OF OTHER ADVENTURES OF SIR ARTEGALL
As Sir Artegall, with Talus following, rode on, he met a dwarf who was
travelling with all the speed that he could use. “Stay awhile,” he said,
“for I have somewhat to ask of you.” And the dwarf, though somewhat
loath, could not but yield. Now the dwarf’s name was Dony, and he served
the fair Florimell. Not a little of his discourse, therefore, concerned
the said Florimell. He told how Marinell was recovered of the grievous
wound which Britomart had given him, and how he was to wed the fair
Florimell.
“Say you so?” cried Artegall. “Tell me, therefore, when the marriage
shall be, for I would fain be present at the celebration.”
“In three days’ time, as I am informed,” answered the dwarf, “and I too
should be there, and the place is the castle by the seashore; only there
is a hindrance in the way, for a little farther on from this place, a
cruel Saracen keeps the bridge by which one must needs pass. Much harm
has he done already to travellers, and men are fain to shun the way that
lies thereby.”
“Tell me more about the villain,” said Sir Artegall. Then Dony set forth
the whole matter.
“He is a man of great strength, and expert in battle. Moreover, he is
not a little helped by the charms with which the wicked witch, his
daughter, supports him. Thus he has gathered together much wealth, store
of gold, and lordships and farms. This wealth he daily increases,
greatly by means of this same bridge which he holds by force of arms. No
one will he suffer to go over unless he first pays a toll, be he rich or
poor. If the traveller be poor, then a squire whom he sets over this
business extorts from him this tribute. As for the richer sort, these he
deals with himself. Men call him Pollenté, which, being interpreted, is
‘Powerful,’ and the name is fitting, for much power he has. And besides
the power he has not a little cunning, for he is wont to fight on this
same bridge. Exceeding long is it and narrow, and full of pitfalls which
he knows, but a stranger knows not. And often it happens that the
stranger falls through one of these said pitfalls into the river
beneath. And while he is confused with his fall, Pollenté leaps into the
river and takes him at a disadvantage, and either slays him outright or
causes him to drown. Then he takes the spoils of them who perish in this
fashion, and brings them to his daughter, who dwells hard by. Thus she
has gathered together great store of wealth, so that she exceeds even
kings. Her they call Munera. Very fair is she, and gorgeously attired;
many lords have sought to have her for a wife, but in her pride she
thinks scorn of them all.”
This is the story which Dony the dwarf told to Sir Artegall. When the
knight heard it, he cried, “Now, by my life, I will go none other way
but this, God helping me.”
So he went on with Talus, and the dwarf followed. When they came to the
bridge, there came to them an evil-looking villain, who said, “Give me
the passage-money, according to the custom of the place!”
“Here,” answered Sir Artegall, “is my passage-money,” and therewith
dealt him such a blow that he fell dead upon the ground. When the
Saracen knight saw this, he was very wrath, and charged at Sir Artegall
full tilt; nor did Sir Artegall lag behind. They met in the middle of
the bridge, where there was a trap cunningly devised. The Saracen looked
that his adversary should fall into it unawares and be sorely bruised
and wounded; but Sir Artegall, having been forewarned by the dwarf,
leapt into the river, clear of all that might do damage to horse or man.
The Saracen leapt in like fashion, and the two met in the water, not one
whit less hotly than had they been on the dry land. And here the pagan
had no small advantage, for he was accustomed to fight in this fashion,
and his horse also could swim like a fish. Sir Artegall, perceiving that
the odds were against him, saw that he must close with his adversary
without delay. Long they wrestled together, and Sir Artegall never
loosened his grip one whit, and at last forced him from his saddle, so
that he no longer had the advantage of the swimming of his horse. And
yet the issue of the fight was doubtful awhile, for the Saracen was both
brave and expert in arms. Nevertheless Sir Artegall had the better
breath, as one that followed temperance in all things, and so prevailed
until the Saracen was compelled to turn from the river to the land,
hoping so to escape. Yet even as he lifted his head from the stream to
the brink, the knight dealt him so heavy a blow that it clean shore the
head from the neck. And this being done, then he went his way to the
castle where the pagan’s daughter dwelt.
[Illustration: Sir Artegall and the Saracen.]
Here he was denied entrance, being received with so great a shower of
stones that he was forced to retreat. Then he sent Talus, bidding him
compel an entrance. And this he did without damage to himself, and with
his iron flail he battered the door so fiercely that the whole place
shook from the foundation to the roof. All who were within were greatly
dismayed, and the Lady Munera herself came out, and stood upon the
castle wall. When she saw in what peril she was, she used all the
devices which she could imagine to deliver herself. First she besought
the adversary with many prayers to cease from his attack—and, indeed,
she was not wont to beseech in vain. Then she tried what enchantments
could do, and of these she had a great store at her command. And when
she found that prayers and enchantments availed nothing, she thought to
corrupt the man with great gifts. She caused sacks of gold and precious
things to be brought, and poured from the castle wall, thinking to
herself that he would surely cease from his battering, and give her, at
the least, some respite and delay.
But the riches moved him no more than the entreaties and enchantments.
Still he battered with his iron flail till he broke down the door and
made a way for his master to enter. No one dared to lift a hand against
them: all through the castle they moved at their will. The Lady Munera
for a while they could not find. At the last Talus, than whom a
bloodhound was not more keen to scent a runaway, found her hidden under
a heap of gold. Thence he drew her from her lair, pitying her not at
all. For now even Sir Artegall, seeing how fair she was, had some
compassion in his heart, and when she knelt before him would have given
her some remission of the penalty. But there was no such thought in the
heart of Talus. He cared for naught but to do justice to the full. So he
took her by the waist, she crying loudly the while, and cast her into
the river. And when he had wrought this justice upon her, he took all
the pelf that he found in the castle, and ground it small to powder, and
threw it into the water. This done, he razed the castle to the ground,
destroying it utterly, so that no one in days to come should think to
set it up again. After this Sir Artegall reformed the evil customs of
the bridge, ordering that in time to come it should be free for all to
pass over.
This good deed accomplished, they journeyed on to the castle by the sea,
where the nuptials of Sir Marinell and the fair Florimell were to be
celebrated with great honour. There were great feastings and rejoicings,
to which an infinite concourse of lords and ladies resorted from all
quarters; no knight that was held in repute for valour and deeds of arms
was absent. When the banquet, which was furnished with all rare meats
and drinks that the heart of man could desire, was finished, then the
company addressed themselves to feats of arms. First came forth Sir
Marinell and six knights with him, declaring to hold the field against
all comers, in right of Florimell, and to affirm that she was the
fairest of all the ladies upon earth. Against these there came from all
parts such as desired to try their fortune in the lists—none were
debarred. Many feats of arms were wrought that day; many knights were
unhorsed, and some were wounded; but none, so it was judged by common
consent, bore themselves more bravely than did Sir Marinell. His name,
therefore, did the heralds proclaim as the champion of the day. And on
the second day the event was the same. There was much fighting, many
suffered loss and overthrow; and in the end the heralds proclaimed, as
they had done before, the victory of Sir Marinell. But on the third day
things fell out otherwise, for the knight pursuing his adversaries when
he had put them to flight, somewhat rashly, was surrounded by them and
taken prisoner. While they were leading him away, it so chanced that Sir
Artegall came into the tilting-yard, and close behind him followed
Bragadocchio, who had in his company the false Florimell.
When Sir Artegall understood what mishap had befallen Sir Marinell, he
said to Bragadocchio: “I would fain help this brave knight; but I would
not have anyone know who I am: therefore, I pray thee, change shields
with me.” And Bragadocchio full willingly did so, thinking that he might
thus win to himself renown without cost or danger. Sir Artegall,
therefore, taking Bragadocchio’s shield, set upon the knights who were
leading away Sir Marinell. There were a hundred in all. Of these fifty
assailed him, and the other fifty stayed behind to guard the prisoner.
But for all that there were so many they could not stand against him.
The fifty who assailed him he speedily put to flight, and the fifty who
would have kept the prisoner did not hinder Sir Artegall from setting
him free. Then Sir Marinell being delivered and armed anew, for they had
taken his arms from him, the two joined their forces and drove their
adversaries out of the field. There was not one among them who could
hold up his head or make a stand against them. When Sir Artegall had
accomplished this, then he gave back the shield to Bragadocchio, who had
stayed to see the issue of the day, keeping with him the false
Florimell.
After this the trumpets sounded, and the judges rose up in their place
and summoned the company, saying: “Hear! All ye knights who have borne
arms to-day, and know to whom the prize of valour is awarded.” Then came
forth the fair Florimell from the place where she sat, as queen of the
tourney, that she might give to each knight his proper guerdon, and to
him who should be held to have best acquitted himself, the first prize
of all. Loudly did they call for the stranger knight who had wrought
such prodigies of valour and strength in delivering Sir Marinell. He did
not come forward, but in his stead Bragadocchio presented himself, with
the shield bearing the device which all men knew—namely, a sun shining
in a field of gold. When the company saw this, they, thinking that this
was indeed the champion, set up a great shout, and the trumpets sounded,
and Florimell rose up and greeted him most graciously, thanking him for
his championship. But all this praise turned the vain fellow’s mind.
“Not for your sake, madam,” said he, “but for my own dear lady’s sake
did I this,” adding other words such as could not pass the lips of a
true knight. Then he called to Trompart his squire, saying, “Bring forth
the fairest of all dames!” Thereupon Trompart led forth the false
Florimell; for he had her in keeping, hidden by a veil from the common
sight.
Great was the astonishment of the company when they saw her. “This
surely is Florimell,” they said to themselves, “or, if it be not, then
it is one fairer than she.” Never were men more perplexed than the
guests that day. Nor was Sir Marinell himself less amazed than the rest,
and, as he gazed, the more and more steadfastly did he believe that this
false Florimell was indeed the true.
But now Sir Artegall, who stood in the press of the crowd, closely
disguised, heard the false boaster’s words, and could not contain
himself any more, but came forth and cried with a loud voice: “False
boaster, strutting thus in borrowed plumes, and doing dishonour to
others with your lies, verily when each shall have his due, great will
be your disgrace! ’Tis true that the shield which you bear was this day
borne by him who delivered Sir Marinell, but yours was not the arm which
struck the blow. And now hold forth your sword and let it show what
marks of battle it bears, and if you bear in your body the mark of a
wound, let this company behold it; nay, boaster, this is the sword which
won the victory, and these the wounds which were endured in the
winning!” And here he showed his sword, which bore the dint of many a
blow, and the wounds which he carried on his arms and his body. “And,”
he further said, “as for this Florimell of yours, I warrant she is no
true dame, but only a fit companion for such as you.” Then he took the
true Florimell by the hand and led her, she blushing the while, for the
colour on her fair face was of roses mixed with lilies, and set her by
the side of the false. And then, lo! a great marvel! The false dame
melted away as snow melts in the sunshine! In a moment naught remained
of her save only the empty girdle which once had compassed her waist. So
on a day of storm we see a rainbow spanning the sky with all its goodly
colours, and in a moment it vanishes from our sight, so did this lovely
creature, the false Florimell, vanish from before the eyes of that
company. And now Sir Artegall took up the golden girdle which alone
remained of all that fair show, for this, indeed, was true, while all
else was false. This he presented to the true Florimell, and she
forthwith fastened it about her waist. Many a fair dame before had
essayed to do it, but not one had found it truly and rightly fit.
But the end of these things was not yet, for now Sir Guyon came forth
from the crowd to claim his own good steed, which, as has been told, had
been stolen from him in time past by this false thief. With one hand he
seized the golden bit, and with the other he drew forth his sword from
its sheath, for he would have smitten the knave with a deadly blow, but
that the press hindered him, for now there was a great tumult in the
place. Thereupon Sir Artegall came forth and would fain know how the
knight had been robbed of his horse. Then Sir Guyon told the story how,
while he was busy setting right a grievous wrong, some knave had stolen
his horse. “And now,” said he, “I challenge the knave who robbed me of
it to deadly combat.” So he spoke, but Bragadocchio held back. He had no
liking for such things.
Then said Sir Artegall: “This is truly the law of knighthood, that if
one man claim a thing and offer to make good his claim by might of arms,
and the other will not, the judgment goes against the latter by default.
Nevertheless, for further and clearer discovery of the truth, can you
who claim this horse as your own declare some tokens in proof?”
To this answered Sir Guyon: “Most truly I can. Such a token there is: a
black spot in the beast’s mouth like in shape to a horse’s shoe.” But
when they thought to look into his mouth so as to discern the token, he
wounded first one and then another so sorely that they were like to die.
From no one would he suffer such a thing. But when Sir Guyon called him
by his name—Brigador—he, hearing the voice, stood still, as if he had
been bound, and suffered them to open his mouth, so that all could see
the mark as it had been described. Nay more, he would follow Sir Guyon,
breaking the band with which he was tied, and frisked right gaily, ay,
and bent his knee.
Then said Sir Artegall: “Now it may be plainly discerned that the horse
is indeed yours. Take it therefore, with its saddle of gold, and let
this boaster go horseless, till he can win a steed for himself.”
Much was Bragadocchio moved to be so shamed in the presence of all that
company—so moved that for a while he laid aside his very cowardice, and
broke forth into angry words against Sir Artegall. The knight made as if
he would have slain the knave with his sword, but Sir Guyon stayed him.
“Sir,” said he, “it would ill suit your dignity to vent your wrath on
such a knave as this. The meetest punishment for him is to be put to
open shame in the sight of all this company.”
But Talus was not minded to let the knave escape so easily. He caught
him by the neck and led him out of the hall, and shaved his beard, and
reft away his shield, and blotted out the escutcheon, and defaced all
his arms. Nor did the false squire, Trompart, fare better, though he
cunningly had essayed to fly, for Talus overtook him and served him in
the like way. So may all makers of falsehood fare!