Now this Marinell was a sea-nymph's son, and dwelt in a rocky cave by the sea-shore. His mother had trained him to deeds of daring and a life of hardihood. Along the strand on which he dwelt no man durst pass without first doing battle with Marinell. He had subdued and made vassals of a hundred brave knights, and his renown had reached the Court of Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland.

Yet Cymoent, his mother, was not satisfied, but prayed the sea-god to make her son richer than the son of any of the mortals. The sea-god granted her prayer, and bade the waves yield him their treasure – treasure gained by the wreck of many a gallant craft.

So there were heaped upon his shores great riches – gold, amber, ivory, pearls, jewels, rings, and all else that was precious, until Marinell became as great a lord as any that dwelt in the land. So powerful did he grow that his mother began to fear lest his boldness and haughtiness might cost him his life, and she counselled him to forbear further warfare and be at rest.

That she might be the more secure of his welfare, Cymoent inquired of Proteus, the sea-god, concerning her son's future. Proteus replied that Marinell must beware of all womankind, as one day a strange maiden would cause him much dismay, if not destroy his life. Now Cymoent supposed this to mean that Marinell must not love any woman; she counselled her son accordingly, and he listened to her words and followed her advice.

One day as Marinell rode on the rich strand dressed in gay arms, looking here and there, he descried a rider on the forbidden ground.

This was no other than Britomart, journeying in disguise. Marinell rode fiercely up to her, and haughtily bade her retire before he made retreat impossible. She was filled with disdain at his proud threat, and replying, "Fly they that need to fly," thrust at him with her magic spear. Thereupon Marinell struck her on the breast; for a moment her head bent low upon her horse's neck; then she raised herself and smote him so hard a blow that her spear pierced his shield and hauberk, and glancing off, wounded his side.

Thus Britomart bore him down until he fell helpless on the sand. She did not stay to lament his fall, but went on her way, passing by his treasure, and caring nothing for it.

This then was the woman of whom Proteus, the sea-god, had given warning.

Now, the sad tidings of Marinell's overthrow reached Cymoent as she and her sister-nymphs were disporting themselves by a pond gathering daffodils to make garlands wherewith to shade their foreheads from the sun. When Cymoent heard the melancholy news, she flung away her flowers, and rending her hair, threw herself speechless on the ground. The nymphs likewise tore off their garlands, and loudly lamented Marinell's fate.

At length Cymoent arose out of her swoon. She at once called for her chariot, while the sea-nymphs called for theirs, and set out with her on their mournful errand. The waves ceased to rage, and helped them on their way, while the dolphins which drew the chariots sped swiftly through the water, and brought Cymoent and her sisters to where Marinell lay.

They found him in a deadly faint. When his mother saw him lying thus, she fell from one swoon into another, and when she at length recovered, made such piteous moanings that the very rocks could scarce refrain from tears. She bewailed her son's fall, and wished that she too had been mortal to have shared his fate.

At length, after long sorrowing and great wailing, the sea-nymphs took Marinell's armour off, spread their silver-fringed garments on the strand, and laid him upon them. They then examined his wound, washed the blood away, and poured in balm and nectar. Then Liagore, the lily-handed, trained by Apollo in the surgeon's lore, felt his pulse, and discovered that life still lingered in his frame. Whereupon his mother no longer despaired, but, aided by the sea-nymphs, bore him to her chariot. At her command the dolphin-team remained still while flowers were strewn over him as if he were already dead. The sister-nymphs then climbed into their chariots, and Marinell was borne swiftly to Cymoent's sea cave. It was far down at the bottom of the sea, and built up of hollow billows heaped high on all sides. Here, on the softest of couches, they laid him, while Cymoent sent for Tryphon, the best esteemed among the sea-gods in the art of healing, and the nymphs sat round bemoaning his sad plight.

Now, the news of Marinell's sad overthrow reached the court of Gloriana, Queen of Faeryland, where was the lady Florimell, who was famed for her rare goodness and great beauty, and was held in high repute throughout all Elfin-land. She was loved of many knights, but she herself loved only Marinell, and when the news of his fall reached her, Florimell resolved to leave the court of Gloriana, and vowed that she would not return until she had found her love, alive or dead. She mounted a snow-white palfrey, and attended by a trusty dwarf, set forth: she was clad in a dress of cloth of gold, and her fair locks were bound in a jewelled circlet.

Some days after, it happened that Prince Arthur, accompanied by Timias, his squire, and one or two others whom they had encountered on their way, were riding leisurely through the woods that led to Marinell's abode, when the fair Florimell dashed suddenly across their path. She had burst out from the brushwood, and rode as if for her life. Her hair streamed behind her, and she constantly looked back as if fearing pursuit. And sure enough, there appeared a rough forester, riding a jaded steed, which he was urging over bush and bank until the blood flowed from its sides.

Now, when the Prince saw this, he and a knight named Guyon hastened to Florimell's rescue, while Timias, the Prince's squire, followed the forester. Through thick and thin, over hill and plain, the Prince and the knight followed, but the poor damsel feared them as much as she feared the forester, and fled from them so swiftly, that when they reached a double way she was out of sight, and they could not tell which path to take. Each took a separate one, and that chosen by the Prince proved right. At length he came in sight of Florimell. Urging afresh his foaming steed, he approached the terrified damsel, and called on her to have no fear. She looked back, but, not recognizing Prince Arthur's arms or shield, paid no attention to his call. And so it fell that darkness came on, and the Prince was reluctantly obliged to give up all hope of helping her. Little did she think from how great and good a deliverer she fled, or into what miseries this flight would lead her.

Thus Florimell sped on, fearing every shadow and every sound, until when darkness fell, she grew so weary that her palfrey wrested the reins from her slack hold, and went where he would. At length even he could go no farther, and to her dismay, lay down. Florimell was now forced to alight and lead him.

After travelling slowly for some time, she came to a hill-side, and here she saw below her a little valley thickly clothed with wood. From amongst its high trees there arose a wreath of thin blue smoke, and encouraged by this sign of habitation, the maiden went on her way more hopefully. But she was very weary and worn when she reached the place from which the smoke proceeded. It was a cottage built of sticks and reeds, walled round with sods, where dwelt a witch, dressed in poor and dirty rags, and living wilfully in want. She dwelt in these dark woods because her deeds were evil.

Here poor Florimell entered, and found the hag seated on the ground, apparently busied in magic arts; she started up when she saw Florimell, stared at her, but said nothing. Very soon her fear, for such it seemed, turned to anger, and she asked the damsel who she was, and what ill fortune had sent her there, unwelcome and uninvited.

Florimell replied that she had lost her way, and prayed her not to be angry with one who was unwilling to intrude on her, and only begged shelter and rest for a little space. As she spoke, tears dropped from her eyes, and she sighed so gently and sadly that the wicked old woman could not help being sorry for her, and began in her rude way to show some kindly feeling; wiping the tears from Florimell's eyes, she bade her sit down and rest. Florimell gladly obeyed; she sat down on the dusty ground, put her torn garments into better order, smoothed her fair hair, and fastened it into its golden circlet. When the hag saw the rich ornaments in Florimell's hair, and beheld how beautiful she was, she wondered greatly, and feared lest a goddess had found her way to the hut.

This old witch had a son who was as wicked as herself. He was also lazy and good-for-nothing, loving to lounge in the sunshine, and sleep away his time. When he returned home, and found a fair lady sitting by his mother, he was so astonished at the sight of beauty in such a place, that he stood quite still, staring at Florimell, and saying never a word. At length he went up to his mother, and asked her in a whisper by what strange chance this vision had appeared. His mother only replied by a scared look, as if her wits were gone, and the two gazed first at Florimell, and then at one another.

By-and-bye, however, they grew accustomed to her presence. Her ways were so gentle that the witch's son became enamoured of her beauty, and brought her young birds and garlands of flowers, and a wild squirrel which he tamed. Florimell received his gifts courteously, but she feared him, and so, when an opportunity came, she saddled and bridled her palfrey, and early one morning made her escape. She went in great trepidation, for she was afraid that she might be followed and overtaken.

Now when the witch and her son awoke and found her gone, their grief was very great. Indeed, the son became almost frantic, and nothing his mother could do would pacify him. So she bethought herself of her wicked arts, and retiring to her secret cave, called up a hideous beast, monstrous and misshapen; – its back speckled with a thousand spots, and so swift that it could overtake the fleetest steed. Nothing like it had ever been seen, yet it more resembled a hyena than any other creature.

This monster the hag sent after Florimell, charging it not to pause until it found her, and either to bring her back or slay and devour her. The moment she ceased speaking, it set off, and by the help of its keen sense, surely and swiftly traced the maiden. When Florimell saw the cruel monster, and perceived that it began to overtake her, her heart quaked with fear. Terror also seized her palfrey, who, as long as breath supplied him with strength, fled onwards. At length his pace began to slacken fatally, and then indeed, Florimell believed herself at the last extremity. But just as her horse's strength gave way, she reached the shore, and slipping hastily to the ground, sped towards the water, thinking to drown herself rather than have the monster seize her. All unexpectedly she found a little boat, with an old fisherman asleep in it, drawn up at the water's edge. Leaping into the boat, she seized an oar, and pushed it out from the land.

Her escape was none too soon, for the monster was close upon her, and ready to spring just as her boat left the shore. It gaped greedily at her, but durst not venture into the water, and turning back avenged its wicked spite upon the noble palfrey.

By-and-bye the good Sir Satyrane, who had delivered Una from the Satyrs, rode that way, and seeing the dead body of the horse, recognized it as belonging to Florimell. He feared some ill must have befallen the maiden, and his fears were confirmed when he found a golden girdle she was wont to wear lying on the sand. Full of grief and rage, he fell upon the speckled beast, and wounded it severely; but it managed to escape from him, and returned to the old hag, while Sir Satyrane was forced to go on his way. When the old woman saw the beast return, she believed that Florimell was dead, and rejoiced in her heart, but her son became more wretched than ever, and to comfort him, his mother made an image, and calling a wicked spirit into it, gave it such a likeness to Florimell that her son mistook it for her, and was comforted.

Meanwhile the true Florimell was in fresh straits. For a long time the fisherman slept on, so that she had to steer the boat as best she could, but this was an easy task, for the wind was light and the sky clear. But when the old man awoke, she discovered that he was rude and cruel, and would have made a slave of her if he could. It chanced, however, that Proteus, god of the seas, was abroad that day, and was roving over the foamy waves, drawn by his finny steeds. He came upon the little boat, and when he saw that the fisherman behaved roughly to the damsel, he beat the old man and took Florimell into his own chariot.

Now Proteus was an aged god, whose hoary hair was frozen, and on whose long beard icicles hung. He told the still affrighted Florimell who he was, and bade her no longer fear, and spoke so kindly to her that she was comforted and cheered. The sea-god bore her to his own dwelling, a hollow cave eaten out by the angry waves from under a mighty rock at the bottom of the sea. Here Proteus dwelt with no living being save an old nymph whose name was Panopè, and whose care it was to keep the cavern clean. He was very pleased to have Florimell, and thought to keep her there. But he soon discovered that she thought much more of Marinell than of anyone else, and that nothing he could do would make her forget the knight, or be content to remain in the ocean cave. At this he became very angry, and at last let her down into a deep dungeon, where he threatened to keep her until she died. And for seven long months the poor damsel was imprisoned there bound in chains, guarded by raging waves and grizzly ocean monsters.

Meantime Marinell still lingered in his mother's bower. By the aid of Tryphon, the sea-god's surgeon, he had been cured of the wound inflicted by Britomart. But so fearful was his mother lest further ill should befall her son, that sorely against his will she kept him in her cave almost as closely confined as if he had been a prisoner.

It happened at this time that all the sea-gods met to celebrate the wedding of the Thames and the Medway. A solemn feast in honour of the event was held at the abode of Proteus, and there Cymoent, with many others, was summoned. With her went Marinell, but, as his father was only a mortal, Marinell was not accounted a god, and might not banquet with immortals or eat of their food. Therefore, while his mother was within, he wandered about examining the strange abode, and, as he did so, there befel to him a strange adventure. From under a hideous overhanging cliff he heard a sad voice uttering such piteous lamentations that the cruel rocks and raging billows seemed moved in sympathy. It was Florimell, who, believing herself alone, bewailed her fate aloud. Though none could hear, she nevertheless spoke out her grief in the hope that the very recital might yield her some comfort, for

Heaven, that unto all lends equal ear,
Is far from hearing of my heavy plight,
And lowest hell, to which I lie most near,
Cares not what evils hap to wretched wight,
And greedy seas do in the spoil of life delight.

She mourned that while the beating of the waves pierced the hardest rocks, her piteous plaints only hardened the tyrant's heart against her. Then she prayed all the sea-gods to release her, or else to let her die at once, and ended by the words, "Know, Marinell, that all this is for thee." After this followed such an outburst of grief and weeping that it seemed as if poor Florimell's heart must break.

On hearing her sad complaint, Marinell, who had never yet been touched by pity for the misfortune of any, was filled with remorse and grief at the thought of Florimell's condition.

In his sorrow began the dawning of his love, and he set himself to devise the fair damsel's escape. He thought of suing Proteus for her release, but this he could not do without his mother's aid, and he remembered her charge against the love of women. For a moment he contemplated rescuing her by force of arms, but Proteus was a god, while he had only mortal's might. Then he bethought himself of carrying her off by stealth, but the damsel was surrounded by water, and he possessed no means of getting her to land. So he wandered sadly about the rock, blaming himself severely for not having acknowledged her goodness and beauty long ago.

At length the feast was over, and Marinell was obliged to accompany his mother home, and, sore against his will, leave Florimell in her sea-walled dungeon. Thinking of nothing but her sad fate, he was silent and disinclined for companionship, and so brooded over his secret sorrow that he could neither eat nor sleep. He pined and languished and wept until he grew so weak and ill that he could not stand upright, but was forced to lie upon his couch.

When his mother saw his miserable state, she was greatly troubled, and knew not what to think, for she could not discover the source of his malady. She fancied his old wound was the cause, and repaired to Tryphon, whom she chid sharply because of her son's distress. He returned with her and examined the wound, but said that Marinell's present discomfiture must have some other source, perhaps an unknown grief. At this Cymoent was more troubled than before, and went to her son, beseeching him to reveal to her what lay hidden in his heart, but he would not. Then forsaking the sea-gods as of no avail, she hastened to the heavens, and thence brought Apollo, god of healing, to see her son. He declared the disease to be love.

Cymoent grieved and fretted greatly when she heard this, and went to her son and prayed him in gentle words to tell her which one of the sea-nymphs he loved. She felt sure it must be a sea-nymph, and was the less concerned since the god's warning had been only against a mortal maid. She therefore promised, whoever it might be, to aid him in his suit. Great was her dismay when Marinell replied that he loved Florimell. But it was no time to indulge in fruitless grief, for her son lay in danger of his life. Cymoent therefore went straight to Neptune, and telling him of Proteus' cruelty towards Florimell, begged him to order her release. This Neptune at once did, and armed with his warrant she went to Proteus' cave, and there saw the maiden whom her son loved. The old sea-god read his monarch's mandate in moody silence, but was forced to obey, and therefore yielded his prisoner to Cymoent. She, charmed by Florimell's grace and gentle loveliness, took her by the hand, and welcomed her lovingly, rejoicing that her son should have so fair a wife. Then Cymoent showed her son the fair maiden, and his heart and spirit were so cheered within him that his strength gradually returned, and he became himself again. Nor was Florimell less glad.

After a time Marinell took her back to Faeryland, where he married her, and there was a great banquet held in honour of the wedding, and after the feast a tournament, in which Marinell did deeds of great renown, of which you shall hear more in the tale of Braggadochio.

Braggadochio

Faerie Queene. Book II., Canto III.; Book III., Canto VIII.; Book IV., Cantos IV., V.; Book V., Canto III

Among the good and brave knights who fought in Faeryland was a false one named Braggadochio.

Wandering aimlessly about the forests, this man had one day come upon a noble horse, fully caparisoned, and a spear lying by its side. Here was his chance! He made no endeavour to find the owner of the steed, but straightway appropriated both horse and spear.

Finding himself thus armed and mounted, his ambition rose; he determined to call himself a knight, and to set out for the famous court of Gloriana.

He had not gone far when he saw a man sitting idly on a sunny bank. At this Braggadochio puffed himself out in order to look grand, pricked on his horse, and ran at the man full tilt. In terror the man fell flat upon the ground, and lifting up his hands, cried out piteously for mercy. Thereupon Braggadochio thought himself a great warrior, and thundered at his victim in a loud voice, calling him all sorts of names, and commanding him to yield or die, adding that he might think himself happy to be permitted a choice.

The man cried out that he yielded. Then Braggadochio told him, that if he would prostrate himself on the earth and kiss his stirrups he would accept him as his thrall. Immediately the coward cringed at his feet, and did him homage as his liege lord.

By-and-bye this craven thrall became emboldened, for he found out Braggadochio's character, and being full of cunning, resolved to keep in his master's favour by humouring his vanity.

So they went forth. Braggadochio the knight, and Trompart the squire, a fitting pair.

Very soon after they had cast in their fortunes together, they met Archimago, the great and cruel wizard. Now Archimago had a secret grudge against certain knights, and was in search of some one to avenge his fancied wrong. Delighted to see so imposing a personage as Braggadochio, he inquired of Trompart what mighty man this was that rode on a golden saddle, yet carried no weapon save a single spear. Trompart replied that his lord was a great adventurer, who had lost his sword in a hard fight, and had sworn never to wear another until he had avenged himself of his loss. His master's spear, he alleged, was weapon enough to make a thousand combatants quake.

Archimago was much delighted, and he bowed low to Braggadochio, and told the story of his wrongs.

When Braggadochio heard it, he pretended to be very angry, and threatened the offending knights with instant death if Archimago would only tell him where to find them. This the enchanter at once did; but he warned Braggadochio that his enemies were two of the mightiest knights that lived, and begged him to arm himself with a sword as well as his spear.

But Braggadochio scorned his advice, laughed at the notion of measuring his might by the arms he bore, and taunted the enchanter with the weakness of old age, declaring that Archimago little knew what his right arm had done. At this the old man grew ashamed of his mistrust, yet could not dismiss it from his mind.

As he hesitated whether to speak again Braggadochio broke out into a loud boast, declaring that he had once slain seven knights with a single blade, and had then sworn never again to wear a sword unless it were that belonging to the noblest knight alive.

By this grand speech he thought to get rid of Archimago and his troublesome request. But not so, for the enchanter at once promised to bring him by next day the flaming sword of Prince Arthur, "noblest knight alive"; and as he spoke he vanished, leaving no trace behind.

And now the boaster began to fear, and to wonder who this strange man might be. His wonder soon changed to panic, and the bold champions, Trompart and Braggadochio, fled from the spot as if the very ground Archimago had trod would rise and pursue them.

They did not once look back until they reached a green forest, and there they concealed themselves. But their terror was by no means gone: every leaf that moved, every sound the wind made caused their valiant hearts to quake, while all the time they feigned that they were only pretending fear.

At length a shrill horn echoed through the wood, and some one was heard moving quickly in the thicket. This new cause of fright so overcame Braggadochio that he tumbled hastily from his horse and crept into a bush. Trompart waited to see what would happen. Presently there issued from the brushwood a lady in hunting dress. She was very beautiful: her habit was adorned with rich jewels, and her stately bearing showed her to be of princely birth. In her hand she carried a boar-spear, and at her back was slung a bow and a quiver full of steel headed darts.

When Trompart saw the lady, fear seized upon him, and he could not tell whether to flee away or to remain in hiding, but she soon spied him out, and asked whether he had seen a wounded hind pass by. Addressing her in most respectful terms, Trompart replied that he had not, and then begged of her to tell him which of the goddesses she was. She was on the point of replying when something moved in the thicket. It was Braggadochio, but the damsel thought it was her prey, and, bending her bow, would have made a speedy end of the boaster had not Trompart stayed her hand, and explained that his lord, far-famed for bold achievement, lay shrouded there.

As he spoke Braggadochio crept forth on hands and knees; then, rising up boldly, shook his helmet fiercely, trying to appear as if he had just been awakened from deep slumber. The sight of her beauty restored him to self-confidence, and he was beginning to resume airs of vanity when a vision of the weapons she carried cowed him. Her manner, however, again reassured him. She addressed him as a companion-in-arms, and Braggadochio, taking up the strain, recounted the wondrous deeds he had done, then boldly asked who she was that thus ranged the forest and did not dwell at court. To this she replied, that honour was only truly to be found in toil, and that he who idled at home need not hope to win it.

While she spoke Braggadochio, presuming on her graciousness, grew more and more insolent in his demeanour. Indignant, the goddess bent her javelin threateningly, then turned and fled apace. Braggadochio was at first dismayed, but was far too great a coward to pursue. So, concluding that he had better depart lest worse things should befall, he mounted his steed and rode away in so clumsy and untrained a manner that the noble animal chafed under him, and yearned to be eased of his burden.

Some time after this, as Braggadochio and Trompart, who now also possessed a steed, were going on their way, they saw a rude rustic seated on the roadside by a beautiful lady, richly decked with jewels. Now, these were no other than the false Florimell and her lover, son of the old witch who had sent the cruel beast after Florimell the true. Braggadochio thought a knight such as himself more suited to the fair lady than any rustic. He therefore couched his spear, rode up to the man, declaring that the damsel was his, and must be yielded to him on pain of death.

The rustic, greatly alarmed, and not daring to fight against so powerful-looking an enemy, let his lady go, and Braggadochio mounted her on Trompart's horse and led her off, a proud and happy man. As they journeyed he began to make love to her, but presently their love-making came to an abrupt end, for they encountered an armed knight, who advanced towards them on a heavy charger that trampled the ground with a sound like thunder.

The appearance of this knight greatly disconcerted Braggadochio, but he looked as fierce as he could, and made a show of cheering his lady, who also was afraid. The knight came on, fierce and powerful, and bade Braggadochio give up the lady or else do battle for her. This challenge made the boaster quake with terror, but he put on the best appearance of bravery he could, and addressing the stranger declared that man to be very foolish who sought to win with words what he had gained with blows. At this the knight grew angry, and told Braggadochio to prepare to fight.

"Then," said Braggadochio, "since die thou wilt, let us both turn our steeds, ride back a certain distance, and meet in equal tilt." They did as he suggested, and retired one from the other about a furlong's space, when Braggadochio, whose last intention was to fight, rode away, and without looking back, left his lady-love to take her chance, caring only for his own safety. Thus did his valour show itself!

After several further adventures, Braggadochio one day encountered a party of knights and ladies who were on their way to a great tournament. He rode up to them and they treated him courteously, and allowed him to accompany them.

Now, it happened that the fair but false Florimell whom Braggadochio had so basely deserted was of this company, and rode with a knight named Blandamour. No sooner did Braggadochio see her than he wished to have her back again. He therefore declared that he had before won her in battle and that she was his by right. But Blandamour would not listen to his claim, and taunting him with having lost his lady-love decreed that Braggadochio must fight for her once more if he wished to make good his pretended right. He further proposed that the false Florimell should stand side by side with a wicked old witch named Até, who was of their company, and that he who won the day should have the lady, and he who was beaten, the witch. The company were all pleased with this proposal, and false Florimell and the hag were brought forward, whereupon all began to laugh. Then Braggadochio, glad of any excuse which saved him from fighting, declared that he would be no party to any such bargain; if Blandamour liked to offer another lady as fair as Florimell, he would agree to fight, but he would not risk his life on the chance of gaining so poor a prize as Até. At this they all smiled, the false Florimell upbraided him with want of gallantry and Até, the witch, tried to urge him on, but he cared for none of them, and remained obstinate.

In order to keep the peace, a brave knight, Cambello, who chanced to ride with them, reminded the company that they were on their way to a great tournament, and had better not waste their strength in quarrelling on the way, but wait until they arrived where each could fight his fill and, if they wished, fight out this quarrel also. So they passed off Blandamour's proposal as a joke, and went on together; but all the way they mocked at Braggadochio and made a laughingstock of him.