CHAPTER XXVIII

OF OTHER ADVENTURES OF SIR ARTEGALL

As Sir Artegall, with Talus following, rode on, he met a dwarf who was travelling with all the speed that he could use. “Stay awhile,” he said, “for I have somewhat to ask of you.” And the dwarf, though somewhat loath, could not but yield. Now the dwarf’s name was Dony, and he served the fair Florimell. Not a little of his discourse, therefore, concerned the said Florimell. He told how Marinell was recovered of the grievous wound which Britomart had given him, and how he was to wed the fair Florimell.

“Say you so?” cried Artegall. “Tell me, therefore, when the marriage shall be, for I would fain be present at the celebration.”

“In three days’ time, as I am informed,” answered the dwarf, “and I too should be there, and the place is the castle by the seashore; only there is a hindrance in the way, for a little farther on from this place, a cruel Saracen keeps the bridge by which one must needs pass. Much harm has he done already to travellers, and men are fain to shun the way that lies thereby.”

“Tell me more about the villain,” said Sir Artegall. Then Dony set forth the whole matter.

“He is a man of great strength, and expert in battle. Moreover, he is not a little helped by the charms with which the wicked witch, his daughter, supports him. Thus he has gathered together much wealth, store of gold, and lordships and farms. This wealth he daily increases, greatly by means of this same bridge which he holds by force of arms. No one will he suffer to go over unless he first pays a toll, be he rich or poor. If the traveller be poor, then a squire whom he sets over this business extorts from him this tribute. As for the richer sort, these he deals with himself. Men call him Pollenté, which, being interpreted, is ‘Powerful,’ and the name is fitting, for much power he has. And besides the power he has not a little cunning, for he is wont to fight on this same bridge. Exceeding long is it and narrow, and full of pitfalls which he knows, but a stranger knows not. And often it happens that the stranger falls through one of these said pitfalls into the river beneath. And while he is confused with his fall, Pollenté leaps into the river and takes him at a disadvantage, and either slays him outright or causes him to drown. Then he takes the spoils of them who perish in this fashion, and brings them to his daughter, who dwells hard by. Thus she has gathered together great store of wealth, so that she exceeds even kings. Her they call Munera. Very fair is she, and gorgeously attired; many lords have sought to have her for a wife, but in her pride she thinks scorn of them all.”

This is the story which Dony the dwarf told to Sir Artegall. When the knight heard it, he cried, “Now, by my life, I will go none other way but this, God helping me.”

So he went on with Talus, and the dwarf followed. When they came to the bridge, there came to them an evil-looking villain, who said, “Give me the passage-money, according to the custom of the place!”

“Here,” answered Sir Artegall, “is my passage-money,” and therewith dealt him such a blow that he fell dead upon the ground. When the Saracen knight saw this, he was very wrath, and charged at Sir Artegall full tilt; nor did Sir Artegall lag behind. They met in the middle of the bridge, where there was a trap cunningly devised. The Saracen looked that his adversary should fall into it unawares and be sorely bruised and wounded; but Sir Artegall, having been forewarned by the dwarf, leapt into the river, clear of all that might do damage to horse or man. The Saracen leapt in like fashion, and the two met in the water, not one whit less hotly than had they been on the dry land. And here the pagan had no small advantage, for he was accustomed to fight in this fashion, and his horse also could swim like a fish. Sir Artegall, perceiving that the odds were against him, saw that he must close with his adversary without delay. Long they wrestled together, and Sir Artegall never loosened his grip one whit, and at last forced him from his saddle, so that he no longer had the advantage of the swimming of his horse. And yet the issue of the fight was doubtful awhile, for the Saracen was both brave and expert in arms. Nevertheless Sir Artegall had the better breath, as one that followed temperance in all things, and so prevailed until the Saracen was compelled to turn from the river to the land, hoping so to escape. Yet even as he lifted his head from the stream to the brink, the knight dealt him so heavy a blow that it clean shore the head from the neck. And this being done, then he went his way to the castle where the pagan’s daughter dwelt.

Here he was denied entrance, being received with so great a shower of stones that he was forced to retreat. Then he sent Talus, bidding him compel an entrance. And this he did without damage to himself, and with his iron flail he battered the door so fiercely that the whole place shook from the foundation to the roof. All who were within were greatly dismayed, and the Lady Munera herself came out, and stood upon the castle wall. When she saw in what peril she was, she used all the devices which she could imagine to deliver herself. First she besought the adversary with many prayers to cease from his attack—and, indeed, she was not wont to beseech in vain. Then she tried what enchantments could do, and of these she had a great store at her command. And when she found that prayers and enchantments availed nothing, she thought to corrupt the man with great gifts. She caused sacks of gold and precious things to be brought, and poured from the castle wall, thinking to herself that he would surely cease from his battering, and give her, at the least, some respite and delay.

But the riches moved him no more than the entreaties and enchantments. Still he battered with his iron flail till he broke down the door and made a way for his master to enter. No one dared to lift a hand against them: all through the castle they moved at their will. The Lady Munera for a while they could not find. At the last Talus, than whom a bloodhound was not more keen to scent a runaway, found her hidden under a heap of gold. Thence he drew her from her lair, pitying her not at all. For now even Sir Artegall, seeing how fair she was, had some compassion in his heart, and when she knelt before him would have given her some remission of the penalty. But there was no such thought in the heart of Talus. He cared for naught but to do justice to the full. So he took her by the waist, she crying loudly the while, and cast her into the river. And when he had wrought this justice upon her, he took all the pelf that he found in the castle, and ground it small to powder, and threw it into the water. This done, he razed the castle to the ground, destroying it utterly, so that no one in days to come should think to set it up again. After this Sir Artegall reformed the evil customs of the bridge, ordering that in time to come it should be free for all to pass over.

This good deed accomplished, they journeyed on to the castle by the sea, where the nuptials of Sir Marinell and the fair Florimell were to be celebrated with great honour. There were great feastings and rejoicings, to which an infinite concourse of lords and ladies resorted from all quarters; no knight that was held in repute for valour and deeds of arms was absent. When the banquet, which was furnished with all rare meats and drinks that the heart of man could desire, was finished, then the company addressed themselves to feats of arms. First came forth Sir Marinell and six knights with him, declaring to hold the field against all comers, in right of Florimell, and to affirm that she was the fairest of all the ladies upon earth. Against these there came from all parts such as desired to try their fortune in the lists—none were debarred. Many feats of arms were wrought that day; many knights were unhorsed, and some were wounded; but none, so it was judged by common consent, bore themselves more bravely than did Sir Marinell. His name, therefore, did the heralds proclaim as the champion of the day. And on the second day the event was the same. There was much fighting, many suffered loss and overthrow; and in the end the heralds proclaimed, as they had done before, the victory of Sir Marinell. But on the third day things fell out otherwise, for the knight pursuing his adversaries when he had put them to flight, somewhat rashly, was surrounded by them and taken prisoner. While they were leading him away, it so chanced that Sir Artegall came into the tilting-yard, and close behind him followed Bragadocchio, who had in his company the false Florimell.

When Sir Artegall understood what mishap had befallen Sir Marinell, he said to Bragadocchio: “I would fain help this brave knight; but I would not have anyone know who I am: therefore, I pray thee, change shields with me.” And Bragadocchio full willingly did so, thinking that he might thus win to himself renown without cost or danger. Sir Artegall, therefore, taking Bragadocchio’s shield, set upon the knights who were leading away Sir Marinell. There were a hundred in all. Of these fifty assailed him, and the other fifty stayed behind to guard the prisoner. But for all that there were so many they could not stand against him. The fifty who assailed him he speedily put to flight, and the fifty who would have kept the prisoner did not hinder Sir Artegall from setting him free. Then Sir Marinell being delivered and armed anew, for they had taken his arms from him, the two joined their forces and drove their adversaries out of the field. There was not one among them who could hold up his head or make a stand against them. When Sir Artegall had accomplished this, then he gave back the shield to Bragadocchio, who had stayed to see the issue of the day, keeping with him the false Florimell.

After this the trumpets sounded, and the judges rose up in their place and summoned the company, saying: “Hear! All ye knights who have borne arms to-day, and know to whom the prize of valour is awarded.” Then came forth the fair Florimell from the place where she sat, as queen of the tourney, that she might give to each knight his proper guerdon, and to him who should be held to have best acquitted himself, the first prize of all. Loudly did they call for the stranger knight who had wrought such prodigies of valour and strength in delivering Sir Marinell. He did not come forward, but in his stead Bragadocchio presented himself, with the shield bearing the device which all men knew—namely, a sun shining in a field of gold. When the company saw this, they, thinking that this was indeed the champion, set up a great shout, and the trumpets sounded, and Florimell rose up and greeted him most graciously, thanking him for his championship. But all this praise turned the vain fellow’s mind. “Not for your sake, madam,” said he, “but for my own dear lady’s sake did I this,” adding other words such as could not pass the lips of a true knight. Then he called to Trompart his squire, saying, “Bring forth the fairest of all dames!” Thereupon Trompart led forth the false Florimell; for he had her in keeping, hidden by a veil from the common sight.

Great was the astonishment of the company when they saw her. “This surely is Florimell,” they said to themselves, “or, if it be not, then it is one fairer than she.” Never were men more perplexed than the guests that day. Nor was Sir Marinell himself less amazed than the rest, and, as he gazed, the more and more steadfastly did he believe that this false Florimell was indeed the true.

But now Sir Artegall, who stood in the press of the crowd, closely disguised, heard the false boaster’s words, and could not contain himself any more, but came forth and cried with a loud voice: “False boaster, strutting thus in borrowed plumes, and doing dishonour to others with your lies, verily when each shall have his due, great will be your disgrace! ’Tis true that the shield which you bear was this day borne by him who delivered Sir Marinell, but yours was not the arm which struck the blow. And now hold forth your sword and let it show what marks of battle it bears, and if you bear in your body the mark of a wound, let this company behold it; nay, boaster, this is the sword which won the victory, and these the wounds which were endured in the winning!” And here he showed his sword, which bore the dint of many a blow, and the wounds which he carried on his arms and his body. “And,” he further said, “as for this Florimell of yours, I warrant she is no true dame, but only a fit companion for such as you.” Then he took the true Florimell by the hand and led her, she blushing the while, for the colour on her fair face was of roses mixed with lilies, and set her by the side of the false. And then, lo! a great marvel! The false dame melted away as snow melts in the sunshine! In a moment naught remained of her save only the empty girdle which once had compassed her waist. So on a day of storm we see a rainbow spanning the sky with all its goodly colours, and in a moment it vanishes from our sight, so did this lovely creature, the false Florimell, vanish from before the eyes of that company. And now Sir Artegall took up the golden girdle which alone remained of all that fair show, for this, indeed, was true, while all else was false. This he presented to the true Florimell, and she forthwith fastened it about her waist. Many a fair dame before had essayed to do it, but not one had found it truly and rightly fit.

But the end of these things was not yet, for now Sir Guyon came forth from the crowd to claim his own good steed, which, as has been told, had been stolen from him in time past by this false thief. With one hand he seized the golden bit, and with the other he drew forth his sword from its sheath, for he would have smitten the knave with a deadly blow, but that the press hindered him, for now there was a great tumult in the place. Thereupon Sir Artegall came forth and would fain know how the knight had been robbed of his horse. Then Sir Guyon told the story how, while he was busy setting right a grievous wrong, some knave had stolen his horse. “And now,” said he, “I challenge the knave who robbed me of it to deadly combat.” So he spoke, but Bragadocchio held back. He had no liking for such things.

Then said Sir Artegall: “This is truly the law of knighthood, that if one man claim a thing and offer to make good his claim by might of arms, and the other will not, the judgment goes against the latter by default. Nevertheless, for further and clearer discovery of the truth, can you who claim this horse as your own declare some tokens in proof?”

To this answered Sir Guyon: “Most truly I can. Such a token there is: a black spot in the beast’s mouth like in shape to a horse’s shoe.” But when they thought to look into his mouth so as to discern the token, he wounded first one and then another so sorely that they were like to die. From no one would he suffer such a thing. But when Sir Guyon called him by his name—Brigador—he, hearing the voice, stood still, as if he had been bound, and suffered them to open his mouth, so that all could see the mark as it had been described. Nay more, he would follow Sir Guyon, breaking the band with which he was tied, and frisked right gaily, ay, and bent his knee.

Then said Sir Artegall: “Now it may be plainly discerned that the horse is indeed yours. Take it therefore, with its saddle of gold, and let this boaster go horseless, till he can win a steed for himself.”

Much was Bragadocchio moved to be so shamed in the presence of all that company—so moved that for a while he laid aside his very cowardice, and broke forth into angry words against Sir Artegall. The knight made as if he would have slain the knave with his sword, but Sir Guyon stayed him. “Sir,” said he, “it would ill suit your dignity to vent your wrath on such a knave as this. The meetest punishment for him is to be put to open shame in the sight of all this company.”

But Talus was not minded to let the knave escape so easily. He caught him by the neck and led him out of the hall, and shaved his beard, and reft away his shield, and blotted out the escutcheon, and defaced all his arms. Nor did the false squire, Trompart, fare better, though he cunningly had essayed to fly, for Talus overtook him and served him in the like way. So may all makers of falsehood fare!