So he put his spear to rest, and charged, and the stranger did likewise. They met full and fair; Sir Guyon’s spear, so fast and furious was the onset, was like to pierce the stranger’s shield, but this it did not avail to do, nor did it drive the stranger from his seat: nevertheless he was somewhat shaken. On the other hand, Sir Guyon himself was carried back, ere he was aware, nigh upon a spear’s length behind the crupper of his saddle, yet without hurt to life or limb. Nevertheless his anger was great, for never since the day when he first bore arms as a knight had he been dismounted in such fashion. And indeed, if he had known the whole truth of the matter, his anger had been both less and greater; less because the spear by which he had been overthrown was of the magic sort, and greater, because the knight by whom he had been overthrown was no man, but a maid, even the famous Britomart. Full of rage he was and hot to do away his disgrace, as leaping from the ground he drew his sword. And now the pilgrim in great haste came between the knight and his purpose, for being a holy man and wise, he perceived that there was some marvellous power in that same spear-point. This indeed he did not disclose, for it was not lawful so to do, but he made other pretence: “Nay, Sir Knight, it were ill advised to seek amends with your sword for the mischance of your spear. If haply your steed swerved somewhat to the side, or your page was somewhat careless in the ordering of your equipage, why should you be so carried away by wrath; for, remember, you have no quarrel with this knight.”
With such prudent counsels did the pilgrim pacify Sir Guyon’s wrath. Thus concord was made between the two, in which the prince also was joined.
When they had journeyed awhile Prince Arthur and Sir Guyon set off on an adventure of their own, to rescue some fair lady in distress. But Britomart, finding that they two would suffice for that enterprise, on which her own mind was in nowise set, rode on without company until she came to a fair castle, with a meadow before the gate, on which she saw six knights setting upon one. He was not a little pressed by such odds, yet in nowise dismayed. Indeed, the six dared not to stand up against him face to face, so shrewd were the blows which he dealt them, but sought to take him at a disadvantage from behind. Britomart endured not to see such knavish work, but setting spurs to her horse and crying aloud, “Have done with such foul tricks,” made all haste to help. And when they ceased awhile from the attack, she said to the single knight: “How comes it, sir, that you do battle in such fashion and at such odds?”
“Sir,” he made answer, “these six would have me swear that the lady of this castle hard by is fairer than the lady whom I love. Now that I utterly refuse; I had sooner die than break my plighted word in such a fashion.”
Then said one of the six, speaking for his fellows: “In this castle which you see there dwells a lady of such a beauty that none in all the world can be compared with her. She has ordained this law, that any knight coming to this place, if he have no lady-love already, shall vow himself to her service; but if he have such a lady-love, then he shall confess that she is of less grace and beauty, or failing so to do, shall do battle with us.”
“By heaven!” cried Britomart, “this is a hard choice! And tell me, pray, if this knight be obedient to this same law, what reward shall he have?”
“He shall have the lady’s fair regard. But tell us, sir, for yourself—have you a lady-love?”
“That,” said Britomart, “I answer not; whether I have such or have not, I pay no such homage as you ask to your lady. Rather, I take up this good knight’s cause against you.” And even while she spoke, she rode at one of the six and laid him low upon the ground, and then at another, and then again at a third, with the like end. Meanwhile the knight had discomfited the fourth. And the two that were left were fain to sue for peace. “See,” said Britomart, “how truth and honour prevail!”
Then was Britomart taken into the castle and received with great honour. Yet she misliked the place and the company, for that they both seemed unduly given over to ease and luxury. Nor would she doff her armour, nor, indeed, do aught but raise the visor of her helmet. And when the lady of the place, seeing that the stranger was very fair and of a noble presence, bore herself as one greatly enamoured, she departed in great discontent. The six knights would fain have stopped her going, and one of them, Gardanté by name, shooting with an arrow, for to come to closer quarters was not to his mind, wounded her in the side. But he and his companions received manifold more hurt than they gave, not only from Britomart, but from the strange knight and Sir Guyon also, for they, hearing the tumult, came to her help.
As they journeyed, it came into Sir Guyon’s mind to inquire of his companion concerning her condition, and how she came to be wandering in these parts. Britomart was not a little disturbed by this questioning. For a while she was silent, and could make no answer, but trembled and blushed, no knight but a very woman. But when the passion had passed, and she had gathered her strength together, she said: “Sir Knight, I would have you know that from a child I have been trained in things of war, to carry a shield, and to put spear in rest, that the life of ease, which women, for the most part, follow, pleased me not; and as for fingering the fine needle and the slender thread, by heaven! I had sooner be struck dead by a foeman’s spear! And so, all my heart being set on deeds of arms and perilous adventures, by sea and by land, wheresoever they might be met, I came from my own country, which men call the Greater Britain, into this land. For it was told me that in this same fairy land many such adventures were to be found, and much glory and honour won thereupon. And now, courteous sir, I would ask you one question: Know you, perchance, of one Artegall, for he has done me a wrong for which I would fain requite him?”