The Faery Queen and Her Knights: Stories Retold from Edmund Spenser

by Alfred John Church; Edmund Spenser

When Sir Artegall understood what mishap had befallen Sir Marinell, he said to Bragadocchio: “I would fain help this brave knight; but I would not have anyone know who I am: therefore, I pray thee, change shields with me.” And Bragadocchio full willingly did so, thinking that he might thus win to himself renown without cost or danger. Sir Artegall, therefore, taking Bragadocchio’s shield, set upon the knights who were leading away Sir Marinell. There were a hundred in all. Of these fifty assailed him, and the other fifty stayed behind to guard the prisoner. But for all that there were so many they could not stand against him. The fifty who assailed him he speedily put to flight, and the fifty who would have kept the prisoner did not hinder Sir Artegall from setting him free. Then Sir Marinell being delivered and armed anew, for they had taken his arms from him, the two joined their forces and drove their adversaries out of the field. There was not one among them who could hold up his head or make a stand against them. When Sir Artegall had accomplished this, then he gave back the shield to Bragadocchio, who had stayed to see the issue of the day, keeping with him the false Florimell.

After this the trumpets sounded, and the judges rose up in their place and summoned the company, saying: “Hear! All ye knights who have borne arms to-day, and know to whom the prize of valour is awarded.” Then came forth the fair Florimell from the place where she sat, as queen of the tourney, that she might give to each knight his proper guerdon, and to him who should be held to have best acquitted himself, the first prize of all. Loudly did they call for the stranger knight who had wrought such prodigies of valour and strength in delivering Sir Marinell. He did not come forward, but in his stead Bragadocchio presented himself, with the shield bearing the device which all men knew—namely, a sun shining in a field of gold. When the company saw this, they, thinking that this was indeed the champion, set up a great shout, and the trumpets sounded, and Florimell rose up and greeted him most graciously, thanking him for his championship. But all this praise turned the vain fellow’s mind. “Not for your sake, madam,” said he, “but for my own dear lady’s sake did I this,” adding other words such as could not pass the lips of a true knight. Then he called to Trompart his squire, saying, “Bring forth the fairest of all dames!” Thereupon Trompart led forth the false Florimell; for he had her in keeping, hidden by a veil from the common sight.

Great was the astonishment of the company when they saw her. “This surely is Florimell,” they said to themselves, “or, if it be not, then it is one fairer than she.” Never were men more perplexed than the guests that day. Nor was Sir Marinell himself less amazed than the rest, and, as he gazed, the more and more steadfastly did he believe that this false Florimell was indeed the true.

But now Sir Artegall, who stood in the press of the crowd, closely disguised, heard the false boaster’s words, and could not contain himself any more, but came forth and cried with a loud voice: “False boaster, strutting thus in borrowed plumes, and doing dishonour to others with your lies, verily when each shall have his due, great will be your disgrace! ’Tis true that the shield which you bear was this day borne by him who delivered Sir Marinell, but yours was not the arm which struck the blow. And now hold forth your sword and let it show what marks of battle it bears, and if you bear in your body the mark of a wound, let this company behold it; nay, boaster, this is the sword which won the victory, and these the wounds which were endured in the winning!” And here he showed his sword, which bore the dint of many a blow, and the wounds which he carried on his arms and his body. “And,” he further said, “as for this Florimell of yours, I warrant she is no true dame, but only a fit companion for such as you.” Then he took the true Florimell by the hand and led her, she blushing the while, for the colour on her fair face was of roses mixed with lilies, and set her by the side of the false. And then, lo! a great marvel! The false dame melted away as snow melts in the sunshine! In a moment naught remained of her save only the empty girdle which once had compassed her waist. So on a day of storm we see a rainbow spanning the sky with all its goodly colours, and in a moment it vanishes from our sight, so did this lovely creature, the false Florimell, vanish from before the eyes of that company. And now Sir Artegall took up the golden girdle which alone remained of all that fair show, for this, indeed, was true, while all else was false. This he presented to the true Florimell, and she forthwith fastened it about her waist. Many a fair dame before had essayed to do it, but not one had found it truly and rightly fit.

But the end of these things was not yet, for now Sir Guyon came forth from the crowd to claim his own good steed, which, as has been told, had been stolen from him in time past by this false thief. With one hand he seized the golden bit, and with the other he drew forth his sword from its sheath, for he would have smitten the knave with a deadly blow, but that the press hindered him, for now there was a great tumult in the place. Thereupon Sir Artegall came forth and would fain know how the knight had been robbed of his horse. Then Sir Guyon told the story how, while he was busy setting right a grievous wrong, some knave had stolen his horse. “And now,” said he, “I challenge the knave who robbed me of it to deadly combat.” So he spoke, but Bragadocchio held back. He had no liking for such things.

Then said Sir Artegall: “This is truly the law of knighthood, that if one man claim a thing and offer to make good his claim by might of arms, and the other will not, the judgment goes against the latter by default. Nevertheless, for further and clearer discovery of the truth, can you who claim this horse as your own declare some tokens in proof?”

To this answered Sir Guyon: “Most truly I can. Such a token there is: a black spot in the beast’s mouth like in shape to a horse’s shoe.” But when they thought to look into his mouth so as to discern the token, he wounded first one and then another so sorely that they were like to die. From no one would he suffer such a thing. But when Sir Guyon called him by his name—Brigador—he, hearing the voice, stood still, as if he had been bound, and suffered them to open his mouth, so that all could see the mark as it had been described. Nay more, he would follow Sir Guyon, breaking the band with which he was tied, and frisked right gaily, ay, and bent his knee.

Then said Sir Artegall: “Now it may be plainly discerned that the horse is indeed yours. Take it therefore, with its saddle of gold, and let this boaster go horseless, till he can win a steed for himself.”

Much was Bragadocchio moved to be so shamed in the presence of all that company—so moved that for a while he laid aside his very cowardice, and broke forth into angry words against Sir Artegall. The knight made as if he would have slain the knave with his sword, but Sir Guyon stayed him. “Sir,” said he, “it would ill suit your dignity to vent your wrath on such a knave as this. The meetest punishment for him is to be put to open shame in the sight of all this company.”

But Talus was not minded to let the knave escape so easily. He caught him by the neck and led him out of the hall, and shaved his beard, and reft away his shield, and blotted out the escutcheon, and defaced all his arms. Nor did the false squire, Trompart, fare better, though he cunningly had essayed to fly, for Talus overtook him and served him in the like way. So may all makers of falsehood fare!