The Project Gutenberg eBook of Amadis of Gaul, Vol. IV. of IV., by Vasco Lobeira.

CHAPTER 13.

That day whereon King Lisuarte had delivered his daughter Oriana to the Romans, hard and cruel as he had been to her in this marriage, yet could he not hear without pity her cries and lamentation, which were so grievous that there was not a man in the world who could have heard them without compassion. The tears against his will came into his eyes, and he turned back more sorrowful at heart then he would let be seen in his semblance. Now when he came to his palace he found both men and women there making great moan for the departure of Oriana, nor could the strict command which he gave any way prevail or abate this, for that Princess was more honoured and better loved by all, than ever was other person in Great Britain. He looked round his palace and saw no Knights there as he had been used to see them, except only Brandoyuas, who told him that the Queen was lamenting in her chamber. So he went thither, but there also he could see none of the Princesses and Dames and Damsels who were wont to be in her company, and when he beheld how deserted the place was and how greatly changed from what it had been, there came a cloud over his heart, and he had no power to speak. But when the Queen saw him enter her apartment she fell down in a swoon. King Lisuarte raised her up and held her in his arms till her senses returned; and when he saw that she was somewhat recovered, he said to her, Lady it neither beseems your prudence nor your virtue to be thus cast down by what is no calamity, but instead of that, great honour and good fortune. If you wish to preserve my esteem and love, let this be the last display of such weakness. Your daughter is not so despoiled, but that she ought to be esteemed the greatest Princess of all her race. To this the Queen made no reply, but fell with her face upon the bed, sobbing in great agony.

The King then left her and returned to the hall; there he found none but King Arban of North Wales and Don Grumedan, both showing by their countenances and demeanour the sorrow which at heart they felt. And though King Lisuarte was of great heart, and could beyond all other men conceal his thoughts, yet was it manifest how deeply he was now afflicted. But he thought it would be well to go hunt in the woods, till time should remedy what he felt, and he bade King Arban give command that the tents should be made ready and all things needful for the chace, for he would go out on the morrow. That night he would not sleep in the Queen's chamber lest his presence might increase her grief. Early in the morning he heard mass and departed, but when he saw with how poor a company he was now attended, he who was so desirous of the company of good Knights and who had once had the best of the world in his household, in spite of himself he could not chuse but be greatly troubled. But Fortune now was bent to give him real cause for grief and make him forget this displeasure which was brought on by himself; for some of the Roman prisoners who had made their escape from the Firm Island learning where the King was, came to him, and told him every thing as it had happened in their sight. How much soever King Lisuarte felt at such tidings so unexpected and so nearly concerning him, with a good countenance as Kings use to put on, he made no show of displeasure, but answered, I am grieved my friends for the death of Salustanquidio and for your loss; but as for what regards myself I am used to receive injuries and to give them in return. Remain ye in my court, and ye shall be assisted with all things needful. Upon that they kissed his hand and besought him that he would remember their companions and those Lords who had been taken with them. Be not troubled for them, replied the King, that shall be remedied in a manner befitting my honour and the honour of your Master. Then he bade them go to the city where the Queen was, but charged them to say nothing of what had happened till he should return.

Three days King Lisuarte remained hunting in the forest in such mood as you may imagine, then he returned to the city still bearing a chearful countenance. Forthwith he went to the Queen's apartment, and she who was one of the noblest women in the world and the most prudent, seeing that it nothing availed her to show her sorrow appeared more tranquil. The King ordered all her attendants to leave the chamber, and seating himself beside her, said, In things of little moment which by chance may fall out to trouble us, there is some licence allowed for the expression of grief and sorrow, which as they are produced by slight evils may by slight remedies be removed. But in great wrongs that afflict us greatly, more especially when they concern our honour, it is far otherwise, the feeling expressed must be little and the severity of vengeance great. To come to the point, You Queen have felt the loss of your daughter, according to the custom of mothers, and you have shown what you have felt, as others do at such marriages, and I rejoice that you have so soon taken consolation. But this which hath followed is of such a nature that little grief must be shown, but heavy amends earnestly and heartily sought. The Romans who departed with our daughter have been with all their fleet destroyed, or taken, or slain with their Prince Salustanquidio, and she herself with all her Dames and Damsels made prisoner by Amadis and the Knights of the Firm Island, where they have carried them with triumphs and rejoicings; so signal a thing as this hath never before been perpetrated in the memory of man. Now therefore it behoves us, you prudently as a woman, and I strenuously as a King and Knight, to remedy our honour by deeds and not by idle resentment of sorrow.

When Queen Brisena heard this she remained for awhile silent, for she was one of the women in the world who best loved her husband, and was aware in such a case as this and with such men, it was far better to make peace than to encourage discord. Therefore she replied, Sir, greatly as you must needs feel this, yet when you judge it you should recollect the time when you yourself were an Errant Knight. You know what complaints and lamentations Oriana and all her Damsels made for so long time, so that it was every where known, and all men believed great force was done her. It is not to be wondered at that these Knights as men whose profession it is to succour all distressed damsels, should have dared attempt what they have atchieved. But Sir, tho' she be your daughter, yet as you have delivered her up to the Embassadors of the Emperor, the injury is to him, and it behoves you to act now with moderation lest you should appear to be chiefly wronged, for if you do otherwise the offence can no ways be dissembled. The King answered, bear now in mind Dame what becomes your honour as I said before! For me, by God's help I shall take such amends as will become your rank and mine.

Then King Lisuarte went to his palace and called for King Arban of North Wales and Don Grumedan and Guilan the Pensive, who was now recovered from his sickness, and being apart with these he told them all that had befallen, for these three Knights were they in whom he chiefly trusted: and he besought them to consider what was the course best befitting his honour, and to take due deliberation before they advised him. The King also remained some days pondering what he should do. But Queen Brisena remained full of sorrow for the great rigour of the King her husband: and because he had now for his enemies these Knights who would rather die than lose one jot of honour; this also she knew was her husband's temper, and therefore she thought all other dangers that ever heretofore had threatened him were light to this. While she was in this trouble, revolving what remedy might be devised, there came in one to say that Durin the brother of the Damsel of Denmark was arrived from the Firm Island and would speak to her. The Queen gave order that he should be admitted, so he entered and knelt before her, and kissed her hand, and gave her a letter from Oriana her daughter. But when the Queen took it the tears came into her eyes for the loss of her child, and for the thought that she could never again recover her unless it pleased the mercy of God to remedy this evil, and she could not speak, nor ask any thing of Durin till she had read the letter.