CHAPTER XXII

OF THE FALSE FLORIMELL

The monster sped on as fast as it could to the dwelling of its mistress, the witch woman. When she saw it, she perceived how it was bound with Florimell’s girdle. At this she rejoiced greatly, and showed the thing to her son, thinking that he also would rejoice. “See,” said she, “this thankless creature has not escaped. Behold her girdle.”

But he was otherwise minded. “Surely,” he cried, “she is dead, this fairest of all maidens!” And it seemed as if he would have torn the very heart out of his breast. So mad was he with anger and grief, that he would have slain his mother where she stood. Only she hid herself in a secret place where she was wont to call up the evil spirits which served her. And now she summoned them to her help, telling them what had come to pass. “Counsel me,” she said, “for my son is distraught with anger and grief and love, and either he will lay violent hands on himself, or he will slay me, though I have done my very best to serve and help him.”

So the spirits took counsel together in the matter, and by their advice, her own wicked wit helping, she contrived a marvellous thing. She set herself to make another Florimell, a false maid, like in all things to the true, so far as concerned shape and outward semblance. The substance of which she made her was snow, which she gathered in a secret glade of the Thracian hills, the spirits of the mountains having revealed to her the place. This snow she tempered with fine mercury and virgin wax, which had never been touched with fire. These she mingled with vermilion, so making a rosy red in the cheeks. And for eyes she set two lamps, whose fire was marvellously attempered to the likeness of life; and hair she made of golden wire, more marvellously light than ever was hair of woman; and for life to make this dead mass move and breathe—for dead it was for all its beauty—she put one of the spirits which served her. A wicked spirit was this, none more wicked or crafty, or with a more cunning art to take the semblance of goodness. There was no need to teach him how to bear himself. This he knew already; there was no subtlety or craft in all the wit of woman with which he was not acquainted. Such was the false Florimell.

This creature she arrayed in some of the garments which the true Florimell had left behind her, and so brought her to her son, where he lay groaning on the earth. “See, my son,” she said, “the maid herself has come back to us.” And when he saw her, he leapt from the ground, and would have caught her in his arms. But she held back, for the spirit within her knew well how women bear themselves in such a case, neither seeming too fond, yet giving such encouragement as might the more confirm him in his passion. Such was the charge which the witch woman laid upon him.

One day, as the son was walking with the false Florimell in the wood, there chanced to come by a certain knight with a squire attending him. And now it must be said who this fellow was, for, indeed, he was no true knight. It has been already told how that Sir Guyon, when he was helping a traveller in distress, had his horse and his spear also stolen from him. The thing was done by a vain fellow, Bragadocchio by name, who, seeing the horse and spear ready to his hand, thought that by taking them he might make himself into a veritable knight. Little had he of his own but a ready tongue; but this same tongue was no small help with the more foolish sort. He then, mounting the steed, and taking the spear in hand, rode on, and so vain was he, and full of self-conceit, that he hoped to be courteously received for what he seemed to be. And in this notion his first adventure confirmed him. As he rode along he saw a man sitting idly on a bank; and he said to himself: “Here is one whom I will make captive to my spear.” With that he smote his steed upon the flank, and set his spear in rest and charged. The man, when he saw him coming on, fell flat on the ground for fear, and cried for mercy, holding up his hands. At this Bragadocchio took a wonderful conceit of his own strength and courage: “Who are you, caitiff?” he cried. “You are not worthy to breathe the air along with honest men. Prepare for death, or yield yourself to be my prisoner for ever. ’Tis no small favour that I give you time to answer!”

The man cried: “Hold your death-dealing hand, my lord, I am your thrall!”

“So be it,” said the sham knight, “your fate has baulked my will, and given you life when I had purposed death. So be it; life I give you. Fall on the ground, and kiss my stirrup. So pay your homage.”

Then the wretch threw himself on the ground, and kissed the stirrup, and declared himself to be Bragadocchio’s man. For a while he held his master in great respect, but when he found out how hollow was his show of courage, then he grew bolder, and practised upon him for his own ends. Trompart was his name, which, being interpreted, means deceiver; a worthy squire he was for such a knight.

They had not long companied together when they chanced to meet Archimage, who was looking out for some men-at-arms to help him in his evil designs. He, coming close to Trompart, said to him under his breath: “Who is this mighty warrior, who has a spear only and no sword?”

Said Trompart: “He is indeed a mighty warrior; as for his sword, he has made a vow that he will use none till he shall be avenged for a certain wrong that has been done to him. Meanwhile his spear is enough: he can do to death with that as many as he will.” Then Archimage, louting low before him, told a false tale about the Red-Cross Knight and Sir Guyon, which when Bragadocchio had heard, he cried with a loud voice: “Old man, tell me where these false knights are hiding themselves. I will soon punish them for all their misdeeds.”

“That will I do without delay,” answered Archimage, “and will help you also when you come to deal with them. Meanwhile I would give you this counsel, that you give no odds to your adversaries, but provide yourself with a sword before you do battle with them, for, indeed, they are sturdy fighters.”

“Old man,” said Bragadocchio, “you dote. Doubtless your wits have failed you by reason of age, or you would not judge of a man by his coat of mail or his sword. A man, be he indeed a man, can quell a host without sword or shield. Little do you know what this right hand of mine has achieved; but they who have seen it can tell if they will.”

Not a little abashed was Archimage at these high words; well he knew in his heart that whoso should do battle with the Red-Cross Knight or Sir Guyon would need all his arms, and yet he feared to offend this knight. Then Bragadocchio said further: “Once upon a time I slew seven knights with one sword. And I took a great oath, having done this, never again to use a sword in battle, unless it should be the sword of the very noblest knight in all the world.”

“Wait you for that,” said Archimage, “then you shall have it by to-morrow at this time. ’Tis the sword of Prince Arthur, and it flames like a burning fire. Lo! I go to fetch it.” And as he spoke he vanished into air.

“What is this?” thought the two to themselves in sore dismay, for they liked little to have aught to do with such a sword. And they fled from the place as fast as they could to hide themselves in a wood which was near at hand. This they had scarcely reached when they heard the clear ringing of a horn. Thereupon Bragadocchio leapt from his horse and hid his coward head in a thicket. As for Trompart, he was not easily moved, but abode in his place to see what should happen. Soon there came into the glade where they were a very fair lady dressed in huntress fashion. She had a fair white tunic with an edge of gold and gilded buskins, and a boar-spear in her hand, and on her shoulder a bow and a quiver filled with steel-headed arrows. And all about them flowed loosely down her golden hair. When she spied Trompart she said: “Saw you a hind with an arrow in her right haunch? If so, tell me which way she went, that I may follow up the chase.” But while she was speaking, she saw the bush stir in which Bragadocchio lay hid, and thinking it was some beast of prey, would have shot an arrow into it.

But Trompart cried: “Forbear, I pray you, whether you be nymph or mortal maid. That is no mark for your arrows. My master, a famous knight, rests awhile under the shade.” So she stayed her hand, and Bragadocchio came forth from his hiding-place on his hands and knees, and after stood up, making as if he had been newly roused from sleep. After this they talked awhile, and when the lady had passed on, Bragadocchio said to Trompart: “I had from my birth this grace, not to fear any mortal thing. But of the heavenly powers and of the fiends in hell I do stand, I do honestly confess, in great dread. And when I heard that horn, I took it for some signal from the sky, and hid myself for fear. And now let us depart hence.”

Such was Bragadocchio, the false knight who came upon the son of the witch woman as he was walking in the wood with the false Florimell. When he saw the two, and perceived that the lady was very fair to look upon, and that he who was with her was no man of war, he rode up, with his spear in rest, crying, “Clown, how is this? This lady is my love. Gainsay it if you dare!”

The churl dare not answer him a word, but yielded the damsel to him; and he, mounting her upon Trompart’s horse, rode on, not a little proud of the valiant deed which he had done. Nor had he ridden long when there came in view a stranger knight, who cried: “Ho there! Yield the damsel to me; I have a better right than you!”

Sorely dismayed was Bragadocchio at such a challenge, but dissembled his fear, saying, “Think you, Sir Knight, to steal away with words what I have won by many blows? Yet, if you will have trial of my strength or prove your own, let it be so.”

“Turn your horse,” said the stranger, “or I will strike you dead!”

“So be it,” answered Bragadocchio, “if nothing else will content you. Let us then retire our horses for a furlong either way, and tilt together as is the custom.” So they turned their horses, and retired each a furlong’s length; but Bragadocchio came not again, but fled away as fast as his horse could carry him.