CHAPTER XXX

RADIGUND

Radigund the amazon dwelt a mile or so from the place where the gallows had been set up, in a city which she had called Radigone, after her own name. On the walls of the city were set watchmen to warn the queen of the coming of strangers. One of these espied Sir Artegall and his company, and gave warning accordingly, saying: “I see three strangers; one of them is a knight fully armed, and the others have a warlike look!” Thereupon all the people ran in haste to arm themselves, like to bees when they come forth in a swarm from their hive, and Radigund herself, half-arrayed as a man, came forth from her palace. Meanwhile the three drew near to the city gate, and when the porter, thinking scorn of them because they were so few, did not trouble to open to them the gate, they beat upon it with many blows, threatening the man also that he should suffer much for his insolence.

When the queen heard this she fell into a great rage and cried: “Open the gate; these fellows shall soon know to what a city they have come!” So the porter threw wide the gate, and the three pressed forward, meaning to pass through. But lo! of a sudden there fell upon them such a storm of arrows that they had perforce to halt.

“These women,” said Sir Artegall, “are stout fighters; let us be careful what we do.” And when they halted, the rout set upon them more fiercely than ever. As for Queen Radigund, when she saw Sir Turpine, and knew that he had escaped from the doom which she had decreed for him, and was now dealing blows to her women, she was carried away with rage, and flew at him headlong, as a lioness flings herself at an ox, and dealt him so fierce a blow as brought him headlong to the ground. And when she saw him lying she set her foot upon his neck, with intent to make him pay with his life for his disparagement of her authority. So does a bear stand over the carcase of an ox, and seem to pause awhile to hear its piteous crying. When Sir Artegall saw what had befallen Sir Turpine, he made all haste to help him, and dealt the queen so mighty a blow that it reft her of her senses; nay, but that she somewhat broke its force, for she was expert in arms, it had laid her dead upon the ground. For a while she lay without speech or hearing; then, recovering herself, she would have assailed him with all her might, for never before had she endured such disgrace. But when her maidens saw it, for a great company, armed for battle, accompanied her, they thrust themselves between; for they deemed that she was not wholly in fit condition for fighting. Thus were Sir Artegall and Queen Radigund perforce kept apart. As for the rest, Talus, with his iron flail, drove them hither and thither, breaking their bows and marring their shooting, and they fled before him as sheep fly from a wolf.

When evening came, Queen Radigund bade the trumpeters sound a recall, so that the soldiers should cease fighting. All the people she made pass back into the city; and she caused all them that were wounded to be carried to houses where their hurts might be healed. Then Sir Artegall caused his tent to be pitched, on the open plain, not far from the gate of the city. There he and Sir Turpine took their ease, but Talus, as was his custom, kept watch all the night. But Radigund was ill-content with what had happened that day; never before had her pride been so rebuked. She could not rest, but cast about in her mind how she could avenge herself for the shame which had been put upon her that day, and that for the first time in her life. After a while she made this resolve in her mind; that she would meet the knight in single combat and make trial of his strength, for that her people should suffer such waste and ruin as she had seen that day was a thing not to be endured. Then she asked for one of her maidens, Clarin by name, whom she judged to be most trustworthy, and fit to do her errand, and said to her: “Clarin, go quickly, and bear a message to the stranger knight, who has so distressed us this day, saying that I will meet him to-morrow in single combat, that we may see whether he or I be the better. Say also that these are my conditions: If I overcome him, then he shall render me obedience and be bound for ever to my service; and I, if he should vanquish me, do promise to do the same. Go, therefore, taking with you six of your fellows, arrayed as finely as may be, that they may be witnesses of this covenant! Take with you also wine and meats, that he may eat. Verily, if I have my will, he shall sit hungry many a day!”

So the damsel did as she was bidden, taking with her six companions, and meat and drink also. When she came to the gate of the city she bade the trumpeter blow a blast for warning to the knights. And when Talus came forth, she said that she would fain speak with his master. So being brought with her companions into the tent, she delivered to him the message of the queen. Sir Artegall received her right courteously, and when she had departed—not without gifts—he betook himself to sleep.

The next day the two adversaries made themselves ready for battle. Sir Artegall was accoutred as knights commonly are; not so Queen Radigund. She wore a purple cloak, embroidered with silver, with ribands of diverse colours, nicely ordered upon it. This cloak, for easier motion, she shortened to her thighs; but when she pleased, she could let it fall to her heels. She had for defence of her body a cuirass of chain-mail; buskins she had, finely embroidered with bars of gold; at her side she had a scimitar hanging to a most gorgeous belt; her shield was finely decked with precious stones, it was like the moon when it is at the full. In this guise she came out of the city gate, a noble sight to see; about her was a bodyguard of maidens, some of whom made music with shawms and trumpets. Her people had pitched a pavilion for her, where she might rest till the fight should begin. After this Sir Artegall came out of his tent, fully armed, and first entered the lists. Nor did Radigund long delay to follow him. And when the lists had been barred against the crowd, for a great multitude of people were gathered to see the issue of the battle, the trumpets sounded the signal, and the combat began.

The queen charged first in the most furious fashion, as if she would have done her adversary to death out of hand. But he, having had much experience in such matters, was not carried out of himself by her rage, but was content to defend himself from her assault; the greater was her fury, the more calmly did he bear himself. But when her strength began to fail her, then he took the other part; even as a smith, when he finds the metal grow soft, plies his hammer with all his might. Even so did Sir Artegall deal blow upon blow as if she were an anvil; and the sparks flew from her armour, and from her shield also, for with this she guarded herself in right skilful fashion from his assault. But now things began to go ill with her; for off this same shield the knight with one stroke shore away a full half, so that her side for half its length was exposed. Yet not one whit was she dismayed, but, smiting him with her scimitar, wounded him on the thigh, making the blood flow amain. Loud did she boast when she saw the blood, thinking that she had wounded him to death; but he, provoked by her boasting, struck at her with all his might, and when she put her shield to ward the blow, lo! this was shattered altogether, and fell in pieces on the plain. Next, as she was thus left without defence, he smote her again, this time upon the helmet; so that she fell from her horse, and lay upon the plain, like to one that was dead. When he saw her lying thus, he leapt from his steed and unlaced her helmet, with intent to sever her head from her body. But when he had unlaced her helmet, lo! her face was discovered to him. So fair it was, even though covered with blood and sweat, that he stood amazed; it was as when a traveller sees the face of the moon through a foggy night. And at the sight, all the cruel purpose departed out of his heart. So great was his pity that he threw his sword from him, for, indeed, there is no heart so hard but that the sight of beauty will soften it.

As he stood thus astonished, she recovered herself from her swoon, and saw the knight standing by her side without a weapon. Then she lifted herself from the ground and flew upon him with all her former rage. He, indeed, could but ward off her blows with his shield, as well as he could. And now, being without hope, he entreated her to withhold her hand. “Not so,” said she, “till you have yielded to me your shield in token of submission.” Nor could he refuse so to do. He had overcome her in fair fight, yet now was he himself overcome by his own misdoing, for he had of his own accord given up his sword, and so lost that which he had attained. Then she struck him on the shoulder with the flat of her sword, in token that he was from henceforth her subject. As for the unhappy Sir Turpine, he was indeed born under an unlucky star, for they took him back to the place from which he had escaped, and there hanged him shamefully by the heels. Talus they could not take, for all that they sought to lay hands upon him. He laid about him so unmercifully with his flail, that they were right glad to let him escape. Many did he wound and some he slew; the rest he put into great fear. Yet he would not seek to rescue his lord. “Nay,” said he to himself, “Sir Artegall has yielded himself of his own accord, and I must e’en let him be.”

Queen Radigund took the knight who had thus made himself her subject, and despoiled him of all his arms and armour, and put upon him woman’s clothing, with a white apron in place of a breast-plate. Having thus arrayed him, she brought him into a great chamber, on the walls of which were many memorials of other knights whom she had dealt with in the same fashion. His arms and armour she caused to be hung up among these, and his sword, lest it should work mischief to her, she broke in twain. When he was come into this place, he saw sitting there many brave knights whose names he knew right well, bound all of them to obey the amazon’s law, and spinning and carding wool. This they did under constraint, for they were bound to finish their task by the appointed time, nothing being given them whereon to dine or sup but what they could earn by this woman’s work. The queen set him in the lowest place of all, and put a distaff into his hands, and bade him spin flax and tow. Truly it is the hardest of all lots to be a woman’s slave! But he consented to her will, saying to himself: “She vanquished me in battle, and I must abide by my own word.”

After a while the queen began to feel the beginning of love for the knight. Long time she strove against it, thinking shame to be so overcome; but finding that her passion was not to be put away, she sent for the same Clarin, whom she had before made her messenger, and said to her: “Clarin, you see that fairy knight, who has been made my subject, not by my valour, but by his own honourable mind. He gave me my life, when it was lost; why should he suffer there in this cruel bondage? Why should I recompense him with ill for so good a deed? I would fain give him his freedom, yet in such a fashion that in giving it to him, I may win his free goodwill. I would loose him, and yet have him still bound to me, not with the bonds of violence and compulsion, but of benevolence and love. Now if you can by any means win him to such a mood, but without discovering, mark you well, my thought, you will win a goodly reward from him, and have me also greatly beholden to you. And now, that you may be able to pass freely to and fro, I give you this ring as a token to Eumenias”—this was the keeper of the knights’ prison. “Go then, my Clarin; use to the best all thy wits, employing both enticing looks and fair speeches.”

So Clarin, promising that she would use her best endeavour to win Sir Artegall to such thoughts as her lady desired, departed on her errand. She had recourse to all the arts she knew to win his favourable regard, and one day she said to him: “Sir Knight, you have had but an evil fortune; you sit drowned in despair, and yet you might raise yourself, if you were but willing, to something better.”

He was in doubt what this speech might mean, and so made answer: “Fair damsel, that you regard me with compassion is in itself a kindness for which I am in your debt. But you must know that a brave heart bears with equal courage fair weather and foul, frowns of ill fortune or smiles of prosperity. At this moment my life is overcast with cloud, yet I hope for sunshine to come.”

“Yea,” answered the maiden, “and what say you if you should see an occasion ready to your hand for entering on better things?”

“Truly,” answered Sir Artegall, “I count him to be unworthy of good fortune who should not promptly take such occasion, so that it come within his reach.”

Then said Clarin: “Why do you not set about to win your liberty by seeking the favour of the queen? ’Tis true that she has passed her days in war, yet she is not born of tigers or bears. She scorns the love of men, yet she does not forget that she is herself of the kindred of man.”

To this Sir Artegall replied: “Believe me, fair damsel, that not from obstinacy or disdain have I neglected to seek her favour. ’Tis lack of means that has kept me back from so doing; and if you can in any way supply this lack, then shall I be bound to you for ever.”

“This fish bites at the bait,” said the damsel to herself, “but it is not yet surely caught.” But even while she spoke, she herself, foolish maiden that she was, was caught herself. For, as a fisher who, while he seeks for the prey, falls into the brook, so Clarin, seeking to serve her mistress’s ends, conceived a great pity for this captive knight, and from pity it is but a short journey to love. But her love she durst not tell, neither to the knight, lest haply she should be disdained, nor to anyone else, lest that by any means it should come to the knowledge of the queen, for that she knew would mean a sure sentence of death. Therefore she kept the matter in her heart, watching for such occasion as might arise.

Queen Radigund, growing impatient of the delay, bade her unfold the truth. “How have you fared?” she said, “What is the temper of the man? Has captivity brought him to a more humble mind?”

“Not so,” said Clarin; “he is as stern and obstinate as ever. He scorns all offers and conditions; he would sooner die—so he declares—than look with any favour on those who have done him so great a wrong. This in brief is his resolve; in truth these are his very words: ‘My body may be thrall to the queen, but my heart is free.’”

When she heard these words the queen fell into a mighty rage. But coming to herself, and perceiving that anger would profit her nothing, she said to her minister: “Clarin, what remains for us to do? It were a shame to have laboured in vain, and still more a shame to sit down content when this fellow flouts us in such fashion. Nevertheless, that his guilt may be seen to be the greater, and my grace the more admirable, I will bear with this folly of his till you shall have made another trial of him. And you I charge to leave nothing that can be done or said to work upon him. Leave nothing unpromised that may help to persuade him. Tell him that he shall have life, freedom, grace, and store of gifts, for by gifts even the hearts of gods are touched. And to these promises add all your arts and woman’s wiles. And if your arts avail nothing, then let him feel the weight of your hand. Diminish his victuals; maybe he is too proudly fed; put more labour upon him, and with harder conditions; let him lodge less softly, lying upon straw; do aught that may abate his courage and his pride; put a chain of cold iron upon him, and deny him all that he may desire. And when you have done all this, tell me how he bears himself. If need be, I will deal with him, not as a lover, but as a rebel.”

All this Clarin heard, and made pretence to fulfil her lady’s commands. But her mind was turned to quite another thing, that is to say, to play her mistress false, and to gain the knight’s love for herself. To him therefore she made as great a show of goodwill as she could, telling him that she was making suit for him to the queen, that she should set him at liberty, but that she could not persuade her.

“The more I entreat her,” she said, “the sterner and the harsher she is.” Then from the knight she would go to the queen and say: “The more grace I show, the more haughty and unbending is he.” As for Sir Artegall, he spoke the woman fair, but never did he depart from his loyalty to his own fair lady.