Tales from Spenser, Chosen from the Faerie Queene

The giant struck with a force that might overthrow a tower of stone, much more a defenceless man: but the knight watched carefully where the blows fell, and skilfully leapt out of their way, and thus for a time evaded them. But not for long: so furious were the blows that the wind they raised presently overthrew him and flung him stunned upon the ground.

The giant was not slow to see his advantage. He uplifted his powerful arm, and with one stroke would have made an end of his opponent had not Duessa interfered. She besought Orgoglio to spare the life of the Red-cross Knight and take only his liberty: and to this the giant consented on condition that Duessa would become his lady-love. He then raised the knight in his cruel arms and carried him in haste to his strong castle, where he threw him into its darkest dungeon.

Such was the tale the dwarf had to tell.

Una heard him patiently to the end, and strove to master her sorrow, but it only grew stronger the more she contended against it. At length, when the first passion of grief had worn itself out, she rose, and, attended by the dwarf, resolved to find her knight, alive or dead. But ever as she wandered through low dales, and over high hills and among thick woods, her grief broke forth from time to time as if from a wound that had not healed.

After a time Una and her dwarf chanced to meet a very noble-looking knight attended by a single follower.

These were none other than the great and good Prince Arthur and Timias his much loved squire. The armour of the Prince glittered from afar, and on his breast he wore a bauldric beset with precious stones, in the midst of which shone one shaped like a lady's head, which was of wondrous worth and was possessed of magic powers. By the bauldric hung the Prince's sword: its sheath was of ivory curiously wrought. The hilt and the buckle were of burnished gold and the handle was of mother-of-pearl. His helmet was also of gold and had a dragon for its crest: the wings of the dragon spread wide apart, while its head couched close upon the Prince's beaver, and its tail stretched low upon his back, and on the top of all was a tuft of divers coloured hair sprinkled with gold and pearls, and quivering in the sunlight. His shield was closely covered and might not be seen of mortal eyes, for it was made of pure and perfect diamond: – one massive piece cut solid from the rock, and no spear could pierce it nor any sword divide its substance.

And never did Prince Arthur reveal its brightness to any single foe, but if he wished to dismay huge monsters or daunt whole armies, then would he discover its exceeding brightness, and so discomfit them. No magic art or enchanter's word had power over it, and all things that were not what they seemed, faded away before its brightness. By it the Prince could blind the proud, turn men into stones, stones to dust, and dust to nought.

This wondrous shield, with the rich sword and armour, had been made for Prince Arthur by Merlin, the great and good magician.

Timias, the Prince's squire, was a gentle youth. He bore a spear of ebony, with a square pike head, which had been three times heated in the furnace; and he rode a proud and stubborn steed that chafed under its rider, but was kept well in hand.

As Prince Arthur approached the lady, he spoke courteously to her, and when he perceived that his words drew forth slow and unwilling answers, he guessed that a secret sorrow rent her heart. He then tried to draw from her the cause of her distress, until, moved by his kind words, Una spoke.

"What happiness," she asked, "could reach a heart plunged in a sea of sorrow, and heaped with huge misfortunes?" As soon as she thought of her distress a cold chill crept over her, and she felt as if stung by an iron arrow. Griefs which could not be cured were best not spoken of, – she could only weep and wail.

Then said the Prince – "Ah! dear lady, well do I believe that your grief is a heavy one, for only to hear you speak fills my soul with sadness; but let me entreat of you to unfold it, for counsel eases the worst sorrow."

"But great grief," said Una, "will not bear to be spoken of; it is easy to think about, but hard to utter."

"True," replied the Prince, "but he that wills not, can do nothing."

"Ah!" pleaded Una, "but grief that is spoken, and finds no relief, grows still heavier, and leads to despair."

"Not so," said the Prince, "when there is trust and faith."

And thus was Una at length persuaded to disclose her secret sorrow.

She told the Prince the story you already know: how her dear parents were imprisoned by a huge dragon, and how the Red-cross Knight, who was to have rescued them, had been betrayed into the hands of a cruel giant, in whose dungeons he lay, disarmed and helpless.

Before she had quite ended her tale, the poor damsel grew faint from grief and dread, but the Prince comforted her with cheering words.

"Truly," he said, "you have great cause of sorrow; but take comfort and courage, for until I have rescued your captive knight be assured that I will not leave you."

So the whole party went on together, until they reached a great castle. Here, said the dwarf, lay his luckless lord, and here the Prince must try his prowess. Whereupon the Prince alighted from his steed, and bidding Una remain where she was and watch the issue of the fight, took Timias, his squire, and strode up to the castle wall. He found the gates fast closed, and no one to keep guard or answer to his call. At this, the squire blew a small bugle, which hung by his side, adorned with twisted gold and gay tassels, and writ all over with the wonders of its virtue.

None ever heard its shrill call who did not tremble before it. There was no gate however strong, or lock however firm, that did not burst open at its summons. And now, as the squire blew the magic horn, the grim castle quaked, every door flew open, and the giant himself rushed forth with an angry stare on his cruel countenance, eager to learn who or what this might be that had dared his dreaded power. After him appeared Duessa, riding a many-headed monster, with a fiery, flaming tongue in every one of its many heads.

At once the Prince began a furious attack on the monster. Thereupon the giant buckled to the fight, and lifting up his dreadful club, all armed with ragged knobs and gnarled knots, thought to have slain the Prince at a single blow. But he, wise and wary, leapt swiftly aside, and the great weapon fell so heavily, that it sank three yards deep into the ground, making the earth tremble. Now, Orgoglio could not easily uplift his club, and as he strove to drag it from the deep cleft, the Prince smote off his left arm, which fell to the ground, a senseless block, while streams of blood gushed from the wound. Dismayed by the pain, Orgoglio roared aloud, and Duessa hastened to draw up her many-headed charger to his aid. But the squire soon forced the horrid beast to retreat, and at this Duessa in her pride rebelled and urged the monster afresh; but in vain, for Timias dealt mighty strokes, and stood firmly to his post.

Then Duessa resorted to her witch ways, and taking out a golden cup, murmured enchantments over it, and sprinkled some of its contents upon Timias. His courage immediately faded away, and his senses became dull and numb, and he fell helpless before the monster.

The dreadful beast laid its claws upon Timias' neck, and kept him pinned to the ground, until his life was nearly crushed out: then it left him with neither power nor will to rise.

But when Prince Arthur beheld the sad plight into which his well-loved squire had fallen, he left off fighting with Orgoglio, and turned upon the beast, and struck off one of its monster heads.

Thereupon Orgoglio went to Duessa's aid, and putting all his force into his remaining arm, he let drive his oaken club with such terrible fury, that falling on the Prince's shield, it bore him to the ground.

But as Prince Arthur fell, his shield became uncovered, and suddenly there blazed forth a light of such dazzling brightness, that no eye could bear it. The giant let his arm drop to his side, and the many-headed beast turned blind and staggered so that Duessa cried out wildly, "O! help, Orgoglio, help, or we perish all!"

The giant was moved by her piteous cry, and strove to wield his weapon in her aid, but all in vain, for the bright shield had sapped his powers.

And now Prince Arthur struck at him, smiting off his right leg, and while he lay prostrate and helpless, leapt lightly upon him, and smote off his head. Lo! Orgoglio's body shrank away, and nothing was left but an empty dried-up skin – such is the end of pride.

When Duessa saw the grievous fate of Orgoglio, she cast away her golden cup, and fled fleetly from the bloody scene; but the squire, light of foot as she, speedily brought her back captive.

And now Una, who had watched the fight from afar, came forward with sober and modest gladness, hardly able to find words with which to greet and thank the victor, declaring that heaven, not she, must requite him the service he had done. She then went on to pray that since heaven and his prowess had made him master of the field, he would end that he had so fair begun, and would rescue her Red-cross Knight from the deep dungeon in which he lay.

Thereupon the Prince gave Duessa into the charge of Timias, while he himself proceeded to make forcible entrance into the castle. No living creature did he see, and when he called aloud, no man answered to his cry; but a solemn silence reigned in hall and bower.

At length there came forth an old, old man, with a beard as white as snow, who walked along with a creeping, crooked pace, and leant his feeble steps on a staff, groping his way, for his eyesight had failed him long ago. On his arm hung a bunch of keys, overgrown with rust: these were the keys of the inner doors, but he could not use them, and only kept them by him from ancient custom. It was a strange sight to watch his feeble pace, for as he moved slowly forward his face was seen to be turned backward. He was the ancient keeper of the place, foster-father to the slain Orgoglio, and his name, Ignaro, betrayed his true nature.

But the Prince honoured his grave and reverend appearance, and asked him gently where were all the dwellers in the castle, to which he replied in a quiet voice that he could not tell. Again the Prince asked where the knight whom Orgoglio had vanquished lay captive, and Ignaro replied he could not tell. Then the Prince inquired by which way he might pass into the castle, and still the old man said he could not tell; whereupon the Prince, courteous as he ever was, grew displeased, and thinking that Ignaro mocked at his questions, upbraided him, and demanded an answer befitting the gravity of the old man's years, but the reply was ever the same, he could not tell.

At this the Prince looked attentively at the aged sire, and, guessing that he was indeed ignorant, stayed his wrath in pity for his imbecility, and, stepping up to him, took the bunch of keys from his unresisting hand, and made free entrance for himself. He opened all the doors, and neither bar nor foeman presented any hindrance. He found all within furnished with great richness and splendour, but everywhere he beheld traces of the giant's cruelty. He sought through every room and every bower, but nowhere could he find the Red-cross Knight.

At length, Prince Arthur came upon an iron door, which was fast locked. He searched among the keys, but in all the bunch there was not one to open it. Presently he espied a small grating in the door, and through this he called with all his strength that he might discover whether any living wight were imprisoned there.

By-and-bye he heard a hollow, dreary, murmuring voice. It asked who this might be that brought tidings so welcome as the news of death to one who had lain dying for three weary months, but yet lived on.

When the Prince heard this sad plaint, his heart thrilled with pity and indignation, and he rent open the iron door in fierce fury; but when the iron door was open, there was nothing before him but a deep descent, dank, dark, and foul. However, neither the darkness nor the foulness could stay the strong purpose of the Prince, and after long labour and great perseverance, he succeeded in finding means whereby to rescue the prisoner from the dismal hole.

But alas! when the knight was lifted out, he presented a sad spectacle of ghastly suffering. His feeble limbs could scarce support his body, his eyes were dull and sunken, and could ill bear the light, his cheeks were thin and hollow, his once powerful arms wasted away, and his whole appearance was withered and shrivelled.

When Una saw him she ran towards him, tears in her eyes, and joy and sadness mingled in her feelings, and as soon as she could speak for her tears, she exclaimed, "Ah, dearest Lord, what evil power hath thus robbed you of yourself, and marred your manly countenance? But welcome now, whether in weal or in woe."

The knight was too feeble to answer, and the Prince replied for him, saying that nothing was gained in recounting woes, since the only good to be had from past peril is to be wise and ware of like again.

He then asked Una what he should do with Duessa, the false witch. Una declared that to have her die would be too spiteful an act, and, therefore, having despoiled her of the scarlet and purple robes, and rich ornaments, with which she imposed upon men, they let her go, and Una and the knights remained in the castle to rest a while.

But this rest was not sufficient to fit the Red-cross Knight for his approaching conflict with the dragon, and so Una, seeing that his limbs were weak, and his spirit damped by the long and miserable imprisonment, conducted him to an ancient house, called the House of Holiness, in which she knew they would have a kind welcome and good food.

In this house they remained for some time, and here the knight met an aged sire, who told him many curious things concerning his origin. The knight rejoiced greatly as he heard that he was descended from ancient Saxon kings, and was destined to do great deeds for his native land.

Inspired with fresh courage he returned to Una, who had been resting with the good lady Charity, and her women, in their side of the great House of Holiness. After many thanks rendered and many blessings bestowed, they once more set out to find the Dragon.

How the Red-cross Knight slew the Dragon

Faerie Queene. Book I. Cantos XI., XII

As Una and the Red-cross Knight rode on their way they came near her father's wasted lands and the brazen tower in which her parents were imprisoned.

"Dear Knight," said Una, "we are now come where our peril must begin," and warning him that they might encounter the dragon at any moment she prayed him to be constantly on his guard.