OF THE VALOUR OF TRISTRAM
As Sir Calidore went on his way he saw a young man of great stature
fighting on foot with a knight on horseback. Not far from these two
stood a lady, clad in very poor array. Sir Calidore would have inquired
of her the cause of the strife, having it in his mind to part the two
combatants, if this might be done. But before he could come at the
place, the youth had slain the knight, a thing at which he wondered not
a little. This same youth was very goodly to look at, slender in shape,
and of but seventeen years or so, as it seemed, but tall and fair of
face. He was clad in a woodman’s jacket of Lincoln green, embroidered
with silver, with a huntsman’s horn hanging by his side. He had a dart
in his right hand, and in his left a boar-spear.
“What means this?” said Sir Calidore. “You, who are no knight, have
slain a knight, a thing plainly contrary to the law of arms.”
“I would not wish,” answered the youth, “to break the law of arms; yet
would I break it again, sooner than suffer such wrong as I have of this
man, so long as I have two hands wherewith to defend myself. The quarrel
with him was not of my seeking, as this lady can testify.”
“Tell me therefore,” said Sir Calidore, “how things fell out.”
“Sir Knight,” answered the lad, “I was hunting in the wood, as I am wont
to do for lack of graver employment, for which my years are not fit,
when I saw this knight, who lies dead yonder, passing over the plain,
with this lady in his company. He was on horseback, but she followed on
foot, and when she lagged behind, as she must needs do, so rough was the
ground, then he smote her with the butt of his spear, taking no heed of
her tears and prayers. This sight I saw with no small indignation, and
being moved with wrath said: ‘Surely, Sir Knight, you should rather
takeup this lady to ride behind you than make her travel so uneasily.’
To this he answered in angry words, bidding me hold my peace, nor meddle
with things that concerned me not. ‘Or,’ said he, ‘I will whip you as a
malapert boy should be whipped!’ So after some angry talk, he struck me
twice with his spear, and I threw at him a dart, fellow of this which
you see here in my hand; nor did I throw it in vain, for it struck him
beneath the heart so hard that presently he died.”
Sir Calidore was not a little pleased with his manner of speech, so bold
and honest was it, and he admired also the sturdiness of the stroke
which had broken to such effect the coat of mail. And when, after
question put to the lady, he found that it was even as the lad had told,
he said: “I do not condemn this youth, but rather hold him free of
blame. ’Tis the duty of knights, and indeed of all men, to bear
themselves kindly and courteously to women, and he did well to maintain
this good custom. But now I would have you tell me, lady, if you will,
how it came about that the man whom he slew treated you in so unseemly a
fashion?”
“Sir Knight,” answered the lady, “I am loath to bring accusations
against the dead; yet I must needs declare the truth. This day, as this
knight and I were passing on our way, we came upon a glade in the wood
where there sat two lovers, a comely knight and a fair lady. The knight
my companion being taken with the lady’s beauty, bade me dismount. And
when I was unwilling to do so, thrust me out of my seat with violence.
Which when he had done, he said to the other: ‘Now, yield me up that
dame!’ And when the other—though, indeed, he was not prepared for
battle—refused, then he wounded him sorely with his spear. This he did,
though the other had proffered to do battle with him, if only he would
appoint a day when they might try their strength on equal terms.
Meanwhile the lady had fled into the wood, and had hidden herself to
such good purpose, that when my knight sought to find her, he spent all
his labour in vain. At this baulk he was greatly enraged. He would not
set me on his horse again, but constrained me to follow on foot, smiting
me with his spear if ever I lagged behind, and taking no heed of my
tears and complaining. So we went on till we fell in with this young
man, and he, being moved with pity at my evil plight, rebuked the
knight. How the matter ended you have seen for yourself.”
“This boor has received his due,” said Calidore. Then turning to the
lad, he said: “Tell me now who you are, and how you came to be in this
place. Never did I see greater promise in anyone, and I would help you
to bring it to as good fulfilment as may be.”
“Sir Knight,” the youth made answer, “it may be that the revealing of my
name and lineage may be to my hurt, for of such danger I have been
warned; nevertheless, so courteously have you borne yourself to me, that
I will tell you the whole truth. I am a Briton, Tristram by name, son of
good King Meliogras, who once reigned in the land of Cornwall. He dying
while I was yet of tender years, his brother took the kingdom. Thereupon
my mother, Queen Emiline, conceiving me to be in danger from this same
uncle, thought it best to send me into some foreign land, where I should
not be within his reach, if the thought of doing me a mischief should
arise in his heart. So, according to the counsel of a wise man of whom
she inquired in her perplexity, she sent me from the land of Lyonesse,
where I was born, to the land of Fairy, where, no one knowing who or
what I was, none would seek to do me wrong. I was then ten years of age,
and I have abode in this land ever since, not wasting my days in vain
delights, but perfecting myself in all the arts of hunting. But now it
is time, I hold, to look to higher things. Therefore, this being such an
occasion as might not again befall, I would entreat of you that you
advance me, unworthy though I be, to a squire’s degree, so that I may
duly learn and practise all the use of arms. And for this I have this
beginning, to wit, the arms of this knight, whom I slew in fair
encounter.”
Sir Calidore answered, “Fair child, I would not by any means baulk this
your honourable desire to follow the profession of arms; only I could
wish that I could set you to some service that should be worthy of you.
Kneel therefore and swear that you will be faithful to any knight whom
you shall serve as squire, and be true to all ladies, and never draw
back from fear of any deed that it may be fitting for you to do.” So
Tristram knelt down upon his knees, and took his oath to do according to
these words.
Thereupon Sir Calidore dubbed him a squire, and he bloomed forth
straightway in all joy and gladness, even as a bud opens into a flower.
But when Tristram besought him that he might go with him on his present
adventure, vowing that he would follow him to the death, Sir Calidore
answered: “I should be right glad, most courteous squire, to have you
with me, so that I might see the valour which you have show itself in
honourable achievement, but this may not be. I am bound by vow to my
sovereign, who set me this task to accomplish, that I would not take
anyone to aid me. For this reason I may not grant your request. But now,
seeing that this lady is left desolate, and is in need of safe convoy,
you will do well to succour her in this her need.”
This service the youth gladly undertook, and Sir Calidore, taking leave
of him and the dame in courteous fashion, set forth again on his quest.
He had not travelled far before he came to the place where the knight
who had been so discourteously treated by him whom Tristram had slain,
lay in a most sorrowful plight. He was bleeding from many wounds, so
that all the earth about him was red; and the lady sat by him weeping,
and yet doing all that she could with careful hands to dress his wounds
and ease his pain. Sir Calidore, when he saw this sorry sight, was
well-nigh moved to tears; from which, scarce refraining himself, he
said: “Tell me, sad lady, if your grief will suffer you, who it was that
with cruel hand wrought such mischief to a knight unarmed, for surely,
if I may but come near him, I will avenge this wrong upon him.”
The lady answered: “Fair sir, this knight whom you see here and I sat
talking in lover’s fashion, and this man charged him, unarmed as he was,
and dealt him these deadly wounds. And if you would know what manner of
man he was, he was of tall stature, clad in gilded armour, crossed with
a band of blue, and for device on his shield he had a lady rowed in a
summer barge across rough waves.”
When Sir Calidore heard this, he was assured that this indeed was the
knight whom Tristram had slain, and he said: “Lady, take to yourself
this comfort, that he who so foully wronged your knight lies now in yet
more evil case. I saw him with my own eyes lying dead upon the earth, a
just recompense for the foul wrong that he did to your fair knight. And
now bethink you what we may best do for this wounded man, how you may
best convey him hence, and to what refuge.”
She thanked him for his courtesy and friendly care, yet knew not what to
say, for being a stranger in that country she could not think of a
fitting place, nor could she ask him to carry the wounded man. This he
did not fail to perceive, and said: “Fair lady, think not that I deem it
a disgrace to carry this burden; gladly will I help you.” Taking
therefore his shield, and first pouring the healing balm, which he
always carried with him for such needs, into the knight’s wounds, he put
him thereon, and bare him, the lady helping, to a castle that was hard
by. And it so chanced that the lord of this castle was father to the
wounded knight, a man far advanced in years, who had been a famous
man-at-arms in the days gone by, and was of most courteous and
hospitable temper. Aldus was his name, and his son’s name was Aladine.
Great was his grief when he saw his dear son brought home in such a
plight.
“Dear boy,” he cried, “and is the pleasure with which I thought to
welcome you to this your home turned to such sorrow!” Nevertheless he
put a brave constraint upon his sorrow, and turned himself to entertain
his guests with all hospitality. To this welcome Sir Calidore made a
courteous return, but the lady, whose name was Priscilla, could not by
any means be cheered. She was daughter to a noble lord that dwelt hard
by, and had seen and loved this same Aladine, though he was of meaner
birth and smaller estate; and now she was much troubled, thinking both
of her lover’s perilous state and of how her father would take the
matter. So, while Sir Aldus entertained Sir Calidore, she sat and tended
the wounded man, and at the last, with infinite pains, brought him out
of the swoon in which he lay, and restored him to himself.
The next day, when Sir Calidore came to see how the wounded man was
faring, he found him not a little bettered in state of body, but anxious
in mind, especially for his lady’s sake, because of the displeasure
which her father might have concerning her love for him. Thereupon he
told to Sir Calidore the whole story of his love, and besought his help,
which he, much moved by pity for their sorrowful case, gladly promised
that he would give. This promise he most fully did perform. First he
went to where the carcase of that misbehaved knight lay upon the ground,
and shore the head from the body. This he took in his hand, and brought
the lady to her father’s house. He, indeed, was greatly troubled to
think what had befallen his child, and was much rejoiced to see her
again safe and sound.
Then said Sir Calidore: “Your daughter was like to suffer wrong from an
evil knight; but he suffered for his evil intent—lo! here you see his
head.”
Then did the noble lord most gladly receive her again to her home, and
Sir Calidore, after a short sojourn, departed again upon his quest.