The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
at all, would make the cause of his quarrel the causers of love, and
proclaim his blasphemies against womankind; that namely, that sex was
the oversight of nature, the disgrace of reasonableness, the obstinate
cowards, the slave born tyrants, the shops of vanities, the gilded
weather cocks, in whom conscience is but peevishness, chastity,
waywardness, and gratefulness a miracle. But all these challenges, how
well soever indited, were so well answered, that some by death taught
others, though past learning themselves, and some by yielding gave
themselves the lie for having blasphemed; to the great grief of
Basilius to see his rebel {352} prevail, and in his own sight, to
crown himself with deserved honour.
Whereupon thirsting for revenge, and else not hoping to prevail, the
best of his camp being already overthrown, he sent a messenger to
Argalus, in whose approved courage and force he had, and had cause, to
have great confidence, with a letter, requiring him to take his
quarrel in hand, from which he had hitherto spared him in respect of
his late marriage. But now his honour, and (as he esteemed it)
felicity standing upon it, he could no longer forbear to challenge of
him his faithful service.
The messenger made speed, and found Argalus at a castle of his own,
sitting in a parlour with the fair Parthenia, he reading in a book the
stories of Hercules, she by him, as to hear him read: but while his
eyes looked on the book, she looked on his eyes, and sometimes staying
him with some pretty question, not so much to be resolved of the
doubt, as to give him occasion to look upon her: a happy couple, he
joying in her, she joying in herself, but in herself, because she
enjoyed him: both increased their riches by giving to each other; each
making one life double, because they made a double life one; where
desire never wanted satisfaction, nor satisfaction ever bred satiety;
he ruling, because she would obey, or rather because she would obey,
he therein ruling.
But when the messenger came in with letters in his hand, and haste in
his countenance, though she knew not what to fear, yet she feared
because she knew not; but she rose, and went aside, while he delivered
his letters and message: yet afar off she looked, now at the
messenger, and then at her husband: the same fear, which made her loth
to have cause of fear, yet making her seek cause to nourish her fear.
And well she found there was some serious matter: for her husband’s
countenance figured some resolution between lothness and necessity:
and once his eye cast upon her, and finding hers upon him, he blushed,
and she blushed, because he blushed, and yet straight grew pale
because she knew not why he had blushed. But when he had read, and
heard, and dispatched away the messenger, like a man in whom honour
could not be rocked asleep by affection, with promise quickly to
follow; he came to Parthenia, and as sorry as might be for parting,
and yet more sorry for her sorrow, he gave her the letter to read. She
with fearful slowness took it, and with fearful quickness read it, and
having read it. “Ah my Argalus,” said she, “and have you made such
haste to answer? and are you so soon resolved to leave me?” but he
discoursing unto her how much it imported his honour, which since it
was dear to him, he knew it would be dear unto her, her reason
overclouded with sorrow, suffered her not presently to reply, but left
the charge thereof to tears, and sighs, {353} which he not able to
bear, left her alone, and went to give order for his present
departure.
But by that time he was armed, and ready to go, she had recovered a
little strength of spirit again, and coming out, and seeing him armed,
and wanting nothing for his departure but her farewell, she ran to
him, took him by the arm, and kneeling down without regard who either
heard her speech, or saw her demeanour. “My Argalus, my Argalus,” said
she, “do not thus forsake me. Remember, alas remember that I have
interest in you, which I will never yield shall be thus adventured.
Your valour is already sufficiently known: sufficiently have you
already done for your country: enough, enough there are beside you to
lose less worthy lives. Woe is me, what shall become of me if you thus
abandon me? then was it time for you to follow those adventures, when
you adventured nobody but yourself, and were nobody’s but your own.
But now pardon me, that now, or never, I claim mine own; mine you are,
and without me you can undertake no danger: and will you endanger
Parthenia? Parthenia shall be in the battle of your fight: Parthenia
shall smart in your pain, and your blood must be bled by Parthenia.”
“Dear Parthenia,” said he, “this is the first time that ever you
resisted my will: I thank you for it, but persevere not in it; and let
not the tears of these most beloved eyes be a presage unto me of that
which you would not should happen, I shall live, doubt not: for so
great a blessing as you are was not given unto me so soon to be
deprived of it. Look for me, therefore, shortly, and victorious; and
prepare a joyful welcome, and I will wish for no other triumph.” She
answered not, but stood as it were thunder-stricken with amazement;
for true love made obedience stand up against all other passions. But
when he took her in his arms, and sought to print his heart in her
sweet lips, she fell in a swoon, so that he was fain to leave her to
her gentlewomen, and carried away by the tyranny of honour, though
with many a back cast look and hearty groan, went to the camp. Where
understanding the notable victories of Amphialus, he thought to give
him some days respite of rest, because he would not have his victory
disgraced by the other’s weariness. In which days, he sought by all
means (having leave to parley with him) to dissuade him from his
enterprise: and then imparting his mind to Basilius, because he found
Amphialus was inflexible, wrote his defy unto him in this manner.
Right famous Amphialus, if my persuasion in reason, or prayer in
goodwill, might prevail with you, you should by better means be like
to obtain your desire. You should make many brave enemies become your
faithful servants, and make your honour fly up to heaven, being
carried up by both wings of valour and justice; {354} whereof now it
wants the latter. But since my suit nor counsel can get no place in
you, disdain not to receive a mortal challenge, from a man so inferior
unto you in virtue, that I do not so much mislike of the deed, as I
have the doer in admiration. Prepare therefore yourself, according to
the noble manner you have used, and think not lightly of never so weak
an arm, which strikes with the sword of justice.
To this he quickly received this answer.
Much more famous Argalus, I whom never threatenings could make
afraid, am now terrified by your noble courtesy. For well I know, from
what height of virtue it doth proceed, and what cause I have to doubt
such virtue bent to my ruin: but love, which justifieth the injustice
you lay unto me, doth also animate me against all dangers, since I
come full of him by whom yourself have been (if I be not deceived)
sometimes conquered. I will therefore attend your appearance in the
isle, carrying this advantage with me, that as it shall be a singular
honour, if I get the victory, so there can be no dishonour in being
overcome by Argalus.
The challenge thus denounced and accepted, Argalus was armed in white
armour, which was all gilded over with knots of women’s hair, which
came down from the crest of his head-piece and spread itself in rich
quantity over all his armour; his furniture was cut out in the fashion
of an eagle, whereof the beak (made into a rich jewel) was fastened to
the saddle, the tail covered the crupper of the horse, and the wings
served for trappings; which falling off each side, as the horse
stirred, the bird seemed to fly. His poitrel and reins were
embroidered with feathers suitable unto it: upon his right arm he wore
a sleeve which his dear Parthenia had made for him, to be worn in a
joust, in the time that success was ungrateful to their well-deserved
love: it was full of bleeding hearts, though never intended to any
bloody enterprise. In his shield (as his own device) he had two
palm-trees near one another, with a word signifying, “In that sort
flourishing.” His horse was of fiery sorrel, with black feet, and
black list on his back, who with open nostrils breathed war, before he
could see an enemy: and now up with one leg, and then with another,
seemed to complain of nature that she had made him any whit earthy.
But he had scarcely viewed the ground of the island, and considered
the advantages, if any were, thereof, before the castle boat had
delivered Amphialus, in all points provided to give a hard
entertainment. And then sending each to other their squires in
honourable manner, to know whether they should attend any further
ceremony, the trumpets sounding, the horses with smooth {355} running,
the staves with unshaken motion, obediently performed their choleric
commandments. But when they drew near, Argalus’s horse being hot,
pressed in with his head, which Amphialus perceiving, knowing if he
gave him his side it should be to his disadvantage, pressed in also
with him, so that both the horses and men met shoulder to shoulder, so
that the horses (hurt as much with the striking as being stricken)
tumbled down to the earth, dangerously to their masters, but that
they, by strength nimble, and by use skilful in the falling, shunned
the harm of the fall, and without more respite drew out their swords
with a gallant bravery, each striving to show himself the less
endamaged, and to make known that they were glad they had now nothing
else to trust to but their own virtue. True it is that Amphialus was
the sooner up, but Argalus had his sword out the sooner; and then fell
they to the cruellest combat, that any present eye had seen. Their
swords first, like canons, battering down the walls of their armour,
making breaches almost in every place for troops of wounds to enter.
Among the rest, Argalus gave a great wound to Amphialus’s disarmed
face, though part of the force of it Amphialus warded upon his shield,
and withal, first casting his eye up to Philoclea’s window, as if he
had fetched his courage thence, feigning to extend the same sort of
blow, turned his sword, and, with a mighty reverse, gave a cruel wound
to the right arm of Argalus, the unfaithful armour yielding to the
sword’s strong-guided sharpness. But though the blood accused the hurt
of Argalus, yet would he in no action of his confess it: but keeping
himself in a lower ward, stood watching with timely thrusts to repair
his loss, which quickly he did. For Amphialus, following his fawning
fortune, laid on so thick upon Argalus that his shield had almost
fallen piecemeal to the earth, when Argalus, coming in with his right
foot, and something stooping to come under his armour, thrust him into
the belly dangerously; and mortally it would have been, but that with
the blow before, Amphialus had over-stricken himself so, that he fell
sideward down, and with falling saved himself from ruin, the sword by
that means slipping aside and not piercing more deeply. Argalus seeing
him fall, threatening with voice and sword, bade him yield. But he
striving without answer to rise, Argalus struck him with all his might
upon his head. But his hurt arm not able to master so sound a force,
let the sword fall so that Amphialus, though astonished with the blow,
could arise: which Argalus considering, ran in to grasp with him, and
so closed together; falling so to the ground, now one getting above,
and then the other; at length, both weary of so unlovely embracements,