Then, by common consent, the girdle was adjudged to her as being the fairest of all; but lo! when they thought to bind it round her waist, they could not prevail to do it. So soon as they fastened it, it seemed to loose itself and fall away, as if there was some secret hindrance and want of fitness. And so it fared with many other dames when they assayed the same; when they would have girt the thing about their waists, they could not. However fast it seemed to be, it was soon seen to be loose. Then a certain squire, who thought scorn of women, cried aloud: “Surely this is a sorrowful sight, that out of so many fair dames not one can fit to herself the girdle of beauty! Shame on the man who thought of this fatal device! May he never find fair lady to love him!” At which saying all the knights laughed loud, and all the ladies frowned.
And now the gentle Amoret, coming last of all that company, took the girdle in her hands, and put it around her waist, and lo! it fitted to a marvel. But the false Florimell snatched it away as if in anger, and would have clasped it round her own waist. She clasped it, but it fitted as ill as before. Nevertheless it was adjudged to her as her right, for such the common voice had been; and she herself was assigned to the Knight of the Ebony Spear, that is, to Britomart. But she was ill-content: “Nay, nay,” she said, all thinking that it was the Knight of the Ebony Spear that spoke, “I am no light of love; I am still steadfast to my own Amoret.” Then she was adjudged to the Savage Knight, but he had already departed in great wrath; and then to Triamond, but he was faithful to his Canacé; and after Triamond to Sir Satyrane. He indeed was well content. But then arose great strife, and, like enough, there had been a drawing of swords, but for this strange happening. Sir Satyrane stood forth and said:
“Surely we have had enough of battles; why should we fight again the old quarrels? Let the fair lady choose for herself. Surely the love that comes of her will is the sweetest of all!” To this they all consented. And so the choice was given to the false Florimell. Long looked she upon each gallant knight, for it seemed as if she would willingly have pleased them all; but at the last she turned to Bragadocchio, for he also stood among the rest, and said:
“This is the man I choose!” Great was the wrath of all the company of knights, for they knew not how fitting it was that the false beauty should choose the valour that was false.
CHAPTER XXV
OF BRITOMART AND ARTEGALL
Britomart grew not a little weary of these strivings of knights and dames. Therefore she departed, taking with her the Lady Amoret, for she was still bent on finding the Knight of the Mirror. An unlucky maid she was, in truth, thus seeking one who had been her adversary, to whom she had been so near, though she knew it not. Great was her grief, and great also her toil, for neither grief nor toil did she spare, thinking that could she find him, there would be both an end of her own toil and a solace for her grief. The gentle Amoret also, who was her companion, had a sorrow of her own, for she sought for her Scudamore; but he, unhappy man, had his heart full of hatred and revenge. For that evil hag, whose name was Até or Strife, had poisoned it with suspicion. The very one who had best served him, he hated most, even Britomart. Neither could Glaucé, for she went with him, serving him as a squire, abate his rage, for all that she could say.
And now, as though the evil counsels of Strife had not wrought trouble enough for him, he must needs put another burden on his soul. As they journeyed on, the night came upon them unawares, very heavy with cloud and rain. They, seeking some place where they might find shelter, perceived upon a steep hillside what seemed to be a poor man’s cottage. And underneath there ran a little stream, but the water was muddy and thick, and had an evil smell. As they came near they heard the sound of hammers, and judged that it must be a blacksmith’s forge. Entering in, they found the goodman of the place busy with his work. He was of a mean and wretched aspect, spent, it would seem, with weariness. His eyes were hollow, and his cheeks fallen in, like to one who had been many months in a prison cell; his face was begrimed with smoke and his beard ragged, as if neither comb nor shears had ever passed upon it. Rude were his garments, and hanging in rags, and his hands were blistered with burning, with nails long left unpared. Care was his name, and his trade was the working of wedges of iron. To what purpose they could serve, neither he nor anyone knew. Such are the idle doubts and fears which Care drives into the hearts of men. Nor was it he alone that was busy with this toil; six stout workers stood about the forge, all with huge hammers in their hands, which they plied in order. Much did Sir Scudamore wonder to see their work; but when he had watched it awhile, he asked them of its purpose, saying, “What make you?” But they answered not a word, nor did they hold their hands for a moment; the bellows blew like to a cold blast from the north, and the din of the hammers ceased not.
When the knight saw that no one answered, he laid himself down upon the floor, seeking to rest his weary limbs; Glaucé did the like; and sore was her need of rest, for she was old and feeble, and they had journeyed that day a long and weary way. She slept indeed, but to Sir Scudamore there came no sleeping. Now he would lie on this side, now on that; now he lay in one place, now in another. Anon he would rise from his place, and then lie down again. But every change was to no purpose, and every place seemed full of pain. Also the dogs howled and barked all the night long, and the cocks crowed, and the owls hooted; and if by chance slumber came down upon his eyes, then one of the workers smote his headpiece with a hammer, for they indeed rested not all the night. As morning drew near, he fell into a sleep, so utterly wearied was he, but sleep was worse than waking, for it brought evil thoughts of those whom he was most bound to love and trust.
The next day Sir Scudamore and Glaucé, serving him as his squire, started betimes from the house of Care, for his was the dwelling where they had spent the night. After a while they espied a knight sitting beside a wood, while his horse grazed in the field hard by. The man mounted, so soon as he saw them, and rode forward, as did also Sir Scudamore. But when the two were near enough that each could discern what arms the other wore, the Knight of the Wood lowered his spear and turned his horse aside, saying, “Gentle Scudamore, pardon me, I pray you, that I had unknowingly almost trespassed against you!”
“I blame you not,” answered Sir Scudamore; “such happenings may well be to knights who seek for adventures. But, sir, as you call me by my name, may I be bold enough to ask you yours?”