CHAPTER XXI

THE STORY OF FLORIMELL

It has been related before how Sir Guyon and Prince Arthur parted company with Britomart with the purpose of relieving a fair lady in distress. Now the name of this same lady was Florimell. She was courted by many knights of high degree, but her love was given to Sir Marinell, the same that was overthrown by Britomart in the passage by the sea; but he, on his part, had no thought for her, being mindful of his mother’s counsel that he should hold himself aloof from all womankind. So fast did Florimell fly, for she was in grievous fear, that the two knights who followed with intent to give her help, could by no means overtake her. After a while the strength of the white palfrey on which she rode wholly gave out, and she, alighting, made her way on foot, a thing which she had never done in all her life before, so delicately bred was she. But need teaches many lessons, this being chief among them, that Fortune holds the lots of all in equal scales, and has no respect of persons. So travelling, she came to a hillside, from which, looking down, she espied a valley thickly covered with trees, and through the tree-tops a thin vapour of smoke issuing forth. “Here,” she said to herself, “is a dwelling of man, where haply I may find shelter and rest.” So she bent her steps thither, and after a while reached the place, being now sorely spent with trouble and weariness. A dwelling there was, but of the humblest kind, a little cottage, built with reeds and wattled with sods of grass. In this there dwelt a witch woman. Most sparely did she live, careless of all common things, for her mind was wholly given to her art, for the better and more secure practice of which she lived far from all neighbours.

When Florimell came in the witch was sitting on the ground, and was so busied with one of her enchantments that she was taken wholly unawares. At the first she was overcome with fear, for she would not that any should surprise her while she was busy with her art. Then, her fear changing to anger, as, indeed, it is commonly wont to do, she cried in a loud voice: “Stranger, what mischief has brought you hither? Here, of a truth, you will find no welcome.”

Florimell answered: “Mother, be not angry with a simple maid, who has been brought to your dwelling by hard chance, and asks only for leave to rest awhile.” And as she spoke the tears came trickling down her cheeks, and she heaved a sigh, so softly and sweetly, that there could be no creature so hard and savage that would not have pitied her. Even the witch, for all that her soul was given to mischief, was much moved at the sight, and sought to comfort her in such rude fashion as she knew, for even in her the sight of such beauty and virtue moved the hidden sense of womanhood. So, wiping the tears from the damsel’s eyes, she bade her rest awhile. This she was nothing loath to do, and sat down upon the dusty floor, as a bird spent with tempest cowers upon the ground. After a while she began to set aright the garments that she wore, and to put in order her golden hair. All this the witch woman saw with wonder that still waxed greater and greater. “Is this a mortal maid,” she said to herself, “or one of Diana’s train?”

This same witch woman had a son, very dear to her, and in a sort the comfort of her age, but a lazy, evil-minded loon, always idling away his time, and loath to follow any honest trade. He was abroad when Florimell came to the cottage, and when he returned, he was not a little amazed to see so fair a creature sitting by his mother’s hearth. But the maiden bore herself so meekly, fitting herself to the low condition of the place, that she soon ceased to be strange to mother and son. This was a thing to be desired; yet it had in it this discomfort, that the witch’s son began to love her. He would bring gifts for her, such as birds which he taught to speak her name, and squirrels which, he said, were as fellow-slaves with himself, and flowers to make garlands for her head. All these she graciously received. Nevertheless she was not a little troubled in her heart, for she could not but perceive the love which the young man bore her. Therefore she determined in herself to depart.

By this time her palfrey was well rested from its weariness, for, indeed, the young man, the son of the witch, had tended it with all care. Early, therefore, one morning she put its strappings on the beast, and so departed.

Great was the anger of the witch and her son when they knew that Florimell was gone. As for the disappointed lover, his fury passed all bounds. He beat upon his breast and scratched his face, and tore his flesh with his teeth. When his mother saw him in so evil a plight, she did all that she could to comfort him. Tears and prayers she used, and charms and herbs of might; but all were of no avail. When she saw this, fearing lest, in his despair, he should bring himself to a violent end, she said within herself: “I must bring the creature back.” So she called out of the cave a hideous beast that served her. It was a creature likest to a hyena, for its back and sides were covered with spots. But never was seen anything that could be matched with it, so fierce of aspect was it, and so swift. The witch said to him: “Follow this woman, and do not leave following till you overtake.”

So the monster followed Florimell, and, as she rode leisurely, soon overtook her. When she saw him, she set spurs to her palfrey, and he, so long as he was fresh and full of breath, kept her out of the creature’s reach. But when his breath failed him, then the monster drew near. This Florimell perceiving, leapt from her saddle and fled away on her feet. Now it chanced that she was close to the seashore, and she, being minded to be drowned, rather than be overtaken by so foul a beast, ran to the very edge of the waves. There, by good hap, she saw a little shallop lying, in which the fisherman, an old man and poor, lay asleep, the while his nets were drying. Into this she leapt, and pushing off the shallop with an oar, was safe awhile. The monster would not venture on the sea, for it was not to his liking, and so set out to return to his mistress the witch, to tell her how his quest had failed. But first he turned upon the palfrey and rent it.

Scarcely had the beast done this, when there came that way a gallant knight, Sir Satyrane by name, the same that had befriended the Lady Una in her distress. He, seeing the palfrey lie dead upon the ground, knew it for that on which the Lady Florimell had been wont to ride; also he found the golden girdle which she had been wont to wear, for it had fallen from her in the haste of her flight. These things greatly troubled him, and when, looking round, he also saw the monstrous beast which had pursued her, standing by, his fear was changed to anger, and he flew upon it and dealt it many blows with all his might. Many wounds did he give it, causing much blood to pour out of its carcase; but the beast he subdued not, with such spells had the witch woman fortified it against all assault. At the last he threw away his sword, for in truth the steel seemed to avail nothing against the creature’s hide, and caught it in his arms as if he would have crushed the life out of it; also he took the girdle of Florimell and bound the beast with it. Never in truth had it known such constraint, for in a moment all its rage was quelled, and it followed him meek as a lamb which the shepherd has rescued from the lion’s mouth. And this, without doubt, it had continued to do, but for this chance, that Sir Satyrane was called away upon another adventure. He spied a giantess riding on a dappled grey steed, holding before her a squire fast bound with chains of wire, and a knight pursuing her. Therefore he made haste to put himself in her way. She would have passed him by, but he would not suffer it, running at her with his spear. Thereupon she was constrained to deal with him, and would have smitten him with a great mace of iron which she carried in her hand, and with which she had already slain not a few. But ere she could deal the blow, his spear came full upon her shield. So great was the shock, that her horse staggered to and fro; but she was not moved one whit in her place, nor was the shield broken. Rather the shaft of the spear was shivered on it, for all it was big and strong. Nor did she delay to strike him with the mace of iron. Full on his helmet’s crest she smote him, and that so sturdily that he bowed his head upon his breast and reeled to and fro like to a drunken man. Which the giantess perceiving, caught him in her arms, and put him on the saddle before her, for the squire she had already cast to the ground. Then truly had Sir Satyrane been in an evil plight, but for the knight that was pursuing. He, indeed, seeing what had chanced, made the greater haste to overtake her, but she, not desiring another battle, or because she especially feared the other knight, threw Sir Satyrane to the ground, and thus he was delivered. But meanwhile the witch’s monster had departed.