Great was the anger of the witch and her son when they knew that Florimell was gone. As for the disappointed lover, his fury passed all bounds. He beat upon his breast and scratched his face, and tore his flesh with his teeth. When his mother saw him in so evil a plight, she did all that she could to comfort him. Tears and prayers she used, and charms and herbs of might; but all were of no avail. When she saw this, fearing lest, in his despair, he should bring himself to a violent end, she said within herself: “I must bring the creature back.” So she called out of the cave a hideous beast that served her. It was a creature likest to a hyena, for its back and sides were covered with spots. But never was seen anything that could be matched with it, so fierce of aspect was it, and so swift. The witch said to him: “Follow this woman, and do not leave following till you overtake.”

So the monster followed Florimell, and, as she rode leisurely, soon overtook her. When she saw him, she set spurs to her palfrey, and he, so long as he was fresh and full of breath, kept her out of the creature’s reach. But when his breath failed him, then the monster drew near. This Florimell perceiving, leapt from her saddle and fled away on her feet. Now it chanced that she was close to the seashore, and she, being minded to be drowned, rather than be overtaken by so foul a beast, ran to the very edge of the waves. There, by good hap, she saw a little shallop lying, in which the fisherman, an old man and poor, lay asleep, the while his nets were drying. Into this she leapt, and pushing off the shallop with an oar, was safe awhile. The monster would not venture on the sea, for it was not to his liking, and so set out to return to his mistress the witch, to tell her how his quest had failed. But first he turned upon the palfrey and rent it.

Scarcely had the beast done this, when there came that way a gallant knight, Sir Satyrane by name, the same that had befriended the Lady Una in her distress. He, seeing the palfrey lie dead upon the ground, knew it for that on which the Lady Florimell had been wont to ride; also he found the golden girdle which she had been wont to wear, for it had fallen from her in the haste of her flight. These things greatly troubled him, and when, looking round, he also saw the monstrous beast which had pursued her, standing by, his fear was changed to anger, and he flew upon it and dealt it many blows with all his might. Many wounds did he give it, causing much blood to pour out of its carcase; but the beast he subdued not, with such spells had the witch woman fortified it against all assault. At the last he threw away his sword, for in truth the steel seemed to avail nothing against the creature’s hide, and caught it in his arms as if he would have crushed the life out of it; also he took the girdle of Florimell and bound the beast with it. Never in truth had it known such constraint, for in a moment all its rage was quelled, and it followed him meek as a lamb which the shepherd has rescued from the lion’s mouth. And this, without doubt, it had continued to do, but for this chance, that Sir Satyrane was called away upon another adventure. He spied a giantess riding on a dappled grey steed, holding before her a squire fast bound with chains of wire, and a knight pursuing her. Therefore he made haste to put himself in her way. She would have passed him by, but he would not suffer it, running at her with his spear. Thereupon she was constrained to deal with him, and would have smitten him with a great mace of iron which she carried in her hand, and with which she had already slain not a few. But ere she could deal the blow, his spear came full upon her shield. So great was the shock, that her horse staggered to and fro; but she was not moved one whit in her place, nor was the shield broken. Rather the shaft of the spear was shivered on it, for all it was big and strong. Nor did she delay to strike him with the mace of iron. Full on his helmet’s crest she smote him, and that so sturdily that he bowed his head upon his breast and reeled to and fro like to a drunken man. Which the giantess perceiving, caught him in her arms, and put him on the saddle before her, for the squire she had already cast to the ground. Then truly had Sir Satyrane been in an evil plight, but for the knight that was pursuing. He, indeed, seeing what had chanced, made the greater haste to overtake her, but she, not desiring another battle, or because she especially feared the other knight, threw Sir Satyrane to the ground, and thus he was delivered. But meanwhile the witch’s monster had departed.

CHAPTER XXII
OF THE FALSE FLORIMELL

The monster sped on as fast as it could to the dwelling of its mistress, the witch woman. When she saw it, she perceived how it was bound with Florimell’s girdle. At this she rejoiced greatly, and showed the thing to her son, thinking that he also would rejoice. “See,” said she, “this thankless creature has not escaped. Behold her girdle.”

But he was otherwise minded. “Surely,” he cried, “she is dead, this fairest of all maidens!” And it seemed as if he would have torn the very heart out of his breast. So mad was he with anger and grief, that he would have slain his mother where she stood. Only she hid herself in a secret place where she was wont to call up the evil spirits which served her. And now she summoned them to her help, telling them what had come to pass. “Counsel me,” she said, “for my son is distraught with anger and grief and love, and either he will lay violent hands on himself, or he will slay me, though I have done my very best to serve and help him.”

So the spirits took counsel together in the matter, and by their advice, her own wicked wit helping, she contrived a marvellous thing. She set herself to make another Florimell, a false maid, like in all things to the true, so far as concerned shape and outward semblance. The substance of which she made her was snow, which she gathered in a secret glade of the Thracian hills, the spirits of the mountains having revealed to her the place. This snow she tempered with fine mercury and virgin wax, which had never been touched with fire. These she mingled with vermilion, so making a rosy red in the cheeks. And for eyes she set two lamps, whose fire was marvellously attempered to the likeness of life; and hair she made of golden wire, more marvellously light than ever was hair of woman; and for life to make this dead mass move and breathe—for dead it was for all its beauty—she put one of the spirits which served her. A wicked spirit was this, none more wicked or crafty, or with a more cunning art to take the semblance of goodness. There was no need to teach him how to bear himself. This he knew already; there was no subtlety or craft in all the wit of woman with which he was not acquainted. Such was the false Florimell.

This creature she arrayed in some of the garments which the true Florimell had left behind her, and so brought her to her son, where he lay groaning on the earth. “See, my son,” she said, “the maid herself has come back to us.” And when he saw her, he leapt from the ground, and would have caught her in his arms. But she held back, for the spirit within her knew well how women bear themselves in such a case, neither seeming too fond, yet giving such encouragement as might the more confirm him in his passion. Such was the charge which the witch woman laid upon him.

One day, as the son was walking with the false Florimell in the wood, there chanced to come by a certain knight with a squire attending him. And now it must be said who this fellow was, for, indeed, he was no true knight. It has been already told how that Sir Guyon, when he was helping a traveller in distress, had his horse and his spear also stolen from him. The thing was done by a vain fellow, Bragadocchio by name, who, seeing the horse and spear ready to his hand, thought that by taking them he might make himself into a veritable knight. Little had he of his own but a ready tongue; but this same tongue was no small help with the more foolish sort. He then, mounting the steed, and taking the spear in hand, rode on, and so vain was he, and full of self-conceit, that he hoped to be courteously received for what he seemed to be. And in this notion his first adventure confirmed him. As he rode along he saw a man sitting idly on a bank; and he said to himself: “Here is one whom I will make captive to my spear.” With that he smote his steed upon the flank, and set his spear in rest and charged. The man, when he saw him coming on, fell flat on the ground for fear, and cried for mercy, holding up his hands. At this Bragadocchio took a wonderful conceit of his own strength and courage: “Who are you, caitiff?” he cried. “You are not worthy to breathe the air along with honest men. Prepare for death, or yield yourself to be my prisoner for ever. ’Tis no small favour that I give you time to answer!”

The man cried: “Hold your death-dealing hand, my lord, I am your thrall!”