Day the Second
THE SOLDAN OF BABYLON SENDETH A DAUGHTER OF HIS TO BE
MARRIED TO THE KING OF ALGARVE, AND SHE, BY DIVERS CHANCES,
IN THE SPACE OF FOUR YEARS COMETH TO THE HANDS OF NINE MEN
IN VARIOUS PLACES. ULTIMATELY, BEING RESTORED TO HER FATHER
FOR A MAID, SHE GOETH TO THE KING OF ALGARVE TO WIFE, AS
FIRST SHE DID
Had Emilia's story been much longer protracted, it is like the
compassion had by the young ladies on the misfortunes of Madam
Beritola would have brought them to tears; but, an end being now made
thereof, it pleased the queen that Pamfilo should follow on with his
story, and accordingly he, who was very obedient, began thus, "Uneath,
charming ladies, is it for us to know that which is meet for us, for
that, as may oftentimes have been seen, many, imagining that, were
they but rich, they might avail to live without care and secure, have
not only with prayers sought riches of God, but have diligently
studied to acquire them, grudging no toil and no peril in the quest,
and who,—whereas, before they became enriched, they loved their
lives,—once having gotten their desire, have found folk to slay them,
for greed of so ample an inheritance. Others of low estate, having,
through a thousand perilous battles and the blood of their brethren
and their friends, mounted to the summit of kingdoms, thinking in the
royal estate to enjoy supreme felicity, without the innumerable cares
and alarms whereof they see and feel it full, have learned, at the
cost of their lives, that poison is drunken at royal tables in cups of
gold. Many there be who have with most ardent appetite desired bodily
strength and beauty and divers personal adornments and perceived not
that they had desired ill till they found these very gifts a cause to
them of death or dolorous life. In fine, not to speak particularly of
all the objects of human desire, I dare say that there is not one
which can, with entire assurance, be chosen by mortal men as secure
from the vicissitudes of fortune; wherefore, an we would do aright,
needs must we resign ourselves to take and possess that which is
appointed us of Him who alone knoweth that which behoveth unto us and
is able to give it to us. But for that, whereas men sin in desiring
various things, you, gracious ladies, sin, above all, in one, to wit,
in wishing to be fair,—insomuch that, not content with the charms
vouchsafed you by nature, you still with marvellous art study to
augment them,—it pleaseth me to recount to you how ill-fortunedly
fair was a Saracen lady, whom it befell, for her beauty, to be in some
four years' space nine times wedded anew.
It is now a pretty while since there was a certain Soldan of
Babylon,[113] by name Berminedab, to whom in his day many things
happened in accordance with his pleasure.[114] Amongst many other
children, both male and female, he had a daughter called Alatiel, who,
by report of all who saw her, was the fairest woman to be seen in the
world in those days, and having, in a great defeat he had inflicted
upon a vast multitude of Arabs who were come upon him, been
wonder-well seconded by the King of Algarve,[115] had, at his request,
given her to him to wife, of especial favour; wherefore, embarking her
aboard a ship well armed and equipped, with an honourable company of
men and ladies and store of rich and sumptuous gear and furniture, he
despatched her to him, commending her to God.
The sailors, seeing the weather favourable, gave their sails to the
wind and departing the port of Alexandria, fared on prosperously many
days, and having now passed Sardinia, deemed themselves near the end
of their voyage, when there arose one day of a sudden divers contrary
winds, which, being each beyond measure boisterous, so harassed the
ship, wherein was the lady, and the sailors, that the latter more than
once gave themselves over for lost. However, like valiant men, using
every art and means in their power, they rode it out two days, though
buffeted by a terrible sea; but, at nightfall of the third day, the
tempest abating not, nay, waxing momently, they felt the ship open,
being then not far off Majorca, but knowing not where they were
neither availing to apprehend it either by nautical reckoning or by
sight, for that the sky was altogether obscured by clouds and dark
night; wherefore, seeing no other way of escape and having each
himself in mind and not others, they lowered a shallop into the water,
into which the officers cast themselves, choosing rather to trust
themselves thereto than to the leaking ship. The rest of the men in
the ship crowded after them into the boat, albeit those who had first
embarked therein opposed it, knife in hand,—and thinking thus to flee
from death, ran straight into it, for that the boat, availing not, for
the intemperance of the weather, to hold so many, foundered and they
perished one and all.
As for the ship, being driven by a furious wind and running very
swiftly, albeit it was now well nigh water-logged, (none being left on
board save the princess and her women, who all, overcome by the
tempestuous sea and by fear, lay about the decks as they were dead,)
it stranded upon a beach of the island of Majorca and such and so
great was the shock that it well nigh buried itself in the sand some
stone's cast from the shore, where it abode the night, beaten by the
waves, nor might the wind avail to stir it more. Broad day came and
the tempest somewhat abating, the princess, who was half dead, raised
her head and weak as she was, fell to calling now one, now another of
her household, but to no purpose, for that those she called were too
far distant. Finding herself unanswered of any and seeing no one, she
marvelled exceedingly and began to be sore afraid; then, rising up, as
best she might, she saw the ladies who were in her company and the
other women lying all about and trying now one and now another, found
few who gave any signs of life, the most of them being dead what with
sore travail of the stomach and what with affright; wherefore fear
redoubled upon her.
Nevertheless, necessity constraining her, for that she saw herself
alone there and had neither knowledge nor inkling where she was, she
so goaded those who were yet alive that she made them arise and
finding them unknowing whither the men were gone and seeing the ship
stranded and full of water, she fell to weeping piteously, together
with them. It was noon ere they saw any about the shore or elsewhere,
whom they might move to pity and succour them; but about that hour
there passed by a gentleman, by name Pericone da Visalgo, returning by
chance from a place of his, with sundry of his servants on horseback.
He saw the ship and forthright conceiving what it was, bade one of the
servants board it without delay and tell him what he found there. The
man, though with difficulty, made his way on board and found the young
lady, with what little company she had, crouched, all adread, under
the heel of the bowsprit. When they saw him, they besought him,
weeping, of mercy again and again; but, perceiving that he understood
them not nor they him, they made shift to make known to him their
misadventure by signs.
The servant having examined everything as best he might, reported to
Pericone that which was on board; whereupon the latter promptly caused
to bring the ladies ashore, together with the most precious things
that were in the ship and might be gotten, and carried them off to a
castle of his, where, the women being refreshed with food and rest, he
perceived, from the richness of her apparel, that the lady whom he had
found must needs be some great gentlewoman, and of this he was
speedily certified by the honour that he saw the others do her and her
alone; and although she was pale and sore disordered of her person,
for the fatigues of the voyage, her features seemed to him exceeding
fair; wherefore he forthright took counsel with himself, an she had no
husband, to seek to have her to wife, and if he might not have her in
marriage, to make shift to have her favours.
He was a man of commanding presence and exceeding robust and having
for some days let tend the lady excellently well and she being thereby
altogether restored, he saw her lovely past all conception and was
grieved beyond measure that he could not understand her nor she him
and so he might not learn who she was. Nevertheless, being
inordinately inflamed by her charms, he studied, with pleasing and
amorous gestures, to engage her to do his pleasure without contention;
but to no avail; she altogether rejected his advances and so much the
more waxed Pericone's ardour. The lady, seeing this and having now
abidden there some days, perceived, by the usances of the folk, that
she was among Christians and in a country where, even if she could, it
had little profited her to make herself known and foresaw that, in the
end, either perforce or for love, needs must she resign herself to do
Pericone's pleasure, but resolved nevertheless by dint of magnanimity
to override the wretchedness of her fortune; wherefore she commanded
her women, of whom but three were left her, that they should never
discover to any who she was, except they found themselves whereas they
might look for manifest furtherance in the regaining of their liberty,
and urgently exhorted them, moreover, to preserve their chastity,
avouching herself determined that none, save her husband, should ever
enjoy her. They commended her for this and promised to observe her
commandment to the best of their power.
Meanwhile Pericone, waxing daily more inflamed, insomuch as he saw the
thing desired so near and yet so straitly denied, and seeing that his
blandishments availed him nothing, resolved to employ craft and
artifice, reserving force unto the last. Wherefore, having observed
bytimes that wine was pleasing to the lady, as being unused to drink
thereof, for that her law forbade it, he bethought himself that he
might avail to take her with this, as with a minister of enus.
Accordingly, feigning to reck no more of that whereof she showed
herself so chary, he made one night by way of special festival a
goodly supper, whereto he bade the lady, and therein, the repast being
gladdened with many things, he took order with him who served her that
he should give her to drink of various wines mingled. The cupbearer
did his bidding punctually and she, being nowise on her guard against
this and allured by the pleasantness of the drink, took more thereof
than consisted with her modesty; whereupon, forgetting all her past
troubles, she waxed merry and seeing some women dance after the
fashion of Majorca, herself danced in the Alexandrian manner.
Pericone, seeing this, deemed himself on the high road to that which
he desired and continuing the supper with great plenty of meats and
wines, protracted it far into the night. Ultimately, the guests having
departed, he entered with the lady alone into her chamber, where she,
more heated with wine than restrained by modesty, without any reserve
of shamefastness, undid herself in his presence, as he had been one of
her women, and betook herself to bed. Pericone was not slow to follow
her, but, putting out all the lights, promptly hid himself beside her
and catching her in his arms, proceeded, without any gainsayal on her
part, amorously to solace himself with her; which when once she had
felt,—having never theretofore known with what manner horn men
butt,—as if repenting her of not having yielded to Pericone's
solicitations, thenceforth, without waiting to be bidden to such
agreeable nights, she oftentimes invited herself thereto, not by
words, which she knew not how to make understood, but by deeds.
But, in the midst of this great pleasance of Pericone and herself,
fortune, not content with having reduced her from a king's bride to be
the mistress of a country gentleman, had foreordained unto her a more
barbarous alliance. Pericone had a brother by name Marato,
five-and-twenty years of age and fair and fresh as a rose, who saw her
and she pleased him mightily. Himseemed, moreover, according to that
which he could apprehend from her gestures, that he was very well seen
of her and conceiving that nought hindered him of that which he craved
of her save the strait watch kept on her by Pericone, he fell into a
barbarous thought, whereon the nefarious effect followed without
delay.
There was then, by chance, in the harbour of the city a vessel laden
with merchandise and bound for Chiarenza[116] in Roumelia; whereof two
young Genoese were masters, who had already hoisted sail to depart as
soon as the wind should be fair. Marato, having agreed with them, took
order how he should on the ensuing night be received aboard their ship
with the lady; and this done, as soon as it was dark, having inwardly
determined what he should do, he secretly betook himself, with certain
of his trustiest friends, whom he had enlisted for the purpose, to the
house of Pericone, who nowise mistrusted him. There he hid himself,
according to the ordinance appointed between them, and after a part of
the night had passed, he admitted his companions and repaired with
them to the chamber where Pericone lay with the lady. Having opened
the door, they slew Pericone, as he slept, and took the lady, who was
now awake and in tears, threatening her with death, if she made any
outcry; after which they made off, unobserved, with great part of
Pericone's most precious things and betook themselves in haste to the
sea-shore, where Marato and the lady embarked without delay on board
the ship, whilst his companions returned whence they came.
The sailors, having a fair wind and a fresh, made sail and set out on
their voyage, whilst the princess sore and bitterly bewailed both her
former and that her second misadventure; but Marato, with that Saint
Waxeth-in-hand, which God hath given us [men,] proceeded to comfort
her after such a fashion that she soon grew familiar with him and
forgetting Pericone, began to feel at her ease, when fortune, as if
not content with the past tribulations wherewith it had visited her,
prepared her a new affliction; for that, she being, as we have already
more than once said, exceeding fair of favour and of very engaging
manners, the two young men, the masters of the ship, became so
passionately enamoured of her that, forgetting all else, they studied
only to serve and pleasure her, being still on their guard lest Marato
should get wind of the cause. Each becoming aware of the other's
passion, they privily took counsel together thereof, and agreed to
join in getting the lady for themselves and enjoy her in common, as if
love should suffer this, as do merchandise and gain.
Seeing her straitly guarded by Marato and being thereby hindered of
their purpose, one day, as the ship fared on at full speed under sail
and Marato stood at the poop, looking out on the sea and nowise on his
guard against them, they went of one accord and laying hold of him
suddenly from behind, cast him into the sea, nor was it till they had
sailed more than a mile farther that any perceived Marato to be
fallen overboard. Alatiel, hearing this and seeing no possible way of
recovering him, began anew to make moan for herself; whereupon the two
lovers came incontinent to her succour and with soft words and very
good promises, whereof she understood but little, studied to soothe
and console the lady, who lamented not so much her lost husband as her
own ill fortune. After holding much discourse with her at one time and
another, themseeming after awhile they had well nigh comforted her,
they came to words with one another which should first take her to lie
with him. Each would fain be the first and being unable to come to any
accord upon this, they first with words began a sore and hot dispute
and thereby kindled into rage, they clapped hands to their knives and
falling furiously on one another, before those on board could part
them, dealt each other several blows, whereof one incontinent fell
dead, whilst the other abode on life, though grievously wounded in
many places.
This new mishap was sore unpleasing to the lady, who saw herself
alone, without aid or counsel of any, and feared lest the anger of the
two masters' kinsfolk and friends should revert upon herself; but the
prayers of the wounded man and their speedy arrival at Chiarenza
delivered her from danger of death. There she went ashore with the
wounded man and took up her abode with him in an inn, where the report
of her great beauty soon spread through the city and came to the ears
of the Prince of the Morea, who was then at Chiarenza and was fain to
see her. Having gotten sight of her and himseeming she was fairer than
report gave out, he straightway became so sore enamoured of her that
he could think of nothing else and hearing how she came thither,
doubted not to be able to get her for himself. As he cast about for a
means of effecting his purpose, the wounded man's kinsfolk got wind of
his desire and without awaiting more, sent her to him forthright,
which was mighty agreeable to the prince and to the lady also, for
that herseemed she was quit of a great peril. The prince, seeing her
graced, over and above her beauty, with royal manners and unable
otherwise to learn who she was, concluded her to be some noble lady,
wherefore he redoubled in his love for her and holding her in
exceeding honour, entreated her not as a mistress, but as his very
wife.
The lady, accordingly, having regard to her past troubles and
herseeming she was well enough bestowed, was altogether comforted and
waxing blithe again, her beauties flourished on such wise that it
seemed all Roumelia could talk of nothing else. The report of her
loveliness reaching the Duke of Athens, who was young and handsome and
doughty of his person and a friend and kinsman of the prince, he was
taken with a desire to see her and making a show of paying him a
visit, as he was wont bytimes to do, repaired, with a fair and
worshipful company, to Chiarenza, where he was honourably received and
sumptuously entertained. Some days after, the two kinsmen coming to
discourse together of the lady's charms, the duke asked if she were
indeed so admirable a creature as was reported; to which the prince
answered, 'Much more so; but thereof I will have not my words, but
thine own eyes certify thee.' Accordingly, at the duke's
solicitation, they betook themselves together to the princess's
lodging, who, having had notice of their coming, received them very
courteously and with a cheerful favour, and they seated her between
them, but might not have the pleasure of conversing with her, for that
she understood little or nothing of their language; wherefore each
contented himself with gazing upon her, as upon a marvel, and
especially the duke, who could scarce bring himself to believe that
she was a mortal creature and thinking to satisfy his desire with her
sight, heedless of the amorous poison he drank in at his eyes,
beholding her, he miserably ensnared himself, becoming most ardently
enamoured of her.
After he had departed her presence with the prince and had leisure to
bethink himself, he esteemed his kinsman happy beyond all others in
having so fair a creature at his pleasure, and after many and various
thoughts, his unruly passion weighing more with him than his honour,
he resolved, come thereof what might, to do his utmost endeavour to
despoil the prince of that felicity and bless himself therewith.
Accordingly, being minded to make a quick despatch of the matter and
setting aside all reason and all equity, he turned his every thought
to the devising of means for the attainment of his wishes, and one
day, in accordance with the nefarious ordinance taken by him with a
privy chamberlain of the prince's, by name Ciuriaci, he let make ready
in secret his horses and baggage for a sudden departure.
The night come, he was, with a companion, both armed, stealthily
introduced by the aforesaid Ciuriaci into the prince's chamber and saw
the latter (the lady being asleep) standing, all naked for the great
heat, at a window overlooking the sea-shore, to take a little breeze
that came from that quarter; whereupon, having beforehand informed his
companion of that which he had to do, he went softly up to the window
and striking the prince with a knife, stabbed him, through and through
the small of his back; then, taking him up in haste, he cast him forth
of the window. The palace stood over against the sea and was very
lofty and the window in question looked upon certain houses that had
been undermined by the beating of the waves and where seldom or never
any came; wherefore it happened, as the duke had foreseen, that the
fall of the prince's body was not nor might be heard of any. The
duke's companion, seeing this done, pulled out a halter he had brought
with him to that end and making a show of caressing Ciuriaci, cast it
adroitly about his neck and drew it so that he could make no outcry;
then, the duke coming up, they strangled him and cast him whereas they
had cast the prince.
This done and they being manifestly certified that they had been
unheard of the lady or of any other, the duke took a light in his hand
and carrying it to the bedside, softly uncovered the princess, who
slept fast. He considered her from head to foot and mightily commended
her; for, if she was to his liking, being clothed, she pleased him,
naked, beyond all compare. Wherefore, fired with hotter desire and
unawed by his new-committed crime, he couched himself by her side,
with hands yet bloody, and lay with her, all sleepy-eyed as she was
and thinking him to be the prince. After he had abidden with her
awhile in the utmost pleasure, he arose and summoning certain of his
companions, caused take up the lady on such wise that she could make
no outcry and carry her forth by a privy door, whereat he had entered;
then, setting her on horseback, he took to the road with all his men,
as softliest he might, and returned to his own dominions. However (for
that he had a wife) he carried the lady, who was the most distressful
of women, not to Athens, but to a very goodly place he had by the sea,
a little without the city, and there entertained her in secret,
causing honourably furnish her with all that was needful.
The prince's courtiers on the morrow awaited his rising till none,
when, hearing nothing, they opened the chamber-doors, which were but
closed, and finding no one, concluded that he was gone somewhither
privily, to pass some days there at his ease with his fair lady, and
gave themselves no farther concern. Things being thus, it chanced next
day that an idiot, entering the ruins where lay the bodies of the
prince and Ciuriaci, dragged the latter forth by the halter and went
haling him after him. The body was, with no little wonderment,
recognized by many, who, coaxing the idiot to bring them to the place
whence he had dragged it, there, to the exceeding grief of the whole
city, found the prince's corpse and gave it honourable burial. Then,
enquiring for the authors of so heinous a crime and finding that the
Duke of Athens was no longer there, but had departed by stealth, they
concluded, even as was the case, that it must be he who had done this
and carried off the lady; whereupon they straightway substituted a
brother of the dead man to their prince and incited him with all their
might to vengeance. The new prince, being presently certified by
various other circumstances that it was as they had surmised, summoned
his friends and kinsmen and servants from divers parts and promptly
levying a great and goodly and powerful army, set out to make war upon
the Duke of Athens.
The latter, hearing of this, on like wise mustered all his forces for
his own defence, and to his aid came many lords, amongst whom the
Emperor of Constantinople sent Constantine his son and Manual his
nephew, with a great and goodly following. The two princes were
honourably received by the duke and yet more so by the duchess, for
that she was their sister,[117] and matters drawing thus daily nearer
unto war, taking her occasion, she sent for them both one day to her
chamber and there, with tears galore and many words, related to them
the whole story, acquainting them with the causes of the war.
Moreover, she discovered to them the affront done her by the duke in
the matter of the woman whom it was believed he privily entertained,
and complaining sore thereof, besought them to apply to the matter
such remedy as best they might, for the honour of the duke and her own
solacement.
The young men already knew all the facts as it had been; wherefore,
without enquiring farther, they comforted the duchess, as best they
might, and filled her with good hope. Then, having learned from her
where the lady abode, they took their leave and having a mind to see
the latter, for that they had oftentimes heard her commended for
marvellous beauty, they besought the duke to show her to them. He,
unmindful of that which had befallen the Prince of the Morea for
having shown her to himself, promised to do this and accordingly next
morning, having let prepare a magnificent collation in a very goodly
garden that pertained to the lady's place of abode, he carried them
and a few others thither to eat with her. Constantine, sitting with
Alatiel, fell a-gazing upon her, full of wonderment, avouching in
himself that he had never seen aught so lovely and that certes the
duke must needs be held excused, ay, and whatsoever other, to have so
fair a creature, should do treason or other foul thing, and looking on
her again and again and each time admiring her more, it betided him no
otherwise than it had betided the duke; wherefore, taking his leave,
enamoured of her, he abandoned all thought of the war and occupied
himself with considering how he might take her from the duke,
carefully concealing his passion the while from every one.
Whilst he yet burnt in this fire, the time came to go out against the
new prince, who now drew near to the duke's territories; wherefore the
latter and Constantine and all the others, sallied forth of Athens
according to the given ordinance and betook themselves to the defence
of certain frontiers, so the prince might not avail to advance
farther. When they had lain there some days, Constantine having his
mind and thought still intent upon the lady and conceiving that, now
the duke was no longer near her, he might very well avail to
accomplish his pleasure, feigned himself sore indisposed of his
person, to have an occasion of returning to Athens; wherefore, with
the duke's leave, committing his whole power to Manuel, he returned to
Athens to his sister, and there, after some days, putting her upon
talk of the affront which herseemed she suffered from the duke by
reason of the lady whom he entertained, he told her that, an it liked
her, he would soon ease her thereof by causing take the lady from
whereas she was and carry her off. The duchess, conceiving that he did
this of regard for herself and not for love of the lady, answered that
it liked her exceeding well so but it might be done on such wise that
the duke should never know that she had been party thereto, which
Constantine fully promised her, and thereupon she consented that he
should do as seemed best to him.
Constantine, accordingly, let secretly equip a light vessel and sent
it one evening to the neighbourhood of the garden where the lady
abode; then, having taught certain of his men who were on board what
they had to do, he repaired with others to the lady's pavilion, where
he was cheerfully received by those in her service and indeed by the
lady herself, who, at his instance, betook herself with him to the
garden, attended by her servitors and his companions. There, making as
he would speak with her on the duke's part, he went with her alone
towards a gate, which gave upon the sea and had already been opened by
one of his men, and calling the bark thither with the given signal, he
caused suddenly seize the lady and carry her aboard; then, turning to
her people, he said to them, 'Let none stir or utter a word, an he
would not die; for that I purpose not to rob the duke of his wench,
but to do away the affront which he putteth upon my sister.'
To this none dared make answer; whereupon Constantine, embarking with
his people and seating himself by the side of the weeping lady, bade
thrust the oars into the water and make off. Accordingly, they put out
to sea and not hieing, but flying,[118] came, after a little after
daybreak on the morrow, to Egina, where they landed and took rest,
whilst Constantine solaced himself awhile with the lady, who bemoaned
her ill-fated beauty. Thence, going aboard the bark again, they made
their way, in a few days, to Chios, where it pleased Constantine to
take up his sojourn, as in a place of safety, for fear of his father's
resentment and lest the stolen lady should be taken from him. There
the fair lady bewailed her ill fate some days, but, being presently
comforted by Constantine, she began, as she had done otherwhiles, to
take her pleasure of that which fortune had foreordained to her.
Things being at this pass, Osbech, King of the Turks, who abode in
continual war with the Emperor, came by chance to Smyrna, where
hearing how Constantine abode in Chios, without any precaution,
leading a wanton life with a mistress of his, whom he had stolen away,
he repaired thither one night with some light-armed ships and entering
the city by stealth with some of his people, took many in their beds,
ere they knew of the enemy's coming. Some, who, taking the alert, had
run to arms, he slew and having burnt the whole place, carried the
booty and captives on board the ships and returned to Smyrna. When
they arrived there, Osbech, who was a young man, passing his prisoners
in review, found the fair lady among them and knowing her for her who
had been taken with Constantine asleep in bed, was mightily rejoiced
at sight of her. Accordingly, he made her his wife without delay, and
celebrating the nuptials forthright, lay with her some months in all
joyance.
Meanwhile, the Emperor, who had, before these things came to pass,
been in treaty with Bassano, King of Cappadocia, to the end that he
should come down upon Osbech from one side with his power, whilst
himself assailed him on the other, but had not yet been able to come
to a full accord with him, for that he was unwilling to grant certain
things which Bassano demanded and which he deemed unreasonable,
hearing what had betided his son and chagrined beyond measure thereat,
without hesitating farther, did that which the King of Cappadocia
asked and pressed him as most he might to fall upon Osbech, whilst
himself made ready to come down upon him from another quarter. Osbech,
hearing this, assembled his army, ere he should be straitened between
two such puissant princes, and marched against Bassano, leaving his
fair lady at Smyrna, in charge of a trusty servant and friend of his.
After some time he encountered the King of Cappadocia and giving him
battle, was slain in the mellay and his army discomfited and
dispersed; whereupon Bassano advanced in triumph towards Smyrna,
unopposed, and all the folk submitted to him by the way, as to a
conqueror.
Meanwhile, Osbech's servant, Antiochus by name, in whose charge the
lady had been left, seeing her so fair, forgot his plighted faith to
his friend and master and became enamoured of her, for all he was a
man in years. Urged by love and knowing her tongue (the which was
mighty agreeable to her, as well as it might be to one whom it had
behoved for some years live as she were deaf and dumb, for that she
understood none neither was understanded of any) he began, in a few
days, to be so familiar with her that, ere long, having no regard to
their lord and master who was absent in the field, they passed from
friendly commerce to amorous privacy, taking marvellous pleasure one
of the other between the sheets. When they heard that Osbech was
defeated and slain and that Bassano came carrying all before him, they
took counsel together not to await him there and laying hands on great
part of the things of most price that were there pertaining to Osbech,
gat them privily to Rhodes, where they had not long abidden ere
Antiochus sickened unto death.
As chance would have it, there was then in lodging with him a merchant
of Cyprus, who was much loved of him and his fast friend, and
Antiochus, feeling himself draw to his end, bethought himself to leave
him both his possessions and his beloved lady; wherefore, being now
nigh upon death, he called them both to him and bespoke them thus, 'I
feel myself, without a doubt, passing away, which grieveth me, for
that never had I such delight in life as I presently have. Of one
thing, indeed, I die most content, in that, since I must e'en die, I
see myself die in the arms of those twain whom I love over all others
that be in the world, to wit, in thine, dearest friend, and in those
of this lady, whom I have loved more than mine own self, since first I
knew her. True, it grieveth me to feel that, when I am dead, she will
abide here a stranger, without aid or counsel; and it were yet more
grievous to me, did I not know thee here, who wilt, I trust, have that
same care of her, for the love of me, which thou wouldst have had of
myself. Wherefore, I entreat thee, as most I may, if it come to pass
that I die, that thou take my goods and her into thy charge and do
with them and her that which thou deemest may be for the solacement of
my soul. And thou, dearest lady, I prithee forget me not after my
death, so I may vaunt me, in the other world, of being beloved here
below of the fairest lady ever nature formed; of which two things an
you will give me entire assurance, I shall depart without misgiving
and comforted.'
The merchant his friend and the lady, hearing these words, wept, and
when he had made an end of his speech, they comforted him and promised
him upon their troth to do that which he asked, if it came to pass
that he died. He tarried not long, but presently departed this life
and was honourably interred of them. A few days after, the merchant
having despatched all his business in Rhodes and purposing to return
to Cyprus on board a Catalan carrack that was there, asked the fair
lady what she had a mind to do, for that it behoved him return to
Cyprus. She answered that, an it pleased him, she would gladly go with
him, hoping for Antiochus his love to be of him entreated and regarded
as a sister. The merchant replied that he was content to do her every
pleasure, and the better to defend her from any affront that might be
offered her, ere they came to Cyprus, he avouched that she was his
wife. Accordingly, they embarked on board the ship and were given a
little cabin on the poop, where, that the fact might not belie his
words, he lay with her in one very small bed. Whereby there came about
that which was not intended of the one or the other of them at
departing Rhodes, to wit, that—darkness and commodity and the heat of
the bed, matters of no small potency, inciting them,—drawn by equal
appetite and forgetting both the friendship and the love of Antiochus
dead, they fell to dallying with each other and before they reached
Baffa, whence the Cypriot came, they had clapped up an alliance
together.
At Baffa she abode some time with the merchant till, as chance would
have it, there came thither, for his occasions, a gentleman by name
Antigonus, great of years and greater yet of wit, but little of
wealth, for that, intermeddling in the affairs of the King of Cyprus,
fortune had in many things been contrary to him. Chancing one day to
pass by the house where the fair lady dwelt with the merchant, who was
then gone with his merchandise into Armenia, he espied her at a window
and seeing her very beautiful, fell to gazing fixedly upon her and
presently began to recollect that he must have seen her otherwhere,
but where he could on no wise call to mind. As for the lady, who had
long been the sport of fortune, but the term of whose ills was now
drawing near, she no sooner set eyes on Antigonus than she remembered
to have seen him at Alexandria in no mean station in her father's
service; wherefore, conceiving a sudden hope of yet by his aid
regaining her royal estate, and knowing her merchant to be abroad, she
let call him to her as quickliest she might and asked him, blushing,
an he were not, as she supposed, Antigonus of Famagosta. He answered
that he was and added, 'Madam, meseemeth I know you, but on no wise
can I remember me where I have seen you; wherefore I pray you, an it
mislike you not, put me in mind who you are.'
The lady hearing that it was indeed he, to his great amazement, cast
her arms about his neck, weeping sore, and presently asked him if he
had never seen her in Alexandria. Antigonus, hearing this, incontinent
knew her for the Soldan's daughter Alatiel, who was thought to have
perished at sea, and would fain have paid her the homage due to her
quality; but she would on no wise suffer it and besought him to sit
with her awhile. Accordingly, seating himself beside her, he asked her
respectfully how and when and whence she came thither, seeing that it
was had for certain, through all the land of Egypt, that she had been
drowned at sea years agone. 'Would God,' replied she, 'it had been so,
rather than that I should have had the life I have had; and I doubt
not but my father would wish the like, if ever he came to know it.'
So saying, she fell anew to weeping wonder-sore; whereupon quoth
Antigonus to her, 'Madam, despair not ere it behove you; but, an it
please you, relate to me your adventures and what manner of life yours
hath been; it may be the matter hath gone on such wise that, with
God's aid, we may avail to find an effectual remedy.' 'Antigonus,'
answered the fair lady, 'when I beheld thee, meseemed I saw my father,
and moved by that love and tenderness, which I am bounden to bear him,
I discovered myself to thee, having it in my power to conceal myself
from thee, and few persons could it have befallen me to look upon in
whom I could have been so well-pleased as I am to have seen and known
thee before any other; wherefore that which in my ill fortune I have
still kept hidden, to thee, as to a father, I will discover. If, after
thou hast heard it, thou see any means of restoring me to my pristine
estate, prithee use it; but, if thou see none, I beseech thee never
tell any that thou hast seen me or heard aught of me.'
This said, she recounted to him, still weeping, that which had
befallen her from the time of her shipwreck on Majorca up to that
moment; whereupon he fell a-weeping for pity and after considering
awhile, 'Madam,' said he, 'since in your misfortunes it hath been
hidden who you are, I will, without fail, restore you, dearer than
ever, to your father and after to the King of Algarve to wife.' Being
questioned of her of the means, he showed her orderly that which was
to do, and lest any hindrance should betide through delay, he
presently returned to Famagosta and going in to the king, said to him,
'My lord, an it like you, you have it in your power at once to do
yourself exceeding honour and me, who am poor through you, a great
service, at no great cost of yours.' The king asked how and Antigonus
replied, 'There is come to Baffa the Soldan's fair young daughter, who
hath so long been reputed drowned and who, to save her honour, hath
long suffered very great unease and is presently in poor case and
would fain return to her father. An it pleased you send her to him
under my guard, it would be much to your honour and to my weal, nor do
I believe that such a service would ever be forgotten of the Soldan.'
The king, moved by a royal generosity of mind, answered forthright
that he would well and sending for Alatiel, brought her with all
honour and worship to Famagosta, where she was received by himself and
the queen with inexpressible rejoicing and entertained with
magnificent hospitality. Being presently questioned of the king and
queen of her adventures, she answered according to the instructions
given her by Antigonus and related everything;[119] and a few days
after, at her request, the king sent her, under the governance of
Antigonus, with a goodly and worshipful company of men and women, back
to the Soldan, of whom let none ask if she was received with
rejoicing, as also was Antigonus and all her company.
As soon as she was somewhat rested, the Soldan desired to know how it
chanced that she was yet alive and where she had so long abidden,
without having ever let him know aught of her condition; whereupon the
lady, who had kept Antigonus his instructions perfectly in mind,
bespoke him thus, 'Father mine, belike the twentieth day after my
departure from you, our ship, having sprung a leak in a terrible
storm, struck in the night upon certain coasts yonder in the
West,[120] near a place called Aguamorta, and what became of the men
who were aboard I know not nor could ever learn; this much only do I
remember that, the day come and I arisen as it were from death to
life, the shattered vessel was espied of the country people, who ran
from all the parts around to plunder it. I and two of my women were
first set ashore and the latter were incontinent seized by certain of
the young men, who fled with them, one this way and the other that,
and what came of them I never knew.
As for myself, I was taken, despite my resistance, by two young men,
and haled along by the hair, weeping sore the while; but, as they
crossed over a road, to enter a great wood, there passed by four men
on horseback, whom when my ravishers saw, they loosed me forthwith and
took to flight. The new comers, who seemed to me persons of great
authority, seeing this, ran where I was and asked me many questions;
whereto I answered much, but neither understood nor was understanded
of them. However, after long consultation they set me on one of their
horses and carried me to a convent of women vowed to religion,
according to their law, where, whatever they said, I was of all the
ladies kindly received and still entreated with honour, and there with
great devotion I joined them in serving Saint Waxeth-in-Deepdene, a
saint for whom the women of that country have a vast regard.
After I had abidden with them awhile and learned somewhat of their
language, they questioned me of who I was and fearing, an I told the
truth, to be expelled from amongst them, as an enemy of their faith, I
answered that I was the daughter of a great gentleman of Cyprus, who
was sending me to be married in Crete, when, as ill-luck would have
it, we had run thither and suffered shipwreck. Moreover, many a time
and in many things I observed their customs, for fear of worse, and
being asked by the chief of the ladies, her whom they call abbess, if
I wished to return thence to Cyprus, I answered that I desired nothing
so much; but she, tender of my honour, would never consent to trust me
to any person who was bound for Cyprus, till some two months agone,
when there came thither certain gentlemen of France with their ladies.
One of the latter being a kinswoman of the abbess and she hearing that
they were bound for Jerusalem, to visit the Sepulchre where He whom
they hold God was buried, after He had been slain by the Jews, she
commended me to their care and besought them to deliver me to my
father in Cyprus.
With what honour these gentlemen entreated me and how cheerfully they
received me together with their ladies, it were a long story to tell;
suffice it to say that we took ship and came, after some days, to
Baffa, where finding myself arrived and knowing none in the place, I
knew not what to say to the gentlemen, who would fain have delivered
me to my father, according to that which had been enjoined them of the
reverend lady; but God, taking pity belike on my affliction, brought
me Antigonus upon the beach what time we disembarked at Baffa, whom I
straightway hailed and in our tongue, so as not to be understood of
the gentlemen and their ladies, bade him receive me as a daughter. He
promptly apprehended me and receiving me with a great show of joy,
entertained the gentlemen and their ladies with such honour as his
poverty permitted and carried me to the King of Cyprus, who received
me with such hospitality and hath sent me back to you [with such
courtesy] as might never be told of me. If aught remain to be said,
let Antigonus, who hath ofttimes heard from me these adventures,
recount it.'
Accordingly Antigonus, turning to the Soldan, said, 'My lord, even as
she hath many a time told me and as the gentlemen and ladies, with
whom she came, said to me, so hath she recounted unto you. Only one
part hath she forborne to tell you, the which methinketh she left
unsaid for that it beseemeth her not to tell it, to wit, how much the
gentlemen and ladies, with whom she came, said of the chaste and
modest life which she led with the religious ladies and of her virtue
and commendable manners and the tears and lamentations of her
companions, both men and women, when, having restored her to me, they
took leave of her. Of which things were I fain to tell in full that
which they said to me, not only this present day, but the ensuing
night would not suffice unto us; be it enough to say only that
(according to that which their words attested and that also which I
have been able to see thereof,) you may vaunt yourself of having the
fairest daughter and the chastest and most virtuous of any prince that
nowadays weareth a crown.'
The Soldan was beyond measure rejoiced at these things and besought
God again and again to vouchsafe him of His grace the power of
worthily requiting all who had succoured his daughter and especially
the King of Cyprus, by whom she had been sent back to him with honour.
After some days, having caused prepare great gifts for Antigonus, he
gave him leave to return to Cyprus and rendered, both by letters and
by special ambassadors, the utmost thanks to the king for that which
he had done with his daughter. Then desiring that that which was begun
should have effect, to wit, that she should be the wife of the King of
Algarve, he acquainted the latter with the whole matter and wrote to
him to boot, that, an it pleased him have her, he should send for her.
The King of Algarve was mightily rejoiced at this news and sending for
her in state, received her joyfully; and she, who had lain with eight
men belike ten thousand times, was put to bed to him for a maid and
making him believe that she was so, lived happily with him as his
queen awhile after; wherefore it was said, 'Lips for kissing forfeit
no favour; nay, they renew as the moon doth ever.'"
