“Who is this fellow,” said he, “who talks to me as though he were rating a dog in a kennel? Of a truth, if he is a dog of spirit, he would rather die than lie like a coward in a corner.” So saying, he issued forth, and came to blows with the stranger. And doubtless mischief had been done but that the good Satyrane made peace between them. This done, they agreed together to punish the lord of the castle for his churlishness. So they went back to the gate, and Paridell cried aloud: “Hark, Sir Porter, whoever you are, if you open not this gate, then we will burn this place and all that is therein with fire.”
When Malbecco heard this, perceiving that they were in earnest, he ran with all speed and called to them from the castle walls. “Bear with me, fair sirs,” he cried, “and pardon me, seeing that I am so ill-served. These loutish knaves of mine know not their duty, and fail to attend as they should upon strangers.” When they heard this, the knights consented to let the matter be, though they believed not a word of what the man had said. So they entered the castle. Being within the walls, they rid themselves of their armour, for they were fain to dry their garments at the fire. And lo! when the last come of the three took off his helmet, the hair, which was of golden hue, broke loose from its tie and fell down to her feet, like the sunbeams that fall from a cloud; and when she doffed her coat of mail and let down the pleated frock she had tucked up for convenience’ sake in riding, then it was plain to see that she was a woman, and indeed the very fairest of women; for in sooth this last come of the three knights was Britomart.
CHAPTER XVIII
SIR SCUDAMORE AND AMORET
Britomart, riding forth on the day following from Malbecco’s Castle, came to a fountain whereby a knight was lying stretched upon the ground. His cuirass and his helmet and his spear lay near him, and his shield, on which was the emblem of love, as a boy with wings, was thrown carelessly on the ground. He lay with his face upon the ground, and it seemed as if he were asleep, so that Britomart of her courtesy held back, lest perchance she should wake him. But as she stood, she heard him groan, and after break forth into bitter complaining: “O God,” he cried, “who rulest in bliss among Thy saints, why sufferest Thou such cruel deeds to be done? Hast Thou no care for the cause of the innocent? Is Thy justice asleep? What doth it profit a man to do righteously if righteousness find no reward? Never was there on earth a creature more gracious than my Amoret; and lo! for seven months the tyrant Busirane holds her in prison, and all, forsooth, because she will not deny her Scudamore. And I, this same Scudamore, am safe and sound, and yet can help her not at all!” Then he burst forth into a storm of sobs. So shaken and disturbed was he with the torment of his grief, that Britomart feared that he might even die. So, stooping down, she touched him lightly on the shoulder. Whereat he, starting up, looked to see what had happened; and finding that it was but a stranger knight, he threw himself again upon the ground.
Then said Britomart: “Sir Knight, whose sorrow seems to overpass your patience, I would counsel you to submit your will to the providence of God. Remember, if you will, that virtue and faith are mightier than the very worst of sorrows. Surely he who cannot bear the burden of this world’s distresses must not think to live, for life is a distressful thing. And now, tell me what this villain of whom you speak has done. Maybe this hand of mine may help you to win relief and redress.”
Then said the knight: “Ah me! it is idle to complain of what may not be cured. I fear me much that there is no remedy for this trouble. How can we deliver my Amoret from the dungeon in which this tyrant holds her, and all because she will not accept his love, nor be false to me? For, indeed, he has fortified the place with such magic charms that no power of man can overcome them.”
“Nevertheless,” said Britomart, “we will make our endeavour.”
“Why should you die for me?” said the knight. “It is enough that I should perish, who deserve it well.”
“Nay,” cried Britomart, “life is not lost if the fame that dies not be bought with it.”
So at last she persuaded him to rise from the ground. His armour she helped him to put on, and his horse, which had strayed away, she brought back to him. Then they set off for the magician’s castle, which was but a bow-shot away. But when they were arrived, lo! there was no gate, no, nor porter, nor watchman, but in the porch there was a flaming fire and a great smoke of sulphur; so fierce was the fire and so thick the smoke that they were compelled to fall back.