Again was Mammon greatly moved to wrath, but he hid it in his heart, and led the knight into a garden full of herbs and trees, not such as earth puts forth, in the upper air, to delight the souls of men: but such as have about them the atmosphere of death. The cypress was there, and the black ebony, and hemlock, which unjust Athens gave in old times to Socrates, wisest of mortal men. These were gloomy to behold. But in the midst was a tree, splendid with apples of gold. Hercules planted it with the apples which he won from the garden of the daughters of Atlas, and it bore fruits which were the occasions of strife, such as that which Discord threw among the guests at the marriage-feast of Peleus and Thetis. “For the Fairest!” was written on it. Hence came the strife of the goddesses, and the Judgment of Paris, and the stealing of Helen, and the bringing to the ground of the towers of Troy.

Much did the knight marvel to see the tree, for it spread its branches far and wide across the garden, and even beyond the garden’s bounds; for it was compassed about with a great mound. And the knight, desiring to see all that could be seen of so strange a place, climbed upon the bank and looked. And lo! there flowed below it a dark and dismal stream, which men call the River of Wailing. In this he saw many miserable creatures; and one he noted especially, who was always clutching at the fruit which hung from the tree, and making as though he would drink from the stream; and still the fruit seemed to draw back from his hand and the water from his mouth. The knight, seeing him so tormented, asked him who he was and how he came to be in such a plight.

“I am Tantalus,” answered the wretch, “the most miserable of all men; in old time I feasted with the gods, and now I die of hunger and thirst.”

Looking a little further he saw one who sought to wash in the stream hands covered with filth; but for all that he washed they were not one whit the cleaner. And when the knight inquired of him who he might be, he answered: “I am Pontius Pilate, most unjust of judges. I condemned most unrighteously the Lord of Life to die, and washed my hands to show that I was innocent of his blood, but in truth I was most guilty.”

Then Mammon, coming to him again, said: “Will you not even now take of the good things which I offer you, for yet there is time?”

But Sir Guyon was aware of his guile, and would not. “Take me back,” he said, “to the place from which I came,” and Mammon was constrained to obey, for it was not permitted to him to keep the knight or any man against his will. He led him back, therefore, to the upper air; but as soon as Sir Guyon felt the wind blow upon his face, for want of food and sleep he fell into a swoon, and lay without sense upon the ground.

CHAPTER XIII
OF TWO PAGAN KNIGHTS

While Sir Guyon was beholding the wonders of the house of Mammon, his faithful guide, the pilgrim, was seeking him, and came by happy chance, or leading of the powers above, to the place where he lay. Sore troubled he was to see him in so sore a plight, for indeed he lay as one that was dead. Nevertheless, feeling his pulse with trembling hand, the pilgrim found that it still did beat. Thereat greatly rejoicing he tended him with all care and kindness.

While he was busy with this tending, he lifted his eyes and saw two knights riding towards him clad in bright armour and an old man pacing by their side. The two were brothers, Pyrochles and Cymochles by name, and the old man was Archimage. Well he knew who they were, for Sir Guyon had done battle with the two in the time past, and had vanquished them, nor did he doubt that the old man, for all his reverend looks, was a wicked sorcerer. And they, too, knew who he was, and that the knight who lay upon the ground was their whilom adversary, Sir Guyon. And first Sir Pyrochles cried aloud: “Old man, leave that dead man to us. A traitor and a coward he was, while he was yet alive; and now he lies dishonoured!”

“Nay, Sir Knight,” answered the pilgrim, “you do wrong so to revile the dead. He was a true knight and valiant in the field, as none know more surely than yourself.”