‘He is not a wicked knight,’ said the Red Cross Knight angrily. ‘He is one of the bravest and the best.’
Britomart was so glad to hear him say this of Artegall, that she could scarcely hide her joy. But she went on pretending that she thought Artegall bad and cruel, just that she might hear his friend praise him.
‘There is no knight more brave than Artegall,’ said the Red Cross Knight. ‘Ladies who suffer wrong, and little children who have none to care for them, are always sure of having Artegall to fight for them. He is as good as he is brave, and as brave as he is good.’
Britomart loved the Red Cross Knight because he was so true to his friend, and more than ever she loved Artegall, the knight of the Mirror.
Presently her way and that of the Red Cross Knight parted, and she rode on with her squire until they came to the sea-shore.
The sea was beating against the rocks, and moaning as it cast itself against the high crags.
Britomart made her old nurse unlace her helmet, and sat down and watched the cold grey waves.
‘I feel like a little boat beaten about by the sea,’ she said. ‘When shall I ever reach my harbour, and find the knight I seek?’
For a long time she sat, sadly thinking. But at last she saw a knight cantering along the sand, and quickly put on her helmet and leaped on her horse, and rode to meet him.
He was a bold knight, and told her to fly, or he would kill her.