 ARCHIMAGO, the wicked magician who had worked such mischief to Oona and the Red Cross Knight, was very angry when he found that in the end all his evil wiles were defeated and that the Knight and the Lady were happily betrothed. He would willingly have brought more trouble on them, but he was powerless to do any harm to Oona, for she was now safely restored to her own kingdom, and living in the care of her father and mother. He therefore directed all his spite against the Knight, who had once more to set forth on his adventures as he had promised Queen Gloriana to serve her faithfully for six years. At the end of that time he hoped to return and marry Oona, and the King, her father, had made him heir to the throne. Archimago, whose other name you may remember was hypocrisy, set all his wits to work to see what harm he could do the Knight, for he knew that, after all the troubles he had fallen into, he would be more than usually careful. He kept laying snares for him and placed spies wherever he went, but the Knight had now become so wise and wary that he always found out and shunned the danger. Archimago, however, still kept on hoping he should find some way to hurt him, and at last his opportunity came. It happened one day that the Enchanter saw marching to meet him a noble Knight. The stranger was clad in shining armor and rode a splendid warhorse. His bearing was very stately and his face, although calm and beautiful, was so stern and noble that all his friends loved him and his foes feared him. He was one of the chief knights of Queen Gloriana's court, a man of great honor and power in his native land. His name was Sir Guion. As the Red Cross Knight was known as the Champion of Holiness, so Sir Guion was known as the Knight of Temperance. With him now there was an aged palmer or pilgrim, clad in black. His hair was grey and he lent on a staff. To judge by his look he was a wise and grave old man, and he seemed to be acting as guide to the Knight who carefully checked his prancing horse to keep pace with his slow footsteps. The name of the black palmer was Conscience, and he went with Sir Guion as his companion and advisor, somewhat in the same fashion as Prudence had gone as servant with the Red Cross Knight. When Archimago saw Sir Guion he immediately stopped him just as on a former occasion he had stopped the Red Cross Knight. This time he had a fresh story to tell, which, of course, was perfectly false. He implored Sir Guion to come to the help of a beautiful maiden, cruelly ill-treated by a rough knight who had cut off her golden locks and threatened to kill her with his sharp sword. What! said Sir Guion, his gentle nature roused to indignation. Is the man still alive who could do such a deed? He is alive and boasts of it, said Wicked Apocrisy, nor has any other knight yet punished him for it. Take me to him at once, said Sir Guion. That I can easily do, said Archimago. I will show you where he is. And he hurried off in high glee because he thought that at last he had found a way of revenging himself on the Red Cross Knight. FRIEND OR FOE Archimago and Sir Guion came presently to a place where a beautiful lady sat alone, with torn clothes and ruffled hair. She was weeping bitterly and ringing her hands, and when Sir Guion asked her the cause of her grief she said it was because she had been most cruelly treated by a rough knight. This lady, who seemed so good and gentle, was, in reality, no other than Duesa, or Falsehood, who had formerly led the Red Cross Knight into such trouble. Her old companion, Archimago, had found her wandering forlorn in the desert with her she had been banished by Prince Arthur, and had again decked her out in fine clothes and ornaments so that she might help him in his wicked schemes. Her cunning quite deceived Sir Guion, who believed everything she told him. "'Be comforted, fair lady,' he said, and tell me who did this, so that I can punish him at once.' "'I do not know his name,' she replied. But he rode a dappled gray steed, and on his silver shield there was a Red Cross. When Sir Guion heard this he was amazed. "'I cannot think how that knight could have done such a deed,' he said. "'For I can say boldly he is a bright good knight. I was present when he first took arms and started out to help the Lady Oona, since when he has one great glory, as I have heard tell. Nevertheless he shall be made to explain this, and if he cannot clear himself of all blame be sure he shall be well punished.' Duessa was greatly pleased when she heard this, for now she hoped there would be a quarrel between the two knights. Archimago then led Sir Guion by an unknown way through woods and across mountains, till they came at last to a pleasant dale which lay between two hills. A little river ran through this valley and by it sat a night with his helmet unlaced, refreshing himself with the cool water after his long journey in hard work. "'Yonder is the man,' cried Archimago. "'He has come here thinking to hide himself, but in vain, for you will soon make him repent of his cruelty. All success to you! We will stay here and watch from a distance.' Archimago and Duessa left Sir Guion, who immediately rushed forward to the attack. The stranger, seeing a knight hurrying so fiercely towards him, seized his own weapons, prepared for battle and sprang to meet him. The two had almost met when Sir Guion suddenly lowered his spear. "'Mercy, Sir Knight, mercy!' he cried. "'Pardon my rashness! That had almost led me to disgrace my honour by raising my weapon against the sacred badge on your shield.' When the Red Cross Knight, for he indeed it was, heard the other's voice he knew him at once. "'Ah, dear Sir Guion,' he said, bowing courteously. "'It is I rather who should be blamed. In my reckless haste I almost did violence to the image of Queen Gloriana, which I now see inscribed on your shield. The fault is mine.' So the two knights made friends and talked very happily together, and Sir Guion explained how he had been cheated by Archimago and Duessa, who had both now fled away. Then up came Guion's guide, conscience, and as soon as his eye fell on the Red Cross Knight he knew him, for he had seen him at the court of Queen Gloriana. "'Joy be with you, an everlasting fame, for the great deeds you have done,' he cried. "'Your glorious name is enrolled in the heavenly register, where you have won a seat among the saints. But we luckless mortals are only now beginning to run the race in which you have gained such renown.' "'Then to his master,' he said. "'God grant you, Guion, to end your work well and bring your weary bark safely to the wished Four Haven.' "'Palmer,' said the Red Cross Knight. "'Give the praise to God, to whom all honour is due and who made my hand the organ of his might. Attribute nothing to me except a willing heart. For all that I did I only did as I ought. But as for you, fair sir, whose turn it is now,' he added to Guion, "'may you prosper as well as you can wish, and may we hear thrice happy tidings of you, for you are indeed worthy, both in courage and gentle manners.' Then the two knights took leave of each other with much courtesy and goodwill. Sir Guion went forward on his journey, still guided by the Black Palmer, who led him over Hillendale pointing out the way with his staff, and by his wise judgment guarding his master from all dangers into which his own hasty nature might have made him fall. The Story of the Knight and the Lady After leaving the Red Cross Knight, Guion and the Black Palmer, or conscience, travelled for some distance, fighting and winning many battles as they went, which brought much honour to the Knight. With the chief adventure in Sir Guion's life began in this way. One day, passing through a forest, they heard sounds of bitter weeping and lamentation. "'If I cannot be revenged for all my misery,' cried a voice, "'at least nothing can prevent my dying. Come then, come soon, come sweetest death, but thou, my babe, who has seen thy father's fall, long mayest thou live, and thrive better than thy unhappy parents. Live to bear witness that thy mother died for no fault of her own.' When Sir Guion heard these piteous words he dismounted and rushed into the thicket, where he found a beautiful lady dying on the ground. In her arms there was a lovely baby, and the dead body of an armed knight lay close beside them. Horrified at the sight, Sir Guion did all he could to restore the lady to life, but she begged him to leave her alone to die in peace. Her sorrows, she said, were more than she could bear, and therefore she had tried to kill herself. "'Dear lady,' said Sir Guion, "'all that I wish is to comfort you, and to bring you some relief. Therefore tell me the cause of your misfortune.' "'Listen, then,' she answered. This dead man, the gentlest, bravest knight that ever lived, was my husband, the good Sir Mordent. One day he rode forth, as is the custom of knights, to seek adventures, and at chance, most unhappily, he came to the place where the wicked Acrasia lives. Acrasia, the false enchantress, who has brought ruin on so many knights. Her dwelling is within a wandering island in perilous gulf. Fair Sir, if ever you travel there shun the hateful place. I will tell you the name. It is called the Bower of Bliss. Acrasia's one aim in life is pleasure. In the Bower of Bliss nothing is thought up but eating and drinking, and every kind of luxury and extravagance. All those who come within it forget everything good and noble, and care for nothing but to amuse themselves. When my dear knight never returned to me, I set forth in search of him, and here I found him, a captive to the spells of Acrasia. At first he did not even know me, but by and by, with great care, I brought him back to a better state of mind, and persuaded him to leave the Bower of Bliss. But the wicked enchantress, angry at losing one of her victims, gave him a parting cup of poison, and stooping to drink at this well, he suddenly fell dead. When I saw this, here the ladies' own words failed, and lying down as if to sleep, quiet death put an end to all her sorrow. Sir Guion felt such grief at what had happened that he could scarcely keep from weeping. Turning to the Palmer he said, Behold here this image of human life, when raging passion like a fierce tyrant robs reason of its proper sway. The strong it weakens, and the weak it fills with fury. The strong, like this night, falls soonest through excess of pleasure, the weak like this lady through excess of grief. But temperance, with a golden rule, can measure out a medium between the two, neither to be overcome by pleasure, nor to give way to despair. Thrace happy man who can tread evenly between them. But since this wretched lady did wrong through grief, and not from wickedness, it is not for us to judge her. Let us give her an honorable burial. Death comes to all, the good and bad alike, and after death each must answer for his own deeds. But both alike should have a fitting burial. So Sir Gion and the black Palmer dug a grave under the Cyprus trees, and here they tenderly placed the dead bodies of the night and the lady, and bade them sleep in everlasting peace. And before they left the spot, Sir Gion swore a solemn vow that he would avenge the hapless little orphan child for the death of his parents. The Three Sisters After the burial of the night and the lady, Sir Gion gave the little baby into the care of the Palmer, and, lading himself with the heavy armor of the dead Sir Mordent, the two started again on their journey. But when they came to the place where Sir Gion had left his steed, with its golden saddle and costly trappings, they found, to their surprise and vexation, that it had quite disappeared. They were obliged, therefore, to go forward on foot. By and by they came to a famous old castle, built on a rock near the sea. In this castle lived three sisters, who were so different in character that they could never agree. The eldest and the youngest were always quarreling, and they were both as disagreeable as possible to the middle sister. Alyssa the eldest was very harsh and stern. She always looked discontented and she despised every kind of pleasure or merriment. It was useless ever to attempt to make her smile. She was always frowning and scolding in a way not at all becoming to any gentle lady. Parissa, the youngest sister, was just as bad in the other direction. She cared for nothing but amusement, and was so full of laughter and play that she forgot all rules of right and reason, and became quite thoughtless and silly. She spent all her time in eating and drinking and dressing herself up in fine clothes. These two sisters showed the evil of two extremes, but the middle sister Medina, or Golden Mean, as she was sometimes called, was the type of moderation and all that was right and proper. She was sweet and gracious and womanly, not harsh and stern like Alyssa, nor yet heedless and silly like Parissa. She dressed richly but quietly, and her clothes suited her well. They were different alike from Alyssa's dinginess and Parissa's extravagance. When Medina saw Sir Guion approaching the castle, she met him on the threshold and led him in like an honored guest. But her sisters were very angry when they heard of his arrival. There were two other visitors at the castle just then, and they also were very angry. Sir Hudabras was a friend of the eldest sister. He was very savage and sullen, slow-witted but big and strong. Sans-Loi, or Lawless, was the friend of the youngest sister. He was the same Lawless who had been so cruel to poor Una, and he was just as bold and unruly now as he had been then, and he never cared what wrong he did to anyone. These two hated each other and were always quarreling, but when they heard of the coming of the Stranger Knight they both flew to attack him. On the way, however, they began fighting with each other and, hearing the noise, Sir Guion ran to try to stop them, whereupon they both turned upon him. The two sisters stood by and encouraged them to go on fighting, but Medina ran in amongst them and entreated them to stop. Her gentle words at last appeased their anger, and they laid down their weapons and consented to make friends. Then Medina invited them all to a feast which she had prepared in honour of Sir Guion. Alyssa and Parissa came very unwillingly, though they attempted to hide their grudging and envy under a pretense of cheerfulness. One sister thought the entertainment provided far too much, and the other sister thought it far too little. Alyssa would scarcely speak or eat anything while Parissa chattered in eight far more than was right or proper. After the feast Medina begged Sir Guion to tell them the story of his adventures and to say on what quest he was now bound. Then Sir Guion told them all about the court of the Fairy Queen, Gloriana, and how he had sworn service to her, and promised to go out into the world to fight every kind of evil. The task he had now in hand was to find out the wicked Enchantress, Acrasia, and to destroy her dwelling, for she had done more bad deeds than could be told, and, among them, had brought about the deaths of the father and mother of the poor little baby he had taken under his care. By the time Sir Guion's tale was finished the night was far spent, and all the guests in the castle betook themselves to rest. As soon as it was dawn Sir Guion arose and, mindful of his appointed work, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. As soon as it was dawn Sir Guion arose and, mindful of his appointed work, armed himself again for the journey. The little baby whom he had rescued he entrusted to the tender care of Medina, in treating her to train him up as befitted his noble birth. Then, since his good steed had been stolen from him, he and the Palmer fared forward on foot. It will be remembered that when Sir Guion heard the cries for help of the Lady Imabia, he dismounted and ran into the thicket, leaving his horse outside. While he was absent there wandered that way an idle worthless fellow called Braggadocio. This was a man who never did anything great or good, but who was extremely vain and boastful, and always trying to make out that he was somebody grand. When he saw the beautiful horse with its golden saddle and rich trappings, and Sir Guion's spear, he immediately took possession of them and hurried away. He was so puffed up with self-conceit that he felt now as if he were really some noble knight, and he hoped that everyone else would think the same of him. He determined to go first to court, where he thought such a gallant show would at once attract notice and gain him favour. Braggadocio had never been trained in chivalry. He rode very badly and could not manage Sir Guion's splendid high-spirited horse in the least. He managed, however, to stick on somehow, and presently seeing a man sitting on a bank by the roadside, and wishing to show off, he rode at him, pretending to aim at him with his spear. The silly fellow fell flat down with fear crying out for mercy. Braggadocio was very proud and delighted at this, and shouted at him in a loud voice, Die or yield thyself, my captive! The man was so terrified that he promised at once to become Braggadocio's servant. So the two went on together. They were excellently well-suited, for both were vain and false and cowardly, while Braggadocio tried to get his own way by bluster and his companion by cunning. Trumpart, or deceit, for that was the man's name, speedily discovered the folly of his master. He was very widely witted and well accustomed to every form of cunning trickery, and, to suit his own purpose, he flattered up Braggadocio and did all he could to encourage his idle vanity. Presently, as the two went along, they met the wicked magician Archimago, or Hippocracy, who was now just as angry with Sir Gheon as he had been before with the Red Cross Knight. When he saw Braggadocio, he thought he had found a good opportunity to be revenged on both the Knights, and, going up to him, he asked if he would be willing to fight them. Braggadocio immediately pretended to fall into a great rage against them and said he would slay them both. Then Archimago, seeing that he had no sword, warned him that he must arm himself with the very best weapons, for they were two of the mightiest warriors living. Silly old man, said Braggadocio boastfully. Stop giving advice. Isn't one brave man enough, without sword or shield, to make an army quail? You little know what this right hand can do. Once, when I killed seven knights with one sword, I swore thenceforward never to wear a sword in battle again, unless it could be the one that the noblest knight on earth wears. Good! said the Magician quickly. That sword you shall have very shortly. For now, the best and noblest knight alive is Prince Arthur, who lives in the land of the Fairy Queen. He has a sword that is like a flaming brand. I will undertake that by my devices this sword is found to-morrow at your side. At these words the boaster began to quake, for he could not think who it was that spoke like this. Then Archimago suddenly vanished, for the north wind at his command carried him away, lifting him high into the air. Braggadocio and deceit looked all about, but they could find no trace of him. Nearly dead with fright they both fled, never turning to look round till at last they came to a green forest where they hid themselves. Even here fear followed them, and every trembling leaf and rustle of the wind made their hair stand on end. Furies captive. As Ser Guion and his guide, the Black Palmer, went on their way, they presently saw at some distance what seemed to be a great uproar in commotion. Hurrying near they found a big savage man dragging along and beating a handsome youth. An ugly old woman followed them, shouting and railing and urging the man not to let go of the youth, but to treat him worse and worse. The name of the bad man was Fury. The old woman was his mother and was called Cajun. The youth was a young squire named Phaon. Fury had Phaon completely in his power, but in his blind and senseless rage he scarcely knew what he was about and spent half his force in vain. He often struck wide of the mark and frequently hurt himself unawares like a bull rushing at random, not knowing where he hits and not caring whom he hurts. When Ser Guion saw the sad plight of the young squire he ran to help him, but Fury grappled with the knight and flung him to the ground. Ser Guion sprang to his feet and drew his sword, but, seeing this, the Palmer cried, Not so, O Guion, never think the monster can be mastered or destroyed in that fashion. He is not a foe to be wounded by steel or overthrown by strength. This cruel wretch is Fury who works much woe and shame to knighthood. That old hag, his mother, is the cause of all his wrath and spite. Whoever will conquer Fury must first get hold of occasion and master her. When she has got rid of or strongly withstood, Fury himself is easily managed. But she is very difficult to catch, for her hair hangs so thickly over her eyes it is often impossible to know her, and when she has once slipped past you can never overtake her. When Ser Guion heard this he left Fury and went to catch occasion. All happened as the Palmer said. Directly the wicked old woman was captured and her angry tongue silenced, her son turned to fly. Ser Guion followed and soon made him prisoner, but even when bound in iron chains Fury kept grinding and gnashing his teeth, shaking his copper-colored locks and threatening revenge. Then Ser Guion turned to the young squire and asked him how he had fallen into the power of such a wretch. Fan said all his misfortunes arose from his giving way to wrath and jealousy. He had a dear friend about whom malicious stories were told, and without waiting to find out whether or not they were true he killed this friend in sudden anger. When he discovered that he had been misled and that his friend was innocent he was filled with grief and swore to be revenged on the two people who had deceived him. To one he gave a deadly draft of poison, and the other he was pursuing with a drawn sword when he himself was overtaken by Fury who completely mastered him. As long as I live, he ended, I shall never get over the agony caused me by grief and Fury. Squire, said Ser Guion, you have suffered much, but all your ills may be softened if you do not give way to such violence. Then said the Palmer, wretched is the man who never learns to govern his passions. At first they are feeble and can be easily managed, but through lack of control they lead to fearful results. Fight against them while they are young, for when they get strong they do their best to overcome all the good in you. Ungoverned wrath, jealousy and grief have been the cause of this Squire's downfall. Unlucky Pheon, said Ser Guion, since you have fallen into trouble through your hot and patient disposition, henceforth take heed and govern your ways carefully, lest a worse evil come upon you. While Ser Guion spoke, they saw far off a man running towards them whose flying feet went so fast that he was almost hidden in a cloud of dust. The Anger of Fire The man soon reached Ser Guion in the Palmer, hot, panting and breathless. He was a bold-looking fellow not in the least abashed by Ser Guion, but casting scornful glances at him. Behind his back he bore a brazen shield, which looked as if it belonged to some famous knight. On it was drawn the picture of a flaming fire, round which were the words, burnt, I do burn. In his hand the man carried two sharp and slender darts tipped with poison. When he came near he said boldly to Guion, Ser Knight, if you be a knight, I advise you to leave this place at once in case of further harm. If you choose to stay, you do so at your own peril. Ser Guion wondered at the fellow's boldness, though he scorned his idle vanity. He asked him mildly why any harm should come to him if he remained. Because, replied the man, there is now coming and close at hand a knight of wondrous power, who never yet met an enemy without doing him deadly harm or frightening him dreadfully. You need not hope for any better fate if you choose to stay. What is his name? said Ser Guion, and where does he come from? His name is Pyrocles, which means the anger of fire, was the answer, and he is called so from his hot and cruel temper. He is the brother of Cymacles, which means the anger of the sea waves, for Cymacles is wild and revengeful. They are the sons of malice and intemperance. I am strife, the servant of Pyrocles, and I find work for him to do and stir him up to mischief. Fly, therefore, from this dreadful place, or your full heartiness may bring you into danger. Never mind about that, said Ser Guion, but tell me whether you are now bound, for it must be some great reason that makes you in such a hurry. My master has sent me to seek out occasion, said Strife. He is furious to fight, and woe betide the man who first falls in his way. You must be mad, said the Palmer, to seek out occasion and cause for Strife. She comes unsought and follows even when shunned, happy the man who can keep away from her. Look, said Ser Guion, yonder she sits, bound, take that message to your master. At this Strife grew very angry, and seizing one of his darts he hurled it at Ser Guion. The night caught it on his shield, whereupon Strife fled away and was soon lost to sight. Not long after Ser Guion saw a fierce looking knight riding swiftly towards him. His armor sparkled like fire, and his horse was bright red and champed and chafed at his bit as his master spurred him roughly forward. This was Pyroclese. Not waiting to speak he furiously attacked Ser Guion, but after a sharp battle he was utterly defeated and obliged to beg for mercy. This Ser Guion courteously granted, and asked the reason why Pyroclese had attacked him so fiercely. The knight replied it was because he had heard that Ser Guion had taken captive a poor old woman, and chained her up he demanded that she and her son Fury should be set free. And is that all that has so sorely displeased you? Said Ser Guion, smiling. There they are, I hand them over to you. Pyroclese, delighted, rushed to set free the captives, but they were scarcely untied before their rage and spite burst forth with double Fury. They did everything they could to make Pyroclese and Ser Guion fight again. They not only railed against Ser Guion for being the conqueror, but also against Pyroclese for allowing himself to be conquered. Ser Guion stood apart and refused to be drawn into the quarrel. But Pyroclese could not help getting enraged, and he and Fury were soon in the midst of a terrible fight. Seeing that Pyroclese was getting the worst of it, Ser Guion would have gone to his help, but the palmer held him back and refused to let him interfere. No, he said firmly. It is idle for you to pity him. He has brought this trouble upon himself by his own folly and willfulness, and he must now bear the punishment. So, as there was nothing more to be done, Ser Guion and the palmer started again on their journey. The Idle Lake In the course of their journey Ser Guion and the palmer came at last to the shores of a great lake. The water of this lake was thick and sluggish, unmoved by any wind or tide. In the midst of it floated an island, a lovely plot of fertile land, set like a little nest among the wide waves. The island was full of dainty herbs and flowers, beautiful trees with spreading branches, and with birds singing sweetly on every branch. But everything there, the flowers, the trees, and the singing birds, only served to tempt weak-minded people to be slothful and lazy. Lying on the soft grass and some shady dell, they forgot there was any such thing as work or duty, and cared for nothing but to sleep away the time in idle dreams. Up to the present Ser Guion had only had to face adventures of a stern and painful kind, but now he was to be put to quite a different test. Would he fall prey to the sloth and the luxury of this island, or would he remain faithful to his nightly duty? When Ser Guion and his companion conscience came to the shore of the lake, they saw floating near a little gondola, all decked with boughs. In the gondola sat a beautiful lady, amusing herself by singing and laughing loudly. She came at once when Guion called, and offered to ferry him across the lake, but when the night was in the boat she refused to let the Palmer get in, and neither money nor entreaties would induce her to take the old man with them. Ser Guion was very unwilling to leave his guide behind, but he could not go back, for the boat, obeying the lady's wish, shot away more swiftly than a swallow flies. It needed no oar nor pilot to guide it, nor any sails to carry it with the wind. It knew how to go exactly where its owner wanted, and could save itself both from rocks and shoals. The name of the lady in the gondola was Fetria. She was one of the servants of the wicked enchantress Acrasia, whom Ser Guion was now on his way to attack. She hoped that the beautiful island would entrap the night and make him delay his journey and forget his purpose. On the way, as was her custom, she began joking and laughing loudly, thinking this would amuse her guest. Ser Guion was so kind and courteous that he was quite ready to join in any real merriment, but when he saw his companion grow noisier and sillier every moment he began to despise her and did not care to share her foolish attempts at fun. But she went on still in the same manner till at last they reached the island. When Ser Guion saw this land he knew he was out of his way and was very angry. Lady, he said, you have not done right to me to mislead me like this when I trusted you. There was no need for me to have strayed from my right way. There, sir, she said, do not be angry. He who travels on the sea cannot command his way nor order wind and weather at his pleasure. The sea is wide and it is easy to stray on it, the wind is uncertain. But here you may rest a while in safety till the season serves to attempt a new passage. Better be safe in port than on a rough sea. She ended laughingly. Ser Guion was not at all pleased, but he checked his anger and stepped on shore. Fedria at once began to show off all the delights of the island which grew in beauty wherever she went. The flowers sprang freshly, the trees burst into bud in early blossom, and a whole chorus of birds broke into song, and the lady more sweetly than any bird on bow would often sing with them surpassing as she easily could their native music with her skilful art. She strove by every device in her power so to charm Ser Guion that he would forget all deeds of daring and his nightly duty. But Ser Guion was wise and took care not to be carried away by these delights, though he would not seem so rude as to despise anything that a gentle lady did to give him pleasure. He spoke many times of his desire to leave, but she kept on making excuses to delay his journey. Now it happened that Fedria had already alerted to the island another night. This was Symeclis, whose name means the Anger of the Sea. He was the brother of Pyroclis, the Anger of the Fire, whom you may remember Ser Guion had already fought and conquered. Symeclis had been sunk in a heavy sleep when Ser Guion arrived, but when he woke up and discovered the newcomer he flew at once into a furious rage and rushed to attack him. Ser Guion, of course, was quite ready to defend himself, and Symeclis soon found that he had never before met such a powerful foe. The fight between them was so terrible that Fedria overcome with pity and dismay rushed forward and implored them for her sake to stop. She blamed herself as the cause of all the mischief and entreated them not to disgrace the name of knighthood by strife and cruelty but to make peace and be friends. So great is the power of gentle words to a brave and generous heart that at her speech their rage began to relent. When all was over Ser Guion again begged the lady to let him depart and to give him passage to the opposite shore. She was now quite as glad as he was for him to go, for she saw that all her folly and vain delights were powerless to tempt him from his duty, and she did not want her selfish ease and pleasure to be troubled with terror and the clash of arms. So she bade him get into the little boat again, and soon conveyed him swiftly to the farther strand. End of Section 8. Recording by Maya Hansen. Ser Guion, having lost his trusty guide, who was left behind on the shore of the idle lake, had now to go on his way alone. At last he came to a gloomy glade where the thick branches and shrubs shut away the daylight. There, lurking in the shade, he found a rude, savage man, very ugly and unpleasant looking. His face was tanned with smoke, his eyes dull, his head and beard streaked with soot, his hands were coal-black as if burnt at a smith's forge, and his nails were like claws. His iron coat, all overgrown with rust, was lined with gold, which, though now darkened with dirt, seemed as if it had been formally a work of rich and curious design. In his lap he counted over a mass of coin feasting his eyes and his covetous wishes with the sight of his huge treasury. Round about, on every side, lay great heaps of gold which could never be spent. Some were the rough ore, others were beaten into great ingots and square wedges, some were round plates without mark of any kind, but most were stamped and bore the ancient and curious inscription of some king or emperor. As soon as the man saw Sir Guion, he rose in great haste and fright to hide his mounds of treasure, and began with trembling hands to pour them through a wide hole into the earth. But Sir Guion, though he was himself dismayed at the sight, sprang lightly forward to stop him. Who are you that live here in the desert and hide away from people's sight and from their proper use all these rich heaps of wealth? he asked. Looking at him with great disdain the man replied, You are very rash and heedless of yourself, Sir Knight, to come here to trouble me and my heaps of treasure. I call myself king of this world and worldlings, great mammon, the greatest power on earth. Riches, renown, honor, estate, and all the goods of this world for which men incessantly toil and moil, flow forth from me in abundance. If you will deign to serve and follow me, all these mountains of gold shall be at your command, and, if these will not suffice, you shall have ten times as much. Mammon, said the Knight, your boast of kingship is in vain, and your bribe of golden wages is useless. Offer your gifts to those who covet such dazzling gain. It would ill-buffet me, who spend my days in deeds of daring and pursuit of honor, to pay any attention to the tempting fates with which you be which weak men. Any desire for worldly dross mixes badly with and debases the true heroic spirit which joys in fighting for crowns and kingdoms. Fair shields, gay steeds, bright armor are my delight. These are the riches fit for a venturous night. Mammon went on trying to tempt the Knight with all sorts of alluring promises, but Sir Gion stood firm. He pointed out the evils that had come through riches, which he considered the root of all unquietness, first got with guile, then kept with dread, afterwards spent with pride and lavishness, and leaving behind them grief and heaviness. They were the cause of infinite mischief, strife and debate, bloodshed and bitterness wrongdoing and covetousness, which noble hearts despise as dishonor. People were murdered, king slain, great cities sacked and burnt, and other evils too many to mention were caused by riches. Son, said Mammon at last, let be your scorn and leave the wrongs done in the old days to those who lived in them. You who live in these later times must work for wealth and risk your life for gold. If you choose to use what I offer you, take what you please of all this abundance. If you don t choose, you are free to refuse it, but do not afterwards blame the thing you have refused. I do not choose to receive anything, replied the Knight, until I am sure that it has been well come by. How do I know but what you have got these goods by force or fraud from their rightful owners? No eye has ever yet seen, nor tongue counted, nor hand handled them, said Mammon. I keep them safe hidden in a secret place. Come and see. Then Mammon led Cergyon through the thick covert and found a dark way which no man could spy that went deep down into the ground and was compassed round with dread and horror. At length they came into a larger space that stretched into a wide plain, a broad beaten highway ran across this leading straight to the grisly realm of Pluto, ruler of the lower regions. It was indeed a horrible road. By the wayside sat fiendish vengeance and turbulent strife, one brandishing an iron whip, the other a knife, and both gnashing their teeth and threatening the lives of those who went by. On the other side, in one group, sat cruel revenge and rancorous spite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate, but nine jealousies sat alone out of their sight, biting his lips, and trembling fear ran to and fro, finding no place where he might safely shroud himself. Lamenting sorrow lay in the darkness, and shame hid his ugly face from living eye. Over them always fluttered grim horror, beating his iron wings, and after him flew owls and night-ravens, messengers of evil tidings, while a harpy, a hideous bird of ill omen, sitting on a cliff near, sang a song of bitter sorrow that would have broken a heart of flint, and when it was ended flew swiftly after horror. All these lay before the gates of Pluto, and passing by, Sir Gion and Mammon said nothing to them. But all the way wonder fed the eyes and filled the thoughts of Sir Gion. At last Mammon brought him to a little door that was next to joining to the wide-open gate of Hades, and nothing parted them. There was only a little stride between them dividing the house of riches from the mouth of the lower regions. Before the door sat self-consuming care, keeping watch and ward day and night, for fear lest force or fraud should break in and steal the treasure he was guarding. Nor would he allow sleep once to come near, although his drowsy den was next. Directly Mammon arrived, the door opened and gave passage to him. Sir Gion still kept following, for neither darkness nor danger could dismay him. The Cave of Mammon As soon as Mammon and Sir Gion entered the house of riches, the door immediately shut of itself, and from behind it leapt forth an ugly fiend who followed them wherever they went. He kept an eager watch on Gion, hoping that before long the night would lay a covetous hand on some of the treasures, in which case he was ready to tear him to pieces with his claws. The form of the house inside was rude and strong, like a huge cave hewn out of the cliff. From cracks in the rough vault hung lumps of gold, and every rift was laden with rich metal, so that they seemed ready to fall in pieces, while high above all the spiders spun her crafty web smothered in smoke and clouds blacker than jet. The roof and floor and walls were all of gold, but covered with dust and hidden darkness, so that no one could see the color of it, for the cheerful daylight never came inside that house, only a faint shadow of uncertain light like a dying lamp. Nothing was to be seen but great iron chests and strong coffers all barred with double bands of metal, so that no one could force them open by violence. But all the ground was strewn with the bones of dead men who had lost their lives in that place, and were now left there unburied. They passed on, and Gion spoke not a word till they came to an iron door, which opened to them of its own accord, and showed them such a store of riches as the eye of man had never seen before. Then Mammon, turning to the warrior, said, Behold here the world's happiness. Behold here the end at which all men aim to be made rich. Such favor to be happy is now laid before you. I will not have your offered favors at the night, nor do I intend to be happy in that way. For my eyes I place another happiness, another end. To those that take pleasure in them I resign these base things. But I prefer to spend my fleeting hours in fighting and brave deeds, and would rather be lured over those who have riches than have them myself and be their slave. At that the fiend gnashed his teeth and was angry because he was kept so long from his prey, for he thought that so glorious a bait would surely have tempted his guest. Had it done so he would have snatched him away lighter than a dove in a falcon's claws. But when Mammon saw he had missed his object he thought of another way to entrap the night unawares. He led him away into another room where there were a hundred furnaces burning fiercely. By every furnace there were many evil spirits horrible to see, busily engaged in tending the fires or working with the molten metal. When they saw Gion they all stood stock still to wonder at him, for they had never seen such a mortal before. He was almost afraid of their staring eyes and hideous figures. Behold what living eye has never seen before, said Mammon. Here is the fountain of the world's good. If, therefore, you will be rich, be well advised and change your willful mood, lest hereafter you may wish and not be able to have. Let it suffice that I refuse all your idle offers, said Gion. All that I need I have. Why should I covet more than I can use? Keep such vain show for your worldlings, but give me leave to follow my quest. Mammon was much displeased, but he led him forward to entice him further. He brought him through a dark and narrow way to a broad gate built of beaten gold. The gate was open, but there stood in front of it a sturdy fellow, very bold and defiant looking. In his right hand he held an iron club, but he himself seemed as if he were made of gold. His name was Disdain. When he saw Gion he brandished his club, but Mammon bade him be still and led his guest past him. He took him into a large place like some solemn temple. Great golden pillars upheld the massive roof, and every pillar was decked with crowns and diadems, such as Prince's War while reigning on earth. A crowd of people of every sort and nation were there assembled, all pressing with a great uproar to the upper part where was placed a high throne. On it sat a woman, clad in gorgeous robes of royalty. Her face seemed marvelously fair, her beauty through such brightness round that all men could see it. It was not all her own, however, but was partly made up by art. As she sat there glittering she held a great gold chain, the upper end of which reached high into heaven and the other end deep down into the lower regions, and all the crowd around her pressed to catch hold of that chain, to climb aloft by it and excel others. The name of the chain was ambition, and every link was a step of dignity. Some thought to raise themselves to a high place by riches, some by pushing, some by flattery, some by friends, and all by wrong ways, for those that were up themselves kept others low, and those that were low held tight hold of others not letting them rise, while every one strove to throw down his companions. When Guion saw this he began to ask what all the crowd meant, and who was the lady that sat on the throne? That goodly person, round whom every one flocks, is my dear daughter, said Mammon. From her alone come honour and dignity, and this world's happiness for which all men struggle, but which few get. She is called Philotomy, the love of honour, and she is the fairest lady in the world. Since you have found favour with me I will make her your wife, if you like, that she may advance you because of your work and just merits. I thank you much, Mammon, said the gentle knight, for offering me such favour, but I am only immortal, and I know well an unworthy match for such a wife. And if I were not yet is my troth plighted and my love declared to another lady. And to change one's love without cause is a disgrace to a knight. Mammon was inwardly enraged, but, hiding his feelings, he led him away through the grizzly shadows by a beaten path, into a garden well furnished with herbs and fruits of an unknown kind. They were not such as men gather from the fertile earth, sweet and of good taste, but deadly black both leaf and flower. Here grew Cyprus and Ebony, Poppy and deadly nightshade, Hemlock, and many other poisonous plants. The place was called the Garden of Prosopine. In the midst was the silver seat under a thick arbor, and nearby grew a great tree with spreading branches laden with golden apples. Mammon showed the night many wonders in the Garden of Prosopine, and tried to tempt him to sit in the silver seat, or to eat of the golden apples. If Guion had done so the horrible monster who waited behind would have pounced on him and torn him to pieces, but he was wary and took care not to yield to temptation, so the beguiler was cheated of his prey. But now he began to feel weak and ill for want of food and sleep, for three days had passed since he entered the cave. So he begged Mammon to guide him back to the surface of the earth by the way they had come. Mammon, though very unwilling, was forced to obey. But the change was too much for Guion in his feebled state, and as soon as he came into the light and began to breathe the fresh air, he fainted away. THE CHAMPION OF SHIVELRY During the time that Guion stayed in the house of Mammon, the Palmer, whom the maid of the Idle Lake had refused to take in her boat, had found a passage in some other way. On his journey he came near the place where Guion lay in a trance, and suddenly he heard a voice calling loud and clear, Come hither, hither, oh, come quickly! He hurried in the direction of the cry, which led him to the shady dell where Mammon had formally counted his wealth. Here he found Guion senseless on the ground but watched over by a beautiful angel. At first he was dismayed, but the angel bait him not be frightened for that life and renewed vigor would soon come back to the night. He now handed him over to the charge of the Palmer, and bait him watch with care for fresh evil was at hand. Thus saying the angel vanished, and the Palmer, turning to look at Guion, was rejoiced to find a feeble glimmer of life in him which he cherished tenderly. At last there came that way two pagan knights in shining armor, led by an old man, and with a light-footed page far in front scattering mischief and enmity wherever he went. These were the two bad brothers Pyroclies and Symeclies, the sons of Anger, guided by the false Archimago, while their servant, Atten, or Strife, stirred them up to quarreling in vengeance. When they came to the place where the Palmer sat watching over the sleeping body of the night, they knew the latter at once, for they had both lately fought with him. They reviled the Palmer, and began heaping abuse on Sir Guion, whom they thought dead, and declared that they would strip him of his armor, which was much too good for such a worthless creature. The Palmer implored them not to do such a shameful and dishonorable deed, but his entreaties were in vain. One brother laid his hand on the shield, the other on the helmet, both fiercely eager to possess themselves of the spoil. At this moment they saw coming towards them an armed knight of bold and lofty grace, whose squire bore after him an ebony spear and a covered shield. Well did the magician know him by his arms and bearing, when he saw his prancing Libian steed, and he cried to the brothers, Rise quickly and prepare yourselves for battle, for yonder comes the mightiest knight alive, Prince Arthur, the flower of grace and chivalry. The brothers were so impressed that they started up and greedily prepared for battle. Pyrocles, who had lost his own weapons in the fight with fury, snatched a sword from Archimago, although the latter warned him it was a magic sword and would do no harm to Prince Arthur, for whom it had been made long ago and who was its rightful owner. Pyrocles only laughed at the magician's warning, and having bound Guion's shield to his wrist, he was ready for the fray. By that time the stranger knight had come near and greeted them courteously. They returned no answer, but looked very disdainful and then, turning to the palmer, Prince Arthur noticed that at his feet lay an armed man in whose dead face he read great nobility. Reverend Sir, he said, what great misfortune has befallen this night? Did he die a natural death, or did he fall by treason or by fight? Not by one or the other, said the palmer, but his senses are drowned in sleep, and these cruel foes have taken advantage of it to revenge their spite and rob him of his armor. But you, fair Sir, whose honourable look promises hope of help, may I beseech you to take pity on his sad plight and by your power protect him? Palmer, he said, there is no knight so rude, I trust, as to do outrage to a sleeping spirit. Maybe better reason will soften their rash revenge. They'll chosen words have a secret power in appeasing anger. If not, leave me to your knight's last defence. Then, turning to the brothers, he first tried what persuasion would do. He took for granted that their wrath was provoked by wrongs they had suffered and did not challenge the right or justice of their actions, but, on behalf of the sleeping man, he entreated pardon for anything he might have done amiss. To this gentle speech the brothers made rude and insulting answers, and pyroclies not wanting to set the prince on guard, lifted high the magic sword thinking to kill him. The faithful steel refused to harm its master, and swerved from the mark, but the blow was so furious it made man and horse real. Prince Arthur was such a splendid rider that he did not fall from the saddle, but, full of anger, he cried fiercely, "'False traitor! You have broken the law of arms by striking a foe unchallenged, but you shall soon right bitterly taste the fruit of your treason and feel the law which you have disgraced.'" With that he leveled his spirit, pyroclies, and the two were soon engaged in a fiery battle. Symeclies rushed to his brother's aid, and they both fell on the prince with terrific fury, so that he had hard work to defend himself. So mighty was his power that neither of his foes could stand against it, but whenever he smote at pyroclies the latter threw in front of him Guillaume's shield, on which was portrayed the face of the fairy queen, and when he saw this the prince's hand relented and he stayed the stroke because of the love and loyalty he bore the picture. This often saved the pagan knight from deadly harm, but at last Prince Arthur overcame and killed both him and his brother, while false archimago and strife fled fast away. By this time Sir Guillaume had awakened from his trance, and was much grieved when he found that his shield and sword had disappeared, but when he saw beside him his faithful companion whom he had lost some days before he was very glad. The palmer was delighted to see him rise looking so well and told him not to trouble about the loss of his weapons for they would soon be restored to him. Then he told Guillaume all that had happened and how the strange knight had fought for him with the two wicked brothers. When he heard this Sir Guillaume was deeply touched and felt all his heart fill with affection. Bowing to Prince Arthur with due reverence as to the defender of his life he said, My lord, my liege, by whose most gracious aid I live this day and see my foes subdued, what reward would be sufficient to repay you for your great goodness unless to be ever bound but the Prince interrupted. Fair Sir, what need is there to reckon a good turn as a debt to be paid? Are not all knights bound by oath to withstand the power of the oppressor? It is sufficient that I have done my duty properly. So they both found that a good deed is made gracious by kindness and courtesy. End of Section 9, Recording by Maya Hansen. Section 10 of Stories from the Fairy Queen. 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 Maya Hansen. Stories from the Fairy Queen by Mary MacLeod. The House of Temperance. After the Pagan brothers were conquered and Prince Arthur had recovered his stolen sword and Guion his lost shield, the two went on their way together, talking pleasantly as they journeyed along. When the sun was near setting they saw in the distance a goodly castle placed near a river in a pleasant valley. Thinking this place would do to spend the night in they marched thither, but when they came near and dismounted from their tired steeds they found the gates barred and every fastening locked as though for fear of foes. They thought this was done as an insult to them to prevent their entrance till the squire blew his horn under the castle wall which shook with the sound as if it would fall. Then a watchman quickly looked forth from the highest tower and called loudly to the knights to ask what they required so rudely. They gently answered that they wished to enter. Fly, fly, good knights, he said. Fly fast away if you love your lives as it is right you should. Fly fast and save yourselves from instant death. You may not enter here though we would most willingly let you in if only we could, but a thousand enemies rage round us who have held the castle in siege for seven years and many good knights who have sought to save us have been slain. As he spoke, a thousand villains with horrible outcry swarmed around them from the adjoining rocks and caves, vile wretcheds, ragged, rude and hideous, all threatening death and all armed in a curious manner, some with unwieldy clubs, some with long spears, some with rusty knives, some with staves heated in the fire. They looked like wild bulls, staring with hollow eyes and with stiff hair standing on end. They assailed the knights fiercely and made them recoil, but when Prince Arthur and Sir Gheon charged again their strength began to fail and they were unable to withstand them, for the champions broke on them with such might that they were forced to fly like scattered sheep before the rush of a lion and a tiger. The knights with their shining blades soon broke their rude ranks and drove them into confusion, hewing and slashing at them, and now, when faced boldly, they found that they were nothing but idle shadows, for, though they seemed bodies, they had really no substance. When they had dispersed this troublesome rabble, Prince Arthur and Gheon came again to the castle gate and begged entrance where they had been refused before. The report of their danger and conflict having reached the ears of the lady who dwelt there, she came out with a goodly train of squires and ladies to bid them welcome. The lady's name was Alma. She was as beautiful as it was possible to be in the very flower of her youth yet full of goodness and modesty. She was clad in a robe of lily white reaching from her shoulders to the ground. The long, loose train embroidered with golden pearls was carried by two fair damsels. Her yellow golden hair was trimly arranged, and she wore no headdress except a garland of sweet roses. She entertained the knights nobly and, when they had rested a little, they begged her as a great favour to show them over her castle. This she consented to do. First she led them up to the castle wall, which was so high that no foe could climb it, and yet was both beautiful and fit for defence. It was not built of brick nor yet of stone, sand nor mortar, but of clay. The pity was that such goodly workmanship could not last longer, for it must soon turn back to earth. Two gates were placed in this building, the one, mouth, by which all passed, in far excelling the other in workmanship. When it was locked no one could pass through, and when it was opened no man could shut it. Within the Barbican sat a porter, the tongue, day and night keeping watch and ward. Nobody could go in or out of the gate without strict scrutiny. Utterers of secrets he debarred, babblers of folly, and those who told tales of wrongdoing, when cause required it his alarm bell might be heard far and wide, but never without occasion. Round the porch on each side sat sixteen warders, the teeth, all in bright array. Ptoleoman they seemed of great strength and were ranged ready for fight. Alma then took the knights over the rest of the castle, and showed them so many curious and beautiful things that their minds were filled with wonder, for they had never before seen so strange a sight. Presently she brought them back into a beautiful parlor, the heart, hung with rich tapestry, where sat a bevy of fair ladies, the feelings, tastes, etc., amusing themselves in different ways. Some sang, some laughed, some played with straws, some sat idly at ease, but others could not bear to play, all amusement was annoyance to them. This one frowned, that one yawned, a third blushed for shame, another seemed envious or shy, while another nod a rush and looked sullen. After that Alma took her guests up to a stately turret, the head, in which two beacons, the eyes, gave light and flamed continually, for they were most marvelously made of living fire, and set in silver sockets, covered with lids that could easily open and shut. In this turret there were many rooms and places, but three chief ones in which dwelt three honorable sages, who counseled fair Alma how to govern well. The first of these could foresee things to come, the second could best advise of things present, the third kept things past in memory, so that no time or occasion could arise which one or other of them could not deal with. The first sat in the front of the house, so that nothing should hinder his coming to a conclusion quickly. He made up his mind in advance without listening to reason. He had a keen foresight, and an active brain that was never idle and never rested. His room held a collection of the oddest and queerest things ever seen or imagined. It was filled, too, with flies that buzzed all about, confusing men's eyes and ears with a sound like a swarm of bees. These were idle thoughts and fancies, dreams, visions, suesings, prophecies, etc., and all kinds of false tales and lies. The second counselor was a much older man. He spent all his time meditating over things that had really happened, and in studying law, art, science and philosophy, so that he had grown very wise indeed. The third counselor was a very, very aged man. His chamber seemed very ruinous and old, and was therefore at the back of the house, but the walls that upheld it were quite firm and strong. He was half blind and looked feeble in body, but his mind was still vigorous. All things that had happened, however ancient they were, he faithfully recorded, so that nothing might be forgotten. The names of Alma's three counselors were imagination, judgment, and memory. The Rock of Approach and the Wandering Islands. The next morning, before it was light, Sir Gheon clad in his bright armor and accompanied by the Palmer in his black dress, ordered once more on his journey to find the wicked Enchantress Acrasia and the Bower of Bliss. At the river forward they found a ferryman whom Alma had commanded to be there with his well-rigged boat. They went on board and he immediately launched his bark, and Lady Alma's country was soon left far behind. For two days they sailed without even seeing land, but on the morning of the third day they heard far away a hideous roaring that filled them with terror, and they saw the surges rage so high they feared to be drowned. Then said the boatman, Palmer, steer right and keep an even course, for we must need's pass yonder way. That is the Gulf of Greediness, which swallows up all it can devour and is in a constant turmoil. On the other side stood a hideous rock of mighty magnet stone, whose craggy cliffs were dreadful to behold. Great jagged reefs ran out into the water and threatened death to all who came near. Yet passers-by were unable to keep away, for trying to escape the devouring jaws of the Gulf of Greediness they were dashed to pieces on the rock. As they drew near this dreadful spot the ferryman had to put forth all his strength and skill to row them past. On the one hand they saw the horrible gulf that looked as if it were sucking down all the sea into itself, and on the other hand they saw the perilous rock on whose sharp cliffs lay the ribs of many shattered vessels together with the dead bodies of those who had recklessly flung themselves to destruction. The name of the rock was the Rock of Approach. It was a dangerous and hateful place to which no fish nor fowl ever came but only screaming seagulls and cormorants who sat waiting on the cliff to prey on the unhappy wretches whose extravagant and thriftless living had brought them to ruin. Sir Gheon and his companions passed by this dangerous spot in safety, and the ferryman rode them briskly over the dancing billows. At last far off they spied many islands floating on every side among the waves. Lands at the night. Low I see the land so, Sir Palmer, direct your course to it. Not so, said the ferryman, lest we unknowingly run into danger. For those same islands which now and then appear are not firm land nor have they any certain abiding place. They are straggling plots which run to and fro in the wide waters, wherefore they are called the Wandering Islands, and are to be shunned, for they have drawn many a traveller into danger and distress. Yet from far off they seem very pleasant, both fair and fruitful, the ground spread with soft green grass, and the tall trees covered with leaves and decked with white and red blossoms that might well allure passers by. But whoever once sets his foot on those islands can never recover it, but ever more wanders, uncertain and unsure. Sir Gheon and the Palmer listened to their pilot, as seemed fitting, and they passed on their way. Now, said the cautious boatman, when they had left behind them the Wandering Islands, or listless idleness, we must be careful to take good heed of our safety here, for a perilous passage lies before us. There is a great quicksand and a whirlpool of hidden danger. Therefore, Sir Palmer, keep a steady hand, for the narrow way lies between them. Scarcely had he spoken, when near at hand they spied the quicksand. It was almost covered with water, but they knew it at once by the waves round it and the discolored sea. It was called the quicksand of unthriftiness. Passing by, they saw a goodly ship, laden from far with precious merchandise, and well-fitted as a ship could be, which, through misadventurer carelessness, had run herself into danger. The mariners and merchants, with much toil, labored in vain to recover their prize and to save the rich wares from destruction, but neither toll nor trouble served to free her from the quicksand. On the other side they saw the dangerous pool that was called the whirlpool of decay, in which many had haplessly sunk, of whom no memory remained. The circling waters whirled round like a restless wheel, eager to draw the boat into the outer limit of the labyrinth and to drown the travellers. But the heedful ferrymen rode with all his might, so that they passed by in safety and left the dreaded danger behind. Suddenly they saw in the midst of the ocean the surging waters rise like a mountain, and the great sea puffed up as though threatening to devour everything. The waves came rolling along, and the billows roared in fury, though there was not a breath of wind. At this, Sir Guion, the Palmer, and the ferrymen were greatly afraid, for they knew not what strange horror was approaching. Sea Monsters and Land Monsters Presently they saw a hideous crowd of huge sea monsters, such as terrified any one to behold. Every shape of ugliness and horror was there, water snakes and whales and swordfish and hippopotamuses and sharks and every kind of sea monster, and they came along in thousands with a dreadful noise and a hollow rumbling roar. No wonder the night was appalled, for compared with these all that we hold dreadful on earth were but a trifle. Fear nothing, then said the Palmer. For these creatures that look like monsters are not so in reality. They are only disguised into these fearful shapes by the wicked enchantress to terrify us and to prevent our continuing our journey. Then, lifting up his magic staff, he smote the sea, which immediately became calm, and all the make-believe monsters fled to the bottom of the ocean. Free from that danger the travellers kept on their way, and as they went they heard a pitiful cry as of someone wailing and weeping. At last on an island they saw a beautiful maiden who seemed in great sorrow and who kept calling to them for help. Directly Keon heard her he bade the Palmer steer straight to her rescue. But the latter, knowing better, said, Fair Sir, do not be displeased if I disobey you, for it would be a bad thing to listen to her, for really there is nothing the matter. It is only a trick to entrap you. The knight was guided by his advice, and the ferryman held steadily straight on his course. The next temptation they had to face was of a different kind. They came to a lovely bay sheltered on the one side by a steep hill, and on the other by a high rock, so that between them was a still and pleasant haven. In this bay lived five mermaids who could sing in the sweetest manner possible. But the only use they made of their skill and melody was to allure travelers, whom, when they had got hold of, they killed. So now to Keon as he passed they began to sing their sweetest tunes greeting him as the mightiest knight that had ever fought in battle, and bidding him to turn his rudder into the quiet bay, where his storm-beaten vessel might safely ride. This is the port of rest from trouble, as told, they sang. The world sweetened from pain and worrisome turmoil. The rolling sea and the waves breaking on the rock mingled with their singing, and the wind whistled in harmony. This sounds so delighted, Keon, that he bade the boatman row slowly to let him listen to their melody. But the Palmer wisely counseled him not to do this, and so they got safely past the danger, and soon after they saw, in the distance, the land to which they were directing their course. Then suddenly a thick fog came down upon them, hiding the cheerful daylight and making the whole world seem a confused mass. They were much dismayed at this, not knowing which way to steer in the darkness, and fearing that they would fall into some hidden danger. To add to their confusion they were attacked by a flock of horrible birds, which flew screaming round them, beating at them with their wicked wings. Owls and ravens and bats and screech owls. Yet the travellers would not stay because of these, but went straightforward, the ferrymen rowing, while the Palmer kept a firm hand on the rudder, till at last the weather began to clear, and the land showed plainly. Then the Palmer warned Sir Guion to have his armor and readiness, for peril would soon assail him. The night obeyed, and when the boat reached the shore, he and the Palmer stepped out, fully armed, and carefully prepared against every danger. They had not gone far before they heard a hideous bellowing, and a pack of wild beasts rushed forward as if to devour them. But when they came near the Palmer lifted up his wonderful staff, and immediately they requelled and shrank back trembling. Passing these, Sir Guion and the Palmer soon came to the place the night was seeking, the object of his long and toilsome quest, the home of the wicked enchantress, the Bower of Bliss. The Bower of Bliss. It was a lovely spot, a place adorned in the most perfect way by which art could imitate nature. Everything sweet and pleasing, or that the daintiest fancy could devise, was gathered here in lavish profusion. A light fence enclosed it, and a rich ivory gate, wonderfully carven, stood open to all those that came thither. In the porch sat a tall, handsome porter, whose looks were so pleasant that he seemed to entice travelers to him, but it was only to deceive them to their own ruin. He was the keeper of the garden, and his name was Pleasure. He was decked with flowers, and by his side was set a great bowl of wine, with which he pleased all newcomers. He offered it to Sir Guion, but the latter refused his idle courtesy and overthrew the bowl. Passing through the gate they beheld a large and spacious plain strewn on every side with delights. The ground was covered with green grass and made beautiful with all kinds of lovely flowers. The skies were always bright, and the air soft and balmy. No storm or frost ever came to harm the tender blossoms, neither scorching heat nor piercing cold to hurt those who dwelt therein. Guion wondered much at the loveliness of that sweet place, yet would not suffer any of its delights to allure him, but passed straight through and still looked forward. Presently he came to a beautiful arbor, fashioned out of interlacing boughs and branches. This was arched over with a clustering vine, richly laden with bunches of luscious grapes. Some were deep purple like the hyacinth, some like rubies laughing red, some like emeralds, not yet well ripened, and there were others of burnished gold. They almost broke down the branches with their weight, and seemed to offer themselves to be freely gathered by the passers-by. In the arbors sat a finely dressed lady. She held in her left hand a golden cup, and with her right hand she gathered the ripe fruit, and squeezed the juice of the grapes into the cup. It was her custom to give a draft of this wine to every stranger that passed, but when she offered it to Guion to taste, he took the cup out of her hand and flung it to the ground so that it was broken and all the wine spilt. Excess, for that was the lady's name, was very angry at this, but she could not withstand the night and was obliged to let him pass, and he went on heedless of her displeasure. Then before his eyes appeared a most lovely paradise abounding in every sort of pleasure, rainbow-colored flowers, lofty trees, shady dells, breezy mountains, rustling groves, crystal streams. It was impossible to tell which was art and which nature. They were so cunningly mingled. Both combined made greater the beauty of the other, and adorned this garden with an endless variety. In the midst of all stood a fountain made of the most precious materials on earth, so pure and bright that one could see the silver flood running through every channel. It was wrought all over with curious carving, and above all was spread a trail of ivy of the purest gold, colored like nature, so that anyone who saw it would surely think it was real ivy. Numberless little streams continually welled out of this fountain and formed a little lake, through the shallow water of which one could see the bottom all paved with shining jasper. Then at last Sir Guion and the Palmer drew near to the Bower of Bliss, so called by the foolish favourites of the wicked enchantress. Now, Sir, consider well, said the Palmer. For here is the end of all our travel. Here dwells a crazia, whom we must surprise or else she will slip away and laugh at our attempt. Soon they heard the most lovely melody such as might never be heard on mortal ground. It was almost impossible to say what kind of music it was. For all that is pleasing to the ear they are joined in harmony. The joyous singing of birds, angelic voices, silver sounding instruments, murmuring waters, and the whispering wind. And through it all they heard the singing of one voice, sweeter than all the others. But in spite of the lovely music heard on every side, Sir Guion and the Palmer never left their path. They kept on through many groves and thickets till at last they came in sight of the wicked enchantress herself. She lay half sleeping on a bed of roses, clad in a veil of silk and silver. All round were many fair ladies and boys singing sweetly. Not far off was her last victim, a gallant-looking youth over whom she had cast an evil spell. His brave sword and armor hung idly on a tree, and he lay sunk in a heavy slumber, forgetful of all the noble deeds in which he had once delighted. Sir Guion and the Palmer cautiously drew near. Then suddenly rushed forward and flung over Acrasia and Nett which the skillful Palmer had made for the occasion. All her attendants immediately fled in terror. Acrasia tried all her arts and crafty wiles to set herself free, but in vain the Nett was so cunningly woven neither guile nor force could disentangle her. Then Sir Guion broke down without pity all the pleasant bowers and the stately palace and trampled down the gardens and burnt the banqueting hall so that nothing was left of the beautiful place to tempt other people to ruin. As for Acrasia they led her away captive, bound with adamantine chains, for nothing else would keep her safe. And when they came back to the place where they had met the wild beasts these again flew fiercely at them as if they would rescue their mistress. But the Palmer soon pacified them. Then Guion asked what was the meaning of these beasts that lived there. These seeming beasts are really men whom the Enchantress has thus transformed, replied the Palmer. Now they are turned into these hideous figures in accordance with their bad and ugly minds. A sad end of an ignoble life and a mournful result of excess and pleasure set the night. But Palmer, if it may so please you, let them be returned to their former state. So the Palmer struck them with his staff and immediately they returned into men. Very queer and ill at ease they looked. Some were inwardly ashamed and some were angry to see the Lady Acrasia captive, but one in particular, who had lately been a hog, grill by name, loudly lamented and abused the night for bringing him back from the shape of a hog into that of a man. Then said Guion, see how low a man can sink to forget so soon the excellence in which he was created and to choose rather to be a beast without intelligence. Worthless men delight in base things, said the Palmer. Let grill be grilled and have his hogish mind. But let us depart hence, while wind and weather serve. So Sir Guion, having overthrown the power of the wicked enchantress, went back to the house of Alma where he had left Prince Arthur. The captive Acrasia he sent under a strong guard to the court of the Fairy Queen, to be presented to Queen Gloriana as a proof that he had accomplished his hard task. But he himself traveled forth with Prince Arthur to make further trial of his strength and to seek fresh adventures. End of Section 10, recording by Maya Hanson. End of Britomart, how Sir Guion met a champion mightier than himself. After the capture of the wicked enchantress Acrasia, Prince Arthur and Sir Guion travelled long and far together in all sorts of dangerous places. They met with many perilous adventures which won them great glory and honour, for their aim was always to relieve the weak and oppressed and to recover right for those who had suffered wrong. At last one day as they rode across an open plain, they saw a night spurring towards them. An aged squire rode beside him, and on the night shield was emblazoned a lion on a golden field. When they saw him, Sir Guion beat Prince Arthur to let him be the one to face the attack. And the Prince agreeing, Guion leveled his spear and galloped towards the night. They met with such fury that the stranger reeled in his saddle, and Guion himself, before he was aware, was hurled from his horse. His fall filled him with shame and sorrow, for never yet since he bore arms had such a disgrace happened to him. He need not, however, have been so grieved, for it was no fault of his own that he was dismounted. The spear that brought him to the ground was enchanted, and no one could resist it. But Guion would have felt far more sorry and ashamed had he known that the night who overthrew him was in reality a maiden. The stranger was none other than the famous Princess Pritamart, daughter of Ryan's King of South Wales. She was roaming the world in search of Artigal, the champion Knight of Justice, whose image she had once beheld in a magic mirror given by the magician Merlin to her father. So Grand and Noble was the image of this splendid night that Pritamart felt she could never rest until she had seen him in reality. She dressed herself in the armour of a knight, and her old nurse, Glose, disguised herself as her squire, and together the two left the court of King Ryance and wandered through the world in search of Sir Artigal. So Guion, full of anger at his fall and eager to revenge himself, rose hastily, drew his sword and rushed at the foe. But his attendant, the Black Palmer, who had been his faithful companion and guide in all his former adventures, implored his master not to rush into fresh danger. By his great wisdom he could tell that Pritamart's spear was enchanted, and that no mortal power could withstand it. Prince Arthur joined his entreaties to the Parmas, and they both spoke so wisely that Guion's anger melted away. Pritamart and he became reconciled, and swore a firm friendship. In those days, when nights fought together, it was often not at all enmalas, but only to test their strength and manliness. The one who conquered won much renown, but the vanquished felt no spite or envy. It is a great thing to be able to lose with a good grace without becoming sulky and disagreeable. Later ages might do well in this respect to learn a lesson from the days of chivalry. So Pritamart, Prince Arthur and Seguion then travelled on together in the most friendly fashion, seeking further adventures. For some time nothing happened, but at length they came to a wide forest which seemed very horrible and dreary. They rode a long way through this, but found no track of living creature, except bears and lions and bulls which roamed all around. Suddenly, out of the thickest part of the wood, something rushed past them. How Pritamart fought with six knights. The creature that rushed from the wood across the path of Pritamart, Seguion and Prince Arthur, was a milk-white pony. On its back was a lovely lady whose face shone as clear as crystal, though it was now white with fear. Her garments were all worked with beaten gold and the trappings of her steed were covered with glittering embroidering. The pony fled so fast that nothing could hold it, and they could scarcely see the lady. She kept casting backward glances as if she feared some evil that closely pursued her, and her bright yellow hair flew out far behind in the wind like the trail of a blazing comet. The name of the lady was Flora-Mell. As the knights stood gazing after her, they rushed from the same thicket a rough clownish woodman, fiercely urging on his tired horse through thick and thin, over bank and bush, hoping by some means to get hold of Flora-Mell. He was a huge, cruel-looking fellow, and in his hand he carried a sharp bore spear. Directly Prince Arthur and Seguion saw this, they stayed not a moment to see which would be first, but both spurred after as fast as they could to rescue the lady from the villain. Pretty much waited some time to see if they would return, but finding they did not come back, she again set forward on her journey with steadfast courage. She intended no evil, nor did she fear any. At last, when she had nearly reached the edge of the wood, she spied far away a stately castle, to which she immediately directed her steps. This castle was a fine building, and placed for pleasure near the edge of the forest, but in front of the gates stretched a wide, green plain. On this plain pretty much saw six knights who were all engaged in cruel battle against one knight. They attacked him with great violence all at the same time, and sorely beset him on every side, so they was nearly breathless. But nothing could dismay him, and he never yielded as a foot of ground, although he was sorely wounded. He dealt his blows stoutly, and whichever way he turned he made his enemies recoil, so that none of the six dared face him alone. They were like cowardly cures having some savage creature at bay who run about here and there to snatch a bite at their prey whenever his back is turned. When Brithamut saw this gallant knight in such distress and danger, she ran quickly to his rescue, and called the six others to cease their attack on a single enemy. They paid no attention, but rather increased this bite for fury, till Brithamut, rushing through the thickest crowd, broke up their band, and compelled them by force to listen to peace. Then she began mildly to inquire the cause of their dispute and outrageous anger. Thereupon the single knight answered, These six tried by force to make me give up my own dear lady and love another. I would rather die than do such a thing, for I love one lady the truest on earth, and I have no desire to change. For her dear sake I then endured many a bitter peril and met with many a wound. Then certainly you six-eyed of lambs, said Brithamut, for it would be a great shame for a knight to leave his faithful lady, and will be better to die. None of you can compel love by force. Then spoke one of the six. The dwells within this castle are fair lady, whose beauty has no living rival. She has ordained this law, which we approve, that every knight who comes this way and has no lady of his own shall enter her service, never to leave it. But if he has already a lady whom he loves, then he must give her up, or else fight with us to prove that she is fairer than our lady. Truly, said Brithamut, the choice is hard. But suppose the night over came, what reward would he get? Then he would be advanced to high honour, and win the hand of our lady, was the answer. Therefore, sir, if you love anyone, I certainly will not give up my love, nor will I do service to a lady, replied Brithamut, but I will revenge the wrong you have done on this night. Then she rode at the six with her enchanted spear, and overthrew three of them before they were well aware of it. The fourth was dismayed by the knight to whose rescue she had come, and the two others gave in before she touched them. Too well we see our own weakness and your matchless power, they said. Henceforth, first, sir, according to our own law, the lady is yours, and we pledge our loyalty to you as a leechman. So they threw their swords under Brithamut's feet, and afterwards besought her to enter the castle and reap the reward of her victory. Brithamut consenting, they all went in together. How it fared with Brithamut in castle joyous. The stately mansion into which Brithamut and the rescued knight now entered was called Castle Joyous, and the owner of it was known to her retainers by the name of the Lady of Delight. It would be impossible to tell all the wonderful richness and beauty of this building, which was adorned fit for the palace of a prince. Passing through a lofty and spacious chamber, every pillar of which was pure gold, set with pearls and precious stones, the knights came to an inner room, hung with the most costly tapestry. The place was filled with the sweetest music and the singing of birds, but the wasteful luxury they saw on every side did not please Brithamut nor the knight, and they looked with a scornful eye on such lavish profusion. Then they came into the presence of the Lady of the Castle. They found her seated on a spendered couch, glittering with gold and embroidery. She seemed very generous and of rare beauty, but she was neither gentle nor modest, and she never hesitated to gratify her own desires at any cost. When she saw Brithamut, who in her armor appeared like a young and handsome knight, she took a great liking to her and thought how nice it would be if she would enter into her service and stay all together at the castle. All through the splendid supper which was presently served, she tried to make herself as agreeable as ever she could, hoping that Brithamut would be tempted to remain. After supper she begged to lay aside her armor and enjoy some sport. But this the maiden refused to do, for she wore it as a disguise. Brithamut would not be so discourteous as to repulse the kindly spoken offers of goodwill, but she in her heart thought that such a sudden affection for a wandering guest could not be worth very much. When the supper tables were cleared away, all the knights and squires and dames began to make merry. There was dancing and gambling and every kind of revelry, but through and all Malachastra, which was the real name of the Lady of Delight, was plotting in her own mind how she could get hold of Brithamut. If the gallant young knight who she thought him would not content to stay of his own free will, she determined to detain him by guile. So that night when Brithamut had taken off her armor and was fast asleep, Malachastra went into her room. Brithamut sprang up in a great fright and ran to seize her weapon, but Malachastra shrieked for her six nights and they all came rushing in, armed and half-armed. When they saw Brithamut with her sword drawn, they were afraid to go near her. But one of them drew a deadly bow and shot a keen arrow at her, which wounded her in the side. But the noise had also wakened the other night, and who now ran to help, and fighting together they soon defeated their foes. When they were all put to shameful flight, Brithamut arrayed herself again in her armor, for she would stay no longer in a place where such things were done by those who were apparently noble knights and ladies. Quite early, therefore, while the dawn was still gray, she and her companion knight took their steeds and went forth upon their journey. How Brithamut looked into the magic mirror. As Brithamut and the knight journeyed away from castle joyous, he came into the knight's mind to ask the princess what had brought her into that part of the country, and why she disguised herself thus, for she seemed a beautiful lady when she was dressed as one, but the hensomest knight alive when she was clad in armor. Fair sir, replied Brithamut, I would have you know that from the hour when I left my nurse's arms I have been trained up in warlike ways, to toss spear and shield, and to meet and overthrow warrior knights. I loath to lead the lazy life of pleasure that most ladies do, fingering fine needle and fancy thread, I would rather die at the point of a foeman's spear. All my delight is set on deeds of arm, to hunt bills and adventures wherever they may be met by your land, not for riches nor for reward, but only for glory and honour. For this reason I came into these parts, far from my native country, without map or compass, to seek for praise and fame. For reporteth blazed forth that here in the land of the fairy queen, many famous knights and ladies dwell, and many strange adventures can be found, out of which much glory may be won, and to prove this I have begun this forage. But may I ask of you a courteous night, tidings of one who has behaved very badly to me, and whom I am seeking to revenge himself? He is called Artigal. Brithamut did not mean what she said of Artigal. She only spoke like this to conceal her real feelings. As soon as the words were uttered she repented, and would have recalled them. But her companion answered almost before she had finished speaking. He said she was very wrong to upbade so scornfully a gentle night. For of all who ever rode it tilt or tourney, the noble Artigal was the most renowned. It would be very strange, therefore, if any shameful thought ever entered his mind, or if he did any deed deserving of blame. For noble courage does nothing unworthy of itself. Brithamut grew wonderfully glad to hear her love thus praised, and rejoiced that she had given her heart to one so gallant. But in order to lead the night to speak further in the same style, she still pretended to find fault with Artigal. And asked where he might be found, because she wanted to fight with him. Ah, if only reason could persuade you to soften your anger, said the night. It is a bold thing to imagine you can bind a man like this down to hard conditions. Or hope to match an equal fight, one whose prowess has no living rifle. Besides, it is not easy to tell where or how he can be found. For he never dwells on any settled spot. But Rome's all over the world, always doing noble deeds, defending the rightful cause of women and orphans, wherever he hears they are repressed by might or tyranny. Thus he wins the highest honour. These words sank into Brithamut's heart and filled her with rapture. But still she would not let her companion see it. Since it is so difficult to find Sir Artigal, she said, tell me some marks by which she may be known, in case I happen to meet him by chance. What is he like? What is his shield, his arms, his teeth, and anything else that may distinguish him? The night set himself to point out all these, and described Sir Artigal in every particular. But Brithamut knew already exactly what Sir Artigal was like, and this is how she came to know it. Long ago in Britain, she had seen his image plainly revealed in a magic mirror, and ever since then she had loved no one else. For in the days when her father, King Ryan's, reigned over South Wales, Merlin, the great magician, had by his spells devised a wonderful looking glass, the favour of which soon went through all the world. For this mirror had the power of showing perfectly whatever thing the world contained between heaven and earth, provided it had to do with the person who looked into it. Whatever our foe had done, or a friend faze feigned, was revealed in this mirror, and it was impossible to keep anything secret from it. The mirror was round and hollow, and seemed like a great globe of glass. Merlin gave it to King Ryan's as a safeguard, so that if foes ever invaded his kingdom, he would almost know it at home before he heard tidings, and thus be able to prevent them. A peasant which could thus detect trees and overthrow enemies was a famous one for a prince. One day Brithamut happened to go into her father's private room. Nothing was kept hidden from her, for she was his only daughter. When she spied the mirror, she first looked in to see herself, but in vain. Then, remembering the strange power it was said to possess, she tried to think of some interesting thing that concerned herself, and thus she wondered what husband fortune would allot to her. Immediately there was presented to her eyes the picture of a gallant knight, clad in complete armour. His face, under the uplifted visor of the helmet, showed forth like the sun to terrify his foes and make glad his friends. His heroic grace and noble bearing added to the grandeur of his figure. His crest was a crouching hound, and all his armour seemed of an antique fashion, but was wonderfully massive and stout, and fretted all around with gold. Brithamut is an ancient lettering with the words, Achilles' arms, which Artigale did win. On his shield he bore the device of a little crowned ermine on an azure field. Brithamut looked well at the figure of this knight, and liked it well, and then went on her way, never dreaming that her future lay hidden in the bottom of this globe of glass. How Brithamut went to the cave of the magician Merlin. After Brithamut had seen the figure of Sir Artigale in the magic mirror, a strange thing happened. She grew pale and ill, and lost all her merry spirits, and she no longer cared to do any of the things in which she had so formally desired her. At night, instead of sleeping, she tossed about and sighed and wept, or if she did close her eyes for a few minutes. It was only to dream of dreadful things and to start awake suddenly with cries of terror. Her old-nose Glace was much distressed to see such a sad change in her dear mistress, and one night when Brithamut had been more restless than usual, she begged her to say what was troubling her, and if she was secretly fretting over anything. Then Brithamut told Glace of the splendid night she had seen in the magic mirror, and how she longed to see him again. If it were some living person, there might have been some hope for her. But now there was none, for it was only the shade or semblance of a night. So grand and noble was the appearance of Artigale that Brithamut's heart ached with sorrow to think she should never see him in real life. Glace tried to comfort her and spoke cheerfully, but at first Brithamut would not be consoled, for she did not see how things could ever be better for him. It was very foolish of her she owned to love only a shadow, but she knew the remembrance of Sir Artigale would never fade as long as life lasted, and she felt that death only could put an end to her grief. Well said the faithful old nurse, if it is a choice between death and seeing him again, I swear to you by right or wrong to discover that night. Her cheerful words quite soothed Brithamut's sad heart, and she lay down again in bed and actually got a little sleep. As for Glace, she turned the lamp low and sat by the bedside to watch and weep over her dear young lady. After that Glace tried every way she could think of to cure Brithamut's grief, but neither medicine nor charms nor good advice did her any good. And the nurse began to fear the king would be very angry with her when he heard what had happened to his dear daughter. At last she thought that he who had made the mirror in which Brithamut had seen the strange vision of the night would surely be able to tell them where the real man could be found. Disguising themself therefore in poor clothes so that no one would know who they were, she and Brithamut took their way to the place where the great magician Merlin had his dwelling, low underneath the ground in a deep dell far from the light of day. It was a hideous hollow cave under a rock that lay near a swift river foaming down the woody hills. Arrived there Glace and Brithamut had first loitered about outside, afraid to go into the cave, and began to doubt whether they had done well to come. The brave maiden, with love to befriend her, was the first to enter, and there she found the magician deep in some work of wonder, busily writing strange characters on the ground. Merlin was not in the least surprised at their bold visit, for he knew quite well beforehand of their coming, but he bade them unfold their business, as though anything in the world were hidden from him. And Glace told him for the last three months some strange melody had taken hold of the young maiden. What it was, or whence it sprang, she knew not, but this she knew that if a remedy were not found, she would soon see her dead. Merlin began to smile softly at Glace's smooth speeches, for he knew quite well she was not telling him the whole truth. And he said, What you say your young lady has more need of a doctor than of my skill. He who can get help elsewhere seeks in vain wonders from magic. Glace was rather taken aback at hearing these words, and yet she was unwilling to let her purpose appear plainly. If any doctor's skills could have cured my dear daughter, she said, I should certainly not have wished to trouble you. But this sad illness which has seized her is far beyond natural causes. The wizard could stand no more of this, but burst out laughing, and said, Glace, what need is there of these excuses to cover the cause which has already betrayed itself? And you, if a bit amount, although dressed in these poor clothes, are no more hidden than a sun in the veil of clouds. You have done well to come to me for help, for I can give it to you. Britomart was quite abashed at finding herself discovered and grew very red, but the old nurse was not in the least discomforted. Since you know all our grief, for what is there that you do not know, she said to Merlin, I pray you to pity our trouble and grant us relief. Merlin reflected for a few minutes, then he spoke to Britomart, and told her many things that would happen in the future. He bade her not to be in the least troubled, for all would end well, had it was no misfortune for her to love the most powerful night that had ever lived. The man whom she had seen in the magic mirror was Sir Arthur Girl, the champion knight of justice, and he dwelt in the land of the fairy queen. He was a mighty warrior, and would fight many battles for his native country, in which Britomart would aid him. He would win again for himself the crown that was his father's by-right, and he would reign with great happiness. His son would succeed him, and after him would come a long race of kings. When Britomart and her old nurse-girls had heard all they wanted to know, they both felt very glad and hopeful, and they returned home with much lighter hearts than they had set out. End of section 11, Stories from the Fairy Queen