Tales from Spenser, Chosen from the Faerie Queene

But Britomart, full of wrath because of the stroke that had revealed her face, still held her arm uplifted, and standing sternly over the knight, threatened to strike unless he would return to the combat, bidding him arise or he should surely die. But Artegal only prayed the more earnestly for pardon, or if that were refused him, besought that she would take her will and inflict on him what punishment she chose.

And when Scudamour, who now quaked with fear, watched her as she stood resolute, and beheld how fair and heavenly her countenance appeared, he crossed himself, and began to worship her as a celestial vision. And old Glaucé seeing this, and knowing that now all jealousy of Britomart would be at rest, was joyful at the thought of a good ending to her sore trouble, and greeting her lost nursling, prayed her as she loved her faithful squire to grant these warriors a truce. The maiden yielded to her request, and the knights raised their beavers to show who they were.

When Britomart beheld the face of Artegal in all its manly beauty, she saw that it was the countenance she had beheld in the magic mirror in her father's house; her angry courage gave way, her haughty spirit became subdued, and her upraised arm fell quietly by her side.

But the maiden was very proud, and cared not to show that she was conquered, so by-and-bye she tried to uplift her hand again, as if rage and revenge still remained in her soul, but it fell harmless, for she caught sight of Sir Artegal's fair countenance. Then she tried to force bitter, angry words from her tongue, but it too refused to obey her will, and instead of wrathful speeches, would utter only mild and gentle words.

And Scudamour, relieved from all his jealous fears by the vision of her loveliness, grew sportive in his speech, rallying Sir Artegal on his so sudden humble behaviour towards his late opponent.

"Indeed, Sir Artegal," he exclaimed, "I delight to see you, who were wont to despise all fair dames, become so suddenly a lady's thrall."

When Britomart heard the name of Artegal, she knew in very truth that this was the knight whom Merlin had told her she should wed. Her heart gave a great leap. She trembled for sudden joy and secret fear, while the blood rushed through her veins and mounted to her fair face. Then, fearful of betraying herself, she strove the harder to continue in her former angry mood, trying thus to hide her newly-awakened feeling.

And now old Glaucé began to speak wise words.

"Ye gentle knights," she said, "whom fortune hath brought to be spectators of the emotion which secret fate hath wrought in this fair lady, marvel not, and henceforth be not the prey of idle fears and jealous thoughts. Nor may you, Sir Artegal, again disdain the might of woman's arm, which hath twice conquered you, nor any longer be rebellious unto love, which is the crown of knighthood and the bond of noble minds. And you, fair lady knight," continued the old woman, "relent, and grant him your grace."

Britomart blushed deeply at her nurse's words, but Artegal rejoiced in his inmost heart, yet dared not make too sudden a change in his demeanour, nor show openly the love which her beauty and quiet dignity of manner, so grave and full of princeliness, inspired within him. But his passion grew the stronger from the very restraint imposed upon him.

Here Scudamour, whose heart had all this time been racked with fear and hope, interposed, with a request for tidings of Amoret. This Britomart at once granted, and went on to relate a sad tale: how, after freeing her from the enchanter, and guarding her with tender care and love for many a day, she had lost her in a wild desert, where from sheer weariness Britomart had fallen asleep.

Poor Scudamour was terribly cast down by these melancholy tidings, and only plucked up a faint hope when Britomart pledged herself to remain with him until together they found the missing dame.

Meantime the three combatants being thus reconciled one to another, mounted their steeds, and rode towards a certain resting-place known to Sir Artegal, where they were well received and cared for. Here they remained until their wounds were healed, and their weary limbs thoroughly rested.

And all the time they sojourned there, Sir Artegal served Britomart with meek service, watching continually how he might best please her. Thus day by day he made progress in his suit; and though Britomart in her womanly pride tried hard to conceal the love she bore him she could not quite succeed. So well did Artegal woo, so skilfully did he contrive, that at length he brought the noble damsel to bay and forced her to lay aside her seeming indifference and to hearken to his words. And as she listened to the vows with which he swore to love and guard her, Britomart's reserve gave way, and she yielded a glad consent to love and own him for her lord until marriage should unite them for ever.

But their marriage might not be yet, for Sir Artegal had been sent out from the court of Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland, on a hard adventure, and until it was achieved he might not turn aside from following after it. And now that his limbs were rested and his wounds were healed, the knight knew the time was come when he must leave Britomart and continue on his way, so he told her of the adventure on which he was bound. She, poor maiden, having just begun to taste of the rest and comfort of his presence, was sorely grieved and exceeding loth to be so soon parted from her "dearest love." But he, strong in the sense of duty, persuaded her to acquiesce, and with fresh vows of love and constancy, promised to return to her so soon as ever his enterprise was ended, which would not, he thought, be longer than three months.

Early next morning, Sir Artegal rose and pursued his way unattended, save by Britomart, who insisted on accompanying him a certain distance.

As they rode, she found first one, and then another excuse for delay, and talked of the perils he must encounter; perils of which the fearless maiden would have thought little for herself. But it was of no avail; all her stratagems but served to wear away the day; evening came, when they must part. Full often Britomart took leave of her lord, each time finding some last injunction to give, until at length she had spent all her words and could find no further pretext for delay, and so with right heavy heart she left him, and returned to fulfil her promise to Scudamour.

How Sir Artegal did at last return from his enterprise and marry the Princess Britomart, Spenser does not say, for he did not live to end all the tales he had begun. But we know that they were married and lived happily, for Merlin prophesied this when Britomart and Glaucé went together to his cave.

Cambello and Triamond

Faerie Queene. Book IV. Cantos II., III

Once upon a time there lived a knight named Cambello, who had a sister called Canacée. This sister was very beautiful, and was the most learned lady of her day. She was skilled in the works of nature and in magic arts; she understood the virtues of herbs and the sounds of beasts and birds, and was as good as she was learned.

Now many lords and knights loved Canacée. She, however, showed favour to none; but the more difficult she was to gain, the more was she sought after. Then arose quarrels among her numerous wooers, who ofttimes fought for her in bloody combat.

When Cambello saw this, he perceived it would cause much mischief, and he set about to consider how to prevent these unseemly deeds.

So one day, when this bold and mighty company of knights were assembled together, and were quarrelling as usual, Cambello proposed that if they really loved his sister they should choose three from among their number as champions. These three were to challenge and fight him for his sister's hand, and the bravest was to become her acknowledged suitor.

This was a bold offer on Cambello's part, but Canacée employed her skill on his behalf. She sent him a ring, which, amongst its many virtues had the strange power of staunching the bleeding of a mortal wound. The properties of the ring were well-known, and when her lovers saw Cambello receive it, they began to falter and to wonder whether it were worth while to risk life against such odds for a lady of whose favour they were after all uncertain.

Amongst the knights were three brothers, Priamond, Diamond, and Triamond. These three were born on the same day and loved one another dearly. Each had his own way of fighting. Priamond fought on foot, and for weapons used a spear and cutlass, Triamond on horseback with spear and shield, while Diamond, who was equally at home on horse or foot, used only a cutlass. Bolder men never lived.

Now their mother, Agapé, was a fairy, and had the power of knowing secret things, and as her sons grew up and showed a love of daring, she feared lest they should thereby incur disaster. She therefore determined to visit the three sister Fates and to inquire of them concerning her sons. She had to leave the bright earth and go far underground to a deep dark abyss where was their dwelling.

Agapé found the sisters sitting round the fateful distaff, which Clotho held while Lachesis span the threads that measured out men's lives, and cruel Atropos cut them in twain. Saluting the Fates she sat by, and as she watched them spin and cut the threads, her heart grew sad, and she trembled as she told them the cause of her coming.

They at once consented to reveal to her the fate of her sons, and proceeded to spin out their threads. Agapé trembled still more to see how short and thin these were. She besought that they might be drawn out longer, but to this the sisters would not listen.

Then she craved another boon, and asked that when the eldest, whose thread was shortest, died, his life might pass into the second son, and that when the second died, both lives might pass into the third. This boon they granted, and Agapé went home to find her sons arrayed in armour ready for fight. She did not tell them their destiny, but warned them to beware of danger and exhorted them to love each other.

Now these three brothers were the champions chosen by Canacée's wooers to challenge Cambello.

The day of combat was appointed, and as soon as it was dawn the knights assembled in the field clad in shining armour. The lists were enclosed with rails to keep off the press of people; at one side sat six judges, while at the other, Canacée, beautifully dressed, was seated on a stage where she could both see and be seen by those who fought for her.

The first to enter the lists was Cambello, who walked with stately step and fearless countenance; soon after came the three brothers, bearing gilt shields and broad banners. They marched three times round the field, bowing low to Canacée each time they passed her stage, while trumpets sounded and clarions played.

This ceremony over, Cambello and Sir Priamond advanced from the opposite sides of the lists; a trumpet blew, and they met in fierce encounter. They were a well-matched pair, and it was hard for the on-lookers to say who was the better man.

At length Priamond struck so mighty a blow that it pierced Cambello's shoulder, and forced him to lower his shield. Yet no blood fell from the wound, and the pain of it only made Cambello fight the more fiercely. Driving his spear at Priamond, he smote him in the thigh so that the knight reeled in agony; then Cambello drove at him afresh, and this time fixed his spear so firmly that in drawing it out the head broke.

Mad with pain and rage, Priamond now charged, thrusting his spear through Cambello's beaver. The weapon broke in his hand, and Cambello, dragging out the broken head, flung it back with fury. It struck Priamond in the throat, and wounded him so that he died, whereupon his life passed into Diamond, as the Fates had predicted.

At once Sir Diamond rushed forth into his brother's place, and, accepting Cambello's challenge, the trumpets sounded, and the fight began again. Fiercely they fought, while blood flowed freely, and their weapons flashed fire as stroke fell on stroke; but for a long time the issue was uncertain.

At length Diamond heaved his axe at Cambello with such force that it must have killed him had he not seen it and swerved aside. Then Diamond, who was bowed almost to the ground with the weight of his own blow, slipped. Seizing his opportunity, Cambello with one dread stroke severed his opponent's head from his shoulders. And behold! his body remained upright for a time before it fell senseless to the earth. The spectators were much astonished, for they did not know the Fates' decree, nor that the lifeless trunk had been inhabited by a double soul, which lingered awhile before it passed to Triamond.

Then Triamond, filled with the life and grief of two, leapt forth to avenge his brothers' death. And, notwithstanding the hard fight and his many wounds, Cambello met him as fresh as if he had not fought at all, for the ring not only prevented his wounds from bleeding, but restored his wearied spirits and revived his powers.

But Triamond was a fearless foe, and fought so desperately that Cambello was forced to retreat, until from his very fury Triamond grew breathless. Then Cambello attacked him in turn, compelling him to retire. And so the fight went on until both were sorely wounded, and Triamond's strength gave way from loss of blood. But Cambello, through the virtue of the ring, grew ever stronger, and striking Triamond on the hauberk, pierced it through, and so wounded him that he fell, to all appearance, dead.

But only one of his three lives had gone from him, and, to the utter surprise of all beholders, he suddenly arose and began again to assail Cambello. Cambello was astounded at this strange sight, and in his amazement stood still and off his guard, until Triamond's repeated thrusts compelled him to defend himself. He now fought more cautiously than he had done before, as if his adversary were some uncanny thing, so that Triamond imagined the knight was getting faint-hearted, and that victory was at hand. So thinking, he upheaved his mighty blade and aimed a terrible blow at Cambello. He, seeing it come, leapt skilfully aside, and pierced Triamond under the arm, wounding him right through to the shoulder. But Cambello did not altogether escape the heavy blow, which, falling on his head, hurt him wofully. Both combatants fell to the ground, seemingly dead. Thereupon the on-lookers thought the tournament ended, and the judges rose from their seats. The field-marshals broke up the lists, and went to remove the armour from the slain warriors, and poor Canacée wailed aloud for her brother. When, behold! both knights started lightly from the ground, and once more began the combat.

For a long time they fought fiercely, recklessly, as if caring only to end the contest. No one could say who would win, and all were watching eagerly, yet sadly, for the death of one or both, when suddenly a great noise was heard, so great that the champions themselves stood still. And lo! driving at a furious speed, there appeared a chariot, drawn by lions and decked with gold and precious ornaments, in which there sat a lady of wondrous beauty. She was bounteous as well as beautiful, and learned in all magic arts, for she was Cambina, the daughter of Agapé, and sister of Triamond, to whose aid she came.

There was terrible confusion as she drove through the thick crowds, for the people pressed to see her, and her unruly steeds grew restive, and overthrew many of the mob.

In one hand she held a rod of wondrous power, in the other a cup filled with Nepenthe, a drink devised by the gods to take away anger from the hearts of men, and give peace in its stead. As she came up to the lists she touched the rail with her wand, and it at once flew open. Then she descended from her chariot, and bid "All hail!" first to her brother and then to Cambello. But they were eager to return to the combat, and paid her scant attention. Seeing this, she flung herself on the bloody ground, and with tears prayed them by all that was dear to them to cease. Her entreaty availing not, she touched them lightly with her wand, whereupon their swords fell from them, and as they stood doubtful whether or not to resume them, she handed them the soothing draught, and they being very thirsty, drank of it eagerly.

Then was a wonder wrought, for the two fierce combatants ceased fighting, and kissed each other, and plighted hands as friends for evermore. When the on-lookers beheld this fair sight they shouted aloud for joy, and Canacée descended in haste from her exalted seat, and came to see what the shout portended. When she found the fighting ended and the foes at peace, she greeted Cambina, the strange lady, and offered her love and friendship.

The trumpets sounded, and they all arose to depart. Cambina took Canacée in her chariot, and Triamond and Cambello returned home together, and the people rejoiced with great feasting in the land.

And after a time Triamond took Canacée, and Cambello took Cambina to be their wives, and no such friends or lovers were anywhere to be found.

The Story of Timias

Faerie Queene. Book III., Canto V.; Book IV., Cantos VII., VIII.; Book VI., Canto V

You may remember that the good Prince Arthur had a squire named Timias. He it was who went in pursuit of the forester that so rudely followed Florimell. He thus became separated from his lord and had many adventures before he again saw Prince Arthur, who grieved sorely over the loss of his beloved squire.

Timias' first adventure was an encounter with the forester. He chased him through thick woods, a long and weary way, and more than once had nearly avenged the rude fellow's discourtesy towards Florimell. But the forester managed to escape, either because his horse was swifter or his knowledge of the woods better than that of Timias. He made his way to his two brethren, who dwelt with him in the wilds. To them he complained of the ill done him by the squire, and so excited their wrath that they determined to set out forthwith and aid him in making an end of Timias.

All three therefore repaired to a hidden glade, close by a narrow ford, difficult at any time to cross, and now swollen by recent rains. They knew that Timias must pass this ford, and here they lay in wait.

Things fell out just as the brothers expected. All unaware of danger the squire rode up, and began to cross the ford. The moment he did so, the forester stepped out upon the opposite bank, and daring Timias to move another step, threw a dart at him, which struck his habergeon. The blow did not harm him but it made him very angry, all the more so that the bank on which the forester stood was so high that Timias could not reach his antagonist.

At this moment one of the brothers shot a poisoned arrow out of the thicket, which wounded the squire, and caused him exceeding pain. Still he struggled on against all difficulties, and at length reached the opposite bank, where the third brother now attacked him with a bill-hook. Timias avoided the blow and killed the man with a thrust of his spear.

This increased the rage of the surviving brothers, who made a fresh attack with renewed energy. Timias, however, singled out one, and directing his whole force against him, struck a blow which cleft his head from skull to chin. Filled with rage and horror, the last brother shot an arrow at the squire, and immediately attempted flight, but Timias overtook him, and just as he entered the stream, struck off his head.

Timias was now freed from the three brothers, but his troubles were not over, for his poisoned wound bled so profusely that he soon fell from his horse in a deadly faint. He was in a sad plight all alone in the forest, but —

Providence heavenly passeth living thought,And doth for wretched man's relief make way.

While he lay in the swoon, Belphœbe the huntress, she whom Braggadochio had seen, came where the squire lay. She found him lying in a pool of blood, his hair matted and tangled, his eyes fixed and his lips pale. She recoiled with horror at the sight, but she was a good and brave woman and looked again, and as she looked her heart grew pitiful, and stooping down she felt his pulse. Finding that it still beat she raised his head and rubbed his temples, and then unfastened his armour. This done, she hastened to the woods, where she found herbs, which she carefully prepared. The juice of the herbs she poured into the wound and then bound it with her scarf. By-and-bye Timias opened his eyes and saw the lady standing by him, her bow and golden quiver lying at her feet. He thought her an angel or a goddess, and addressing her as such, asked what service he could render in return for her care. To this Belphœbe replied that she was only the daughter of a wood-nymph and that she desired nothing but his recovery for reward.

By this time the damsels of the huntress arrived and were despatched to recover Timias' strayed steed. Having brought it back, they set him upon it and led him gently to their dwelling.

It lay in a pleasant glade, surrounded by mountains whose mighty woods cast great shadows, and in the midst of which a little stream murmured softly over a rocky bed. By the stream was a fair spot planted with myrtles and laurels, and among these stood a rich pavilion. Here they laid Timias on a soft couch, and here Belphœbe daily dressed his wounds until he became quite well and strong. And then, from gratitude for Belphœbe's care and admiration of her rare virtues, Timias gave up all thought of returning to the Prince, and remained in the forest as her faithful attendant.

One day when hunting with Belphœbe and her damsels, Timias, as often happens in the chase, got separated from his companions, and while wandering about in search of them, came suddenly upon a poor lady who was being carried off by a cruel giant. He instantly went to her rescue, and succeeded in freeing the lady. But he was himself in great danger when Belphœbe, attracted by the noise of the fight, came to his aid, and bending her bow pursued the giant to the door of his den, where she slew him with an arrow.

Meantime Timias, always kind and gentle, was filled with pity for the fair lady whom he had rescued. She had fainted from terror and was much bruised by the fray and the cruel grasp of the monster. The squire knelt by her side, examined her wounds with tender touch, wiped her dewy and unconscious eyes, and in his pitifulness kissed them. At that moment Belphœbe returned, and when she saw her faithful squire so tender towards the lady, her heart swelled with proud disdain. In her sudden passion she was ready to have killed both squire and lady with the very bow which had already slain the monster. She however restrained herself, and drawing near to Timias, exclaimed, "Is this the faith?" then turned and fled.

Distressed at her rebuke Timias instantly arose and followed her, but ever as he drew near she threatened him with her bow and would not permit him to approach her. After a long and fruitless pursuit the squire was forced to turn back with a sad heart. Finding a solitary part of the forest he chose a glade made gloomy with mossy trees, and there built a hut to live in. He broke his weapons and threw them away, vowing never again to fight nor ever again speak to a woman, but to live alone and deplore his grief. The better to keep his foolish vow he cut and spoiled his clothes, let his hair grow until it fell untended over his shoulders, ate only wild fruits and drank only running water. Thus he weakened himself until he was unfit to carry arms, and disguised himself until no one could recognize him.

Indeed it chanced that one day Prince Arthur came into that part of the forest and found Timias in this wretched plight. The Prince talked to him and tried to make out who he was, but never guessed he was all the time addressing his lost squire. Timias would not speak, but only bowed reverently, and the Prince was obliged to go away sad at heart. He thought the miserable man some love-lorn swain, for he saw the name of Belphœbe cut on many of the trees, and remarked how he brightened at the sound of the name and even kissed the ground where it was written.

Thus Timias dwelt alone, wasting his youth in selfish solitude, until one day, as he lay bemoaning himself, a turtle dove that had lately lost her mate happened to come that way. Seeing one so sad, she paused in her flight and began to mourn with Timias. She sat by his side and sang so pitiful and so human a ditty that the squire fancied he heard in it his own name; and as he listened, he shed many tears and beat his breast and tore his hair in his sadness.