“And you are not ashamed, evil newsmonger, to come here with such tidings of your lord’s disgrace?” And she turned her back upon him, seeking her own chamber; and there with much self-torturing she spent many weary hours.
The next day she sought out Talus again, and being now in a milder mood, she said: “Tell me now plainly how came Sir Artegall into this captivity. Does he woo this tyrant lady?”
“Ah! madam!” answered Talus, “he is in no state to woo; he lies in thraldom, weak and wan; and yet, for the truth must be told, it was by his own doing that he came into this state.”
Then Britomart’s anger was kindled again. “Are you not leagued together to deceive me? You say that he came into this bondage of his own accord; is he not then false?”
Then Talus unfolded the whole story of how Sir Artegall fought, and how he was vanquished, not by the strength of his adversary, but by his own compassion. When Britomart heard this same story, she was, so to speak, torn asunder by anger and grief, nor would anything content her but that she must straightway put on her armour, mount her horse, and ride forth to deliver Sir Artegall, Talus being her guide. After they had ridden for a space they came upon a knight who was riding slowly across the plain, a man well stricken in years, and of a very modest and peaceable bearing. He saluted Britomart right courteously, and she, though in her sad mood she would sooner have remained without speech, answered him pleasantly. Then he began to talk of many things, and she, though wholly occupied in her mind with one matter, to wit, the deliverance of Sir Artegall from his prison, made such replies as were suitable. After some converse he said: “Friend, night is about to fall, and there are tokens of rain in the heavens; will you not lodge with me at my house?” And Britomart, seeing that the day was far spent, consented.
They rode therefore to the knight’s dwelling, which was, indeed, hard by. There he most hospitably entertained them, both with good cheer and pleasant conversation. When the hour of rest came, Britomart was conducted to the bower where she should sleep. There she found grooms who offered to undress her, but she would not doff her arms for all her host’s entreaties. “Nay,” she said, “I have vowed a vow that I will not take off these arms till I have taken vengeance for a great wrong that has been done to me.”
When she made this answer, it might have been perceived that her host was somewhat troubled. Nevertheless he took his leave right courteously, and departed. Britomart watched all the night; if sleep seemed about to settle for a moment on her eyes, she shook it off with a right resolute will. And Talus watched also; outside her door did he lie in no small trouble of mind, as a dog that keeps guard over his master’s chamber. So night passed, but about the dawn, when the cock commonly crows for the first time, Britomart perceived that the bed in her chamber began to sink through the floor, and that after awhile it was raised again. And while she waited to see what this might mean, though indeed it was clear that it meant treachery of some sort, there came two knights to her chamber door, with a rabble rout of followers after them. But these came on a vain errand. Talus, having his iron flail ready to his hand, laid about him with a right goodwill. They fled before him, both knights and the rabble also. Some he struck to the ground as they fled, and others as they strove to hide themselves in dark corners of the house.
Now the true story of the matter is this. This knight, who seemed so gentle and courteous, was one Dolon, a man of great cunning and of an evil mind. He had been a knight in his youth, yet had achieved no honour; only by his craft he had undone many men who were better than himself. Three sons he had, of the same temper as himself, full of fraud and guile. One of these, the eldest in birth, Guizor by name, had been slain by Sir Artegall in battle, not without his deserving, for he had sought to compass some treachery. And now this Dolon would have taken vengeance for this injury. Britomart he took for Sir Artegall, chiefly by reason of the page Talus, with the iron flail, whom he had seen in his company. The next day, so soon as it was light, Britomart departed. And when the two knights would have stayed her going, and this on the bridge where Artegall had fought Pollenté, she vanquished them. And one she caught up in her arms, and carrying him to the bridge end, cast him into the water, where he perished miserably.
After journeying awhile, Britomart, with Talus her guide, came to the city of Queen Radigund. The queen, when she was advised of her coming, was greatly rejoiced, for she had not had the great joy of battle for many days, and it always pleased her greatly to have experience of a new adversary. She commanded that a pavilion should be set up outside the city gate for the new-comer. There Britomart rested that night, Talus keeping watch, as was his wont, at the door. The townsfolk also kept watch upon the walls. At sunrise the queen caused a trumpet to be blown to warn the stranger that the hour of battle was come. Such warning Britomart needed not, for she had slept but ill, so troubled was she in heart with jealousy and anger. Then the two made ready for the combat. But first the queen would have her adversary bind herself to perpetual service if the fortune of the day should go against her.
But Britomart cried: “I will have no such conditions, no terms will I accept but such as are prescribed by the laws of chivalry!” Then the trumpets sounded again, and the two ran at each other with great fury. It seemed to them who looked on that both the one and the other had forgotten all their skill in arms, so possessed were they with rage. They sought not to ward off blows, but only to strike. And, indeed, none could have said who struck the harder.