chief lady had not so much as once heard the noise of this conflict (so sorrow had closed up all the entries of her mind, and love tied her senses to the beloved picture). Musidorus’ shadow, falling upon the picture, made her cast up her eyes, and seeing the armor which she knew too well, and thinking he was Amphialus, the lord of her desires, and with the blood coming more freely into her cheeks, as though it would be bold, and yet growing new again, pale for fear, with a pitiful look, like one unjustly condemned, “My lord Amphialus,” said she, “you have punished me enough. It is time for cruelty to leave you, and evil fortune me. If not, I pray you accomplish the one even now, and finish the other. You can have no fitter time nor place to grant my prayer and kill me.”
With that, sorrow, impatient to be slowly uttered in her often hesitating speeches, poured itself so fast into tears, that Palladius could not hold her longer in error, but, pulling off his helmet, “Madam,” he said, “I perceive you mistake me. I am a stranger in these parts. I was set up upon, without any cause given by me, by some of your servants, whom I have evilly treated. Although I did so in my just defense, I have come to make my excuse to you. Seeing you such as I do, I find greater cause why I should crave pardon of you.”
When she saw his face and heard his speech, she looked out of the coach and saw that some of her men were slain and some lay under their dead horses, striving to get out from under them. Without making more account of the matter, “Truly,” said she, “they are well served who dared to lift up their arms against that armor. But sir knight,” said she, “I pray you tell me, how come you by this armor? For if it be by the death of him who owned it, then have I more to say to you.”
Palladius assured her it was not so, telling her the true manner how he found it.
“It is enough,” said she, “for that agrees with the manner he has lately used. But I beseech you, sir,” said she, “since your prowess has bereft me of my company, let it yet so far heal the wounds it has given as to guard me to the next town.”
“However great my business may be, fair lady,” said he, “it shall willingly yield to so noble a cause. But first, even by the favor you bear to the lord of this noble suit of armor, I conjure you to tell me the story of your fortune herein, lest hereafter—when the image of so excellent a lady in so strange a plight comes before my eyes—I condemn myself for want of consideration in not having demanded thus much. Neither do I ask it without protestation, that wherein my sword and faith may avail you, they shall bind themselves to your service.”
“Your conjuration, fair knight,” said she, “is too strong for my poor spirit to disobey, and that shall make me (without any other hope, my ruin being—but by one—unrelievable) to grant your will herein. And to speak the truth, it would be a strange coyness in me not to say to a person representing so much worthiness that which I am glad to utter even to rocks and woods.
unkindness] Musidorus’ mind dwells on the unkindness Pyrocles has shown him.
Chapter 11
The Go-Between
Helen of Corinth relates how she fell for Amphialus (Basilius’ nephew, whose hopes of inheritance were dashed when Basilius married late in life), when Amphialus wooed her for his friend Philoxenus. In despair after killing Philoxenus in self-defense and because Timotheus, the father of Philoxenus, died of shock, Amphialus cast off his armor, which Musidorus found and put on in Chapter 10. Ismenus, Amphialus’ squire, relates how Amphialus has adopted Philoxenus’ spaniel. Musidorus tells Ismenus to take Amphialus’ armor back to him. (1593 ed. 20.2)
“Know you that that my name is Helen, a queen by birth, and hitherto possessed of the fair city and territory of Corinth. I can say no more of myself but that I am beloved of my people—and I may justly say beloved, since they are content to bear with my absence and folly.
“I was left by my father’s death, and accepted by my people, in the highest degree that my country could bestow. As soon as—or rather before—my age was ripe for it, my court quickly swarmed full of suitors. Some perchance loved my estate, others my person, but once I knew all of them, however my possessions were in their hearts, my beauty (such as it is) was in their mouths—strangers of princely and noble blood, as well as those of my own country to whom either birth or virtue gave courage to avow so high a desire.
“Among the rest, or rather before the rest, was Lord Philoxenus, son and heir to the virtuous nobleman Timotheus. This Timotheus was a man beyond any of the great men of my country, whether in power, riches, parentage, and (what passed all these) goodness, and (what followed from all these) love of the people.
“Now this son of his, I must say truly, was not unworthy of such a father. He bent himself by all means of serviceableness to me and set himself forth to win my favor. He won thus far of me that in truth I less disliked him than any of the rest, and in some proportion my face gave me away. Though I must protest it was a very false ambassador, if it delivered any affection at all, of which my heart was utterly void. At that time I esteemed myself born to rule and thought it foul scorn willingly to submit myself to be ruled.
“But meanwhile Philoxenus, in good sort, pursued my favor and perchance nourished himself with over-much hope because he found I did in some sort acknowledge his value. One time among the rest he brought with him a dear friend of his.”
With that, she looked upon the picture before her and straight sighed, and straight tears followed, as if the idol of duty ought to be honored with such oblations. And then her speech stopped her tale, for her tale had brought her to stare at the picture, which quite put her out of her tale. But Palladius, greatly pitying so sweet a sorrow in a lady, whom by fame he had already known and honored, besought her for her promise’s sake to put silence so long into her moaning until she had recounted the rest of this story.
“Why,” said she, “this is the picture of Amphialus! What more need I say to you? What ear is so barbarous but has heard of Amphialus? Who follows deeds of arms but everywhere finds monuments of Amphialus? Who is courteous, noble, liberal, but he that has the example of Amphialus before his eyes? Where are all heroical qualities but in Amphialus? O Amphialus, I wish you were not so excellent, or I wish I thought you not so excellent, and yet, I wish I would not wish so.”
With that, she wept again, until he again solicited the conclusion of her story, and she said, “Then you must know the story of Amphialus, for his will is my life; his life my history, and, indeed, in what can I better employ my lips than in speaking of Amphialus?
“This knight, then, whose figure you see, but whose mind can be painted by nothing but by the true shape of virtue, is the brother’s son to Basilius, king of Arcadia. In his childhood he was esteemed Basilius’ heir, until Basilius, in his old years, married a young and fair lady and had of her those two daughters so famous for their perfection in beauty, which put by their young cousin Amphialus from that expectation. Whereupon his mother, a woman of a haughty heart, being daughter to the king of Argos, either disdaining or fearing that her son should live under the power of Basilius, sent him to Lord Timotheus (between whom and her dead husband there had passed straight bands of mutual hospitality) to be brought up in company with his son Philoxenus.
“It was a happy resolution for Amphialus, for the good Timotheus, no less loving him than his own son, gave Amphialus’ excellent nature as good an education as any prince’s
