CHAPTER 6.
Ysanjo, according to his promise, revealed nothing concerning Amadis till after mass the next day. Then, when his brethren and his cousin enquired for him, he said, arm yourselves, and I will tell you his commands. And, when they were armed, Ysanjo began to weep passionately, and exclaimed, O Sirs, what a grief and a misery is come upon us, that we should lose our Lord so soon! Then he told them all that Amadis had said, and how he besought that they would not seek him, for they could not help his ill, and that they should not grieve for his death. Holy Mary! cried they, the best Knight in the world is about to perish! but we will seek him, and, if we cannot with our lives help him, we will bear him company with our deaths. Ysanjo then told Galaor his brother's request that he would make Gandalin a Knight, and take the Dwarf into his service: this hedelivered weeping, and they weeping also heard it. The Dwarf for pure grief was beating his head against a wall; but Galaor caught him up and said, Ardian come with me, since thy Master has so commanded, and my lot shall be yours. The Dwarf answered, Sir, I will follow you, but not as my Master, till we know some certain tidings of Amadis. Forthwith they went to horse, and all three hastened along the road which Ysanjo pointed. All day they rode on, meeting no one of whom they could ask tidings, till they came where El Patin lay wounded beside his dead horse: his Squires had found him, and were cutting down boughs and poles to make him a litter, for he was exceeding faint with loss of blood, so that he could not answer them, but made sign that they should speak to his Squires, and they replied, that their Lord had sped so ill in an encounter with the Knight who had won the Firm Island. Good Squires, know you which way he went?—No; but before we came up to this place we met an armed Knight in the forest, upon a stout horse, and he was weeping and accusing his fortune: a Squire behind him carried his arms; the shield had two lions azure in a field or., and the Squire was lamenting also. That is he! cried they; and they pushed on with great speed till they came out ofthe forest upon a great plain, where there were many roads in every direction, so that they knew not which way to take; therefore they agreed to separate, and meet at the court of Lisuarte upon St. John's day, that if by then they had been unsuccessful in their search, they might consult anew how to find him. There then they embraced and separated, each earnestly bent on his quest, but in vain; for, when Amadis reached the open country, he took none of those roads, but struck aside along a glen, and thence made into the mountain.
He rode on lost in thought, suffering his horse to chuse the path. About noon the horse came to some trees that grew beside a mountain-stream, and then stopt, being weary with the heat and with the toil of last night. Here Amadis recollected himself and looked round, and was pleased to see no signs of a habitation: he alighted and drank of the brook. Gandalin came up, and turning the horses to feed came to his Master, whom he found more dead than alive; and, not daring to disturb him, he lay down before him. Amadis continued in this mood till sunset, then rising, he struck his foot against Gandalin: art thou sleeping? quoth he. No, replied Gandalin, but I am thinking upon two things which concern you, the which, ifit please you to hear, I will speak: if not, I will be silent. Amadis answered, go saddle the horses, and let us begone: I do not chuse to be found by those who seek me. Sir, said Gandalin, you are in a solitary place, and your horse is so weary that, unless you allow him some rest, he cannot carry you. Amadis replied, weeping, do what you think best: whether I stay or go, there is no rest for me! Then Gandalin looked after the horses, and returned to his Master, and begged him to eat of a pasty which he had brought, but he would not. Sir, said he, shall I say the two things whereon I have been thinking? Say what you will, quoth Amadis; I care nothing now for any thing that may be said or done, and wish to live no longer than till I can confess.—Then I pray you hear me, Sir: I have thought much upon that letter which Oriana sent you, and upon the words of the Knight with whom you fought; and seeing how light is the faith of many women, it may be that she hath changed her affections, and so has feigned anger against you, before you discover it. The other thing is, that I believe her to be so good and loyal that she could not have been thus moved, unless some great falsehood had been spoken of you, which she believes and feels in her heart; and, since you know that you have never beenfalse, you should make the truth known, whereby she will repent of what she hath done, and intreat your forgiveness for the wrong, and you will enjoy your former happiness. It is better to take food with this hope, than, by abandoning yourself to despair, to die and lose her, and the glory of this world, and even the other. Hold thy peace, for God's sake! quoth Amadis, for such foolishness and lies as thou hast uttered, are enough to provoke the whole world. Oriana, my Lady, has never done wrong; and, if I perish, it is but reasonable, not for my deserving, but to accomplish her will and command: if I did not know that thou hast said this to comfort me, I would cut off thy head! you have greatly displeased me: never say the like to me again! He then turned away in anger, and walked along the side of the stream.
But Gandalin, who for two days and a night had not slept, was overcome with heaviness, and at length fell asleep. When Amadis saw this, he saddled his horse, and hid Gandalin's saddle and bridle among the bushes, that he might not be able to find them; and, taking his arms, he struck into the wildest part of the mountain. All night he went; and the next day till vespers, then he came to a plain at the foot of a mountain: therewere two high trees there that grew over a fountain, and there he went to give his horse drink, for they had found no water all that day. When he came up to the fountain, he saw an old man in a religious habit, who was giving his ass water; his beard and hair were grey, and his habit was very poor, being made of goat's hair. Amadis saluted him, and asked him if he was a Priest. The good man answered, he had been one forty years. God be praised! quoth Amadis: I beseech you for the love of God stay here to-night, and hear my confession, of which I am in great need. In God's name! said the old man. Then Amadis alighted, laid his arms upon the ground, and took the saddle from his horse and let him feed; and he disarmed, and knelt before the good man, and began to kiss his feet. The good man took him by the hand and raised him, and made him sit by him, and, beholding him well, he thought him the goodliest Knight that ever he saw, but he was pale, and his face and neck were stained with tears, so that the old man had great pity, and said, Sir Knight, it seems that you are in great affliction: if it be for any sin that you have committed, and these tears spring from repentance, in a happy hour came you here! but if it be for any worldly concerns, from which by youryouth and comeliness it seems you cannot be removed, remember God, and beseech him of his mercy to bring you to his service. He then raised his hand and blessed him, and bade him relate all the sins he could call to mind. Hereon Amadis began the whole discourse of his life, without letting any thing pass. The good man then said, seeing that you are of such understanding, and of so high a lineage, you ought not to despair and cast yourself away for any thing that may befall you, much less for the action of a woman, for they are as easily won as lightly lost. I counsel you to lay aside such folly, for the love of God, to whom it is displeasing, and even for worldly reason, for man ought not to love where he is not beloved. Good Sir, replied Amadis, I am now in such extremity that I cannot live any long time: I beseech you, by that God whose faith you hold, take me with you for the little while I have to live, that I may have comfort for my soul. My horse and arms I need no longer: I will leave them here, and go with you on foot, and perform whatever penitence you enjoin. If you refuse, you will sin before God, for else I shall wander and perish in this mountain. When the good man saw him thus resolute, he said to him, with a heart wholly bent to his good, Certes, Sir, it becomes not a Knight like you to abandonhimself as if he had lost the whole world, by reason of a woman: their love is no longer than while they see you with their eyes, and hear such words as you say to them, and that past, presently they forget you; especially in those false loves that are begun against the Lord: the same sin which makes them sweet at first, gives them a bitterness in the end, as you experience. But you who are of such prowess, and have such power, you who are the true and loyal protector of such as are oppressed, great wrong would it be to the world if you thus forsake it. I know not what she is who hath brought you to this extremity, but if all the worth and beauty of the sex were brought together in one, I know that such a man as you ought not to be lost for her. Good Sir, quoth Amadis, I ask not your counsel upon this, where it is not wanted; but, for my soul's sake, I pray you take me in your company, for else I shall have no remedy, but to die in this mountain. The old man hearing this, had such compassion on him that the tears fell down his long white beard. Sir, my son, said he, I live in a dreary place, and a hard life; my hermitage is full seven leagues out at sea, upon a high rock, to which no ship can come except in summer time. I have lived there these thirty years, and he who lives there must renounce all thepleasures and delights of the world, and all my support is the alms which the people of the land here bestow upon me. I promise you, said Amadis, this is the life I desire for the little while I shall live, and I beseech you, for the love of God, let me go with you. The good man, albeit against his will, consented; and Amadis said, now, Father, command me what to do, and I will be obedient. The good man gave him his blessing, and said vespers, and then taking bread and fish from his wallet, he bade Amadis eat; but Amadis refused, though he had been three days without tasting food. You are to obey me, said the good man, and I command you to eat, else your soul will be in great danger if you die. Then he took a little food; and when it was time to sleep, the old man spread his cloak and laid him down thereon, and Amadis laid himself down at his feet.
The most part of the night Amadis did nothing but turn from side to side, but at last being sore wearied he fell asleep, and in that sleep he dreamt that he was fastened in a dark chamber, where there was no light at all, neither could he find any way to come out thereof, whereat he greatly lamented; then he thought that his cousin Mabilia and the Damsel of Denmark came to him, andthere was a sun-beam before them which dispelled the darkness, and they took him by the hand, saying, Come forth, Sir, to this great palace. And he thought that he was right joyful; and going out he saw his Lady Oriana surrounded with a great flame of fire, whereat he cried out, Holy Mary, help her! and ran through the fire to save her, feeling no hurt, and took her in her arms and carried her into a garden, the greenest and pleasantest that ever he had seen. At the loud cry which he made the good man awoke, and took him by the hand, asking him what he ailed? Sir, said he, I felt such pain in my sleep that I was almost dead. So it seemed by your cry, said the old man, but it is time to set out; then he got upon his ass. Amadis would have walked by him, but the good man with great entreaty made him mount his horse, and so they fared on together.
As they went, Amadis besought him to grant one boon, which should be no-ways hurtful, the which the old man granted. I pray you then, said Amadis, that so long as we are together you will not tell any man who I am, nor any thing concerning me, and that you will call me by some other name, not my own; and, when I am dead, you tell my brethren of me, that they may take my body intotheir country. Your life and death, said the good man, are in the hands of God, so talk no more of this, he will help you if you know and love and serve him as you ought; but tell me, by what name will you be called?—Even by whatever it shall please you.—So the old man, seeing how fair he was, and in how forlorn a condition, replied, I will give you a name conformable to your appearance and distress, you shall be called Beltenebros. Now Beltenebros being interpreted, signifyeth, the Fair Forlorn. The name pleased Amadis, and he admired the good sense of the old man in chusing it; so by this name he was long known, till it became as renowned as that of Amadis. Thus communing they reached the sea-side just as the night closed in; there they found a bark, wherein the good man might cross to his hermitage. Beltenebros gave his horse to the mariners, and they gave him in exchange a cloak of goat skin, and a garment of coarse grey woollen. They embarked, and Beltenebros asked the good man what was his own name, and the name of his abode. They call my dwelling-place, said he, the Poor Rock, because none can live there without enduring great poverty: my own name is Andalod. I was a clerk of some learning, and spent my youth in many vanities, till it pleased God to awaken me, and then I withdrewto this solitary abode: for thirty years I have never left it, till now that I went to the burial of my sister. At length they reached the Rock and landed, and the mariners returned to the main land. Thus Amadis, now called Beltenebros, remained on the Poor Rock, partaking the austerities of the hermit, not for devotion, but for despair, forgetful of his great renown in arms, and hoping and expecting death,—all for the anger of a woman!
When Gandalin awoke in the mountain, he looked round him, and seeing only his own horse, started up, misdoubting what had happened; he called aloud, and searched among the shrubs in vain, he could find neither Amadis nor his horse. Then, knowing that Amadis was departed, he turned to his horse to ride after him, but the saddle and bridle were gone! upon that he cursed himself and his evil fortune, and the day wherein he was born, going from one place to another, till at length he espied the harness, and immediately set out on pursuit. Five days he rode on, sleeping in desert places, enquiring at every habitation for his Master. On the sixth, chance led him to the fountain where Amadis had left his armour. Here he beheld a tent, in which were two Damsels: healighted, and asked them if they had seen a Knight who bore two lions azure in a golden field. They answered that they had not seen him, but such a shield and the whole harness of a Knight, they had found beside that fountain. When Gandalin heard this, he tore his hair, and exclaimed, Holy Mary, help me! my Master, the best Knight in the world, is dead or lost! how badly have I served you, my Lord! and now with reason ought I to be hated by all men, and the earth ought not to suffer me upon her, since I have left you at such a time! You were he who succoured all, and now all have forsaken you! the world and all in it have abandoned you! and I, caitiff wretch, and more wretched than all that ever were born, have left you in your death! And with that, for excess of passion, he fell down. The Damsels shrieked out, Holy Mary, help! the Squire is dead! and they ran to him, and flung water in his face, but it was long before they could recal him to his senses. Good Squire, they cried, be not desperate for a thing which is not certain: you had better seek him till you learn whether he be alive or dead: good men ought to bear up against sorrow, not to die in despair. Gandalin took heart at their words, and resolved to seek his Master as long as he lived.Ladies, said he, where did you see these arms?—We will tell you willingly: we were in the company of Don Guilan the Pensive, who delivered us and twenty other Knights and Damsels from the prison of Gandinos the ruffian, behaving himself there so valiantly that he hath destroyed the wicked customs of the castle, and constrained the Lord thereof to swear never more to maintain the same. We came with Guilan to this fountain four days ago, and when he saw the shield for which you enquired, he was very sorrowful, and alighting, said, the shield of the best Knight in the world should not lie thus! and with that, weeping sorely, he hung the shield upon this tree, and bade us keep it while he rode to seek him whose it was. We set up our tents here, and Guilan sought for him three days without success: yesterday he returned, and this morning, giving his own arms to his Squires, he girded on the sword and took the shield, saying, By God, shield, thou makest a bad exchange, in losing thy master to go with me! He told us, he would carry the arms to Queen Brisena. We also, and all who were delivered by him, are going to that court, to beg the Queen of her goodness to recompense Don Guilan, as the Knights will beseech the King.Then God be with you! quoth Gandalin. I shall take your advice; and, as the most caitiff and unhappy wretch in the world, go seek for him upon whom my life or death depends.