This increased the rage of the surviving brothers, who made a fresh attack with renewed energy. Timias, however, singled out one, and directing his whole force against him, struck a blow which cleft his head from skull to chin. Filled with rage and horror, the last brother shot an arrow at the squire, and immediately attempted flight, but Timias overtook him, and just as he entered the stream, struck off his head.
Timias was now freed from the three brothers, but his troubles were not over, for his poisoned wound bled so profusely that he soon fell from his horse in a deadly faint. He was in a sad plight all alone in the forest, but—
Providence heavenly passeth living thought,
And doth for wretched man's relief make way.
While he lay in the swoon, Belphœbe the huntress, she whom Braggadochio had seen, came where the squire lay. She found him lying in a pool of blood, his hair matted and tangled, his eyes fixed and his lips pale. She recoiled with horror at the sight, but she was a good and brave woman and looked again, and as she looked her heart grew pitiful, and stooping down she felt his pulse. Finding that it still beat she raised his head and rubbed his temples, and then unfastened his armour. This done, she hastened to the woods, where she found herbs, which she carefully prepared. The juice of the herbs she poured into the wound and then bound it with her scarf. By-and-bye Timias opened his eyes and saw the lady standing by him, her bow and golden quiver lying at her feet. He thought her an angel or a goddess, and addressing her as such, asked what service he could render in return for her care. To this Belphœbe replied that she was only the daughter of a wood-nymph and that she desired nothing but his recovery for reward.
By this time the damsels of the huntress arrived and were despatched to recover Timias' strayed steed. Having brought it back, they set him upon it and led him gently to their dwelling.
It lay in a pleasant glade, surrounded by mountains whose mighty woods cast great shadows, and in the midst of which a little stream murmured softly over a rocky bed. By the stream was a fair spot planted with myrtles and laurels, and among these stood a rich pavilion. Here they laid Timias on a soft couch, and here Belphœbe daily dressed his wounds until he became quite well and strong. And then, from gratitude for Belphœbe's care and admiration of her rare virtues, Timias gave up all thought of returning to the Prince, and remained in the forest as her faithful attendant.
One day when hunting with Belphœbe and her damsels, Timias, as often happens in the chase, got separated from his companions, and while wandering about in search of them, came suddenly upon a poor lady who was being carried off by a cruel giant. He instantly went to her rescue, and succeeded in freeing the lady. But he was himself in great danger when Belphœbe, attracted by the noise of the fight, came to his aid, and bending her bow pursued the giant to the door of his den, where she slew him with an arrow.
Meantime Timias, always kind and gentle, was filled with pity for the fair lady whom he had rescued. She had fainted from terror and was much bruised by the fray and the cruel grasp of the monster. The squire knelt by her side, examined her wounds with tender touch, wiped her dewy and unconscious eyes, and in his pitifulness kissed them. At that moment Belphœbe returned, and when she saw her faithful squire so tender towards the lady, her heart swelled with proud disdain. In her sudden passion she was ready to have killed both squire and lady with the very bow which had already slain the monster. She however restrained herself, and drawing near to Timias, exclaimed, "Is this the faith?" then turned and fled.
Distressed at her rebuke Timias instantly arose and followed her, but ever as he drew near she threatened him with her bow and would not permit him to approach her. After a long and fruitless pursuit the squire was forced to turn back with a sad heart. Finding a solitary part of the forest he chose a glade made gloomy with mossy trees, and there built a hut to live in. He broke his weapons and threw them away, vowing never again to fight nor ever again speak to a woman, but to live alone and deplore his grief. The better to keep his foolish vow he cut and spoiled his clothes, let his hair grow until it fell untended over his shoulders, ate only wild fruits and drank only running water. Thus he weakened himself until he was unfit to carry arms, and disguised himself until no one could recognize him.
Indeed it chanced that one day Prince Arthur came into that part of the forest and found Timias in this wretched plight. The Prince talked to him and tried to make out who he was, but never guessed he was all the time addressing his lost squire. Timias would not speak, but only bowed reverently, and the Prince was obliged to go away sad at heart. He thought the miserable man some love-lorn swain, for he saw the name of Belphœbe cut on many of the trees, and remarked how he brightened at the sound of the name and even kissed the ground where it was written.