At last Radigund, thinking that she had her adversary at a disadvantage, dealt her a blow with all her might, saying at the same time: “You love this man; here then is a token of your love, which you may show him; for what could be a surer proof than to die for him?”
But Britomart answered: “Have done with idle words about my love,” and though she was sorely wounded by the stroke, for the blade, breaking through the shoulder-plate of her armour, bit to the bone, she gave in return even more than she had received. The sharpness of the pain gave a new force to her arm, and she struck the queen so fierce a blow on the head that it broke through her helmet and laid her senseless on the ground. Nor did Britomart wait for her adversary to recover herself; but, urged by injured love and pride, and the fresh smarting of her wound, with one blow cleft both helmet and head. When her guards perceived this dreadful sight, they fled headlong to the city, but did not so escape, for Talus, taking up his flail, entered at the gate along with the rout of fugitives, and dealt death in every direction. Small need had they, I ween, of a physician on whom one of his strokes had lighted. Verily he had destroyed them all, but that the heart of Britomart was moved to see such great slaughter.
“Hold your hand,” she cried; “it is enough!” Then she commanded that someone should lead her to the prison where Sir Artegall was kept in bonds. Much was she moved to see these knights in their womanish attire, plying distaff and spindle. But when she espied Sir Artegall himself, and saw how pale and wan and wasted he was, her heart was well-nigh broken in her breast. Bitterly did she repent of her unkind suspicions: this was no lover of women whom she saw before her in so sad a plight!
Then she bade take him to a chamber where he might put off these uncomely garments, and put on the apparel that belonged to a knight, and take again his arms and armour, of which there was a great store in the place. Not a little rejoiced was she when she saw how he became again like to the knight whom she had seen long since in the magic mirror.
For a while they tarried in the city, for he needed to rest, and she had wounds which it was well to heal. And she, being now queen of the land in the place of the dead Radigund, wholly changed the form of the commonwealth. She did away with this same monstrous rule of women, and ordered all things according to the ordering of nature, and showed such justice and wisdom that the people gladly made submission to her government. The knights whom she found in the prison-house she set free, and made them rulers in the city, having first caused them to take an oath to be loyal to Sir Artegall. There was but one thing that troubled her: to wit, that her lover must now proceed on the errand to which he was bound.
This he did in not many days’ time, Talus travelling with him as before. After a while they saw a damsel on a palfrey, flying as fast as she could, and two knights pursuing her also at their utmost speed; they saw also how another knight was riding after these two. Each was intent on his own business, the two knights on chasing the damsel, the single knight on chasing the two, the damsel seeking if, by any means, she could escape. But when she saw Sir Artegall, being at her wits’ end, she turned her course towards him, hoping that he might give her help. The foremost of her pursuers—pagan knights both of them—continued his course, and with his spear in rest charged Sir Artegall. But there he had met more than his match; the Christian was both stronger and more skilful in arms, and drove him out of the saddle full two spears’ length, and it so chanced that in falling he lighted on his head, and so was killed outright.
Meanwhile his companion had fared as ill, for the single knight overtaking him, had compelled him to stand and do battle, in which battle he was defeated and slain. This done, he still followed, and taking Sir Artegall for the other pagan, charged him at full tilt. They met with a great crash, and both their spears were broken, and though neither was driven from his saddle, yet they tottered as two towers which an earthquake makes to rock. But when they drew their swords to renew the combat, the damsel, seeing that her two friends were like to come to as ill an end as had her two foes, ran up, crying out: “Oh, sirs, stay your hands till I shall tell you how the matter stands. ’Tis I that have been wronged, and you have brought me help, slaying these two pagans who were pursuing me. These lie dead upon the ground; what quarrel have you against each other? If there be still any wrongdoer or cause of trouble, truly it is I.”
When the two heard these words, they held their hands, and, lifting up the visors of their helmets, looked each in the other’s face. And when Sir Artegall saw the last comer, who was no other than Prince Arthur, he was sure that he was a very noble knight, and said: “Pardon me, fair sir, that I have erred in lifting my hand against you. I will make what amends you will.”
“Talk not of amends,” answered the prince; “I was in equal error, taking you for this dead pagan.” So they swore friendship, and made a covenant of mutual help.
Then said Sir Artegall, “Tell me, sir, who were these knights that have come by this bad end?”