First of the three to meet Sir Cambell came Priamond; well skilled in arms were the two, and for long they fought without advantage to one or the other. Mighty the blows that they dealt, but both had watchful eyes and ready skill to turn the deadliest stroke aside. The first gain fell to Sir Priamond, for his spear, whether by good fortune or by skill it were hard to say, passed by his adversary’s shield and pierced the shoulder where a joint of the armour gave it access. Deep was the wound, and though no blood flowed therefrom—such was the virtue of the magic ring—it stung the warrior to the quick with keenest pain. There are whose spirit is quelled with pain; but Sir Cambell was not of these. The smart did but rouse his courage to the utmost, and put new strength into his arm. Straightway he drave his spear close underneath Sir Priamond’s shield and smote him on the thigh. The coat of mail did not stay it, but that it made a grisly wound, and the stout knight tottered with the blow, even as an old oak, withered and sapless, rocks with every blast of the wind. Nor did Cambell fail to use the occasion. He smote him yet again upon the side, making another deadly wound, and though the spear brake with the blow, he did not abate his onset, but drave the shaft through the visor of Sir Priamond’s helmet, and laid him low upon the ground. So fell the first of the three brothers; yet did not his soul depart, but by virtue of the gift of the Fates it passed into the bodies of the two that yet remained, making them stronger and more eager for the fray.
Nevertheless, when Sir Diamond addressed himself to the battle, the lists having been cleared afresh, and the trumpet sounded a second time, he fared no better than his brother. For a while the two stood face to face, giving and receiving equal blows, but without advantage either to the one or to the other. But then a great gust of wrath swept through Sir Diamond’s soul, driving away all thought but of how he might most speedily avenge his brother. And, indeed, the very soul of the brother stirred within him. So he lifted high his mighty battle-axe, swinging it over his head, and bringing it down on his adversary with all the force that was in his body. And, surely, had the blow fallen as it was meant, there had been an end of strife. No magic ring had availed to stay so dreadful an onset. It had crushed out Sir Cambell’s life, whether with or without the shedding of blood. But fortune helped him in his need, for judging where the axe would fall, he swerved aside, so that the stroke missed the mark, and the striker’s right foot slid from under him. So we may see a hawk strike at a heron with all his might; so strong is the blow, that it would seem as if nothing could turn it aside; but the heron, a wary bird, sees it come, and lightly avoids it, so that the hawk is well-nigh brought to the ground ere the force of his onset is sped. So fared it with Sir Diamond; not only so, but while he reached forward with his left arm to recover himself, he left his side unguarded by the shield. Which thing Sir Cambell did not fail to perceive, for swinging his axe, he smote him between the topmost rings of the coat of mail and the lowest rings of the helmet, which spot is ever dangerous to the warrior, how well soever he be armed. There did Sir Cambell smite Sir Diamond, with an arm so sure and deadly that he shore his head from his body.
And now ensued the fiercest fight of all, yea, and also the strangest. Well might a man wonder to see how Sir Cambell stood up, neither faint nor weary, for all that he had been changing blows for the space of an hour and more. Yet did he seem even fresher and brighter than at his first taking of arms, just as some great serpent wakes from the long sleep of winter, when the warm breath of spring has touched him, and throws off the ragged skin of his old estate, and raises himself in the sunshine with all the glory of his youth renewed. Such freshness and vigour did the magic ring work in calling out all the strength that he had, for all the magic in the world had not availed to help a coward or a sluggard. Against him stood a worthy foe, with the might of three stout champions in his heart and in his limbs. Once and again, yea, many times, did it seem that this or that warrior had prevailed. Now was Cambell beaten to his knee, till all the company thought he must needs lose the day, and now was Triamond stretched upon the ground, like to one who has received a mortal wound. And once, indeed, the two lay together at full length, as though they had been dead. The judges rose from their place, and the marshals of the lists came forward as to carry the two corpses to the appointed place, and the fair Canacé cried out in her despair, for it seemed as if both brother and lover had been taken from her at once. But lo! in a moment the two were standing on their feet again, and addressing themselves anew to the battle. What had been the end, whether the virtue of the magic ring had overcome the triple might of him in whom dwelt the spirits of three brave men, who can say? For now there was heard such a clamour, such a confusion of voices, such a shouting of men and wailing of women and shrill crying of children, that all turned their faces to look, and the two champions by common consent stayed their hands till they could see what strange things had happened. And, indeed, it was a marvellous sight that they saw. There came speeding along the ground, fast as a thunder-cloud that rides the sky, a chariot richly adorned with gold and purple in the Persian fashion. Two lions from the forest drew it, mighty beasts, such as could not be surpassed for strength and fierceness in any land, but now they had forgotten their savageness to obey the pleasure of their driver. And this was a lady of wonderful beauty, and not less wise than fair, for she had been taught all the arts of wholesome magic by the fairy, her mother. In her right hand she carried a wand with two serpents twined about it, and in her left a cup filled to the brim with nepenthe, the wondrous drink of which he that tastes straightway forgets all grief and anger and care.
This was the Lady Cambina, daughter of Agapé, and sister to Sir Triamond, and she, knowing by her art in what deadly peril her dear brother stood, came to his help. All the people made a way for her to pass, so that she could approach the lists. These first she struck with her wand, and they fell at the stroke. Then she said to the two champions, “Cease now your strife and be at peace.” And when they would not hear, but made as if to renew the battle, she cast herself upon her knees and besought them with many prayers and tears to cease from their anger; and when they still hardened their hearts, she smote them lightly with her wand. So soon as they felt the touch, the swords dropped from their hands. Then, as they stood astonished, not knowing what had befallen them, she gave the cup first to one and then to the other; and they, as being consumed by mighty thirst, drank each a mighty draught. Straightway the magic liquor turned all their strife to love; they clasped hands, and plighted troth to each other, and swore that they would be friends for ever. And such indeed they were to the end of their days; ay, and Cambell took to wife Cambina, and Triamond wedded the fair Canacé.
CHAPTER XXI
THE STORY OF FLORIMELL
It has been related before how Sir Guyon and Prince Arthur parted company with Britomart with the purpose of relieving a fair lady in distress. Now the name of this same lady was Florimell. She was courted by many knights of high degree, but her love was given to Sir Marinell, the same that was overthrown by Britomart in the passage by the sea; but he, on his part, had no thought for her, being mindful of his mother’s counsel that he should hold himself aloof from all womankind. So fast did Florimell fly, for she was in grievous fear, that the two knights who followed with intent to give her help, could by no means overtake her. After a while the strength of the white palfrey on which she rode wholly gave out, and she, alighting, made her way on foot, a thing which she had never done in all her life before, so delicately bred was she. But need teaches many lessons, this being chief among them, that Fortune holds the lots of all in equal scales, and has no respect of persons. So travelling, she came to a hillside, from which, looking down, she espied a valley thickly covered with trees, and through the tree-tops a thin vapour of smoke issuing forth. “Here,” she said to herself, “is a dwelling of man, where haply I may find shelter and rest.” So she bent her steps thither, and after a while reached the place, being now sorely spent with trouble and weariness. A dwelling there was, but of the humblest kind, a little cottage, built with reeds and wattled with sods of grass. In this there dwelt a witch woman. Most sparely did she live, careless of all common things, for her mind was wholly given to her art, for the better and more secure practice of which she lived far from all neighbours.
When Florimell came in the witch was sitting on the ground, and was so busied with one of her enchantments that she was taken wholly unawares. At the first she was overcome with fear, for she would not that any should surprise her while she was busy with her art. Then, her fear changing to anger, as, indeed, it is commonly wont to do, she cried in a loud voice: “Stranger, what mischief has brought you hither? Here, of a truth, you will find no welcome.”
Florimell answered: “Mother, be not angry with a simple maid, who has been brought to your dwelling by hard chance, and asks only for leave to rest awhile.” And as she spoke the tears came trickling down her cheeks, and she heaved a sigh, so softly and sweetly, that there could be no creature so hard and savage that would not have pitied her. Even the witch, for all that her soul was given to mischief, was much moved at the sight, and sought to comfort her in such rude fashion as she knew, for even in her the sight of such beauty and virtue moved the hidden sense of womanhood. So, wiping the tears from the damsel’s eyes, she bade her rest awhile. This she was nothing loath to do, and sat down upon the dusty floor, as a bird spent with tempest cowers upon the ground. After a while she began to set aright the garments that she wore, and to put in order her golden hair. All this the witch woman saw with wonder that still waxed greater and greater. “Is this a mortal maid,” she said to herself, “or one of Diana’s train?”
This same witch woman had a son, very dear to her, and in a sort the comfort of her age, but a lazy, evil-minded loon, always idling away his time, and loath to follow any honest trade. He was abroad when Florimell came to the cottage, and when he returned, he was not a little amazed to see so fair a creature sitting by his mother’s hearth. But the maiden bore herself so meekly, fitting herself to the low condition of the place, that she soon ceased to be strange to mother and son. This was a thing to be desired; yet it had in it this discomfort, that the witch’s son began to love her. He would bring gifts for her, such as birds which he taught to speak her name, and squirrels which, he said, were as fellow-slaves with himself, and flowers to make garlands for her head. All these she graciously received. Nevertheless she was not a little troubled in her heart, for she could not but perceive the love which the young man bore her. Therefore she determined in herself to depart.
By this time her palfrey was well rested from its weariness, for, indeed, the young man, the son of the witch, had tended it with all care. Early, therefore, one morning she put its strappings on the beast, and so departed.