 Book 2 Chapter 1 of Amidesa of Gaul. Here begins the second book of Amidesa of Gaul, and because the great things which will be related in the fourth book concerning Amidesa are all relating to the firm island, it behooves that in this second it should be related to what this island was, and who left those enchantments and the great riches which were therein. There was a king in Greece married to the sister of the emperor of Constantinople, by whom he had two fair sons, especially the elder named Apollodon, who in his days had no equal for strength of body and courage of heart. He having a subtle genius, which is so seldom found with valor, gave himself to the study of the sciences and of all arts, so that he shone among those of his own time like the moon among the stars, especially he excelled in necromancy, whereby things that appear impossible are done. The king's father was very rich in treasure, but poor in life by reason of his great age, and seeing himself at the point of death he commanded that the kingdom should be given to Apollodon, as his eldest son, and his books and treasures to the other. The younger was not contented with this, and told his father so with tears, and complained that he was disinherited, but the old man, not knowing what to do, wrung his hands for pure sorrow. Then that famous Apollodon, seeing his father's grief and the littleness of his brother, made him take comfort, for he would accept the books and treasure, and relinquish the kingdom to his brother, where at the father gave him his blessing with many tears. So Apollodon took his inheritance, and fitted out certain ships, manning them with chosen knights, and set forth into the sea, trusting himself to fortune, who seeing his great obedience to his father, and how he had thrown himself upon her mercy, resolved to bequite him with glory and greatness. A fair win carried him to the empire of Rome, whereas Pseudon was then emperor, at his court he abode some time, doing great feats and arms, till there grew a true affection between him and the emperor's sister, Grimannessa, who then flourished among all other women for beauty. So it was that he was loving, even so was he loved, and as their loves might no other ways be indulged, they left Rome together and set sail in Apollodon's fleet, and sailed till they came to the firm island. There Apollodon landed, not knowing what country it was, and pitched a tent upon the shore, and placed a couch there for his lady who was weary of the sea. Finally there came down a fierce giant, who was lord of the island, with whom, according to the custom of the place, Apollodon was to do battle for the preservation of his lady and himself, and his company. It ended in such sort that the giant lay dead on the field, and Apollodon remained master of the island. When he had seen its strength, he neither feared the emperor of Rome, whom he had offended, nor all the world besides, and there he and Grimannessa, being greatly beloved by the islanders, whom he had delivered from their oppressor, dwelt in all happiness for sixteen years. During that time many rich edifices were made, as well with his great treasures, as with his surpassing wisdom, such as it would have been difficult for any emperor or king, how rich so ever, to have completed. At the end of that time the emperor of Greece died without an heir, and the Greeks, knowing the great worth of Apollodon, and that by his mother's side he was of the blood and lineage of the emperors, elected him with one common consent to rule over them. He, albeit he was enjoying all possible delights in his own island, yet with Grimannessa's consent accepted the empire. But she, before they left the island where she had enjoyed such rare happiness, requested her husband that he would work such a means by his great knowledge, that that island might never be possessed, except by a knight as excellent in arms and loyal in love as himself, and by a dame resembling her in beauty and truth. Then Apollodon made an arch at the entrance of a garden, wherein there were all kinds of trees, and also four rich chambers, but it was so surrounded that none could enter except by passing under the arch, over which he placed the image of a man made of copper, holding a trumpet in his mouth as if he would wind it. And in one of the chambers, within he placed two figures, in the likeness of himself and his lady, the countenances and the stature likened to them, so true that they seemed alive, and near them he placed a bright stone of jasper, and about half the distance of a crossbow shot he made a parron of iron. Henceforward said he, no man or woman who hath been false to the first love shall pass here, for yonder image shall blow from that trumpet so dreadful a blast, with smoke and flames of fire, that they shall be stunned and cast out as dead. But if night or dame or damsel come, worthy by virtue of true loyalty to finish this adventure, they shall enter without let, and the image shall make a sound so sweet that it shall be delightful to hear, and they shall see our images and behold their own name written in the jasper. Grimonesa afterwards ordered some of her knights and ladies to make trial, and then the image blew the dreadful blast with smoke and flames of fire, where at Grimonesa laughed, knowing them to be in more dread than danger. But yet, my lord, quoth she, what shall be done with that rich chamber wherein we have enjoyed such great contentment? He answered, you shall see. Then he made two other parons, one of stone, the other of copper. The stone almost placed five paces from the chamber. The copper one five paces farther off. No now said he that henceforth in no manner, nor at any time shall man or woman enter this chamber till a night come who surpasses me in prowess, or a woman exceeding you in beauty, they shall enter. He then placed these words in the copper paron. Night shall advance here, each according to his valor, and in the stone paron he wrote, here none shall pass except the knight who exceeds Apollodon in prowess, and over the door of the chamber he wrote, he who surpasses me in prowess shall enter here, and be lord of the island, and he laid such a spell that none could approach within twelve paces of the chamber round about, nor was there any entrance but by the parons. Then he appointed a governor to rule the island and collect the revenues, those were to be reserved for the knight who should enter the chamber, and he commanded that all who failed in attempting to pass the arch of lovers should, without ceremony, be cast out of the island, but such as passed through were to be entertained and served with all honor. And farther he appointed that all knights who attempted the adventure of the forbidden chamber, and did not pass the copper paron should leave their arms there, but from those who advanced any way beyond it only their swords should be taken. They who reached to the marble paron should leave only their shields, and if they penetrated beyond that, but failed to enter the chamber, they should lose only their spurs. From the dames and damsels who failed, nothing was to be taken, only their names should be placed upon the castle gate, and an account how far they had advanced. Apollodon then said, when this island shall have another lord, the enchantment shall be dissolved, and all knights may freely pass the parons, and enter the chamber, but it shall not be free for women till the fairest shall have come, and lodged in the rich chamber with the lord of the island. These enchantments being thus made, Apollodon and his wife entered their ships, and passed over into Greece, where they reigned during their lives, and left children to succeed them. CHAPTER II. How Amides with his brethren and his cousin Agraias went toward King Lysuarte, and how by adventure they went to the enchanted firm island, and of what befell them there. While Amides remained with his comrades at the court of Sobolodisa, his thoughts were perpetually fixed upon his lady Oriana, and so thoughtful was he, and so often, both sleeping and waking, was he in tears, that all saw how he was troubled, yet knew they not the cause, for he kept his love silent as a man who had all virtues in his heart. At length, not being able to support a longer absence, he asked permission of the fair young queen to depart, which she not without reluctance, having granted, loving him better than herself, he and his brethren and their cousin Agraias took the road toward King Lysuarte. Some days had they traveled when they came to a little church, and entering there to say their prayers they saw a fair damsel, accompanied by two others, and by four squires who guarded her, coming from the door. She asked them whether they went. Amides answered, Damsel, we go to the court of King Lysuarte, where if it pleases you to go we will accompany you. Thank you, quotes the damsel, but I am faring elsewhere. I waited because I saw you were armed like air at night, to know if any of you would go and see the wonders of the firm island, for I am the governor's daughter, and am returning there. Holy Mary, cried Amides. I have often heard of the wonders of that island, and should account myself happy if I might prove them. Yet till now I never prepared to go. Good sir, quotes she, do not repent of your delay. Many have gone there with the same wish, and returned not so joyfully as they went. So I have heard, said Amides. Tell me, would it be far out of our road if we went there? Two days' journey. Is the firm island then in this part of the sea, where is the enchanted arch of true lovers, under which neither man nor woman can pass that have been false to their first love? The damsel answered, it is a certain truth, and many other wonders are there. Then Agrius said to his companions, I know not what you will do, but I will go with this damsel and see these wonderful things. If you are so true a lover, said she, as to pass the enchanted arch, you will see the likenesses of Apollodon and Griminesa, and behold your own name written upon a stone, where you will find only two names written besides, though the spell has been made a hundred years. In God's name let us go, Quoth Agrius, and I will try whether I can be third. With that Amides, who in his heart had no less desire and faith to prove the adventure, said to his brethren, We are not enamored, but we should keep our cousin company who is, and whose heart is so bold. There too they all consented, and set forth with the damsel. What is this island, said Florestan, to Amides. Tell me, sir, for you seem to know. A young knight whom I greatly esteemed, replied Amides, told me all I know, King Arban of North Wales. He was there four days, but could accomplish none of the adventures, and so departed with shame. The damsel then related the history of the enchantments, which greatly incited Galaur and Florestan to the proof. So they rode on till sunset, and then entering the valley they saw many tents pitched in the meadow, and people sporting about them, and one knight, richly apparel'd, who seemed to be the chief. Sir, as Quoth the Damsel, that is my father, I will go advertise him of your coming, that he may do you honor. When he heard of their desire to try the enchantment, he went on foot with all his company to welcome them, and they were honorably feasted and lodged that night. At morning they accompanied the governor to his castle, which commanded the whole island. For at the entrance there was a neck of land, only a bow shot over, connected with the mainland. All the rest was surrounded by the sea, seven leagues in length it was, and five broad, and because it was all surrounded by the sea, except where that neck of land connected it with the continent, it was called the firm island. When he entered, they saw a great palace, the gates whereof were open, and many shields hung upon the wall. About a hundred were in one row, and above them were ten, and above the ten were two, but one of them was in a higher niche than the other. The Anamides asked why they were thus ranked. The governor answered, according to the prowess of those who would have entered the forbidden chamber, the shields of those who could not enter the Peron of Copper are near the ground. The ten above them are those who reached it. The lowest of the two passed that Peron, and the one above all reached to the marble Peron, but could pass no farther. The Anamides approached the shields to see if he knew them, for each had its owner's name inscribed, the one which was the highest of the ten bore a sable lion, with argent teeth and nails, and a bloody mouth, in a field sable. This he knew to be the shield of Arccalaus, then he beheld the two uppermost. The lower bore, in a field azure, a knight cutting off the head of a giant, this was the shield of King Abys of Ireland, who had been there two years before his combat with Amides. The highest had three golden flowers in a field azure. This he knew not, but he read the inscription. This is the shield of Don Quadragante, brother to King Abys of Ireland. He had proved the adventure twelve days ago, and had reached the marble Peron, which was more than any night before he had done, and he was now gone to Great Britain to combat Amides in revenge for his brother's death. When Amides saw all these shields, he doubted the adventure much, seeing that such knights had failed. They went out from the palace toward the arch of true lovers. When they came near, Agarys alighted and commanded himself to God, and cried, Love, if I have been true to thee, remember me, and he passed the spell. And when he came under the arch, the image blew forth sweet sounds, and he came to the palace, and saw the likeness of Apollodon and Grimannissa, and saw also the Jasper Stone, wherein two names were written. And now he's owned the third. The first said Madanil, son of the Duke of Burgundy, achieved this adventure. And the second was this is the name of Don Bruneo of Bonamar, son of Valados, marquise of Troc. And his own said, this is Agarys, son of the King Longuines, of Scotland. This Madanil loved Queen Da, Lady of Flanders. Don Bruneo had proved the enchantment but eight days ago, and she whom he loved was Malicia, daughter of King Perion, the sister of Amides. When Agarys had thus entered, Amides said to his brethren, Will you prove the adventure? No, said they. We are not so enthralled that we can deserve to accomplish it. Since you are too, then, Quothee, keep one another company as I, if I can, will do with my cousin Agarys. Then gave he his horse and arms to Gondolin, and went on without fear, as one who felt that never indeed or thought had he been faithless to his lady. When he came under the arch, the image began to sound far different and more melodious than the had ever done before, and showered down flowers, his great fragrance from the mouth of the trumpet. The entrance had never been done before to any night ever connected. He passed on to the images, and here Agarys, who apprehended something of his passion, met him and embraced him, and said, Sir, my cousin, there is no reason that we should henceforth conceal from each other our loves. But Amides made no reply, but, taking his hand, they went to survey the beauties of the garden. Don Galore and Florestan, who waited for them without, seeing that they tarried, besought Yejanto, the governor, to shoe them the Serpidin chamber, and he led them towards the Pyrrhons. Sir, brothers said, Florestan, what will you do? Nothing replied Galore. I have no mind to meddle with enchantments. Then amuse yourself here, Quoth Florestan. I will try my fortune. He then committed himself to God, threw his shield before him, and proceeded sword in hand. When he entered the spell, he felt himself attacked on all sides with lances and swords, such blows and so many that it might be thought never man could endure them. Yet for he was strong and of good heart, he ceased not to make his way, striking manfully on all sides, and it felt in his hand as though he were striking armed men, and the sword did not cut. Thus struggling he passed the copper Pyrrhon, and advanced as far as the marble one, but there his strength failed him, and he fell like one dead, and was cast out beyond the line of the spell. When Galore saw this he was displeased, and said, However little I like these things, I must take my share in the danger, and bidding the squires and the dwarf to stay by Florestan, and throw cold water in his face, he took his arms and commended himself to God, and advanced toward the forbidden chamber. Immediately the unseen blows fell upon him, but he went on and forced his way up to the marble Pyrrhon, and there he stood, but when he advanced another step beyond, the blows came on him so heavy a load that he fell senseless, and was cast out like Florestan. Amadesa and Agraeus were reading the new inscription in the Jasper. This is Amadesa of Gaul, the true lover, son to King Parion. When Ardion the Dwarf came up to the line and cried out, Help, Sir Amadesa, your brothers are slain! They hastened out to him and asked how it was. Sir, they attempted the forbidden chamber, and did not achieve it, and there they lie for dead. Immediately they rode toward them, and found them so handled as you have heard, albeit some little recovery. Then Agraeus, who was stout of heart, alighted and went on as fast as he could to the forbidden chamber, striking a right and a left with his sword, but his strength did not suffice to bear the blows. He fell senseless between the Parons, and was cast out as his cousins had been. Then Amadesa began to curse their journey thither, and said to Galore, who was now revived, Brother, I must not excuse my body from the danger which yours have undergone. Galore would have withheld him, but he took his arms and went on, praying God to help him. When he came to the line of the spell, there he paused for a moment and said, O Aureana, my lady, from you precedes all my strength and courage. Remember me now at this time, when your dear remembrance is so needful to me. Then he went on. The blows fell thick upon him and hard till he reached the marble Paron, but then they came so fast as if all the knights in the world were besetting him, and such an uproar of voices arose as if the whole world were perishing. And he heard it said, if this night should fail, there is not one in the world who can enter. But he ceased not to proceed, winning his way sometimes beaten down upon his hands, sometimes falling upon his knees. His sword fell from the hand, and though it hung by a thong from the wrist, he could not recover it. Yet holding on still he reached the door of the chamber, and a hand came forth and took him by the hand to draw him in, and he heard a voice which said, Welcome, is the night who shall be Lord here, because he patheth in prowess him who made the enchantment, and who had no peer in his time. The hand that led him was large and hard, like the hand of an old man, and the arm was sleeve with green satin. As soon as he was within the chamber it let go his hold, and was seen no more, and Amides remained fresh, and with all his strength recovered he took the shield from his neck, and the helmet from his head, and sheathed his sword, and gave thanks to his lady Oriana for this honor, which for her sake he had won. At this time they of the castle who had heard the voices resigning the lordship, and seeing Amides enter, began to cry out, God be praised, we see accomplished what we have so long desired. When his brethren saw that he had achieved that wherein they had failed, they were exceedingly joyful, because of the great love they bore him, and desired that they might be carried to the chamber, and there the governor with all his train went to Amides, and kissed the hand as their lord. Then saw they the wonders which were in the chamber, the works of art and the treasures, such that they were amazed to see them. Yet all this was nothing to the chamber of Apollodon and Grimonesa, for that was such, that not only could no one make the like, but no one could even imagine how it could be made. It was so devised that they who were within could clearly see what was doing without, but from without nothing could be seen within. There they remained some time with great pleasure, but nights because one of their lineage was found to exceed it, more than all living men, and all who for a hundred years have lived, the islanders, because they trusted to be well ruled and made happy under such a lord, and even to master other lands. Sir Quotiasanio, it is time to take food and rest for today. Tomorrow the good men of the land will come and do homage to you. So that day they feasted in the palace, and the following day all the people assembled and did homage to Amides as their lord, with great solemnities and feasting and rejoicing. You have heard in the first part of this great history how Aureana was moved to great anger and rage by what the dwarf had said to her concerning the broken sword, so that neither the wise councils of Mabelia nor of the damsel of Denmark ought avail her. From that time she gave way to her wrath, so that holy changing her accustomed manner of life which was to be altogether in their company, she now foresook them, and for the most part chose to be alone, devising how she might revenge herself for what she suffered, upon him who had caused her sufferings. So recollecting that she could by writing make him sensible of her displeasure, even at a distance, being alone in her chamber she took ink and parchment from her carpher and wrote thus. My frantic grief accompanied by so great a reason causes my weak hand to declare what my sad heart can I conceal against you. The false and disloyal night, I am adhesive gall. For the disloyalty and faithfulness are known which you have committed against me. The most ill-fortunate and unhappy of all in the world, since you have changed your affection for me, who loved you above all things, and have placed your love upon one who by her years cannot have discretion to know and love you. Since then I have no other vengeance in my power. I withdraw all that exceeding and misplaced love which I bore toward you. For great error would it be to love him who has forsaken me, when in requital for my size and passion I am deceived and deserted. Therefore as the wrongest manifest never appeared before me, for be sure the great love I felt is turned into raging anger. Go and deceive some other poor woman as you deceived me with your treacherous words, for which no excuse will be received. While I met with tears my own wretchedness, and so put an end to my life and unhappiness. Having thus written, she sealed the letter with the seal of Amadeus, and wrote on the superscription, I am the damsel wounded through the heart with a sword, and you are he who wounded me. She then secretly called a squire, who was named Durin, and was brother to the damsel of Denmark, and bade him not rest until he had reached the kingdom of Sorbadesa, where he would find Amadeus, and she bade him mark the countness of Amadeus while he was reading the letter, and say within that day, but receive no answer from him if you wish to give one. Chapter 3 How Durin went with the letter of Orianna to Amadeus, and how when Amadeus had seen the letter he abandoned everything into spare, and went to hide himself in the forest. Durin, in obedience to the command of Orianna, presently departed, and hasted so well that on the tenth day he arrived at Sorbadesa, where he found the new queen Briollania, whom he thought the fairest woman, except Orianna, that he ever had seen, and learning from her that Amadeus had departed two days before, he followed him and reached the firm island just as Amadeus was passing under the arch of true lovers, and so he beheld how the image did more for him than ever it had done for any other. And though he saw Amadeus after he came forth to his brethren, yet he did not speak with him, nor give him the letter till after he had entered the forbidden chamber, and been received by all as Lord of the Island. This he did by Gandalene's advice, who, knowing the letter to be from Orianna, feared that it might cause his master either to foreslow or fail in the achieving of so great an enterprise, for he would not only have left off the conquests of the firm island, but also of the whole world to fulfill what she had commanded. But when everything was finished, Durin went before him, and Amadeus took him apart from his brethren and from all others into a garden, and asked him if he came from the court of King Loesuarte, and what tidings, sir, said he, the court is as when you left it. I come from thence by the command of my lady Orianna. By this letter you will know the cause of my coming. Amadeus took the letter, and he concealed the joy that was in his heart, that Durin might know nothing of his secret. But his grief he could not conceal when he had read those strong and bitter words, for neither his courage nor reason could support him then, for he seemed struck with death. When Durin saw him so disordered, he cursed himself in his ill fortune and death that had not overtaken him on the way. Amadeus, for he could not stand, sat down upon the grass, and took the letter which had fallen from his hands, and when he saw the superscription, again his grief became so violent that Durin would have called his brethren. He feared to do so, observing what secrecy Amadeus had chosen. Presently Amadeus exclaimed, O Lord, wherefore does it please thee that I should perish, not having deserved it? And then again, of truth, an ill grudan dost thou give him who never failed thee. Then he took the letter again, saying, You are the cause of my unhappy end. Come here that it may be sooner, and he placed it in his bosom. He asked Durin if he had all else to say, and hearing that he had not, replied, Well then, thou shalt take my answer. Cirque with him, I am forbidden to perceive any. Did neither Amabilia nor thy sister bid thee say anything? They knew not my coming. My lady commanded me to conceal it from them. Holy Mary, help me! I see now my righteousness is without remedy. He then went to a stream that proceeded from a fountain, and washed his face and eyes, and bathed Durin called Gondolin, bid him take Yusannior, the governor, and he said to the governor, Promise me, as you are a loyal knight, to keep secret all that you shall see till after my brothers have heard mass tomorrow, and the same promise he exacted from the two squires. Then he commanded Yusannior to open privately the gate of the castle, and Gondolin take his horse and arms out privately also. This down there left him, and he remained alone, thinking upon a dream which he had dreamt the last night, wearing it seemed, that being armed and on horseback he was on a hill covered with trees, and many persons round about him making great joy, when a man from amongst them presented him a box, saying, Sir, taste what I bring you, which he did, and it was exceeding bitter. And therewith, feeling himself cast down and disconsolate, he loosed the reins of his horse, and let him go wither he would, and he thought that the mirth of all around him was changed into such sorrow as was pitiful to behold. But his horse carried him far away from them, and took him through the trees to a rocky place surrounded with water, and then it seemed in his dream that he left his horse and arms, as if by that he would have had breast, and there came to him an old man in a religious habit, and took him by the hand as if he had compassion, and spoke to him in a language which he did not understand, whereupon he awoke. On this dream Amadeus now amused, thinking that he now found it true. Then hiding his face from his brethren, that they might not see his trouble, he went to the castle gate, which the sons of Isaniel had opened. Come ye with me, said Amadeus to the governor, and let your sons remain here, and keep this matter secret. So they went to the foot of the rock, where there was a little chapel, and Gandaline and Durin went with them. There he armed himself, and asked the governor to what saint that chapel was dedicated. To our Lady the Virgin, who hath wrought many miracles here. Hearing this, Amadeus went in and out down, and said, weeping, Our Lady Virgin Mary, the consolar, and helper of those that are afflicted, I beseech you to intercede with your glorious son, that he may have mercy on me, and if it be your will not to help me and my body, have mercy on my soul in these my last days, for other thing than death I do not hope. He then called Isaniel, and said, Promise us a loyal night to do what I shall direct. And turning to Gandaline, he took him in the arms, and wept abundantly, and held him some while, for he could not speak. At length he said, My good friend Gandaline, you and I were nursed by the same milk, and our lives have been passed together, and never have I endured hardship and danger in which you had not your part also. Your father took me from the sea when I was so little, being only that night's child, and they brought me up as a good father and mother bring up their beloved son. And you, my true friend, have always thought how to serve me, and I have hoped in God that he would one day enable me to requite thee. But now this misery, which is worse than death, is come upon me, and we must part, and I have nothing to leave thee, except this island. I therefore command Isaniel and all others, by the homage which they have done to me, that so soon as they shall know my death they take thee for their Lord. The Lordship shall be thine, but I enjoy that thy father and mother enjoy it while they live, and afterwards it shall remain to thee. This I do for what they did for my childhood, for my ill fortune will not suffer me to do what they deserve and what I desire. He then told Isaniel to take from the rents of the island, which had accumulated enough to build a monastery by that chapel in honor of the Virgin Mary, and to endow it for thirty friars. But Gondoline cried out, Sir, you never yet had trouble wherein I was separated from you, nor shall it be now, and if you die I do not wish to live, and I want no honors or Lordships. Give it to your brethren, I will not take it, and I do not want it. Hold thy peace for God's sake, quoth Amides, and say no more folly to displease me. My brethren are of such worth that they can gain lands for themselves, and just bestow on others. Then he said to Isaniel, It grieves me, my friend Isaniel, to leave you before I could honor you according to your desserts, but I leave you with those who will do it. Isaniel answered, Let me go with you, sir, and suffer what you suffer. Friend answered Amides, It must be as I say, God only can comfort me. I will be guided by his mercy and have no other company. He then said to Gondoline, If thou desirest knighthood, take thy arms, for since thou has kept them so well it is right they should be mine. I shall little need them. If not, my brother Galawar shall night be. Tell him this Isaniel, and serve and love him as thou hast me, for I love him above all my lineage, because he is the best, and hath ever been humble towards me. Tell him, too, that I should commit already on the dwarf to his care. They for great sorrow could make him no answer. Then Amides embraced them, and committed them to God, saying that he never thought to see them more, and he forbade them to follow him, and with that spurred his horse and rode away, forgetting to take either shield or helmet or spear. He struck into the mountain, going wither his horse wood, thus he kept till midnight, being utterly lost in thought. The horse came then to a little stream of water and proceeded upward to find a place so deep that he could drink there at. The branches struck Amides in the face, and so recalled him to himself, and he looked round, and seeing nothing but thickets rejoiced, thinking that he was hidden in that solitude. So he alighted and fasted his horse to a tree, and said upon the green herb by, and wept till his head became giddy, and he fell asleep. End of CHAPTER IV How Gandaline and Dureen followed the track of Amides, carrying his arms which he had left, and how they found him, and how he did battle with the knight and conquered him. Gandaline and his companions remained by the chapel, looking after Amides as he rode so fast away. Then Gandaline, who was passionately weeping, cried out, I will follow and carry his arms to him, although he hath forbidden me. An eye, quoth Dureen, will bear you company for this night. So they left Hisanio, and, getting to horse, rode after him, coasting here and there about the wood, till fortune brought them so near the place where he was lying, that his horse ascended theirs and began to neigh. Then they knew that he was near, and Gandaline alighted and went quietly through the shrubs till he saw his master sleeping by the fountain. The squire then took his horse and led it where he had left Dureen, and, taking off the bridles from all the horses that they might browse, the green boughs, they remained still. It was not long before Amides awoke, for his sleep was restless. He rose and looked round, the moon was almost down, but it was yet some time till day. Then he lay down again and broke out into pitiful lamentations for his evil fortune. The two squires heard all he said, and were greatly moved there at, yet durst they not appear before him. Presently there came up a night, singing along the way, and when he was near the place where Amides lay, he exclaimed, Love, Love, I thank thee for exulting me above all other nights, give me good first and better afterwards. You made me affect the fair queen Sardamira, thinking to secure her heart by the honor which I should bear away from this land, and now, for my greater happiness, you make me love the daughter of the greatest king in the world, the fair Oriana, who hath no peer on earth. You make me love her, and you give me strength to serve her, saying this he drew from the wayside to a great tree, where under he meant to wait for daybreak. Then said Gondoline to his comrade, Stay here while I go see what Amides will do. He went towards the fountain, but Amides had risen, and was seeking his horse, and seeing Gondoline dimly in the night, he cried out, Who goes there? Tell me, I beseech thee. Gondoline, sir, who is going to bring you your horse? Who bade thee follow me against my command? You have displeased me. Give me my horse, and go thy way, and tear ye not here, unless thou wist had me slay thee and myself. Sir, cried Gondoline, For God's sake, no more of this. Did you hear the foolish words of a night hard by? And this he said to make him angry, that he might forget his displeasure for a while. Amides answered, I heard him, and therefore want my horse to depart. How? Is this all you will do? What wist thou more? That you should fight with him, and make him know his folly. Fool the thou art, I have neither heart, nor strength nor spirit, having lost all and losing her from whom all came. She gave me courage, and hath taken it away. The most cative night in Great Britain might slay me now. Sir, said Gondoline, For God's sake, speak lower, that doing may not hear this, for he has heard all that the night said. What is durian here? We came together. I think he tarries to see what you will do, that you may report it to her who sent him. I am vexed at what you tell me, quoth Amides, but his spirit arose, knowing that durian was there, and he said, Give me my horse then, and guide me to the night. He mounted and took his arms, and Gondoline led him where the night sat under a tree, holding his horse by the bridle. Use her night, quoth Amides, who are enjoying yourself, rise and let us see if you can maintain the love of which you boast. The night arose and cried, Who are you who questioned me? You shall see how I maintain it, if you dare do battle with me, for I will strike terror into thee, and all who are scorned by love. I am one of those, quoth Amides, love hath folly requited me. I tell thee this, sir lover, where I have found one truth in him, I have found seven lies. Come and maintain his justice, and let us see if he has gained more in you than he has lost in me. And as he spake these words, his anger kindled, feeling how unjustly his lady had abandoned him. The night mounted and took his arms, and said, You night, whom love has justly forsaken, because you were not worthy to serve him, get you gone. I am offended even at the sight of you, and he would have rode away, but Amides cried out, What night do you defend your love only with words, and ride off like a coward? How, quoth he, I was leaving thee for contempt, and thou callest it fear, thou art very desirous of thy own hurt. Defend thyself now if thou canst. They ran against each other, and both shields were pierced. But the night was thrown down. He kept the reins, and mounted again lightly. Quoth Amides, if you do not defend love better with the sword than with the lance, you will be a bad champion. The night made no reply, but struck at him with great fury. The sword fell on the rim of the shield, and entered in a slant, and he could not pluck it out. Amides stood in his stirrups, and gave him a blow on his head, and cut away the trappings of his helmet, and the skin of his head. And the sword held on, and came upon the neck of the horse, so that he fell dead, and the rider senseless. Amides waited a minute, thinking that he had slain him. Then seeing him recover, he said, Night, what love has gained in you, and you and him, you may both enjoy. I leave you. So departing from him, he called Gondaline, and seeing during there, he said to him, Friend Dureen, my sorrow hath no equal, and my grief and recollections are intolerable. It is better that I should die. Pray God it may be soon. Go, with good fortune. Salute for me and Mabelia, my good cousin, and the damsel of Denmark, thy sister, and tell them, if they grieve for me, that I perish more undeservedly than ever night perished, and tell them that I sorely regret that those who have loved me so much, and done so much for me, have never had their word on. Dureen stood weeping before him, and could make no reply. Amides embraced him, and committed him to God, and kissed the skirts of his armor, and departed. By this it was daybreak. Amides said to Gondaline, If you choose to go with me, attempt not to disturb me in whatever I say or do, if you will not obey this, go back. He promised obedience. Then Amides gave him his arms, and bathed him pluck the sword from the shield, and give it to the knight, and so they rode on. Chapter 5. Showing who the knight was whom Amides conquered, and what had befallen him before he was conquered. This wounded knight was Patton, brother to Don Cedon, who was then emperor of Rome. He was the best knight in all those lands, and therefore greatly feared throughout the empire. The emperor was very old, and had no son, therefore all thought his brother should succeed him. He loved Sardamira, queen of Sardania, who was a fair and comely damsel, and being niece to the empress had been brought up in the court, and he had so far profited by his service that she had promised him, if ever she married, to marry him. El Patine, upon this, grew more presumptuous, though his natural arrogance was enough. And he said to her, I have heard that King Loisuarte had the daughter who was renowned over all the world for her beauty. I will go to his court and say she is not so fair as you, and this I will maintain against the two best knights who dare undertake her cause. They say there are knights there of great worth and arms, but if I do not conquer them in one day, I will that King Loisuarte do cause my head to be cut off. The queen answered him, Do not do this, for if that princess be fair, it impareth not the beauty which God hath bestowed upon me, if beauty there be, and me thinks you might with more reason and less pride prove your prowess in some other cause, for this enterprise is not becoming a man of so high a rank, and moreover it is unreasonable and arrogant, and you cannot expect it to come to a good end. Come what will, Quothee, I will do it, to prove that you, who are the fairest lady in the world, have the best night for your servant. So he took his leave, and with rich arms and ten squires passed over into Great Britain, and went directly to where King Loisuarte was, who, seeing him so accompanied, thought him to be some great personage, and courteously welcomed him. When he was disarmed, all that saw his great stature judged him to be of great courage. Loisuarte then asked him who he was. He answered, King, I will tell you, for I do not come to your house to conceal myself, but to make myself known. Know, then, that I am El Patin, brother to the Emperor of Rome, and so soon as I see the Queen and your daughter Oriana, you shall know the cause of my coming. When the King heard that he was a man of so high rank, he embraced him and said, Good friend, much are we pleased with your coming, and you shall see the Queen and her daughter, and all others of my house, when it pleases you. Then he placed him at his own table, and they were feasted in a manner befitting the table of such a personage. El Patin looked around him, and when he saw so many nights he was astonished, and began to hold the household of his brother, the Emperor, as nothing. Don Grumiden took him to his lodging, by the King's command, and did him much honor. The next day after mass, the King took with him El Patin and Don Grumiden, and went to the Queen, who received him honorably, and made him sit before her and near her daughter. Now Oriana's beauty was much impaired by reason of her great trouble of mind. Yet when El Patin saw her, he marveled greatly, and thought that they who praised her had not mentioned to have her beauty, and his heart was entirely changed from the purpose with which he had come, and how he bent to obtain her. Wherefore, calling to mine his own high birth and great qualities, and moreover that he should one day possess the empire, he thought that if he demanded her in marriage, she would not be refused him. So taking the King and Queen apart, he said, I come hitherto request the marriage of your daughter, for your worth and for her beauty. If I sought others of her rank, I could obtain them, seeing what I am, and what I expect to be. The King answered, We thank you much for what you say, but the Queen and I have promised our daughter not to give her in marriage against her consent. We must talk with her before we begin to answer you. This the King said that he might not offend him, but in his mind he was resolved not to give her to him, or to any other who would carry her out of the land which she was to inherit. Elpatine was satisfied with this and waited five days, expecting a favorable answer. But the King and Queen, thinking it folly, had said nothing to Oriana. Then Elpatine asked the King how the business went on. He answered, I do what I can, but it is necessary that you should speak to my daughter and request her to obey my commands. Elpatine went to the Princess and said, Lady Oriana, I wish to ask a thing of you which will be much to your honor and profit. What thing is that? Quote she, that you will do the will of your father. She, knowing not for what reason he spake, replied, That shall I write will only, be insure it will be as you say. Then Elpatine in the land, seeking adventures, before long you will hear such things of me as will make you with more reason grant what I require. And this also he said to the King, telling him that he would see the wonders of his land. The King replied, You have it in you to do this, yet will I dissuade you for in this land you will find many great and perilous adventures and many strong and hardy knights, practiced in arms. I like this as my deed shall show. So he departed right joyfully at Oriana's answer, and for this joy he was singing as you have heard, when his ill-fortune led him where Amadeus was making moan. And this is the reason why that night came from so far a land. Dureen departed from Amadeus when it was clear daylight, and he passed by Elpatine who had taken off the piece of his helmet and said, Good child, so may God make you a good man as you tell me, if there be any place near where I may have remedy for my wound. Yes, Quothee, but all there are so inflicted that they will hardly attend to you. For what cause? For the loss of a good night who hath won that lordship and seen the likenesses hath it found a master? Certes, I am heartily sorry for I was going there myself to prove the adventure and win the island. Dureen laughed and answered, truly sir night, if there be no more prowess in you than you have just now manifested you would have gained little honor. Elpatine raised himself as well as he could and tried to catch his bridle, but Dureen turned aside. The Emperor of Rome God of mercy quothed Dureen, your birth is better than your prowess or your courtesy. Know that the night you ask about it is the same who hath just now left you by what you have seen you may judge that he is worthy of what he hath won. So he went his way and took the straight road to London. Greatly desirous to tell Oriana all that he had seen of Amadees. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by James K. White. Amadees of Gore by Vajgo de Lovera. Translated by Robert Southy. Book 2 Chapter 6 How Don Slaor and Florestan and the Greyess went in quest of Amadees and how Amadees forsaking his arms and changing his name betook himself to a solitary life with a good man in a hermitage. Isanho, according to his promise revealed nothing concerning Amadees till after mass the next day. Then when his brethren and his cousin inquired for him he said he will tell you his commands. And when they were armed Isanho began to weep passionately and exclaimed oh sirs what a grief and a misery is come upon us that we should lose our lord so soon. Then he told them all that Amadees had said and how he besought that they would not seek him for they could not help his ill and that they should not grieve for his death. Then the world is about to perish but we seek him and if we cannot with our lives help him we will bear him company with our deaths. Isanho then told Galaor his brother's request that he would make Gandaline a night and take the dwarf into his service. This he delivered weeping and they weeping also heard it. He said Adrean come with me since thy master has so commanded and my lot shall be yours. The dwarf answered Sir I will follow you but not as my master till we know some certain tidings of Amadees. Fourth with they went to horse and all three hastened along the road which Isanho pointed. All day they rode on meeting no one of whom they could ask him where Elpatine lay wounded beside his dead horse. His squires had found him and were cutting down boughs and poles to make him a litter for he was exceeding faint with loss of blood so that he could not answer them but made sign that they should speak to his squires and they replied that their Lord went no but before we came up to this place we met an armed knight in the forest upon a stout horse and he was weeping and accusing his fortune. A squire behind him carried his arms the shield had two lions azure in a field oar and the squire was lamenting also. That is he cried they and they in vain where there were many roads in every direction so that they knew not which way to take therefore they agreed to separate and meet at the court of Lisuarte upon St. John's Day that if by then they had been unsuccessful in their search they might consult anew how to find him. There then they embraced and separated the open country he took none of those roads but struck aside along a glen and thence made into the mountain. He rode on lost and thought suffering his horse to choose the path. About noon the horse came to some trees that grew beside a mountain stream and then stopped being wary of the heat and with the toil of last night. Here Amadis recollected himself and looked around pleased to see no signs of a habitation. He alighted and drank of the brook. Gandaline came up and turning the horses to feed came to his master whom he found more dead than alive and not daring to disturb him he lay down before him. Amadis continued in this mood till sunset then rising he struck his foot against Gandaline. Art thou sleeping No replied Gandaline but I am thinking upon two things which concern you the which if it please you to hear I will speak if not I will be silent. Amadis answered go settle the horses and let us be gone I do not choose to be found by those who seek me. Sir said Gandaline you are in a solitary place and your horse is so wary that he cannot carry you. Amadis replied weeping do what you think best whether I stay or go there is no rest for me. Then Gandaline looked after the horses and returned to his master and begged him to eat of a pasty which he had brought but he would not. Sir said he shall I say the two things whereon I have been thinking say what you will may be said or done and wish to live no longer than till I can confess. Then I pray you hear me, sir. I have thought much upon that letter which Oriana sent you and upon the words of the night with whom you fought and seeing how light is the faith of many women it may be that she hath changed her affections and so has feigned anger against you before you discover it. You may have been loyal that she could not have been thus moved unless some great falsehood had been spoken of you which she believes and feels in her heart and since you know that you have never been false you should make the truth known whereby she will repent of what she hath done and entreat your forgiveness for her to die and lose her and the glory of this world and even the other hold thy peace for God's sake for such foolishness and lies as thou hath uttered are enough to provoke the whole world Oriana my lady has never done wrong and if I perish it is but reasonable not for my deserving but to accomplish her comfort me I would cut off thy head you have greatly displeased me never say the like to me again he then turned away in anger and walked along the side of the stream but Gandaline who for two days and a night had not slept was overcome with heaviness and at length fell asleep when Amadis saw this he saddled his horse and hid Gandaline that he might not be able to find them and taking his arms he struck into the wildest part of the mountain all night he went and the next day till Vespers then he came to a plain at the foot of a mountain there were two high trees there that grew over a fountain and there he went to give his horse drink for they had found no water all that day there was a man who was giving his ass water his beard and hair were gray and his habit was very poor being made of goats hair Amadis saluted him and asked him if he was a priest the good man answered that he had been one 40 years God be praised Amadis I beseech you for the love of God stay here tonight and hear the good man then Amadis alighted laid his arms upon the ground and took the saddle from his horse and let him feed and he disarmed and knelt before the good man and began to kiss his feet the good man took him by the hand and raised him and made him sit by him and beholding him well he thought him the goodliest night that ever he saw he had great pity and said sir night it seems that you are in great affliction if it be for any sin that you have committed and these tears spring from repentance in a happy hour came you here but if it be for any worldly concerns from which by your youth and comeliness it seems you cannot be removed remember God and beseech him of his mercy to bring you to his service he then raised his hand and bade him relate all the sins he could call to mind hereon amadis began the whole discourse of his life without letting anything pass the good man then said seeing that you are of such understanding and of so high a lineage you ought not to despair and cast yourself away for anything that may be fall you much less for the action of a woman for they do you to lay aside such folly for the love of God to whom it is displeasing and even for worldly reason for man ought not to love where he is not beloved good sir replied amadis I am now in such extremity that I cannot live any long time I beseech you by that God whose faith you hold take me with you my horse and arms I need no longer I will leave them here and go with you on foot and perform whatever penitence you enjoin if you refuse you will sin before God for else I shall wander and perish in this mountain when the good man saw him thus resolute he said to him with a heart wholly bent to his good sir to his soul of a woman by reason of a woman their love is no longer than while they see you with their eyes and hear such words as you say to them and that past presently they forget you especially in those false loves that are begun against the Lord the same sin which makes them sweet at first gives them a bitterness in the end are the true and loyal protector of such, as are oppressed, great wrong would it be to the world if you thus forsake it. I know not what she is who hath brought you to this extremity, but if all the worth and beauty of the sex were brought together in one, I know that such a man as you ought not to be lost for her. Good sir, quote Amadis, I ask not your counsel upon this, where it is not wanted. But for my soul's sake I pray you take me in your company, for else I shall have no remedy, but to die in this mountain. The old man hearing this had such compassion on him that the tears fell down his long white beard. Sir, my son, said he, I live in a dreary place, and a hard life. My hermitage is full seven leagues out at sea, upon a high rock to which no ship can come except in summertime. I have lived there these thirty years, and he who lives there must renounce all the pleasures and delights of the world, and all my support is the alms which the people of the land here bestow upon me. I promise you, said Amadis, this is the life I desire for the little while I shall live, and I beseech you for the love of God, let me go with you. The good man, albeit against his will, consented, and Amadis said, now, Father, command me what to do, and I will be obedient. The good man gave him his blessing and said Vespers, and then, taking bread and fish from his wallet, he bade Amadis eat. But Amadis refused, though he had been three days without tasting food. You are to obey me, said the good man, and I command you to eat, else your soul will be in great danger if you die. Then he took a little food, and when it was time to sleep the old man spread his cloak and laid him down thereon, and Amadis laid himself down at his feet. The most part of the night Amadis did nothing but turn from side to side, but at last being sore, wearied he fell asleep, and in that sleep he dreamt that he was fastened in a dark chamber where there was no light at all. Neither could he find any way to come out thereof, whereat he greatly lamented. Then he thought that his cousin Mabilia and the damsel of Denmark came to him, and there was a sunbeam before them which dispelled the darkness, and they took him by the hand saying, Come forth, sir, to this great palace. And he thought that he was right joyful, and going out he saw his lady Orianna surrounded with a great flame of fire, whereat he cried out, Holy Mary, help her! And ran through the fire to save her, feeling no hurt, and took her in his arms and carried her into a garden the greenest and pleasantest that ever he had seen. At the loud cry which he made, the good man awoke and took him by the hand asking him what he ailed. Sir, said he, I felt such pain in my sleep that I was almost dead. So it seemed by your cry, said the old man, but it is time to set out. Then he got upon his ass. Amadis would have walked by him, but the good man with great entreaty made him mount his horse, and so they fared on together. As they went, Amadis besought him to grant one boon which should be no ways hurtful, to which the old man granted. I pray you, then, said Amadis, that so long as we are together you will not tell any man who I am, nor anything concerning me, and that you will call me by some other name, not my own. And when I am dead you tell my brethren of me that they may take my body into their country. Your life and death, said the good man, are in the hands of God, so talk no more of this, he will help you if you know and love and serve him as you ought, but tell me, by what name will you be called? Even by whatever it shall please you. So the old man, seeing how fair he was, and in how forlorn a condition, replied, I will give you a name conformable to your appearance and distress. Beltenebros Now Beltenebros being interpreted signified the fair forlorn. The name pleased Amadis, and he admired the good sense of the old man in choosing it. So by this name he was long known till it became as renowned as that of Amadis. Thus communing they reached the seaside just as the night closed in. There they found a bark wherein the good man might cross to his hermitage. Beltenebros gave his horse to the mariners, and they gave him in exchange a cloak of goat-skin and a garment of coarse-gray woollen. They embarked, and Beltenebros asked the good man what was his own name and the name of his abode. They call my dwelling-place, said he, the poor rock, because none can live there without enduring great poverty. My own name is Andolod. I was a clerk of some learning, and spent my youth in many vanities till it pleased God to awaken me, and then I withdrew to this solitary abode. For thirty years I have never leapt it, till now that I went to the burial of my sister. At length they reached the rock and landed, and the mariners returned to the mainland. Thus Amadis, now called Beltenebros, remained on the poor rock partaking the austerities of the hermit, not for devotion, but for despair, forgetful of his great renown in arms and hoping and expecting death, all for the anger of a woman. When Gandaline awoke in the mountain he looked round him, and seeing only his own horse started up, misdoubting what had happened. He called aloud, and searched among the shrubs in vain. He could find neither Amadis nor his horse. Then knowing Amadis was departed he turned to his horse to ride after him, but the saddle and bridle were gone, upon that he cursed himself and his evil fortune, and the day wherein he was born, going from one place to another, till at length he aspired the harness and immediately set out on pursuit. Five days he rode on, sleeping in desert places, inquiring at every habitation for his master. On the sixth chance led him to the fountain where Amadis had left his armour. Here he beheld a tent in which were two damsels. He alighted and asked them if they had seen a night who bore two lions azure in a golden field. They answered that they had not seen him, but such a shield and the whole harness of a night they had found beside that fountain. When Gandaline heard this he tore his hair, and exclaimed, Holy Mary, help me! My master, the best night in the world, is dead or lost. How badly have I served you, my Lord! And now with reason ought I to be hated by all men, and the earth ought not to suffer me upon her, since I have left you at such a time. You were he who sookered all, and now all have forsaken you. The world and all in it have abandoned you. And I, Cate of Wretch, and more wretched than all that ever were born, have left you in your death. And with that, for excess of passion, he fell down. The damsels shrieked out, Holy Mary, help! The squire is dead, and they ran to him and flung water in his face, but it was long before they could recall him to his senses. Good squire, they cried, be not desperate for a thing which is not certain. You had better seek him till you learn whether he be alive or dead. Good men ought to bear up against sorrow, not to die in despair. Gondoline took heart at their words, and resolved to seek his master as long as he lived. Ladies said he, where did you see these arms? We will tell you willingly. We were in the company of Don Guilan, the pensive, who delivered us and twenty other knights and damsels from the prison of Gondinos, the Ruffian, behaving himself there so valiantly that he had destroyed the wicked customs of the castle, and constrained the Lord thereof to swear never more to maintain the same. We came with Guilan to this fountain four days ago, and when he saw the shield for which you inquired he was very sorrowful, and a lighting said, the shield of the best night in the world should not lie thus. And with that, weeping sorely, he hung the shield upon this tree, and bade us keep it while he rode to seek him whose it was. We set up our tents here, and Guilan sought for him three days without success. Yesterday he returned, and this morning, giving his own arms to his squires, he girded on the sword, and took the shield, saying, by God's shield thou makest a bad exchange in losing thy master to go with me. He told us he would carry the arms to Queen Bresena. We also, and all who were delivered by him, are going to that court, to beg the queen of her goodness to recompense Don Guilan, as the knights will beseech the king. Then God be with you, quoth Gandaline, I shall take your advice, and as most catif and unhappy wretch in the world, go seek for him upon whom my life or death depends. CHAPTER VII How Durin returned to his lady after having delivered her bidding to Amidis, and of the grief she made for the news. On the tenth day after he had left Amidis in the forest, Durin reached London, and a lighting at his own lodging went straight to the queen's palace. So soon as Oriana saw him, her heart throbbed violently, so that she could not calm it, and she went into her chamber and lay down upon the bed, bidding the damsel of Denmark go for her brother, and bring him to her secretly. The damsel returned with Durin, and leaving him with her mistress went out to Mabilia. Now, friend, said Oriana, tell me where you have been and where you found Amidis, and what he did when he read my letter, and if you have seen Queen Briollania, tell me everything. Then Durin related how he had followed Amidis from Sobradisa to the firm island, and arrived there just as Amidis was passing under the arch of true lovers, under which none might pass that had been false to his first love. How, cried she, dared he prove that adventure, knowing that he could not accomplish it? It did not turn out so, replied the squire. He accomplished it with more loyalty than any other had ever there displayed, and was received with more honour, and such signs as had never been seen before. When Oriana heard this, her joy was very great, that that which had occasioned her great anger was thus disproved. He proceeded with his tale how Amidis had won the Forbidden Chamber. Hold, quote she, and she lifted up her hands and began to pray God that she might one day be in that chamber with him who had worthily won it. Now, quote she, tell me, what did Amidis when you gave him the letter? The tears came into Durin's eyes. Lady, I advise you not to ask, for you have done the worst cruelty and devilry that ever damsel committed. Holy Mary, cried Oriana, what art thou saying? I say, repeated Durin, that you have unjustly destroyed the best and truest night that ever woman had, or will have to the end of the world. Cursed be the hour in which such a thing was devised, and cursed be death that did not take me before I carried such a message. If I had known what I carried I would rather have slain myself than have appeared before him, for you in sending that letter and I in taking it have been the cause of his death. Then he related everything that had passed and all that Amidis had said and how he was gone into the mountain to die. While he was relating these things all Oriana's anger was gone and her shame and anguish became so intolerable that when he had ceased she could not utter a word, but remained like one who had lost her senses. Durin, albeit that he thought she well deserved this suffering, was yet moved to Piti, and he went to Mabilia and his sister and said to them, Go and help Oriana, for if she had done wrong her punishment is come upon her, and he went his way. They ran to her and, seeing in what state she was, they fastened the door of her chamber and threw water in her face and brought her to herself, and she then began to lament what she had done and cry out for death. But those true friends sent again for Durin and learnt from him all that had passed and then began to comfort her and they made her write a letter to request his forgiveness and bid him come with all speed to the castle of Miraflores, there to receive her atonement. This letter the damsel of Denmark would take and search for him, for she refused no trouble or difficulty for the two persons in the world whom she loved best, and because Amadis in his sorrow had talked so much of Gandales, they thought he might be with him, and they agreed, as a pretext for her going there, that she should carry gifts to the queen of Scotland and tidings of her daughter Mabilia. Oriana, therefore, told her mother they were about to send the damsel, and Brisenna, approving thereof, sent also presents from herself. This being settled, the damsel, in company with her brother Durin and Enil, a nephew of Gandales, rode to a port called Vigil, which is in that part of Great Britain towards Scotland, and embarking there in seven days they came to the town called Apologies in Scotland. From thence they proceeded to the castle of Gandales, him they met going to the chase, and saluted him, and he, perceiving that the damsel was of a foreign land by her speech, asked her from whence she came. I am the messenger, quotes she, of some damsels whom you love much, and who have sent gifts to the queen of Scotland. Good damsel, and who are they? Oriana, daughter of King Liswarte and Mabilia, whom you know. Then Gandales joyfully bade them welcome, and took them to his castle. As they were conversing, the old knight inquired for his foster son Amadis. At this the damsel was grieved, perceiving that he was not there as they had hoped, but not to distress Gandales by the truth she only answered that he was not yet returned from Sobradisa. We thought, said she, that he would first accompany his cousin Agraias here to see you and the queen his aunt, and I bring letters to him from Queen Bresena and his other friends which he would be right glad to receive. This she said, that if Amadis were there in secret he might be induced to see her. She remained with Gandales two days, then proceeded to the queen. Book 2 Chapter 8 How Guilan the pensive took the shield and armor of Amadis, which he found by the fountain, and carried them to the court of King Liswarte. Don Guilan the pensive proceeded with the arms toward the court of Liswarte. He always carried the shield of Amadis around his neck except when he was constrained to fight, and then he took his own. So as he rode, two nephews of Arcalaus met him and knew the shield, and attempted to force it from him saying they would take that shield or the head of him who carried it to their uncle. When Guilan knew of how bad a race they were, he cared the less for them and gave them both battle. They were strong knights, and both younger men than he. He nevertheless was a valiant man and tried in arms, so that he slew one and drove the other to flight. That evening he took up his lodging in the house of a knight whom he knew who welcomed him gladly and gave him another lance, for his own was broken in the encounter. He continued his way till he came to a river called Guilan, which was a great water and over it was a wooden bridge just so broad that one horseman might come and another go. At one end of the bridge was a knight who wished to pass. He bore a shield-vert with a bend-argent whereby Guilan knew him to be his cousin Lathacine. On the other side was a knight who kept the passage. He rode a large bay-horse and did bear in his shield-argent a lion-sable. This knight called out aloud to Lathacine, You must joust, knight, if you would pass. Your joust shall not prevent me, quote Lathacine. They ran at each other upon the bridge, and Lathacine and his horse fell into the river. There would Lathacine have perished by reason of the weight of his arms, and the height whence he had fallen, if by good hap he had not caught the boughs of some willows by which he got to the bank. Don Guilan ran to his help, and with the aid of his squires got him out of the water. Guilan said he you would hardly have been saved without these boughs. All knights should avoid to joust upon these bridges, for they who keep them have their horses practised to the place, and rather by that than by their own prowess win the honour. I would rather turn out of the way and go round if this had not happened to you, but now I must try to revenge you. By this Lathacine's horse had got upon the opposite bank, and the night Bade his servants lead him to the castle, which was a strong and pleasant fortress built in the river, and the way to it was by a bridge of stone. The night was ready at the bridge end. Don Guilan gave the shield of Amadeus to his squire, and took his own, and they met together upon the bridge with a most rude encounter. The night was unhorsed and fell into the water. Don Guilan also was dismounted, and his horse went over, but he saved himself by clinging to the planks. The night got upon Guilan's horse and so to shore, while Guilan's squires took the bay coarser for their master. Don Guilan presently saw the night of the bridge shaking off the water and holding the bridle. Give me my horse, said he, and let me depart. How, Quothi, think you to escape so lightly with this? Quoth Guilan, have we not performed the custom? The battle is not yet over, cried the night, because we both fell. We must decide it with the sword. Perforce must I fight, cried Guilan, is not the wrong done already enough, for bridges should be free for every passenger. Will you, nil you, Quothi of the bridge, you shall feel how my sword can cut. He then sprung upon Guilan's horse, without setting his foot in the stirrup, and placed himself right in the road. Don Cavalier, tell me, said he, before we fight, if thou art of Lysuarte's country or court. Why ask you? I wish it please God that I had King Lysuarte here as I of thee. By my head his reign should be finished. Certi's, Quoth Guilan, you have now given me a good will to fight with thee, which before I had not. I am of his household, and if it be in me, you shall never more do him to service. Before noon, Quoth the night, you shall carry my message to him, and I will tell you who I am, and what present I will send him. My name is Gandolod, son to Barsinan, Lord of Sansuena, he whom King Lysuarte slew in London. The presents you shall carry him are the heads of four of his nights, whom I hold prisoners, in Yonder Tower. The one is Guiontes, his nephew, and thy own right hand, which I mean to cut off and tie round thy neck. Don Guilan laid hand to sword. You have boasting enough, if that were all that were needed. Then began so fierce a battle that Ladassin and the Squires thought even the Conqueror could not escape with life, but they were both hardy knights and their armor of excellent temper, and they knew how to defend themselves. Now when their fight was at the hottest, they heard the winding of a horn from the top of the tower. Gandolod knew not what it could mean, and Guilan thought it was a signal for Sukur to his enemy, therefore they both more eagerly bestowed themselves to end the battle. Gandolod grappled with him, and they both fell. Then was the fight closer and more dangerous, but Guilan had the advantage. It was evident that his antagonist waxed weary and weak, and at length by a well-driven blow Don Guilan lopped off his right arm. He shrieked out and turned to fly to his tower, but Guilan reached him, plucked the helmet from his head, and bade him choose instant death or to present himself with his presence, but in another guise to King Lisuarte. I will rather trust his mercy, Quoth Gandolod, than be slain here outright. Don Guilan then took horse and rode with Ladassin towards the tower where there was a great uproar. The knights had broken from their prison and seized arms, and one of them it was who wound the horn. And now they had won the castle, the gate was opened, and the servants and one knight came flying out. They called out to Ladassin and Guilan to kill those villains, and particularly the knight. Three of the men escaped them, but the knight they took. Then said Guilan to them, Sirs, I cannot tarry, but my cousin Ladassin shall keep you company. Let the castle be kept for me. And do you carry this knight and Gandolod to King Lisuarte for his judgment? Then he gave his own shield which was much battered to his squire, and took that of Amadis, and as he hung it round his neck the tears came. They knew the shield, and hearing how Don Guilan had found it, were sorely troubled, thinking that some great mishap had befallen Amadis. So he proceeded to the court, and all that saw the shield crowded round him, and the king said, for God's sake, Don Guilan, tell us what you know of Amadis. I know nothing of him, Sir, quote he, but how I found the shield I will declare before the queen. So he was taken to the queen, and he knelt before her, weeping, and told her how he had found the arms of Amadis, and sought for him three days in vain. Knowing said he the value of that good night, and that it was his desire to employ it till death in your service, I have brought you these arms, in testimony of the duty which I do owe both to you and to him. Let them be placed where all may see them. There may be some among the many strangers who come here, who may know some tidings of their master, and they will be memorials to all who follow arms, that they may take example by his great chivalry. Folly was the queen distressed at this, and Lesuarte also, and all the court. But Oriana could not remain there, and she went to her bed, and bitterly reproaching her own folly wished for death, albeit Mabilia did somewhat cheer her with a hope that the damsel of Denmark might find him and repair all. The night and damsels whom Don Guilan had released soon arrived, and the two damsels who had seen Gandeline, and they related what lamentation a squire had made over the arms. Presently after came Ladacin and the knights who led Gandeload prisoner, and when Lesuarte heard what cruelties he had purposed he said to him, Here I slew thy father for the great treason which he committed against me, and here thou shalt die for that which thou didst purposed to commit. So he commanded him, and the knight his follower, to be thrown from the tower before which Barcinan had been burnt. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Relating how, Beltenebros being upon a poor rock, Corisanda came there in a ship in search of her lover Florestan, and of what happened, and what she said in the court of King Lesuarte. Beltenebros and the hermit were one day sitting on the stone bench by the door of their chapel, when the old man said, I pray you, son, tell me what it was that made you cry out so in your sleep, when we were by the fountain of the plain. That shall I willingly, father, he replied, and I beseech you tell me what you understand by it. Then he related to him the manner of his dream, only the names of the women those he did not tell. The good man mused for a while, and then said, with a cheerful countenance, Beltenebros, you have given me great pleasure by this account, and you also have great reason to rejoice. The dark chamber in which you thought yourself to be, and from whence you could not get out, signifyeth this great tribulation which you now endure. The damsels who opened the door are those friends who continually solicit your cause with her whom you love so much, and they will succeed so well as to withdraw you from this place. The sun-beam which went before them is the joyful news that they are to send you here, and the fire wherein you saw your lady enveloped is the great pain of love which she suffers for you as well as you for her. From that fire you delivered her, that is, from the pain which your presence will remove, and the pleasant garden is a sign of great happiness, wherewith you shall pass your lives. Truly, I know a man of my habit should not discourse of such things as these, yet it is more for God's service to speak the truth that may comfort you than to conceal it, seeing your desperate state. Beltenebros knelt down and kissed the old man's hands, thanking God for having given him such a friend in his need, and praying with tears that he would mercifully be pleased to accomplish the words of that holy man his servant. Then he besought him to tell the interpretation of the dream he had dreamt before Durin gave him the letter, which when the hermit had heard, he answered, This I can show you clearly, for it is all accomplished. The place overshadowed with trees was the firm island, and the people who made such great joy about you signified the great pleasure of the islanders in gaining you for their Lord. The man who came to you with the box of bitter electuary was the messenger of your lady, for the bitterness of her words you who have proved them can best tell. And you laid aside your arms. The stony place amidst the water is this poor rock, and the religious man who spoke to you in an unknown tongue am I, who tell you the holy word of God, which before you neither knew nor thought of. Verily, said Balthenebros, you tell me the truth of this dream, for these things have all come to pass, and therefore great cause have I to hope for the future. Yet was not this hope so great or so certain as to remove his sorrow, for he would often sit with his eyes fixed upon the ground, remembering what he had been, and his life would have been endangered by exceeding melancholy had it not been for the counsel of that good man. And sometimes to take him away from that pensiveness the hermit would make him go with two nephews that kept him company there, to angle in a little stream hard by, where they caught plenty of fish. Here Balthenebros dwelt in penitence and great grief, and he passed the night most frequently under some large trees in the garden near the chapel, that he might there lament without the knowledge of the hermit, or the boys, and calling to mind the great wrong he endured he made this song in his passion. Sith that the victory of right deserved by wrong they do withhold for which I served. Now sith my glory thus hath had a fall, glorious it is to end my life with all. By this my death likewise my woes release, my hope, my joy, my inflamed love doth cease. But ever will I mind my during pain, for they, to end my glory and my gain, myself have murdered, and my glory slain. This is the version in the English translation from the French. The matter is preserved, the matter lost. The poem is curious from its age, it is printed with these marks. Pues se me niega victoria, do justo me era de huida, allí do muere la gloria, es gloria morir la vida, y con esta muerte mía morirán todas mis daños, mi esperanza y mi porfía, el amor y sus engaños. Mas quedará en mi memoria, lástima nunca perdida, que por me matar la gloria, me matarón gloria y vida. He had passed one night as usual under these trees, when towards morning he heard certain instruments touch so sweetly that he took great delight in hearing them, and marveled what it might be, knowing that in that place there dwelt none else than the hermit and his nephews. He rose and went softly towards the sound, and saw that there were two damsels by a fountain, who, turning their voices to their lutes, did sing a most pleasant song. He stood awhile listening, then advanced and said, God save you, gentle damsels, but your sweet music has made me lose my matins. They wondered who he should be, and said to him, tell us, friend, for courtesy, what place is this where we have landed, and who are you who speak to us? Ladies he replied, they call it the rock of the hermitage, because of the hermit that dwells here. As for me, I am a poor man who bear him company, doing great and hard penance for the sins that I have committed. Then said they, friend, is there any house here where our lady could rest for two or three days, for she is very sick. She is a lady of high rank and wealth, whom love hath greatly tormented. Beth Tenebros answered, here is a little cabin, it is very small in which I lodge. If the hermit pleases, you shall have it, and I will sleep abroad in the field, as I often used to do. For this courtesy the damsels heartily thanked him. By this the day began to break, and Beth Tenebros saw under some trees the lady of whom they spake, lying upon a rich bed. Four armed knights, and five serving men, who attended her, were sleeping on the shore, and a well-appointed ship rode at anchor. The lady was young and beautiful, so that he took pleasure in beholding her. Beth Tenebros then went to the hermit, who was roving himself to say mass. Father said he, there are strangers here, it will be well to wait mass for them. So they both went out from the chapel. The knights and serving men were carrying the sick lady towards them, and her damsels were coming with her. And they asked the hermit if there was any house wherein they could place her. He answered, here are two cabins. I live in the one, and by my will never woman shall enter that. This poor man, who makes his penitence here, lodges in the other, and I will not remove him against his will. To this, Beth Tenebros replied, Father, you may well give them that, for I will rest under the trees as I often do. They then entered the chapel to hear mass, but the sight of knights and damsels reminded Beth Tenebros of what he had been, and of his own lady, and renewed in him his exceeding sorrow, so that he sobbed aloud, and kneeling down at the altar, besought the Virgin Mary to help him in his affliction. The knights and damsels, who saw how he wept, held him for a man of good life, and marveled how he could employ his youth and beauty in that desert place, for any sin that he could have committed, seeing that the mercy of God may be obtained in all places alike, by such as truly repent. As soon as mass was ended, they carried the lady into his cabin and laid her in her rich bed, and she lay there weeping and ringing her hands. The damsels went for their loots to solace her, and Beth Tenebros asked them wherefore she appeared so distressed. Friend said they, this lady hath great possessions, and is of high rank and beautiful, though her sorrow doth now diminish her fairness, and we will tell you the cause of her sorrow, though it should not be told to others. It is excessive love that afflicts her. She is going to seek him whom she loves at the court of King Lisuarte, and God grant that she may find him there. When he heard the house of King Lisuarte mentioned, and that the lady was sick of love, the tears came into his eyes, and he said, I pray you, ladies, tell me the name of the night whom she loves. They answered, He is not of this country, but is one of the best knights in the world, excepting only two who are of the greatest renown. By the faith you owe to God, I beseech you, tell his name, and the name of those other two. We will tell you, on condition that you, in return, tell us if you be a knight, as you seem by everything, and likewise what is your name? I am content, said he, that I may know what I ask. Know then, the night whom our lady loveth, is Don Florestan, brother to the good night Amadis of Ghor, and to Don Galaur, and son of King Perion of Ghor, and the Countess of Ceylandria. Now, quote he, you tell me truly of his goodness, for you cannot say so much good of him as he deserved. Do you then know him? It is not long since I saw him in the house of Briollania, for I saw the battle there of Amadis and his cousin Agraeus against Abysseus and his sons, after which Florestan arrived there, and I heard Don Galaur speak great things of his prowess, for they say he fought with him. Yes, replied the damsels, it was in that battle they knew each other, and then Florestan went away. What? Is this the lady of the island where that battle was fought? The same. Her name is Corisanda. I do not now grieve for her so much, for he is so gentle and of such disposition, that well I know he will do whatever is her pleasure. Now then, said the damsels, tell us who you are. Gentle damsels replied he, I am a knight who have had more pleasure in the vanities of the world than falls to my lot now, for which I am now suffering, and my name is Belthenebros. God's mercy upon you, said they, we must now go play to our lady. After they had sung to her a while, they told her what Belthenebros had said of Florestan. Ah, call him here, cried she, he must be some good man since he knows Don Florestan. They brought him to her. These damsels, said she, tell me that you have seen and that you love Don Florestan, by the faith you owe to God, tell me all you know concerning him. Belthenebros then related how he had gone with his brethren and the Greias to the firm island and that he had not seen him since. Tell me, said Corisanda, are you akin to him? For you seem to love him much. Lady, I love him for his great valor and because his father knighted me, wherefore I am greatly bound to him and his sons, but I am very sad for the tidings which I heard of Amades before my coming here. What are they? I met a damsel in a forest by the wayside, singing a sweet song, and I asked her who had made it. She answered, a knight, to whom God give more comfort than he had when that was made, for by the words it seemed he had suffered great wrong in love and complained heavily. I stayed two days with the damsel till I had learned it. She told me that Amades did show it her and that he wept at the time and was in great misery. I beseech you, Corisanda, teach it to my damsels that they may sing and play it to me. That will I, said he, for your own sake and for his sake whom you love, albeit that is no time for singing, nor for ought that is matter of joy. He then went with the damsels to the chapel and showed them the song which he had made. His voice was of rare sweetness, and now his melancholy made it more soft and in unison, and the damsels learned the song and did sing it to their lady, who took great pleasure to hear them. Corisanda remained there four days. On the fifth she took leave of the hermit and asked Beltenebros if he should remain there long. Lady, till I die, he replied. Then she entered her ship and made voyage to London. Lisuarte and the queen received her in a manner suitable to her high rank and lodged her in the palace, and the queen asked her if she had any suit to Lisuarte, that if so she might further it. My lady said Corisanda, I thank you for the favour, but my coming is to seek Don Florestan, and because tidings from all parts reach this court, I will remain here some time till I hear news of him. Good friend replied Bresena, that may you do, so long as you think good. At present we have no other news of him, than that he is gone in search of his brother, Amadis, who is lost. We know not for what cause. And she then related how Guilan had found the arms. Hearing this she began to weep and say, O Lord God, what will become of my lord and friend, Don Florestan? For he so loves that brother that if he finds him not he also will become desperate, and I shall never see him more. The queen, having great pity, consoled her, and Orianna, who was by, hearing the love she bore to the brother of Amadis, had the greater desire to honour her, and accompanied her to her chamber, and learnt from her all her love. Thus talking with her and Mabilia of sundry things, Corisanda related how she had been upon the poor rock, and found a night there doing hard penance, who had taught her damsels a song made by Amadis in his affliction, and the words she said were very sad. My good friend and lady, Quoth Mabilia, beseech you, let your damsels sing it. I desire much to hear it, seeing it was made by that night, my cousin. The damsels then sung the song, which it was a pleasure to hear, and yet so sorrowful that it made those sad who heard it. But Orianna, who understood the complaint, could no longer abide there for the shame of the tears that she felt flowing, and she went to her chamber. Mabilia therefore said to Corisanda, I see Orianna is unwell. She hath for courtesy remained here longer than she should. I must go and assist her, but tell me what manner of man was he whom you saw upon the poor rock of the hermitage, and what did he know concerning Amadis? She then told her how they had found him, that she had never seen a man so comely in grief and being wasted, nor one of such manners in poverty, nor a man so young of such discourse and reason. Mabilia, forthwith, went joyfully to her friend's chamber. He who asks news, said she, sometimes learns more than he expects. The melancholy man who lives upon the poor rock, and calls himself Beltenebros, by all that I can learn from Corisanda must be Amadis. Orianna lifted up her hands, O Lord of the world, grant that it be true. Dear friend, tell me what to do, for I have neither sense nor judgment. Unfortunate wretch who by my own folly and intemperate passion have lost all my happiness. Mabilia turned away her face, that the tears might not be seen. We must wait for the damsel's return, said she, if she should not find him, leave it to me. I am sure he is this Beltenebros.