This service the youth gladly undertook, and Sir Calidore, taking leave of him and the dame in courteous fashion, set forth again on his quest. He had not travelled far before he came to the place where the knight who had been so discourteously treated by him whom Tristram had slain, lay in a most sorrowful plight. He was bleeding from many wounds, so that all the earth about him was red; and the lady sat by him weeping, and yet doing all that she could with careful hands to dress his wounds and ease his pain. Sir Calidore, when he saw this sorry sight, was well-nigh moved to tears; from which, scarce refraining himself, he said: “Tell me, sad lady, if your grief will suffer you, who it was that with cruel hand wrought such mischief to a knight unarmed, for surely, if I may but come near him, I will avenge this wrong upon him.”

The lady answered: “Fair sir, this knight whom you see here and I sat talking in lover’s fashion, and this man charged him, unarmed as he was, and dealt him these deadly wounds. And if you would know what manner of man he was, he was of tall stature, clad in gilded armour, crossed with a band of blue, and for device on his shield he had a lady rowed in a summer barge across rough waves.”

When Sir Calidore heard this, he was assured that this indeed was the knight whom Tristram had slain, and he said: “Lady, take to yourself this comfort, that he who so foully wronged your knight lies now in yet more evil case. I saw him with my own eyes lying dead upon the earth, a just recompense for the foul wrong that he did to your fair knight. And now bethink you what we may best do for this wounded man, how you may best convey him hence, and to what refuge.”

She thanked him for his courtesy and friendly care, yet knew not what to say, for being a stranger in that country she could not think of a fitting place, nor could she ask him to carry the wounded man. This he did not fail to perceive, and said: “Fair lady, think not that I deem it a disgrace to carry this burden; gladly will I help you.” Taking therefore his shield, and first pouring the healing balm, which he always carried with him for such needs, into the knight’s wounds, he put him thereon, and bare him, the lady helping, to a castle that was hard by. And it so chanced that the lord of this castle was father to the wounded knight, a man far advanced in years, who had been a famous man-at-arms in the days gone by, and was of most courteous and hospitable temper. Aldus was his name, and his son’s name was Aladine. Great was his grief when he saw his dear son brought home in such a plight.

“Dear boy,” he cried, “and is the pleasure with which I thought to welcome you to this your home turned to such sorrow!” Nevertheless he put a brave constraint upon his sorrow, and turned himself to entertain his guests with all hospitality. To this welcome Sir Calidore made a courteous return, but the lady, whose name was Priscilla, could not by any means be cheered. She was daughter to a noble lord that dwelt hard by, and had seen and loved this same Aladine, though he was of meaner birth and smaller estate; and now she was much troubled, thinking both of her lover’s perilous state and of how her father would take the matter. So, while Sir Aldus entertained Sir Calidore, she sat and tended the wounded man, and at the last, with infinite pains, brought him out of the swoon in which he lay, and restored him to himself.

The next day, when Sir Calidore came to see how the wounded man was faring, he found him not a little bettered in state of body, but anxious in mind, especially for his lady’s sake, because of the displeasure which her father might have concerning her love for him. Thereupon he told to Sir Calidore the whole story of his love, and besought his help, which he, much moved by pity for their sorrowful case, gladly promised that he would give. This promise he most fully did perform. First he went to where the carcase of that misbehaved knight lay upon the ground, and shore the head from the body. This he took in his hand, and brought the lady to her father’s house. He, indeed, was greatly troubled to think what had befallen his child, and was much rejoiced to see her again safe and sound.

Then said Sir Calidore: “Your daughter was like to suffer wrong from an evil knight; but he suffered for his evil intent—lo! here you see his head.”

Then did the noble lord most gladly receive her again to her home, and Sir Calidore, after a short sojourn, departed again upon his quest.

CHAPTER XXXVII
SIR CALEPINE AND THE LADY SERENA

As Sir Calidore passed on his way he came upon two lovers, Sir Calepine and the Lady Serena, as they sat talking together. They were abashed to see him, and he, being the very soul of courtesy, made most humble apology for so disturbing them. Then said Sir Calepine: “Sit down and rest awhile, and let us talk together;” to which Sir Calidore courteously assented. While they talked, the Lady Serena, tempted by the fairness of the place, and seeking to make a garland of flowers, of which there was great store, wandered away.