Edmund Spenser - Tales from Spenser, Chosen from the Faerie Queene

He had wondered at the sounds of rejoicing which had roused him from his sleep, but when, leaning on his cypress staff, he came forth from his bower and saw Una, he stood amazed and wondered not when his wood-born subjects fell prostrate before her.

And then came tree-nymphs and light-footed Naiads, flocking to see the new-comer. But when they saw how fair and good she was, sharp envy seized upon them, and they fled away lest the Satyrs, in their new-born reverence for Una, should scorn their ancient playmates.

So Una, thankful for the favour she found and the respect shown to her, remained a long time among this forest people, and rested from her weariness. In return for their hospitality, she tried to teach them something of truth, and to prevent their worship of herself, but it was in vain, for when they found they might not worship the lady, they turned to the milk-white ass, her lowly steed, and worshipped it in her stead.

One day there came to the forest a certain Sir Satyrane, a noble knight who had been born in these woods, and who was in the habit of revisiting them from time to time. Now, when he came unexpectedly on this fair lady sitting among the Satyrs and endeavouring to teach them true sacred lore, he wondered at her heavenly wisdom, the like of which he had never before seen in woman. And when he watched her courteous deeds and heard the story of her sad misfortunes, his wonder changed into admiration, and he became her scholar and learned of her "the discipline of truth and faith."

Thus Una and Sir Satyrane grew close friends, and at length she told him her most secret grief, how deeply she longed to find the Red-cross knight, and how all her secret thoughts were spent in contriving an escape from her kind but rude guardians. So Sir Satyrane began to devise how he might help her, and one day while the Satyrs had all gone to pay homage to Sylvanus, the strong knight led away the gentle virgin, and after further adventures, of which you shall hear in the next tale, Una did at last rejoin her long-lost knight to the great comfort of them both.

Una and the good Sir Satyrane travelled together for some time, seeking her knight. In the course of their search Sir Satyrane became separated from Una, who must have gone on alone had not her long-lost dwarf unexpectedly appeared.

This was a most welcome sight, and yet Una's heart sank within her as she looked at the dwarf, for he travelled alone and carried with him the silver shield, the mighty spear and ancient armour of the Red-cross Knight. Seeing these, she fell helpless to the ground, for she knew some terrible misfortune must have happened to her lord.

The dwarf, as he drew near and beheld his lady in such distress, became as sorrowful as she; for he bore heavy tidings and feared greatly to impart them. His heart sank within him, but he made a show of hopefulness and set about to rub and chafe the poor damsel's temples until she began to give signs of life, and to moan and groan aloud. She was very weary, and she thought her effort to save her parents was all in vain. Loathing the very sunshine she cried out for death, and, believing her prayers about to be answered, once more sank upon the ground.

Three times she sank and three times the dwarf raised and revived her with busy care and pains. When at length life fairly won the victory, with trembling limbs and failing tongue Una prayed him to tell her what woful tragedy had befallen her knight. "Thou canst not," she said, "tell a more heavy tale than that I already know to be true."

Then the dwarf began to relate all the adventures which had happened to him and the knight from the time that Archimago, the wicked enchanter, had parted them from Una until now. These were many, but at present I can only tell you of that in which the Red-cross Knight lost his armour.

First, you must know that the knight ought never to have left Una. In leaving her he followed a false imagination put into his mind by Archimago, instead of remaining strictly true to the charge given him by Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland, and this one false step led him into much misfortune.

It was thus he came to trust in Duessa, a wicked witch, who one day led him to rest by a stream whose waters had the fatal effect of rendering every one who drank of them weak and powerless against all attacks of evil. The knight, then, resting by the stream, drank of its waters, and immediately his strength gave way, his blood ran slow, and a chill struck at the very root of his courage.

While lying in this feeble condition, a dreadful sound was heard, that seemed to shake the earth and cause the trees to tremble. Starting up, the knight began to collect his weapons and to don his armour in great haste. But before he could do so, before he had even got his shield in his hand, a hideous giant, more than three times the height of any mortal man, and so huge that the earth groaned under his weight, came stalking into sight. In his hand the giant Orgoglio bore a gnarled oak torn up from the forest, which he used both as staff and weapon, and when he saw the knight he raised this formidable cudgel and bore down upon him in a fury.

Alas! the Red-cross Knight was little able to sustain the combat. Unarmed, disgraced and inwardly dismayed by the power of the fatal waters, he could hardly wield his single blade.

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.