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.
Day by day the bird sat by him and sang; she showed no sign of fear and for guerdon of her song, he never failed to share with her his scanty meal.
Timias grew to regard her as a companion, and one day when looking at some mementoes given him by Belphœbe, he chose out a ruby, shaped like a heart, and bound it on the dove's neck. He expected to find some pleasure in gazing at it as he lay and listened to her song, but suddenly the dove finding herself thus decked flew away. Timias was now more sad than ever, for he had lost both the jewel which Belphœbe had given him and his companion.
Meantime the bird flew right through the forest until she came where Belphœbe rested after the chase. There she alighted and straightway began her mournful ditty, hoping thus to attract the maiden's attention. She succeeded, and after watching her for some time Belphœbe noticed on the dove's neck the well-known jewel. Rising hastily she attempted to grasp it, but the dove flew out of her reach, and when she saw that Belphœbe followed, lingered until the maid was near, when she again flew a little way forward, and thus flying and resting lured her far into the forest. They at length arrived near to the abode of Timias, when the dove flew straight into his hand. There she began a most piteous plaint, as if to force Belphœbe to understand who this was. The maiden, however, although sorry for this wretched-looking man, and wishful to do him any good she could did not recognize him. But Timias knew her: he said nothing, but fell humbly at her feet, and kissing the ground on which she trod, washed it with his tears and looked at her with wistful looks. She did not understand him, but wondered at his courtly manners, and pitying his misery, asked him whether heaven or the cruelty of man or his own wilfulness were its cause. When she ended speaking Timias broke his long silence and with it his vow, and replying that his suffering arose from all three, added that she herself had done the wrong.
He went on to pray her forgiveness and the sad words touched Belphœbe's proud heart when she found that it was Timias who thus addressed her.
Relenting from her severity she received him into favour again. For a long time he lived happily in the forest ever attending Belphœbe and forgetting the Prince, his rightful lord, who still sought for his lost squire.
By-and-bye men grew envious of the high distinction Timias received from the great Belphœbe, and said unjust and malicious things of him, but he behaved wisely and continued in her favour.
There were three men more anxious than any others for the overthrow of Timias. These were Despetto, Decetto, and Defetto. They tried all sorts of mean tricks by which to work his ruin, but in vain.
At length they resolved to send the Blattant Beast to destroy him. This was a horrid monster, treacherous and cruel, given to turn suddenly on its pursuer, and bite with poisonous fangs.
On a day when Timias was hunting, these bad men sent the Beast into the forest, hoping that he would give it chase and so be led to destruction. Just as they expected, Timias charged the monster as soon as he saw it, and with such fury that the Beast turned and fled. As it turned it bit him; he, however, paid no attention to the wound, but hotly pursued the Beast, which led him into thick woods and rough places full of briers, and thus wore out his strength until it had him in a woody glade where his three foes lay concealed.
All three sprang out and attacked him fiercely, so that it required his utmost skill to defend himself. They closed round him and rained blows on every side and yet he contrived to withstand them all and even to make them yield before him. But after a long fight his strength began to fail before the heavy odds, and he feared he must soon yield. Just then he heard the trampling and neighing of a horse. The sound inspired him with fresh hope, and the next moment he saw a knight in full armour riding hastily to his rescue. Despetto, Decetto, and Defetto saw this also, and like the cowards that they were, fled precipitately into the thick brushwood whither the knight did not choose to follow. He turned instead to Timias, and in the sorely bested combatant, Prince Arthur, for he it was, recognized his long-lost squire. Exceedingly rejoiced the Prince took him in his arms and embraced him tenderly, and thus was Timias restored to his rightful lord.