The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
Basilius, that many with great unkindness took their death, not
knowing why, nor how they were so murdered. There, if ever, did he
make known the wonderfulness of his force. But the valiant and
faithful Philanax, with well-governed speed, made such head against
him as would have showed how soon courage falls in the ditch which
hath not the eye of wisdom; but that Amphialus at the same time issued
out and winning with abundance of courage one of the sconces which
Basilius had builded, made way for his friend Anaxius, with great loss
of both sides, but especially of the Basilians, such notable monuments
had those two swords especially left of their master’s redoubted
worthiness.
There, with the respect fit to his estate, the honour due to his
worthiness, and the kindness which accompanies friendship, made fast
by interchanged benefits, did Amphialus enforce himself, as much as in
a besieged town he could, to make Anaxius know that his succour was
not so needful as his presence grateful. For causing the streets and
houses of the town to witness his welcome, making both soldiers and
magistrates in their countenances to show their gladness of him, he
led him to his mother, whom he besought to entertain him with no less
love and kindness, than as one who once had saved her son’s life, and
now came to save both life and honour. “Tush,” said Anaxius, speaking
aloud, looking upon his brothers, “I am only sorry there are not
half-a-dozen kings more about you, than what Anaxius can do might be
the better manifested.” His brothers smiled, as though he had
over-modestly spoken, far underneath the pitch of his power. Then was
he disarmed at the earnest request of Amphialus: for Anaxius boiled
with desire to issue out upon the {369} enemies, persuading himself
that the sun should not be set before he had overthrown them. And
having reposed himself, Amphialus asked him whether he would visit the
young princesses. But Anaxius whispered him in the ear, “In truth,”
said he, “dear friend Amphialus, though I am none of those that love
to speak for themselves, I never came yet in company of ladies but
that they fell in love with me. And that I in my heart scorn them as
a peevish paltry sex, nor worthy to communicate with my virtues, would
not do you the wrong: since, as I hear, you do debase yourself so much
as to affect them.” The courteous Amphialus could have been angry with
him for those words; but knowing his humour, suffered him to dance to
his own music: and gave himself to entertain both him and his
brothers, with as cheerful a manner as could issue from a mind whom
unlucky love had filled with melancholy. For to Anaxius he yielded the
direction of all. He gave the watch-word, and if any grace were
granted, the means were to be made to Anaxius. And that night when
supper was ended wherein Amphialus would needs himself wait upon him,
he caused in boats upon the lake an excellent music to be ordered;
which, though Anaxius might conceive was for his honour, yet indeed he
was but the brick wall to convey it to the ears of the beloved
Philoclea.
The music was of cornets, whereof one answering the other, with a
sweet emulation striving for the glory of music, and striking upon the
smooth face of the quiet lake, was then delivered up to the castle
walls, which with a proud reverberation, spreading it into the air, it
seemed before the harmony came to the ear, that it had enriched itself
in travel, the nature of those places adding melody to that melodious
instrument. And when a while that instrument had made a brave
proclamation to all possessed minds of attention, an excellent concert
straight followed, of five viols, and as many voices; which all being
but orators of their master’s passions, bestowed this song upon her
that thought upon another matter.
The fire to see my wrongs for anger burneth;
The air in rain for my affection weepeth:
The sea to ebb for grief his flowing turneth:
The earth with pity dull his centre keepeth.
Fame is with wonder blazed;
Time runs away for sorrow:
Place standeth still amazed,
To see my night of evils, which hath no morrow.
Alas all only she no pity taketh
To know my miseries, but chaste and cruel,
My fall her glory maketh;
{370}
Yet still her eyes give to my flame their fuel.
Fire, burn me quite, till sense of burning leave me:
Air, let me draw thy Breath no more in anguish:
Sea, drown’d in thee of tedious life bereave me;
Earth, take this Earth wherein my spirits languish.
Fame, say I was not born:
Time, haste my dying hour.
Place, see my grave uptorn:
Fire, air, sea, earth, fame, time, place, show your power.
Alas from all their help I am exiled:
For hers am I, and death fears her displeasure.
Fie death thou art beguiled:
Though I be hers, she makes of me no treasure.
But Anaxius, seeming a-weary before it was ended, told Amphialus, that
for his part he liked no music but the neighing of horses, the sound
of trumpets, and the cries of yielding persons: and therefore desired,
that the next morning they should issue upon the same place where they
had entered that day, not doubting to make them quickly a-weary of
being the besiegers of Anaxius. Amphialus, who had no whit less
courage, though nothing blown up with pride, willingly condescended:
and so the next morning, giving false alarm to the other side of the
camp, Amphialus at Anaxius’s earnest request, staying within the town
to see it guarded, Anaxius and his brethren, Lycurgus and Zoilus
sallied out with the best chosen men. But Basilius, having been the
last day somewhat unprovided, now had better fortified the overthrown
sconce; and so well had prepared everything for defence, that it was
impossible for any valour from within to prevail. Yet things were
performed by Anaxius beyond the credit of the credulous: for thrice,
valiantly followed by his brothers, did he set up his banner upon the
rampire of the enemy; though thrice again by the multitude, and
advantage of the place, but especially by the coming of three valiant
knights, he was driven down again. Numbers there were that day, whose
deaths and overthrows were excused by the well known sword of Anaxius:
but the rest by the length of time and injury of historians have been
wrapped up in dark forgetfulness; only Tressenius is spoken of,
because when all abandoned the place, he only made head to Anaxius;
till having lost one of his legs, yet not lost the heart of fighting,
Lycurgus, second brother to Anaxius, cruelly murdered him; Anaxius
himself disdaining any further to deal with them.
But so far had Anaxius at the third time prevailed, that now the
Basilians began to let their courage descend to their feet; Basilius
and Philanax in vain striving with reverence of authority to bridle
the flight of astonishment, and to teach fear, discretion: so that
{371} Amphialus, seeing victory show such a flattering countenance to
him, came out with all his force, hoping that day to end the siege.
But that fancy altered quickly, by the sudden coming to the other side
of the three knights, whereof the one was in white armour, the other
in green, and the third by his black armour and device, straight known
to be the notable knight who the first day had given fortune so short
a stop with his notable deeds, fighting hand to hand with the deemed
invincible Amphialus. For the very cowards no sooner saw him, but as
borrowing some of his spirit, they went like young eagles to the prey,
under the wing of their dam. For the three adventurers, not content to
keep them from their rampire, leapt down among them, and entered into
a brave combat with the three valiant brothers. But to whether side
fortune would have been partial, could not be determined. For the
Basilians, lightened with the beams of their strangers’ valour,
followed so thick, that the Amphialians were glad with some haste to
retire to the wall-ward: though Anaxius neither reason, fear, nor
example, could make him assuage the fury of his fight: until one of
the Basilians (unworthy to have his name registered, since he did it
cowardly, sideward, when he least looked that way) almost cut off one
of his legs, so that he fell down, blaspheming heaven, that all the
influences thereof had power to overthrow him: and there death would
have seized on his proud heart, but that Amphialus took in hand the
black knight, while some of his soldiers conveyed away Anaxius, so
requiting life for life unto him.
And for the love and example of Amphialus, the fight began to enter
into a new fit of heat: when Basilius, that thought enough to be done
for that day, caused retreat to be sounded; fearing lest his men
following over-earnestly, might be the loss of those excellent knights
whom he desired to know. The knights as soon as they heard the
retreat, though they were eagerly set, knowing that courage without
discipline, is nearer beastliness than manhood, drew back their
swords, though hungry of more blood: especially the black knight, who
knowing of Amphialus, could not refrain to tell him, that this was the
second time he escaped out of his hands, but that he would shortly
bring him a bill of all the former accounts. Amphialus seeing it fit
to retire also, most of his people being hurt, both in bodies and
hearts, withdrew himself with so well-seated a resolution, that it was
as far from anger, as from dismayedness, answering no other to the
black knight’s threats, but that when he brought him his account, he
should find a good paymaster.
The fight being ceased, and each side withdrawn within their
strengths, Basilius sent Philanax to entertain the strange knights,
{372} and to bring them unto him that he might acknowledge what honour
was due to their virtue. But they excused themselves, desiring to be
known first by their deeds, before their names should accuse their
unworthiness: and though the other replied according as they deserved,
yet (finding that unwelcome courtesy is a degree of injury) he
suffered them to retire themselves to a tent of their own without the
camp, where they kept themselves secret: Philanax himself being called
away to another strange knight; strange not only by the
unlooked-for-ness of his coming, but by the strange manner of his
coming.
For he had before him four damsels, and so many behind him, all upon
palfreys, and all apparelled in mourning weeds; each of them a servant
on each side, with like liveries of sorrow. Himself in an armour, all
painted over with such a cunning of shadow, that it represented a
gaping sepulchre; the furniture of his horse was all of cypress
branches: wherewith in old time they were wont to dress graves. His
bases, which he wore so long, as they came almost to his ankle, were
embroidered only with black worms, which seemed to crawl up and down,
as ready to devour him. In his shield, for impresa, he had a beautiful
child, but having two heads, whereon the one showed that it was
already dead; the other alive, but in that case, necessarily looking
for death. The word was: “No way to be rid from death, but by death.”
This knight of the tomb, for so the soldiers termed him, sent to
Basilius to demand leave to send a damsel into the town, to call out
Amphialus, according as before time some others had done. Which being
granted, as glad any would undertake the charge, which nobody else in
that camp was known willing to do, the damsel went in, and having with
tears sobbed out a brave challenge to Amphialus, from the knight of
the tomb, Amphialus honourably entertaining the gentlewoman, and
desiring to know the knight’s name, which the doleful gentlewoman
would not discover, accepted the challenge, only desiring the
gentlewoman to say thus much to the strange knight from him, that if