CHAPTER XIII

OF TWO PAGAN KNIGHTS

While Sir Guyon was beholding the wonders of the house of Mammon, his faithful guide, the pilgrim, was seeking him, and came by happy chance, or leading of the powers above, to the place where he lay. Sore troubled he was to see him in so sore a plight, for indeed he lay as one that was dead. Nevertheless, feeling his pulse with trembling hand, the pilgrim found that it still did beat. Thereat greatly rejoicing he tended him with all care and kindness.

While he was busy with this tending, he lifted his eyes and saw two knights riding towards him clad in bright armour and an old man pacing by their side. The two were brothers, Pyrochles and Cymochles by name, and the old man was Archimage. Well he knew who they were, for Sir Guyon had done battle with the two in the time past, and had vanquished them, nor did he doubt that the old man, for all his reverend looks, was a wicked sorcerer. And they, too, knew who he was, and that the knight who lay upon the ground was their whilom adversary, Sir Guyon. And first Sir Pyrochles cried aloud: “Old man, leave that dead man to us. A traitor and a coward he was, while he was yet alive; and now he lies dishonoured!”

“Nay, Sir Knight,” answered the pilgrim, “you do wrong so to revile the dead. He was a true knight and valiant in the field, as none know more surely than yourself.”

Then said the other pagan, Cymochles: “Old man, you dote. And, indeed, what know you of knighthood and valour? All is not gold that glitters; nor are all good knights that know how to set spear in rest and use the sword. Let a man be judged by his end. There he lies dead on the field, and the dead are nothing worth.”

Pyrochles spoke again: “Ay, he is dead and I must forego the vengeance that I vowed to have upon him. Nevertheless, what I can that will I have. I will despoil him of his arms. Why should a dead body be arrayed in so noble a fashion?”

“Nay, Sir Knight,” cried the pilgrim, “I pray you not to do so foul a deed. ’Tis a vile thing to rob the dead. Surely it would better befit a noble knight to leave these things to be the ornament of his tomb.”

“What tomb?” cried Pyrochles, in his rage; “the raven and the kite are tomb enough for such as he.”

Thus speaking, he laid a rude hand upon Sir Guyon’s shield, and Cymochles began to unlace his helmet. But while they were so busied, they chanced to spy a knight of gallant mien and bravely accoutred, riding towards them, with a squire behind him, who carried a spear of ebony and a covered shield. And Archimage, so cunning was he, knew him from afar, and he cried to the two brothers: “Rise, prepare yourselves for battle. Here comes the sturdiest knight in all the world, Prince Arthur. Many a pagan has he laid low in battle. You must use all your skill to hold your own against him.”

So the two made themselves ready for battle. And now the strange knight rode up, and with all courtesy made his salute to the company, to which greeting the two brothers made but a churlish return. He said to the pilgrim: “Tell me, reverend sir, what misfortune has befallen this knight. Did he die in course of nature, or by treason, or in fair fight?”

Said the pilgrim: “He is not dead, but in a swoon that has the likeness of death.”

Then Prince Arthur, turning to the two brothers, said with all courtesy: “Valiant sirs, who, I doubt not, have just complaint against this knight, who lies here dead, or seeming dead upon the ground, will you not abate your wrath awhile? I would not challenge your right, but would rather entreat your pardon for this helpless body.”

“But who are you?” said Cymochles, “that make yourself his daysman? Who are you that would hinder me from wreaking on his vile carcase the vengeance which I should have required had he lived? The man is dead, but his offence still lives.”

“It is but true,” said the Prince, “that evil lives after death, and that the curse goes down even to the third and fourth generation, so stern is the judgment of God. But yet the knight who raises his hand against the dead, sins against his honour.”

But Pyrochles made reply: “Stranger, you make yourself a sharer in the dead man’s crime.” And as he spoke, he lifted his great sword and dealt a blow which, but that the Prince’s horse swerved aside, had surely laid him on the earth. He reeled somewhat in the saddle, but so true was his seat, still kept his place.

Great was his wrath at such treacherous attack. “Traitor,” he said, “you have broken the law of arms, so to strike without challenge given, and you shall suffer such penalty as befits.” So speaking, he thrust his spear, and thought with that one thrust to end the battle. And so, indeed, it would have fallen out, but for Sir Guyon’s shield, which the pagan carried. Yet even through this, with its seven folds, did the spear-head pass, and pierced Pyrochles’ shoulder, and drove him bleeding to the earth.

When Cymochles saw what had happened, he leapt forward in great wrath, crying: “Now, by Mahomet, cursed thief! You shall pay for this blow!” and smote him on the crest so mightily that he had no chance but to leave his saddle, else had his head been cleft in twain. Now was the Prince in no small distress, for what could he do with his spear alone against two stalwart knights? For sword he had none, and they too were both fully armed, and well skilled in fight, unwounded one, and the other wounded indeed, but only made thereby more furious. Bravely did he bear himself, and bravely held his own, wounding now this adversary and now that, yet did not himself escape without hurt, for Cymochles wounded him sorely in the side, so that the blood flowed out amain. And when the brothers saw it, they rejoiced greatly, thinking that the end had come. But now the pilgrim, seeing that the Prince was hard bested, and all for want of a sword, came near and put Sir Guyon’s blade into his hand, saying, “My son, God bless your right hand; use the sword as he that owns it would have used!”

Right glad was the knight to have this help, and advanced himself with new courage to his task. He smote first this brother and then that, and both so fiercely that, though they were two against one, they could not hold their own, but began to give way. Only the Prince was at this disadvantage that, when Pyrochles held out against him the shield of Sir Guyon with the likeness of Queen Gloriana on it, his hand retreated and forebore the stroke. Once and again was the pagan saved thereby from instant doom. But for all that the appointed hour drew nigh. Cymochles, thinking to end the battle, smote the Prince upon the hauberk. So fierce was the blow, that it broke the links of the mail in twain, and made the Prince to reel, as he had never reeled before. But his courage rose all the higher, and his strength seemed to be doubled. High in the air he lifted Sir Guyon’s sword, and smote the pagan’s helmet so fiercely that he shore it in two, and the steel pierced to the brain, so that he fell dying to the ground.

When Pyrochles beheld what had befallen his brother, he was so filled with rage that he cast away all caution and care, and rushed in madman’s fashion upon the Prince. And now might be seen how an evil deed finds its recompense. The sword which the pagan carried was, in truth, the Prince’s own, which had been filched from him by craft. Now Archimage had warned the knight before, saying: “Use not this blade against its rightful lord; it will not serve your will.” And well he knew that he spoke the truth. But Pyrochles had laughed him to scorn, saying:

“You think too much, old man, of magic charms and words.”

Yet now he found that the old man’s words were true. So perceiving that he smote to no purpose, he threw the sword down and leapt upon the Prince, and caught him round the middle and thought to throw him to the earth. But he strove to no purpose, for the Prince surpassed him both in strength and in skill, so that he was thrown to the ground, whereon he lay helpless as a bittern in the claws of an eagle. Full of rage he was, but he did not move nor cast a look upon his conqueror. But the Prince, full of courtesy and kindness, said: “Pagan, this is an evil day for you; but if you will give up your false faith, and yield yourself to be my liegeman for ever, I will give you life in reward for your courage, and blot out from my memory all your misdeeds.”

“Fool,” cried the pagan in his rage, “I defy your gift; use your fortune as you will, slay me, for I would not live at your behest.” And the Prince, much against his will, smote him that he died.

And now Sir Guyon, waking from his swoon, saw the pilgrim at his side, and cried out with joy, “Dear friend, for lack of whose guidance I have wandered long, how gladly do I see you again. But where are my shield and my sword?” Then the pilgrim told him what had befallen, and the knight rendered his thanks to the Prince right courteously, and he as courteously received them.