The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
in a coward’s heart, could set itself no other limits, but death.
Which purpose was well egged on by representing unto himself, what
danger he lately was in; which still kept no less ugly figure in his
mind than when it was present; and quickly (even in his dissembling
countenance) might be discerned a concealed grudge. For though he
forced himself to a far more diligent officiousness toward Amphialus
than ever before, yet a leering eye upon the one side at him, a
countenance still framed to smiling before him (how little cause
soever there was of smiling) and grumbling behind him at any of his
commandments, with an uncertain manner of behaviour: his words coming
out, though full of flattery, yet slowly, and hoarsely pronounced,
might well have blazed what arms his false heart bore. But despised,
because of his cowardliness, and not marked because despised, he had
the freer scope of practice. Which he did the more desperately enter
into, because the daily dangers Amphialus did submit himself unto,
made Clinias assuredly look for his overthrow, and for his own
consequently, if he did not redeem his former treason to Basilius,
with a more treasonable falsehood toward Amphialus. His chief care
therefore was, to find out among all sorts of the Amphialians, whom
either like fear, tediousness of the siege, or discontent of some
unsatisfied ambition would make apt to dig in the same mine that he
did: and some already of wealthy weary folks, and unconstant youths
(who had not found such sudden success as they had promised
themselves) he had made stoop to his lure. But of none he made so good
account as of Artesia, sister to the late slain Ismenus, and the chief
of the six maids, who had trained out the princesses to their banquet
of misery: so much did the sharpness of her wit countervail, as he
thought, any other defects of her sex: for she had undertaken that
dangerous practice by the persuasion of Cecropia, who assured her that
the two princesses should be made away, and then Amphialus would marry
her, which she was the apter to believe, by some false persuasion her
glass had given her of her own incomparable {365} excellencies, and by
the great favour she knew he bare to her brother Ismenus, which, like
a self-flattering woman, she conceived was done for her sake. But when
she had achieved her attempt, and that she found the princesses were
so far from their intended death, as that one of them was like to be
her sovereign; and that neither her service won of Amphialus much more
than an ordinary favour, nor her over-large offering herself to a mind
otherwise owed, had obtained a looked for acceptation: disdain to be
disdained, spite of a frustrate hope, and perchance unquenched
lust-grown rage, made her unquiet thoughts find no other rest, but
malice; which was increased by the death of her brother, whom she
judged neither succoured against Philanax, nor revenged upon Philanax.
But all these coals were well blown by the company she especially kept
with Zelmane all this time of her imprisonment. For finding her
presence uncheerful to the mourning Philoclea, and condemned of the
high-hearted Pamela, she spent her time most with Zelmane: Who though
at the first hardly brooking the instrument of their misery, learning
cunning in the school of adversity, in time framed herself to yield
her acceptable entertainment. For Zelmane, when she had by that
unexpected mischief her body imprisoned, her valour over-mastered, her
wit beguiled, her desires barred, her love eclipsed; assured of evil,
fearing worse, able to know Philoclea’s misfortune, and not able to
succour her, she was a great while before the greatness of her heart
could descend to sorrow, but rather rose boiling up in spite and
disdain, reason hardly making courage believe that it was distressed:
but as if the walls would be afraid of her, so would her looks shoot
out threatenings upon them. But the fetters of servitude, growing
heavier with wearing, made her feel her case, and the little
prevailing of repining: and then grief got a seat in her softened
mind, making sweetness of past comforts, by due title, claim tears of
present discomforts: and since her fortune made her able to help as
little as anybody, yet to be able to wail as much as anybody; solitary
sorrow, with a continual circle in herself, going out at her own
mouth, to come in again at her own ears. Then was the name of
Philoclea graved in the glass windows, and by the foolish idolatry of
affection, no sooner written, than adored; and no sooner adored, than
pitied: all the wonted praises (she was wont to give unto her) being
now but figures of rhetoric to amplify the injuries of misfortune;
against which being alone, she would often make invective
declamations, methodised only by raging sorrow.
But when Artesia did insinuate herself into her acquaintance, she gave
the government of her courage to wit, and was content to familiarize
herself with her: so much the rather, as that she {366} perceived in
her certain flaws of ill-concealed discontentment: insomuch that when
Zelmane would sweeten her mouth with the praise of the sisters,
especially setting forth their noble gratefulness in never forgetting
well-intended services, and invoking the justice of the gods not to
suffer such treasures to be wrongfully hidden, and sometimes with a
kind of unkindness charging Artesia that she had been abused to abuse
so worthy persons: Artesia, though falsely, would protest that she had
been beguiled in it, never meaning other matter than recreation; and
yet withal by alleging how ungratefully she was dealt with, it was
easy to be seen it was the unrewarding, and not the evil employing her
service, which grieved her. But Zelmane, using her own bias to bowl
near the mistress of her own thoughts, was content to lend her belief,
and withal to magnify her desert, if willingly she would deliver, whom
unwillingly she had imprisoned; leaving no argument which might tickle
ambition, or flatter revenge. So that Artesia, pushed forward by
Clinias, and drawn onward by Zelmane, bound herself to that practice;
wherein Zelmane, for her part, desired no more but to have armour and
weapons brought into her chamber, not doubting therewith to perform
anything, how impossible soever, which longing love can persuade, and
invincible valour dare promise.
But Clinias, whose faith could never comprehend the mysteries of
courage, persuaded Artesia, while he by corruption had drawn the guard
of one gate, to open it, when he would appoint the time to the enemy,
that she should impoison Amphialus, which she might the easier do,
because she herself had used to make the broths, when Amphialus,
either wearied or wounded, did use such diet. And all things already
were ready to be put in execution, when they thought best to break
this matter with the two excellent sisters, not doubting of their
consent in a thing so behoveful to themselves: their reasons being
that the princesses knowing their service, might be sure to preserve
them from the fury of the entering soldiers: whereof Clinias, even so,
could scarcely be sufficiently certain: and withal, making them privy
to their action, to bind them afterwards to a promised gratefulness
towards them. They went therefore at one time, when they knew them to
be alone, Clinias to Philoclea, and Artesia to Pamela; and Clinias,
with no few words, did set forth what an exploit was intended for her
service. But Philoclea, in whose clear mind, treason could find no
hiding-place, told him that she would be glad if he could persuade her
cousin to deliver her, and that she would never forget his service
therein; but that she desired him to lay down any such way of
mischief, for, that for her part, she would rather yield to perpetual
imprisonment than consent to the destroying her cousin, who, she knew,
loved her, though wronged her. This unlooked-for {367} answer amazed
Clinias, so that he had no other remedy in his mind but to kneel down
to Philoclea, and beseech her to keep it secret, considering that the
intention was for her service, and vowing, since she misliked it, to
proceed no further therein, she comforted him with promise of silence,
which she performed.
But that little availed; for Artesia having in like sort opened this
device to Pamela, she, in whose mind virtue governed with the sceptre
of knowledge, hating so horrible a wickedness, and straight judging
what was fit to do: “Wicked woman,” said she, “whose unrepenting heart
can find no way to amend treason, but by treason, now the time is come
that thy wretched wiles have caught thyself in thine own net: as for
me, let the gods dispose of me as shall please them; but sure it shall
be no such way, nor way-leader, by which I will come to liberty.” This
she spoke something with a louder voice than she was wont to use, so
that Cecropia heard the noise, who was, sooner than Artesia imagined
she would, come up, to bring Pamela to a window where she might see a
notable skirmish happened in the camp, as she thought among
themselves: and being a cunning fisher in troubled waters, straight
found by their voices and gestures there was some matter of
consequence, which she desired Pamela to tell her. “Ask of her,” said
Pamela, “and learn to know, that who do falsehood to their superiors,
teach falsehood to their inferiors.” More she would not say. But
Cecropia taking away the each-way guilty Artesia, with fear of
torture, got of her the whole practice: so that Zelmane was the more
closely imprisoned, and Clinias, with the rest of his corrupted mates,
according to their merits, executed: for as for Artesia, she was but
locked up in her chamber, Amphialus not consenting, for the love he
bore to Ismenus, that further punishment should be laid upon her.
But the noise they heard in the camp was by occasion of the famous
prince Anaxius, nephew to the giant Euardes, whom Pyrocles slew; a
prince of body exceedingly strong, in arms so skilful and fortunate,
as no man was thought to excel him; of courage that knew not how to
fear; of parts worthy praise, if they had not been guided by pride,
and followed by injustice. For by a strange composition of mind, there
was no man more tenderly sensible in anything offered to himself,
which in the farthest-fetched construction might be wrested to the
name of wrong; no man that in his own actions could worse distinguish
between valour and violence: so proud, that he could not abstain from
a Thraso-like boasting, and yet, so unlucky a lodging his virtues had
gotten, he would never boast more than he would accomplish, falsely
accounting an inflexible anger a courageous constancy; esteeming fear
and astonishment righter causes of admiration, {368} than love and
honour. This man had four sundry times fought with Amphialus, but Mars
had been so impartial an arbiter, that neither side got advantage of
the other. But in the end, it happened that Anaxius found Amphialus,
unknown in great danger, and saved his life: whereupon, loving his own
benefit, began to favour him, so much the more, as thinking so well of
himself, he could not choose but like him, whom he found a match for
himself: which at last grew to as much friendship towards him, as
could by a proud heart be conceived. So as in this travel (seeking
Pyrocles to be revenged of his uncle’s death) hearing of this siege,
never taking pains to examine the quarrel, like a man whose will was
his god, and his hand his law, taking with him his two brothers, men
accounted little inferior to himself in martial matters, and two
hundred chosen horsemen, with whom he thought himself able to conquer
the world, yet commanding the rest of his forces to follow, he himself
upon such an unexpected suddenness entered in upon the back of