near to the mouth of the cave, and fled away on her feet
as fast as she could; and the monster, perceiving her flight, pursued
her. Fleet of foot was she, but it had fared ill with her but for a
happy chance which brought her help beyond all hope, as shall now be
told.
There dwelt in those parts a famous huntress, Belphœbe by name; this
Belphœbe was own sister to Amoret. That day she was following the chase,
pursuing leopards and bears, of which beasts there was a great multitude
in those woods. With her were her companions, the forest nymphs, and
also a gentle squire, who was her lover. Now the squire chanced to be
separated from the rest of his company, and so came to the very place
where the monster was in chase of Amoret. By this time he had overtaken
her and caught her up in his arms. And when the squire perceived it, and
set upon him, seeking to deliver her out of his hands, the villain used
this crafty device. When the squire would have thrust at him with the
hunting-spear which he carried, then the monster would shield himself
with the body of Amoret. And when the squire held back his blow, or when
the blow chanced to fall ever so lightly on the dame, then the monster
laughed aloud. So they two contended awhile; but at the last the squire
dealt his adversary a shrewd blow and wounded him sorely. But this did
not abate his rage, for, throwing Amoret on the ground, he set upon the
squire so fiercely with his club, that the man had much ado to save
himself from being beaten down. Nor can it be known what had been the
issue, for now Belphœbe, hearing the sound of the strokes through the
wood, and guided by her ear, drew near, holding her bow in her hand,
with an arrow upon the string, ready to be despatched. When the monster
saw her, he, knowing how deadly was her aim, turned and fled. Nor did
she fail to pursue; swift of foot was she, and ere he could reach his
cave, she smote him on the back of the neck with an arrow. He fell to
the ground with a great crash, and when she came up, thinking to put an
end to him, lo! he was already dead. Thereupon she went into the cave,
and while she wondered that a place could be so foul, she heard a
whispering and a low sort of groaning. Then she said to herself: “Are
these spirits that suffer in this place of dread and darkness?” and
afterwards aloud, “If there be any here, let them come forth, if only
they be free to move.” Thereupon Æmilia stood up from the place where
she had been lying, and told her story. “Come forth,” said Belphœbe,
when she heard the tale; “haply, I may give you help.” So she led her to
the place where she had left the squire and the fair Amoret. And now
there befell an evil chance which brought about no small trouble.
Amoret was in a piteous plight, as may easily be believed. For first she
had been affrighted almost to death by the monster, and then she had
been sorely bruised when he cast her so roughly to the ground. So she
lay as one without life, and the gentle squire was full of compassion
when he saw her hurts, especially the wound which he himself had made
with his hunting-spear, when the monster held her before him as a
shield. And now Belphœbe, coming back from the cave, saw him looking at
her, as it might be, in lover’s fashion, and a great pang of jealousy
and anger moved in her heart. At first she thought to slay them both
with the arrow which she held in her hand. But keeping herself back from
this, she cried: “Is this, then, the faith you keep?” And, with the
word, she turned her face and fled into the wood. The squire, knowing
that he was wrongly blamed, made haste to follow her, yet, overtaking
her, he did not dare to come near; and when he would have told her the
truth, she would not listen, but made as if she would slay him with an
arrow. So, after having long followed her in vain, he turned back, and
finding a solitary place in the depth of a forest, made there a cabin
for himself, where he dwelt in most unhappy sort. His weapons of war he
broke, and vowed never to use them again. Also he swore a great oath
that he would never more speak to woman; his garments, which were of the
seemliest fashion, he cut into the strangest shape, and his hair he
suffered to grow as it would and fall untrimmed about his shoulders. So
he lived for many days.
It chanced one day that a turtle dove which also had lost its mate came
near, and, as if it could understand what was in his heart, behaved in a
most friendly and familiar fashion. And this it did again and again. The
bird would sit upon the branch of a tree hard by, and sing to him; and
he, by way of guerdon for its song, would share with him such slender
meals as he had. On a certain day he brought out from a certain place
certain gifts which Belphœbe had bestowed upon him in the days when the
affection between them was yet unbroken. Among these was a ruby of the
finest water, with a gold setting in the shape of a heart and a chain of
gold fastened to the setting. This jewel he took, and binding it with a
riband of his lady’s colour, tied it round the neck of the dove, and
solaced his mind by gazing on it. But no sooner had the bird felt the
jewel tied about his neck than he spread out his wings and flew away.
Not a little troubled was he at this matter, for he had lost, not the
companionship of the bird only, but the jewel also. So was his trouble
not a little increased. But the bird flew in a straight line to the
abode of Belphœbe, and found her sitting in an arbour, taking rest from
the toils of the chase. For she still followed in the ways of a
huntress, though, in truth, she was not a little troubled that she had
lost her lover. So soon as she saw the bird, she spied the jewel about
his neck, and knew it for her own gift, and the riband also wherewith it
was bound. Thereupon she rose from her place, and would have caught it
in her hand, but the bird flew away. For a short space it flew, and then
tarried for a space, and then when Belphœbe came near, flew away once
more. So it drew the lady on from place to place, ever seeming ready to
be caught, yet ever again escaping, till it brought her to the place
where the squire dwelt in his unhappiness. There it perched on his hand,
and sang a song, sweet and sad, as if to suit his sorrowful estate. So
spent was he with grief and trouble that the lady knew him not, but only
saw that he was in great misery, yet judged that he had fallen into it
from better things. Thereupon she said: “Unhappy man, what has brought
you into this evil plight? If it is Heaven’s will, then we must submit;
but if it is of man’s wrongdoing, then may the wrong be set right. But
if it is of your own will, know that no man should so neglect the gifts
of God, who wills that all should be happy.”
“O lady,” answered the squire, “surely it is no one but yourself that
has brought me into this trouble.” And he showed her the whole truth.
So peace was made again between the two.