Leaving the Enchanter’s Castle behind them, Britomart and Amoret started
in search of Sir Scudamour and Glaucé.
As they went, Amoret told Britomart the story of how she came into the
power of the wicked Busirane. On the very day of her marriage to Sir
Scudamour, at the wedding feast, while all the guests were making merry,
Busirane found means to introduce the strange procession which had so
amazed Britomart in the enchanted chamber. Amoret was persuaded in sport
to join it, and was carried away quite unknown to any one. Seven months
she had been kept in cruel imprisonment, because she would not consent
to give up her own dear husband and become the wife of the wicked
Enchanter. Now, at last, she was free, and when she discovered that her
deliverer was not after all a knight, but in reality a beautiful maiden
like herself, her heart overflowed with love and gratitude, and she and
Britomart speedily became the best and dearest friends.
In the course of their journey they presently saw two knights in armour
coming to meet them, each with what seemed at that distance a fair lady
riding beside him. But ladies they were not, although in face and
outward show they seemed so. Under a mask of beauty and graciousness
they hid vile treachery and falsehood, which were not apparent to any
but the wise and cautious.
One was the false Duessa, who had formerly beguiled the Red Cross Knight
and Sir Guyon. She had changed her usual appearance, for she could put
on as many different shapes as a chameleon can new colours.
Her companion was, if possible, worse than herself. Her name was Até,
_Mother of Strife_, cause of all dissension both among private men and
in public affairs of state. False Duessa, knowing that she was just the
most fitting person to aid her in mischief, had summoned her from her
dwelling under the earth, where she wasted her wretched days and nights
in darkness. Her abode was close to the Kingdom of Evil, where plagues
and harms abound to punish those who do wrong. It was a gloomy dell, far
under ground, surrounded with thorns and briars, so that no one could
easily get out; there were many ways to enter, but none by which to
leave when one was once in; for it is harder to end discord than to
begin it.
All the broken walls inside were hung with the ragged memorials of past
times, which showed the sad effects of strife. There were rent robes and
broken sceptres, sacred things ruined, shivered spears, and shields torn
in twain, great cities ransacked, and strong castles beaten down,
nations led into captivity, and huge armies slain—relics of all these
ruins remained in the house of Até. All the famous wars in history found
a record here, as well as the feuds and quarrels of private persons too
many to mention.
[Illustration: A woman and a knight on horseback riding along a path
near a forest, with other horsemen visible in the distance.]
Such was the house inside. Outside, the barren ground was full of
poisonous weeds, which _Strife_ herself had sown; they had grown great
from small seeds—the seeds of evil words and wrangling deeds, which,
when they come to ripeness, bring forth an infinite increase of trouble
and contention, often ending in bloodshed and war. These horrible seeds
also served Até for bread, and she had been fed upon them from
childhood, for she got her life from that which killed other people. She
was born of a race of demons, and brought up by the Furies.
_Strife_ was as ugly as she was wicked; she could speak nothing but
falsehood, and she never heard aright. She could not even walk straight,
but stumbled backwards and forwards; what one hand reached out to take,
the other pushed away, or what one hand made, the other destroyed. Great
riches, which had taken many a day to collect, she often squandered
rapidly, dismaying their possessors; for all her study and thought was
how she might overthrow the things done by Concord. So far did her
malice surpass her might that she tried to bring all the world’s fair
peace and harmony into confusion. Such was the odious creature that rode
with Duessa.
The two knights who escorted them, Blandamour and Paridell, were young
and handsome, but both equally foolish, fickle, and false. When they saw
Britomart and the lovely Lady Amoret approaching, Blandamour jestingly
tried to make his companion attack Britomart, so that he might win
Amoret for himself. But Paridell remembered how he had already fought
with a knight bearing those arms and that shield, outside the castle of
the churl Malbecco, and he had no desire to provoke a new fight.
“Very well,” said Blandamour; “I will challenge him myself;” and he rode
straight at Britomart.
But he had soon cause to repent his rashness, for Britomart received his
advance with so rude a welcome that he speedily left his saddle. Then
she passed quietly on, leaving him on the ground much hurt, an example
of his own folly, and as sad now as he had formerly been merry, well
warned to beware in future with whom he dared to interfere.
Paridell ran to his aid and helped him to mount again, and they marched
on their way, Blandamour trying as well as he could to hide the evil
plight he was in. Before long they saw two other knights coming quickly
to meet them, and Blandamour was enraged to see that one was Sir
Scudamour, whom he hated mortally, both because of his worth, which made
all men love him, and because he had won by right the Lady Amoret.
Blandamour was greatly vexed that his bruises prevented his wreaking his
old spite, and he immediately spoke thus to Paridell:—
“Fair sir, let me beg of you in the name of friendship, that, as I
lately ventured for you and got these wounds, which now keep me from
battle, you will now repay me with a like good turn, and justify my
cause on yonder Knight.”
Paridell willingly agreed, and sped at the stranger like a shaft from a
bow, but Sir Scudamour was on his guard, and prepared himself to give
him a fitting welcome. So furiously they met that each hurled the other
from his horse, like two billows driven by contrary tides, which meet
together, and rebound back with roaring rage, dashing on all sides and
filling the sea with foam. So fell these two, in spite of all their
pride.
But Scudamour soon raised himself, and upbraided his foe for lying there
so long.
Blandamour, seeing the fall of Paridell, taunted Sir Scudamour as a
traitor, and heaped abuse on him, saying that he only attacked knights
who were too weak to defend themselves.
Scudamour gave no answer to this, trying to restrain his indignation;
but then Duessa and Até both chimed in, wickedly doing all they could to
rouse his passion.
They spoke jeering words, and said they wondered Sir Scudamour should
care to fight for any lady, for Amoret was faithless, and had forgotten
him and gone off with another Knight.
This Knight, we know, was in reality the Princess Britomart; but Sir
Scudamour did not know this. He swore, in a fearful rage, to be
revenged; he even threatened to kill the squire, Glaucé, who was still
with him, since he could not get hold of his master. In vain the poor
old nurse tried to appease him, for she dared not disclose Britomart’s
secret. Three times Sir Scudamour lifted his hand to kill Glaucé, and
three times he drew back, before at last he became a little pacified.