“Truly, I need more to crave the same pardon, for having been so misled
by error as to mistake you for the dead man. But since it pleases you
that both our faults shall be forgotten, amends can soon be made, since
neither is much damaged thereby.”
Thus their perfect friendship was easily restored, and they embraced
lovingly, each swearing faithfully on his blade never thenceforth to
nourish enmity against the other, but always mutually to maintain each
other’s cause.
Then they called the damsel, and asked her who were the two foes from
whom she was flying so fast, and who she was herself, and what was the
reason why she was pursued by them.
The maiden, whose name was Samient, replied that she was in the service
of a great and mighty queen called Mercilla, a Princess of great power
and majesty. She was known above all for her bounty and sovereign grace,
with which she supported her royal crown, and strongly beat down the
malice of her foes, who envied her, and fretted, and frowned at her
happiness. In spite of them she grew greater and greater, and even to
her foes her mercies increased.
Amongst the many who maligned her was a mighty man dwelling near, who,
with cruel spite and hatred, did all in his power to undermine her crown
and dignity. Her good knights, of whom she had as brave a band as any
Princess on earth, he either destroyed, if they stood against him, or
else tried to bribe slyly to take his part. And not content with this,
he was always trying by treacherous plots to kill Queen Mercilla.
“He is provoked to all this tyranny, they say, by his bad wife, Adicia,”
continued Samient, “who counsels him, because of his strength, to break
all bonds of law and rule of right; for she professes herself a mortal
foe to justice, and always fights against it, working deadly woe to all
who love it, and making her knights and people do so likewise.
“My liege lady, seeing this, thought it best to deal with Adicia in a
friendly fashion, in order to put an end to strife, and to establish
rest both for herself and her people. She therefore sent me on a message
to treat with her, by way of negotiation, as to some final peace and
fair arrangement, which might be concluded by mutual consent.
“At all times it is customary to afford safe passage to messengers who
come on a just cause, but this proud dame, disdaining all such rules,
not only burst into bitter words, reviling and railing at me as she
chose, but actually thrust me like a dog out of doors, miscalling me by
many a bitter name, who never did any ill to her. Then lastly she sent
those two knights after me to work me further mischief, but thanks to
Heaven and your valour, they have paid the price of their own folly.”
So said the damsel, and showed herself most grateful to Prince Arthur
and Sir Artegall for their aid.
The Knights, having heard of all the wrongs done by the proud dame
Adicia, were very indignant, and eagerly desired to punish her and her
husband, the Sultan. But thinking to carry out their design more easily
by a counterfeit disguise, they arranged this plot: first, that Sir
Artegall should array himself like one of the two dead knights, then
that he should convey the damsel Samient as his prize to the Sultan’s
court, to present her to the scornful lady, who had sent for her.
This was accordingly done.
Directly the Sultan’s wife saw them, as she lay looking out of the
window, she thought it was the Pagan knight with her prey, and sent a
page to direct him where to go. Taking them to the appointed place, the
page offered his service to disarm the Knight, but Sir Artegall refused
to take off his armour, fearing to be discovered.
Soon after, Prince Arthur arrived, and sent a bold defiance to the
Sultan, requiring of him the damsel whom he held as a wrongful prisoner.
The Sultan, filled with fury, swearing and cursing, commanded his armour
to be brought at once, and mounted straight upon a high chariot,
dreadfully armed with iron wheels and hooks, and drawn by cruel steeds,
whom he fed with the flesh of slaughtered men.
Thus he came forth, clad in a coat of mail, all red with rust. The
Prince waited ready for him in glistering armour, right goodly to see,
that shone like the sun. By the stirrup Talus attended, playing his
page’s part, as his master had directed.
So they went forth to battle, both alike fierce, but with different
motives. For the proud and presumptuous Sultan, with insolent bearing,
sought only slaughter and revenge; but the brave Prince fought for right
and honour against lawless tyranny, on behalf of wronged weakness,
trusting more to the truth of his cause than in his own strength.
The Sultan in his folly thought either to hew the Prince in pieces with
his sharp wheels, or to bear him down under his fierce horses’ feet, and
trample him in the dust. But the bold Knight, well spying that peril if
he came too near the chariot, kept out of the way of the flying horses.
Yet as he passed by, the Pagan threw a dart with such force that, had he
not shunned it heedfully, it would have transfixed either himself or his
horse. Often Prince Arthur came near, hoping to aim some stroke at him,
but the Sultan was mounted so high in his chariot, and his wing-footed
coursers bore him so fast away, that before the Prince could advance his
spear, he was past and gone; yet still he followed him everywhere, and
in turn was followed by him.
[Illustration: An armored figure standing in a horse-drawn chariot and
holding a spear, with other horses and a rider in the background.]
Again the Pagan threw another dart, which, guided by some bad spirit,
glided through Prince Arthur’s cuirass, and made a grisly wound in his
side. Furious as a raging lion, the Prince sought to get at his foe; but
whenever he approached, the chariot wheels whirled round him, and made
him fly back again as fast; and the Sultan’s horses, like hungry hounds
hunting after game, so cruelly chased and pursued him that his own good
steed, although renowned for courage and hardy race, dared not endure
the sight of them, but fled from place to place.
Thus for a long while they rushed to and fro, seeking in every way to
find some opening for attack; but the Prince could never get near enough
for one sure stroke. Then at last from his victorious shield he drew the
veil which hid its magic light, and coming full before the horses as
they pressed upon him, flashed it in their eyes.
Like the lightning which burns the gazer, so did the sight of the shield
dismay their senses, so that they turned back upon themselves and ran
away with their driver. Nor could the Sultan stay their flight with
reins or accustomed rule, as he well knew how; they did not fear him in
the least—their only fear was that from which they fled dismayed, like
terrified deer. Fast as their feet could bear them they flew over hill
and dale. In vain the Pagan cursed and swore and railed, and dragged
with both hands at the reins; he called and spoke to them, but nothing
availed. They heard him not, they forgot his training, they went which
way they chose, heedless of their guide. Through woods and rocks and
mountains they drew the iron chariot, and the wheels tore the Sultan,
and tossed him here and there from side to side, crying in vain to those
who would not hear his crying.
And all the while Prince Arthur pursued closely behind, but could find
no means of smiting his foe.
At last the horses overthrew the chariot, which was turned topsy-turvy,
and the iron hooks and sharp knives caught hold of the Sultan and tore
him all to rags. Nothing was left of him but some bits of his battered
and broken shield and armour. These Prince Arthur gathered up and took
with him that they might remain as a token, whenever the tale was told,
of how worthily that day, by Heaven’s decree, justice had avenged
herself of wrong, so that all men might take warning by the example.
Therefore, on a tree in front of the tyrant’s door, he caused them to be
hung in the sight of all men, to be a memorial for ever.
When the Lady Adicia from the castle height beheld them she was
appalled, but instead of being overcome with fright, as another woman
might have been, she immediately began to devise how to be revenged.
Knife in hand, she ran down, vowing to wreak her vengeance on the maiden
messenger whom she had ordered to be kept prisoner by Sir Artegall,
mistaking him for her own knight; and coming into her presence she ran
at her with all her might. But Artegall, being aware thereof, stayed her
cruel hand before it reached Samient, and caught the weapon from her.
Thereupon, like one distracted, she rushed forth, wherever her rage bore
her, frantic with passion. Breaking out at a postern door, she ran into
the wild wood, where, it is said, on account of her malice and cruelty
she was transformed into a tiger.