OF SIR ARTEGALL AND THE KNIGHT SANGLIER
It is now time that the story of Sir Artegall should be told; how he was
bred up in the ways of justice. Now this story, as it was commonly
reported, was this: Astræa, who was the Goddess of Justice, found him
when he was a child playing with other children of a like age; she,
liking him well, and finding him innocent and without guile, took him
away with her to a solitary place where she dwelt—for as yet she lived
upon the earth—and there instructed and trained him to be such an one as
she desired. She taught him to weigh right and wrong in equal scales,
and to measure out equity according to the rule of conscience. And
because there were no men in the place, she taught him to seek
experience of the right way among the beasts of the forest; for these
also oppress their own kind. Also she caused him to be instructed in the
use of arms, in which use he became in due time most expert, so that he
came to be held in high repute, as being one who could not only
distinguish most truly between right and wrong, but could also maintain
the same by force of arms. Also she gave him a sword of great repute
which Jupiter himself had used in his war against the Titans; Chrysaor
was its name, which, being interpreted, is “Sword of Gold.” Of finest
temper was it, and beautiful to behold. Also she gave her servant to
attend upon him—Talus was his name. This same Talus wielded an iron
flail with which to thresh out falsehood and separate the truth.
This Artegall, being now come to years of manhood, betook himself, as
was the wont of all worthy knights in those days, to the Court of Queen
Gloriana. And she gave him as the task which he should accomplish, the
succouring of a distressed lady, Irene by name, from whom a tyrant, whom
men called Grantorto, withheld the heritage which was rightly hers. For
she judged that there was no man who could better discern the right, and
having discerned it could more effectually cause it to prevail.
So it came to pass that he and Talus, who was his squire, rode off on
their errand. On their way they saw as sorry a sight as ever was seen by
mortal eyes, a squire sitting upon the ground in most doleful fashion,
and hard by him, lying on the ground, the headless corpse of a lady. It
was indeed a piteous thing to see the gay apparel of the dead, most
cruelly drenched in blood.
“Now tell me,” cried Sir Artegall, “by what foul mischance this dreadful
thing has happened.”
“Oh, sir,” answered the squire, “as I sat here with the lady whom I
love, there came riding by a knight who had in his company this fair
dame whom you see lying here. And whether he was taken with the sight of
my love, or was weary of his own, I know not; but this he said: ‘Ho!
fellow, let us make exchange.’ And when I denied his request, and the
two ladies also cried out upon him, then he threw down the dame his
companion on the ground, and lawlessly taking away from me my own, set
her upon his horse. And when his lady saw what he had done, and how he
was riding away, she followed him as fast as she could, and laying hold
of his arm, cried out: ‘Leave me not in this fashion; slay me rather!’
And he in a fury drew his sword, and with a single stroke shore off her
head, even in the place where now she lies. And now he has gone, taking
my love with him.”
“Tell me,” said Sir Artegall, “by which way he went. Tell me also by
what signs I may know him.”
“But, fair sir,” the squire made answer, “he has gone so long that you
can scarce hope to overtake him. Yet, if you would know the way, he rode
across the plain.” And he pointed with his hand to the course which the
knight had followed. “As for the marks, know that he carried on his
shield a broken sword on a field of blood; and, indeed, it seemed to be
a fitting emblem.”
“Follow him,” said Sir Artegall to his page Talus. And the page followed
him swift as a swallow flies over a field. Nor was it long before he
overtook the knight—Sir Sanglier he was called—and bade him come back
with him, and answer for his deed. No little scorn did the knight feel
to be so commanded, and, setting down the lady whom he carried on his
steed, rode at the page Talus with all his force. Full on the body he
struck him, but moved him no more than a rock is moved by some stone
that is thrown at it. On the other hand, Talus dealt him such a blow
that he laid him prostrate on the ground. Ere he could recover himself,
Talus had seized him in an iron grip, and forced him to follow him, the
lady also, though she would have fled in her fear, following. So they
came to Sir Artegall.
“What is this that you have done?” said Sir Artegall.
“Nay,” said the knight, “I did it not: I am guiltless of the blood of
this dame, and this I will prove on the body of this false squire, if he
will meet me hand to hand.”
Now the squire was not of such prowess as to meet so doughty a knight.
Then said Sir Artegall: “This is a doubtful cause, which it were not
well to try by arbitrament of battle. Will you therefore commit the
matter to me, and abide by my judgment and sentence?”
To this they both consented. Then said Sir Artegall: “Since each of you
denies that this lady came by her death through his deed, and each
claims the living lady as his own, my judgment is that both the living
and the dead shall be equally divided, and each shall have his part both
of one and of the other. Also I decree that if either of you two shall
reject this my sentence, he shall carry this head as a penance for
twelve months, by way of witness that he brought about her death.”
Sir Sanglier gladly accepted the doom, but the squire was ill-content,
for he really loved the dame who had been reft from him. “Nay,” said he,
“I would rather by far that she should live, though I lose her.”
“’Tis well said, squire!” cried Sir Artegall, “and now I perceive that
you are indeed guiltless in this matter. As for you, Sir Knight, who
care so little for the living or the dead, take this head and carry it
for a twelve months’ space, to be a witness of your shame and guilt.”
Sir Sanglier was ill content with this sentence, and would have refused
to abide by it. Only, when he saw Talus approaching with intent to
compel him, he made his submission, for he knew by experience how great
was his strength.
Then said the squire: “Oh, sir, you have done me such service as I can
never repay. Let me therefore attend you as your squire, and that
without fee or favour.”
“Not so,” Sir Artegall made answer, “I am well content to be as I am. Do
you follow your own affairs. As for me, Talus here will be sufficient
for my needs.”