The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
them withal, that he was determined to answer the challenge in his own
person. His mother, with prayers authorized by motherly commandment;
his old governor, with persuasions mingled with reprehension (that he
would rather affect the glory of a private fighter than of a wise
general) Clinias with falling down at his feet, and beseeching him to
remember that all their lives depended upon his safety, sought all to
dissuade him. But Amphialus (whose heart was inflamed with courage,
and courage inflamed with affection) made an imperious resolution, cut
off the tediousness of replies, giving them a charge what they should
do upon all occasions, and particularly to deliver the ladies, if
otherwise than well happened unto him: only desiring his mother that
she would bring Philoclea to a window, whence she might with ease
perfectly discern the combat. And so soon as the morning began to draw
dew from the fairest greens to wash her {348} face withal against the
approach of the burning sun, he went to his stable, where himself
chose out a horse, whom (though he was near twenty years old) he
preferred for a piece of sure service, before a great number of
younger. His colour was of a brown bay, dappled thick with black
spots; his forehead marked with a white star; to which, in all his
body there was no part suitable, but the left foot before; his mane
and tail black and thick, of goodly and well-proportioned greatness.
He caused him to be trimmed with a sumptuous saddle of tawny and gold
enamel, enriched with precious stones: his furniture was made into the
fashion of branches of a tree, from which the leaves were falling, and
so artificially were the leaves made, that, as the horse moved, it
seemed indeed that the leaves wagged as when the wind plays with them;
and being made of a pale cloth of gold, they did bear the
straw-coloured livery of ruin. His armour was also of tawny and gold,
but formed into the figures of flames darkened, as when they newly
break the prison of a smoky furnace. In his shield he had painted the
Torpedo fish. And so appointed, he caused himself with his trumpet and
squire (whom he had taken since the death of Ismenus) to be ferried
over into the island, a place well chosen for such a purpose. For it
was so plain that there was scarcely any bush, or hillock, either to
unlevel or shadow it: of length and breadth enough, to try the
uttermost both of lance and sword; and the one end of it facing the
castle, the other extending itself toward the camp, and no access to
it, but by water, there could on secret treachery be wrought; and for
manifest violence, either side might have time enough to succour their
party.
But there he found Phalantus, already waiting for him upon a horse
milk white, but that upon his shoulders and withers he was freckled
with red stain, as when a few strawberries are scattered into a dish
of cream. He had caused his mane and tail to be dyed in carnation, his
reins were vine branches, which engendering one with the other, at the
end, when he came to the bit, there for the boss brought forth a
cluster of grapes by the workman made so lively that it seemed, as the
horse champed on his bit, he chopped for them, and that it did make
his mouth water to see the grapes so near him. His furniture behind
was of vines, so artificially made that it seemed the horse stood in
the shadow of the vine, so prettily were clusters of ruby grapes
dispersed among the trappings which embraced his sides. His armour was
blue like the heaven, which a sun did with his rays (proportionably
delivered) gild in most places. His shield was beautified with this
device: a greyhound which over-running his fellow, and taking the
hare, yet hurts it not when it takes it. The words were, “The glory,
not the prey.”
{349}
But as soon as Amphialus landed, he sent his squire to Phalantus to
tell him that there was the knight ready to know whether he had
anything to say to him. Phalantus answered that his answer now must be
in the language of lances; and so each attended the warning of the
trumpets, which were to sound at the appointment of four judges, who
with consideration of the same had divided the ground. Phalantus’s
horse young, and feeling the youth of his master, stood curveting,
which being well governed by Phalantus, gave such a glittering grace
as when the sun in a clear day shines upon a waving water. Amphialus’s
horse stood pawing upon the ground, with his further hoof before, as
if he would for his master’s cause begin to make himself angry: till
the trumpets sounding together, together they set spurs to their
horses, together took their lances from their thighs, conveyed them up
into the rest together, together let them sink downward, so as it was
a delectable sight in a dangerous effect; and a pleasant consideration
that there was so perfect agreement in so mortal disagreement; like a
music made of cunning discords. But their horses keeping an even line
their masters had skilfully allotted unto them, passed one by another
without encountering, although either might feel the angry breath of
the other. But the staves being come to a just descent, even when the
mark was ready to meet them, Amphialus was run through the vamplate,
and under the arm, so that the staff appearing behind him, it seemed
to the beholders, he had been in danger. But he struck Phalantus just
upon the gorget, so that he battered the lames thereof, and made his
head almost touch the back of his horse. But either side having stayed
the spur, and used the bit to stop their horse’s fury, casting away
the truncheons of their staves, and drawing their swords, they
attended the second summons of the death-threatening trumpet which
quickly followed; and they as soon making their horses answer their
hands, with a gentle gallop, set one toward the other, till they being
come to the nearness of a little more than a stave’s length. Amphialus
trusting more to the strength, than to the nimbleness of his horse,
put him forth with speedy violence, and making his head join to the
other’s flank, guided his blow with discretion, and strengthening it
with the course of his horse, struck Phalantus upon the head in such
sort that his feeling sense did both dazzle his sight, and astonish
his hearing. But Phalantus (not accustomed to be ungrateful to such
benefits) struck him upon the side of his face, with such force that
he thought his jaw had been cut asunder; though the faithfulness of
his armour indeed guarded him from further damage. And so remained
they awhile, rather angry with fighting, than fighting for anger, till
Amphialus’s horse leaning hard upon the other, and winning ground, the
other horse feeling himself pressed, began to {350} rise a little
before, as he was wont to do in his curvet, which advantage Amphialus
taking, set forward his own horse with the further spur, so that
Phalantus’s horse came over with his master under him. Which Amphialus
seeing, lighted with the intention to help Phalantus. But his horse
that had faulted, rather with untimely art than want of force, got up
from burdening his burden, so that Phalantus, in the fall having
gotten his feet free off the stirrup, could, though something bruised,
arise, and seeing Amphialus near him, he asked him whether he had
given him any help in removing his horse. Amphialus said “No.”
“Truly,” said Phalantus, “I asked it, because I would not willingly
have fought with him that had had my life in his mercy. But now,” said
Phalantus, “before we proceed further, let me know who you are,
because never did any man bring me to the like fortune.” Amphialus,
listing to keep himself unknown, told him he was a gentleman to whom
Amphialus that day had given armour and horse to try his valour,
having never before been in any combat worthy remembrance. “Ah,” said
Phalantus in a rage, “and must I be the exercise of your prentice
age?” and with that, choler took away either the bruise, or the
feeling of the bruise, so that he entered afresh into the combat, and
boiling into his arms the disdain of his heart, struck so thick upon
Amphialus, as if every blow would fain have been foremost. But
Amphialus, that many like trials had taught, great spending to leave
small remnants, let pass the storm with strong wards, and nimble
avoidings, till his time fit, both for distance and nakedness, he
struck him so cruel a blow on the knee that the poor gentleman fell
down withal in a swoon.
But Amphialus, pitying approved valour, made precious by natural
courtesy, went to him, and taking off his headpiece to give him air,
the young knight (disdaining to buy life with yielding, bade him use
his fortune, for he was resolved never to yield. “No more you shall,”
said Amphialus, “if it be not to my request that you will account
yourself to have great interest in me.” Phalantus more overcome by his
kindness, than by his fortune, desired yet once again to know his
name, who in his first beginning had shown such fury in his face, and
yet such stay in his fury. Amphialus then named himself, telling him
withal he would think his name much bettered if it might be honoured
by the title of his friend. But no balm could be more comfortable to
his wound than the knowledge thereof was to his mind, when he knew his
mishap should be excused by the renowned valour of the other. And so
promising each to other assuredness of goodwill, Phalantus, of whom
Amphialus would have no other ransom but his word of friendship, was
conveyed into the camp, where he {351} would but little remain among
the enemies of Amphialus, but went to seek his adventures other-where.
As for Amphialus, he was received with triumph into the castle,
although one might see by his eyes (humbly lifted up to the window
where Philoclea stood) that he was rather suppliant than victorious:
which occasion Cecropia taking, who as then stood by Philoclea, and
had lately left Pamela in another room, whence also she might see the
combat. “Sweet lady,” said she, “now you may see whether you have
cause to love my son, who then lies under your feet, when he stands
upon the neck of his bravest enemies.” “Alas!” said Philoclea, “a
simple service to me, methinks it is, to have those who come to
succour me destroyed: if it be my duty to call it love, be it so: but
the effects it bring forth, I confess I account hateful.” Cecropia
grew so angry with this unkind answer that she could not abstain from
telling her that she was like them that could not sleep, when they
were softly laid: but that if her son would follow her counsel, he
should take another course with her: and so flung away from her.
Yet, knowing the desperate melancholy of Amphialus in like cases,
framed to him a very thankful message, powdering it with some
hope-giving phrases, which were of such joy to Amphialus that he,
though against public respect and importunity of dissuaders, presently
caused it to be made known to the camp that whatsoever knight would
try the like fortune as Phalantus did, he should in like sort be
answered: so that divers of the valiantest, partly of themselves,
partly at the instigation of Basilius, attempted the combat with him;
and according to everyone’s humour, so were the causes of the
challenge grounded: one laying treason to his charge; another
preferring himself in the worthiness to serve Philoclea; a third
exalting some lady’s beauty beyond either of the sisters; a fourth
laying disgrace to love itself naming it the bewitcher of the wit, the
rebel to reason, the betrayer of resolution, the defiler of thoughts,
the underminer of magnanimity, the flatterer of vice, the slave of
weakness, the infection of youth, the madness of age, the curse of
life, and reproach of death; a fifth disdaining to cast at less than