RADIGUND
Radigund the amazon dwelt a mile or so from the place where the gallows
had been set up, in a city which she had called Radigone, after her own
name. On the walls of the city were set watchmen to warn the queen of
the coming of strangers. One of these espied Sir Artegall and his
company, and gave warning accordingly, saying: “I see three strangers;
one of them is a knight fully armed, and the others have a warlike
look!” Thereupon all the people ran in haste to arm themselves, like to
bees when they come forth in a swarm from their hive, and Radigund
herself, half-arrayed as a man, came forth from her palace. Meanwhile
the three drew near to the city gate, and when the porter, thinking
scorn of them because they were so few, did not trouble to open to them
the gate, they beat upon it with many blows, threatening the man also
that he should suffer much for his insolence.
When the queen heard this she fell into a great rage and cried: “Open
the gate; these fellows shall soon know to what a city they have come!”
So the porter threw wide the gate, and the three pressed forward,
meaning to pass through. But lo! of a sudden there fell upon them such a
storm of arrows that they had perforce to halt.
“These women,” said Sir Artegall, “are stout fighters; let us be careful
what we do.” And when they halted, the rout set upon them more fiercely
than ever. As for Queen Radigund, when she saw Sir Turpine, and knew
that he had escaped from the doom which she had decreed for him, and was
now dealing blows to her women, she was carried away with rage, and flew
at him headlong, as a lioness flings herself at an ox, and dealt him so
fierce a blow as brought him headlong to the ground. And when she saw
him lying she set her foot upon his neck, with intent to make him pay
with his life for his disparagement of her authority. So does a bear
stand over the carcase of an ox, and seem to pause awhile to hear its
piteous crying. When Sir Artegall saw what had befallen Sir Turpine, he
made all haste to help him, and dealt the queen so mighty a blow that it
reft her of her senses; nay, but that she somewhat broke its force, for
she was expert in arms, it had laid her dead upon the ground. For a
while she lay without speech or hearing; then, recovering herself, she
would have assailed him with all her might, for never before had she
endured such disgrace. But when her maidens saw it, for a great company,
armed for battle, accompanied her, they thrust themselves between; for
they deemed that she was not wholly in fit condition for fighting. Thus
were Sir Artegall and Queen Radigund perforce kept apart. As for the
rest, Talus, with his iron flail, drove them hither and thither,
breaking their bows and marring their shooting, and they fled before him
as sheep fly from a wolf.
When evening came, Queen Radigund bade the trumpeters sound a recall, so
that the soldiers should cease fighting. All the people she made pass
back into the city; and she caused all them that were wounded to be
carried to houses where their hurts might be healed. Then Sir Artegall
caused his tent to be pitched, on the open plain, not far from the gate
of the city. There he and Sir Turpine took their ease, but Talus, as was
his custom, kept watch all the night. But Radigund was ill-content with
what had happened that day; never before had her pride been so rebuked.
She could not rest, but cast about in her mind how she could avenge
herself for the shame which had been put upon her that day, and that for
the first time in her life. After a while she made this resolve in her
mind; that she would meet the knight in single combat and make trial of
his strength, for that her people should suffer such waste and ruin as
she had seen that day was a thing not to be endured. Then she asked for
one of her maidens, Clarin by name, whom she judged to be most
trustworthy, and fit to do her errand, and said to her: “Clarin, go
quickly, and bear a message to the stranger knight, who has so
distressed us this day, saying that I will meet him to-morrow in single
combat, that we may see whether he or I be the better. Say also that
these are my conditions: If I overcome him, then he shall render me
obedience and be bound for ever to my service; and I, if he should
vanquish me, do promise to do the same. Go, therefore, taking with you
six of your fellows, arrayed as finely as may be, that they may be
witnesses of this covenant! Take with you also wine and meats, that he
may eat. Verily, if I have my will, he shall sit hungry many a day!”
So the damsel did as she was bidden, taking with her six companions, and
meat and drink also. When she came to the gate of the city she bade the
trumpeter blow a blast for warning to the knights. And when Talus came
forth, she said that she would fain speak with his master. So being
brought with her companions into the tent, she delivered to him the
message of the queen. Sir Artegall received her right courteously, and
when she had departed—not without gifts—he betook himself to sleep.
The next day the two adversaries made themselves ready for battle. Sir
Artegall was accoutred as knights commonly are; not so Queen Radigund.
She wore a purple cloak, embroidered with silver, with ribands of
diverse colours, nicely ordered upon it. This cloak, for easier motion,
she shortened to her thighs; but when she pleased, she could let it fall
to her heels. She had for defence of her body a cuirass of chain-mail;
buskins she had, finely embroidered with bars of gold; at her side she
had a scimitar hanging to a most gorgeous belt; her shield was finely
decked with precious stones, it was like the moon when it is at the
full. In this guise she came out of the city gate, a noble sight to see;
about her was a bodyguard of maidens, some of whom made music with
shawms and trumpets. Her people had pitched a pavilion for her, where
she might rest till the fight should begin. After this Sir Artegall came
out of his tent, fully armed, and first entered the lists. Nor did
Radigund long delay to follow him. And when the lists had been barred
against the crowd, for a great multitude of people were gathered to see
the issue of the battle, the trumpets sounded the signal, and the combat
began.
The queen charged first in the most furious fashion, as if she would
have done her adversary to death out of hand. But he, having had much
experience in such matters, was not carried out of himself by her rage,
but was content to defend himself from her assault; the greater was her
fury, the more calmly did he bear himself. But when her strength began
to fail her, then he took the other part; even as a smith, when he finds
the metal grow soft, plies his hammer with all his might. Even so did
Sir Artegall deal blow upon blow as if she were an anvil; and the sparks
flew from her armour, and from her shield also, for with this she
guarded herself in right skilful fashion from his assault. But now
things began to go ill with her; for off this same shield the knight
with one stroke shore away a full half, so that her side for half its
length was exposed. Yet not one whit was she dismayed, but, smiting him
with her scimitar, wounded him on the thigh, making the blood flow
amain. Loud did she boast when she saw the blood, thinking that she had
wounded him to death; but he, provoked by her boasting, struck at her
with all his might, and when she put her shield to ward the blow, lo!
this was shattered altogether, and fell in pieces on the plain. Next, as
she was thus left without defence, he smote her again, this time upon
the helmet; so that she fell from her horse, and lay upon the plain,
like to one that was dead. When he saw her lying thus, he leapt from his
steed and unlaced her helmet, with intent to sever her head from her
body. But when he had unlaced her helmet, lo! her face was discovered to
him. So fair it was, even though covered with blood and sweat, that he
stood amazed; it was as when a traveller sees the face of the moon
through a foggy night. And at the sight, all the cruel purpose departed
out of his heart. So great was his pity that he threw his sword from
him, for, indeed, there is no heart so hard but that the sight of beauty
will soften it.
As he stood thus astonished, she recovered herself from her swoon, and
saw the knight standing by her side without a weapon. Then she lifted
herself from the ground and flew upon him with all her former rage. He,
indeed, could but ward off her blows with his shield, as well as he
could. And now, being without hope, he entreated her to withhold her
hand. “Not so,” said she, “till you have yielded to me your shield in
token of submission.” Nor could he refuse so to do. He had overcome her
in fair fight, yet now was he himself overcome by his own misdoing, for
he had of his own accord given up his sword, and so lost that which he
had attained. Then she struck him on the shoulder with the flat of her
sword, in token that he was from henceforth her subject. As for the
unhappy Sir Turpine, he was indeed born under an unlucky star, for they
took him back to the place from which he had escaped, and there hanged
him shamefully by the heels. Talus they could not take, for all that
they sought to lay hands upon him. He laid about him so unmercifully
with his flail, that they were right glad to let him escape. Many did he
wound and some he slew; the rest he put into great fear. Yet he would
not seek to rescue his lord. “Nay,” said he to himself, “Sir Artegall
has yielded himself of his own accord, and I must e’en let him be.”
Queen Radigund took the knight who had thus made himself her subject,
and despoiled him of all his arms and armour, and put upon him woman’s
clothing, with a white apron in place of a breast-plate. Having thus
arrayed him, she brought him into a great chamber, on the walls of which
were many memorials of other knights whom she had dealt with in the same
fashion. His arms and armour she caused to be hung up among these, and
his sword, lest it should work mischief to her, she broke in twain. When
he was come into this place, he saw sitting there many brave knights
whose names he knew right well, bound all of them to obey the amazon’s
law, and spinning and carding wool. This they did under constraint, for
they were bound to finish their task by the appointed time, nothing
being given them whereon to dine or sup but what they could earn by this
woman’s work. The queen set him in the lowest place of all, and put a
distaff into his hands, and bade him spin flax and tow. Truly it is the
hardest of all lots to be a woman’s slave! But he consented to her will,
saying to himself: “She vanquished me in battle, and I must abide by my
own word.”
After a while the queen began to feel the beginning of love for the
knight. Long time she strove against it, thinking shame to be so
overcome; but finding that her passion was not to be put away, she sent
for the same Clarin, whom she had before made her messenger, and said to
her: “Clarin, you see that fairy knight, who has been made my subject,
not by my valour, but by his own honourable mind. He gave me my life,
when it was lost; why should he suffer there in this cruel bondage? Why
should I recompense him with ill for so good a deed? I would fain give
him his freedom, yet in such a fashion that in giving it to him, I may
win his free goodwill. I would loose him, and yet have him still bound
to me, not with the bonds of violence and compulsion, but of benevolence
and love. Now if you can by any means win him to such a mood, but
without discovering, mark you well, my thought, you will win a goodly
reward from him, and have me also greatly beholden to you. And now, that
you may be able to pass freely to and fro, I give you this ring as a
token to Eumenias”—this was the keeper of the knights’ prison. “Go then,
my Clarin; use to the best all thy wits, employing both enticing looks
and fair speeches.”
So Clarin, promising that she would use her best endeavour to win Sir
Artegall to such thoughts as her lady desired, departed on her errand.
She had recourse to all the arts she knew to win his favourable regard,
and one day she said to him: “Sir Knight, you have had but an evil
fortune; you sit drowned in despair, and yet you might raise yourself,
if you were but willing, to something better.”
He was in doubt what this speech might mean, and so made answer: “Fair
damsel, that you regard me with compassion is in itself a kindness for
which I am in your debt. But you must know that a brave heart bears with
equal courage fair weather and foul, frowns of ill fortune or smiles of
prosperity. At this moment my life is overcast with cloud, yet I hope
for sunshine to come.”
“Yea,” answered the maiden, “and what say you if you should see an
occasion ready to your hand for entering on better things?”
“Truly,” answered Sir Artegall, “I count him to be unworthy of good
fortune who should not promptly take such occasion, so that it come
within his reach.”
Then said Clarin: “Why do you not set about to win your liberty by
seeking the favour of the queen? ’Tis true that she has passed her days
in war, yet she is not born of tigers or bears. She scorns the love of
men, yet she does not forget that she is herself of the kindred of man.”
To this Sir Artegall replied: “Believe me, fair damsel, that not from
obstinacy or disdain have I neglected to seek her favour. ’Tis lack of
means that has kept me back from so doing; and if you can in any way
supply this lack, then shall I be bound to you for ever.”
“This fish bites at the bait,” said the damsel to herself, “but it is
not yet surely caught.” But even while she spoke, she herself, foolish
maiden that she was, was caught herself. For, as a fisher who, while he
seeks for the prey, falls into the brook, so Clarin, seeking to serve
her mistress’s ends, conceived a great pity for this captive knight, and
from pity it is but a short journey to love. But her love she durst not
tell, neither to the knight, lest haply she should be disdained, nor to
anyone else, lest that by any means it should come to the knowledge of
the queen, for that she knew would mean a sure sentence of death.
Therefore she kept the matter in her heart, watching for such occasion
as might arise.
Queen Radigund, growing impatient of the delay, bade her unfold the
truth. “How have you fared?” she said, “What is the temper of the man?
Has captivity brought him to a more humble mind?”
“Not so,” said Clarin; “he is as stern and obstinate as ever. He scorns
all offers and conditions; he would sooner die—so he declares—than look
with any favour on those who have done him so great a wrong. This in
brief is his resolve; in truth these are his very words: ‘My body may be
thrall to the queen, but my heart is free.’”
When she heard these words the queen fell into a mighty rage. But coming
to herself, and perceiving that anger would profit her nothing, she said
to her minister: “Clarin, what remains for us to do? It were a shame to
have laboured in vain, and still more a shame to sit down content when
this fellow flouts us in such fashion. Nevertheless, that his guilt may
be seen to be the greater, and my grace the more admirable, I will bear
with this folly of his till you shall have made another trial of him.
And you I charge to leave nothing that can be done or said to work upon
him. Leave nothing unpromised that may help to persuade him. Tell him
that he shall have life, freedom, grace, and store of gifts, for by
gifts even the hearts of gods are touched. And to these promises add all
your arts and woman’s wiles. And if your arts avail nothing, then let
him feel the weight of your hand. Diminish his victuals; maybe he is too
proudly fed; put more labour upon him, and with harder conditions; let
him lodge less softly, lying upon straw; do aught that may abate his
courage and his pride; put a chain of cold iron upon him, and deny him
all that he may desire. And when you have done all this, tell me how he
bears himself. If need be, I will deal with him, not as a lover, but as
a rebel.”
All this Clarin heard, and made pretence to fulfil her lady’s commands.
But her mind was turned to quite another thing, that is to say, to play
her mistress false, and to gain the knight’s love for herself. To him
therefore she made as great a show of goodwill as she could, telling him
that she was making suit for him to the queen, that she should set him
at liberty, but that she could not persuade her.
“The more I entreat her,” she said, “the sterner and the harsher she
is.” Then from the knight she would go to the queen and say: “The more
grace I show, the more haughty and unbending is he.” As for Sir
Artegall, he spoke the woman fair, but never did he depart from his
loyalty to his own fair lady.