Thus, riding on, he met the Shah and his daughter. The Shah at first was highly pleased with his prowess; but when he heard that he was a Christian Knight, his admiration was turned to rage, and he informed him that he must either become a Pagan worshipper of the sun or quit the country.

The Knight proudly answered that no one should make him quit the country unless of his own free will.

On this the Shah's army surrounded him and Pedrillo, and, after a desperate resistance on their parts, bore them to the ground.

"Now, Sir Knight, what will you do?" sneered the Shah. "However, you have killed the greatest boar in the country, and, as your reward, you shall choose the manner in which you and your Squire will be put to death."

The Champion, who was gallant on all occasions, replied that he would be shot to death by the fair damsels he had seen going forth to the chase. But when they were informed of this, none were found willing to undertake the cruel office.

This so enraged the Shah, that he ordained that they should cast lots to decide who should perform the task. The lot fell on Celestine and one of her maidens. She was to kill the Knight, and her maiden Pedrillo. Instead, however, of death's fatal instrument, a steel-tipped arrow, she shot a sigh—true messenger of love—as did her maiden; and then she hastened to her father to entreat him, with bitter, scalding tears, to liberate the strangers. At last he yielded, on condition that they should forthwith quit the country.

Already had Saint James commenced his homeward journey, when, looking back on the towers of Ispahan, so inflamed was his heart with the love of Celestine, that he resolved to return and win her. He and Pedrillo, therefore, staining their skins with the juice of some blackberries, and at the same time habiting themselves in the costume of Moors, pretending to be dumb, returned to the city.

Then Saint James presented himself as an Indian knight, and, entering the army of the Shah, won such renown by his heroic deeds, that he was soon raised to the highest posts of honour.

Now, there came from the far east two sovereigns, claiming the hand of the fair Celestine; but she, thinking only of Saint James, refused to entertain their proposals.

At a great tournament given in their honour, they both, clothed in glittering armour, entered the lists; so did the seeming Moorish knight. What was the surprise of the King and all his courtiers to behold him overthrow them both! Then he rode up beneath the pavilion of the Princess Celestine, and exhibited to her a ring which she had long before given him. By this she knew that he was her own true knight. He soon found means to tell her of his love, and all that had happened, while Pedrillo did not forget to put in a word in his own favour with her maiden.

They agreed that very night to fly to Spain. Pedrillo, who was cunning in devices, turned their horses' shoes backwards, and thus, when they were seeking safety in the west, it appeared as if they were flying towards the east. Thus evading pursuit, they galloped on, crossed the Red Sea, and, travelling through Africa, the whole party arrived safely in that wondrous town of Seville, in Spain, where Saint James was born, and which justly holds itself, in consequence, in the very highest estimation.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE ADVENTURES OF SAINT ANTHONY OF ITALY.

The adventures of the great Saint Anthony of Italy, after he parted from his friends at the brazen pillar, are now to be described. Taking ship, like Father Aeneas of old, he and his attendant Squire traversed the Mediterranean Sea, only he sailed eastward, while the pious Aeneas sailed westward, over it. Numberless were the adventures he encountered.

Now his ship was tossed by storms, now pursued by a huge sea monster, with jaws so wide that the affrighted mariners believed that it was about to swallow up bodily both them and their ship; but Saint Anthony, putting on his armour, and standing on the poop, brandished his spear so manfully in the monster's face that he effectually kept him at bay. His faithful Squire shouted also with such good effect, that the monster was fain to turn tail and to leave the ship and its honoured freight to proceed unmolested.

At length Asia's ancient shores were reached, and travelling on, performing every day unheard-of wonders, combating with terrible monsters, and destroying wild beasts innumerable, he and Niccolo arrived at the far-famed kingdom of Georgia.

They wandered on till they began to ascend, amid narrow defiles and dark gorges, the rugged ranges of the mighty Caucasus, high above which Elborus towers with gigantic splendour. As they climbed upwards, higher and higher, there appeared before them a marble castle with gates of brass, which they guessed, from inquiries they had made, belonged to the giant Blanderon. Over the principal gate were these verses:—

"Within this castle lives the scourge of kings; A furious giant, whose unconquer'd power The Georgian monarch in subjection brings, And keeps his daughters prisoners in his tower: Seven damsels fair this monstrous giant keeps, That sing him music while he nightly sleeps.

"His sword of steel a thousand knights have felt, Who for these maidens' sakes have lost their lives; Yet, though on many knights he hath death dealt, This most inhuman giant still survives. Let simple passengers take heed in time, When up this mountain height they thoughtless climb.

"But knights of worth, and men of noble mind, If any chance to travel by this tower, That for these maidens' sake will be so kind To try their strength against the giant's power, Shall have a maiden's prayer, both day and night, To prosper them with good successful fight."

These lines were placed there by the power of the good fairy of Asia, and were unseen by the Giant, or he would not, it is presumed, have allowed them to remain. They so encouraged the valiant Knight, that, resolving to liberate the ladies, he struck so mighty a blow on the gate of the castle, with the pommel of his sword, that it sounded like a clap of the loudest thunder.

On hearing it, Blanderon, who had been asleep, started up, and came forth to the gate with a huge oak-tree in his hand, which he flourished about his head as if it had been a light battle-axe, in a loud voice comparing the Knight's spear to a bulrush, and threatening to hurl him and his Squire down the side of the mountain.

"Words without deeds are mere empty things," retorted the Knight. "Try what you can do."

And giving his steed to his Squire to hold, he drew his trusty falchion, and stood ready to receive the onslaught of his huge antagonist. Blanderon, however, flourished his oak so furiously that Saint Anthony had to jump here and there with the greatest activity to avoid his strokes.

Now the very earth seemed to shake; now the castle-walls resounded with the blows. The Knight relaxed not a moment in his efforts, for he saw that the Giant was stout; and as the sun's heat was very great, he panted more and more till the moisture from his brows ran down into his eyes, and almost blinded him. Observing this, the Knight plied him with his battle-axe more vigorously than before, till he was compelled to seek for safety within his castle-walls; but ere he reached them he let fall from his grasp his huge oak-tree; on which Saint Anthony, redoubling his efforts, smote him so fiercely, that he sunk down on his knees, unable to fly further. Still undaunted, the Giant drew a dagger twice the size of any ordinary two-handed sword. With this he struck right and left so rapidly that the Knight had hard work indeed to escape its blows, and still greater to discover a spot in his huge body in which he might plant a deadly one in return.

At length, however, the Giant grew weary, and Saint Anthony, springing forward, with one stroke clove his hideous head almost in twain. Then, with another blow he cut it off, and handed it to Niccolo, to be carried before him as a trophy of his prowess. So violent, however, had been the efforts of the Knight that he also sank fainting on the ground, when his faithful Squire, believing him to be dead, knelt by his side, and, weeping, mourned bitterly his loss.

Now, it happened that the lovely Rosalinde, one of the daughters of the King of Georgia, who had been taken captive by the Giant, looked over the battlements, and seeing his headless trunk guessed that he had been slain by some gallant knight, and that the end of her servitude had arrived.

Descending to the gate, she beheld the seeming lifeless body of the Champion, and, kneeling opposite to Niccolo, joined her salt tears with his in mourning the fate of so brave a Knight. Then, remembering that there were some precious balms within the castle, she went and fetched them; and having applied them to the limbs of the Champion, their effect was so great that he instantly revived, and sitting up gazed at her with admiration, and inquired who she was. They entreated him to wait till he had been fed and rested within the castle.

While the faithful Niccolo watched by his master's couch, as he slept, the lady Rosalinde was preparing delicates for his repast.

He at length awoke, restored to health and strength; and then, by the lady's advice, he ordered Niccolo to drag the Giant's carcass down upon a craggy rock, to be devoured by hungry ravens; which being done, the Georgian maiden exhibited to him the wonders of the castle. First she conducted him to a brazen tower where were a hundred corselets and other martial furniture of the knights slain by the Giant. Then she conducted him to the stables, where were a hundred steeds, thin and jaded, which they had once bestrode. There was also the Giant's bed of iron, with a covering of carved brass, and with curtains of leaves of gold. After this she pointed out to him a pond of crystal water, on which swam six milk-white swans, with crowns of gold upon their heads.

"Know, brave Champion, that these six swans are my sisters," she observed. "We all seven are the daughters of the King of Georgia. As we were out hunting one day the Giant from the battlements of his castle espied us, and, rushing down, bore us off under his arms before anyone could come to our rescue. My sisters, by the power of a kind fairy who had attended at their birth, were transformed into swans, that they might escape the tyranny of the Giant, though she was unable to release them altogether. I, the eldest, retained my natural form; for, from my skill in music, I could always quell his anger and tame him into subjection. Though I might perchance have escaped, I remained, in hope some day of liberating my sisters. Now, if the good fairy can be found, we may tell her of the Giant's death, and bring her hither to restore them to their natural shapes."

"Most lovely lady, we will fly at once to your father's capital, and send the fairy hither to perform her grateful task," exclaimed the Knight, placing the hand of the Princess in his own. So, taking the keys of the castle, which were of wonderous weight, they locked up the gates, and mounting their steeds, followed by Niccolo with the Giant's gory head, they proceeded to the Georgian Court.

On reaching the gate of the city they heard a peal of bells solemnly tolling forth a funeral knell. On inquiring the cause of this, the aged porter replied:—

"The bells toll for the King's seven daughters. There are seven bells, each one called after the name of a Princess, which never have ceased this doleful melody since the loss of the unhappy ladies, nor ever will till they return."

"Then their tasks are finished," answered the noble-minded Rosalinde. "We bring you tidings of the Princesses."

Whereat the aged porter, ravished with joy, ran to the steeple and stopped the bells. Hearing the bells cease their wonted mournful melody, up started the King of Georgia, and hastened to the gate to inquire the cause. There, to his joy, he beheld his long-lost daughter in company with a strange knight and attendant squire. Hearing the wonderful tale, he commanded all his courtiers to put on the lugubrious weeds of mourning, and to accompany him to the castle of the Giant, that there perchance he might discover some means of releasing his six other daughters, while the noble-minded Rosalinde and Saint Anthony were left to take care of the city till his return.

When the King of Georgia, after long delay, did not return, the Italian Knight declared, in impassioned words, that he must proceed in search of those adventures for the sake of which he had left his native land. To this the noble-minded Rosalinde replied:—

"Oh! most princely-minded Champion of Italy! It is not Georgia can harbour me when thou art absent. The sky shall be no sky, the sea no sea, the earth no earth, if thou do prove inconstant; but if you will not take me with you, these tender hands of mine shall hang upon your horse's bridle, till my body, like Theseus's son, be dashed against the hard flint stones; yet, hard as they are, not harder than I shall deem your heart."

One only reply to this appeal could the princely-minded Champion make. It was to tell her that he would bear her away forthwith as his own true bride. And they thus both being agreed, habited as a page in green sarcenet, her buskins of the smoothest kid-skin, and her rapier of Lydian steel, secured over her shoulder by an orange-coloured scarf, and mounted on a gentle palfrey, she quitted the land of Georgia; one of her maidens, habited also in page's guise, attending, whom Niccolo took under his especial care. Thus they travelled; he the bravest, boldest knight that ever wandered by the way, and she the loveliest lady that ever mortal eye beheld.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE ADVENTURES OF SAINT ANDREW OF SCOTLAND.

And now the adventures of the far-famed Saint Andrew of Scotland claim our attention, after he quitted the brazen pillar, followed by his faithful Squire, Murdoch McAlpine of that ilk. On he travelled eastward, in the face of the rays of the glittering sun, which sparkled on his shield and casque with dazzling brightness, and so astonished all beholders that they fled dismayed before him, till he crossed the wild territories of Russia, and entered the wilder deserts of Siberia. Then, turning north, he found himself in a region where, for many weary months, the sun never rose, and he and the faithful Murdoch had to discover their way by poking before them with their spears, every moment expecting to meet with some huge monster with whom they might be called to combat. Nor did they expect in vain, for suddenly a loud growl assailed their ears, and the moon, just then rising, exhibited to them a whole army of bears, prepared to dispute their onward progress.

"Draw your broad-sword, mon, and follow me," cried Saint Andrew, shaking his spear.

The Squire, tucking up his plaid carefully, that it might not be torn or soiled, with loud shouts obeyed, and soon both were dashing and slashing away among the infuriated brutes. The heads of numbers rolled upon the snow, which for miles round was ensanguined with their blood.

"Few creatures are more difficult to get rid of than bears," observed the Knight, charging again. "On, Murdoch, on, we'll do it if it is to be done, for what men dare they can do!"

Thus shouting and slaying, the Knight and his Squire fought on for many hours, till the survivors of the bears, discovering that they were likely to get the worst of it in the end, took to flight, and stopped not till they reached the North Pole, where they stopped only because they could go no further, and where Saint Andrew agreed that it was not worth while following them.

His next encounter was with a nation of people with heads like foxes, from whose cunning arts and guiles he had the greatest difficulty in escaping. Although conquered by the power of his arms, they still appeared with fresh tricks to entrap him. When, at length, he had fought his way out from among them, he found himself in a dismal vale, the air still dark as Erebus, where he heard the blowing of unseen furnaces, the boiling of cauldrons, the rattling or armour, the trampling of horses, the jingling of chains, the roaring of wild beasts, the hissing of serpents, and the cries of unearthly spirits, and such like dreadful sounds, which would have made any other hearts than those of Saint Andrew of Scotland, and of his faithful squire, Murdoch McAlpine of that ilk, quake and tremble with fear; but passing calmly amid them, and undergoing hardships incredible, under which knights and squires, born in more southern climes, would have sunk exhausted, they arrived in the kingdom of Georgia, nor rested till they reached the foot of the mountain on which stood the castle within whose iron walls the six fair daughters of the King were still held in durance, in the shape of swans, with golden crowns upon their heads.

When the valiant Champion of Scotland beheld the lofty situation of the castle, and the invincible strength it seemed to be of, he suspected some strange adventure to befall him; so, buckling close his armour, which, on account of the heat he had loosened, and drawing his sword, he climbed the mountain, when he espied, on a craggy rock, the headless body of the Giant, on which the ravens and other birds of prey were feeding. Then he approached the castle gate, when, what was his astonishment to see a long procession of mourners come forth, with the King of Georgia at their head; and, on inquiry, was told that the old man mourned for his six daughters, whom he could by no means get changed back into their natural shapes.

Saint Andrew, on hearing this strange tale, expressed his firm belief, in language somewhat strong, that such things could not be.

Whereon the King and all his courtiers were highly indignant, and numberless knights stepped forth, and challenged the stranger to mortal combat. The lists were quickly prepared. Then the valiant Champion of Christendom entered the arena, when the King, in company with many Georgian lords, was present to behold the contest. Thrice had Saint Andrew traced his war-steed up and down the lists, flourishing his lance, at the top whereof hung a pendant of gold, on which, in silver letters, was traced, "This day a martyr or a conqueror!" Whereon there entered a knight in exceeding bright armour, mounted on a courser as white as snow, whose caparison was the colour of the elements.

A fierce encounter followed; but the Georgian was defeated, and retired in disgrace from the lists.

Then entered a knight in green armour, his steed an iron grey. Loud rang their spears against their shields, fierce clashed their swords, and clanged their battle-axes, till the Georgian warrior fairly took to flight.

The third knight who entered wore a black corselet, and his huge war-horse was covered with a veil of sable silk. In his hand he bore a baton of mighty weight, and bound round with iron; but no sooner did the champions meet than their lances shivered in pieces from the furious shock, and flew high up into the air, when, alighting from their steeds, they resumed the combat with their keen-edged falchions, the sparks flying from their helmets as from a blacksmith's anvil.

The faithful Murdoch meantime looked on with anxious gaze, when he was accosted by a little old woman of mean aspect, who had in vain tried to obtain information from the other bystanders.

"Why is it you want to know, Mother?" he asked, careful not to give a hurried answer, though he bowed politely.

The old woman, who was in reality a good fairy, replied, "Because I have come here to do some good; but while a scene of mortal strife is taking place I cannot employ my power."

Then Murdoch told her all he knew about the matter; whereon she advised him to hurry to his master when the present combat should be over, and to bid him declare his belief that the account was true, and to offer to bring the Princesses forth in their proper shapes.

Meantime the combat between the Scottish Champion and the Black Knight continued with unabated fury. Any advantage gained by one was foiled by the other, till at length Saint Andrew, uttering his battle-cry, struck so mighty a blow with his battle-axe, that he clave the Georgian's burgonet, and his head beneath, from his crown to his shoulders, and his body fell lifeless on the ground.

This so enraged the King that he would have ordered the Scottish Knight to have been slain, when Murdoch rushed forward and gave the fairy's message.

The Champion spoke as she had directed, when the King, who was of a placable disposition, though somewhat hasty, consented to his request.

"Swear, most noble King, upon my sword, that you will not attempt any foul treachery to me or my follower, on account of the Champion I have slain, until I have accomplished the task I have now undertaken."

On this the old King, descending from his throne, bent over the gallant Saint Andrew's sword, and swore as he desired.

The Knight entered the castle, and repaired to the garden, when, instead of finding an ugly old woman, he beheld a lady of radiant beauty, for such was indeed the Fairy.

"You see yonder six swans," said she; "as they approach strike boldly with your sword six strokes, nor fear the consequences."

The Knight stood by the side of the crystal lake, and as he stood, his glittering falchion in his hand, the six swans swam gracefully up. Six times he struck, and each time the head of one of the swans flew up; but in its stead appeared, wonderful to relate, a beautiful maiden, whom the Knight handed with true courtesy off her liquid pedestal on to dry land. Thus, in a few minutes, the Champion was surrounded by six of the most lovely damsels the world ever saw, habited in green hunting-suits, each almost equal to Diana herself, going forth armed for the chase.

"You have done well, noble Champion," said the Fairy. "You did not despise me, or my words, when I appeared old and ugly, and from henceforth you will find me ever ready to aid and protect you, as you travel on in search of those heroic adventures after which your heart pants. I bid you farewell; though, remember, that I will come when you summon me;" saying this the Fairy mounted a golden chariot drawn by peacocks, and, rapidly gliding through the air, disappeared amid the clouds which floated round the sides of that lofty mountain. Scarcely had she gone, and the six ladies were pouring forth their thanks to the noble Knight who had delivered them from their cruel bondage, when the King of Georgia, followed by all his knights and courtiers, entered the garden of the castle to ascertain what had become of the strange Knight.

Nothing could exceed his astonishment, and delight, and gratitude, when Saint Andrew presented to him his six daughters in their proper forms.

"You deserve them all," exclaimed the Monarch, in the warmth of his emotion. To which the Scottish Knight, with true modesty, replied, that he considered one far more than he deserved, and that as yet he felt inclined to remain a bachelor.

The next day, after a sumptuous banquet which the King's cooks prepared in the Giant's castle, the whole party marched back to the palace of the Georgian Monarch with banners streaming, cymbals clashing, and drums and trumpets sounding joyful melody. When, however, sad to relate, the King inquired for his eldest daughter, he found that she had fled away with the Champion of Italy.

This event, so grievous to the heart of the King, made him defer all the triumphant arrangements which were forming to do honour to the Scottish Knight and to his six fair daughters.

When, also, Saint Andrew heard that one of his noble comrades was so near at hand, calling Murdoch to his side, he bade him prepare for their departure. Wishing to avoid the pain of parting with the six Princesses, and, lest their honoured sire might renew his generous offer, Saint Andrew, without bidding farewell to the King of Georgia, or to his chief councillors and ministers of state, and other great lords of the realm, set off from the capital in pursuit of Saint Anthony of Italy and the fair Rosalinde.

The next day, when the six Princesses heard of the departure of the Knight they so much admired, providing themselves with sufficient treasure and habiliments suited for travelling, they left by stealth their father's palace, mounted on six white palfreys, and attended by six maidens on asses, intending to find out the victorious and renowned Champion of Scotland, or to end their lives in single blessedness in some pious retirement in a foreign land.

No sooner did the news of his daughters' flight reach the King of Georgia, than attiring himself in homely russet, like a pilgrim, with an ebony staff in his hand, tipped with silver, he took his departure, all alone, from his palace, resolved to recover his beloved children, or to lay his bones to rest in some unknown spot, where, forgotten, he might rest at peace.

When his councillors, ministers of state, and other great lords heard of his sudden and secret departure, grief intolerable struck their hearts, the palace gates were covered with sable cloth, all pleasures were at an end, and ladies and courtly dames sat sighing in their chambers; where, for the present, we will leave them to speak of other themes.



CHAPTER NINE.

THE ADVENTURES OF SAINT PATRICK OF IRELAND.

The noble, illustrious, and wonderful deeds of Saint Patrick, the far-famed and renowned Champion of Old Ireland, that gem of the ocean, are now to be recounted—not forgetting those of his faithful and attached squire, Terence O'Grady; though of the latter many less partial histories are somewhat unaccountably silent.

After they quitted the brazen pillar, they, too, traversed that sea so famed in ancient story. But their ship being wrecked as they were approaching the land, and sinking beneath their feet, they mounted on the backs of two huge dolphins, which were swimming by at the time, and which Saint Patrick caught with cunningly-devised hooks; and thus towing their steeds, they reached in safety the sandy shores of Africa. There landing, while they sat by the sea-side burnishing their arms, which were slightly rusty from the salt air, the sweetest strains of music struck upon their ears. The Squire listened, and rising from the rock on which he sat, he wandered on to discover whence they proceeded.

What was his astonishment, as he looked into a cavern half filled with water, to behold a dozen lovely nymphs, almost immersed in the crystal sea, combing their golden locks, while from their throats came forth those warbling sounds.

The Squire gazed enravished. "Och, but you are beautiful creatures!" he exclaimed, forgetting that his voice might be heard. The maidens started, like frightened deer, at the sound; and then, seeing the faithful Terence as he looked over the rock, they swam towards him, putting out their arms, and endeavouring to grasp his hands. A more prudent person would have withdrawn, and suspected treachery; but such an idea never occurred to the mind of the warm-hearted Irishman.

"A pleasant morning to ye, my pretty damsels!" quoth he, offering his hand to the first who came up, expecting to assist her to land; for, as they were dressed in sea-green garments, and had wreaths of red and white coral on their heads, he thought that they would have no objection to come out of the water. Instead, however, of coming out themselves, the first held him tight, and others arriving caught hold of him likewise, and began to pull and pull away till the faithful Terence discovered, without a doubt, that it was their purpose to pull him in.

"But I can't swim, Ladies!" he exclaimed. "I shall spoil my armour and wet my clothes—let me go, if you please, now." He wished to speak them fair, though doubts as to what they were began to rise up in his mind. "Och, now, let me go, I say! A joke's a joke all the world over; but if you souse me head over ears in that pool, and drown me entirely, it will be a very bad one to my taste now." The more, however, he shouted and struggled the harder the damsels pulled.

Though Terence was a stout fellow, and had been in many a hot fight in foreign lands, and not a few scrimmages in Old Ireland, he never had had such a struggle in his life. At last his cries brought Saint Patrick to his aid, (for who would the Champion of Ireland have helped more willingly than Terence O'Grady?) and seizing the other arm, he hauled away lustily against the twelve sea-nymphs, whom he at once discovered to be mermaids, who had set their hearts on carrying off his faithful Squire to their coral homes beneath the waves.

Between the mermaids on one side, and his master on the other, hauling away with all their might, poor Terence was very nearly torn in pieces. Still he struggled and strove, entreating his master not to let him go.

Shouts of merry laughter issued from the throats of the mermaids; but though they diverted themselves with the terror of the faithful Terence, they did not cease to pull at him the less hard, till he began to fear that, if they could not have the whole, they would have a bit of him to a certainty.

Saint Patrick himself saw full well that the matter was no joke; but how to rescue his Squire without using his sword, and against that all his knightly feelings revolted, even he was sorely puzzled to discover.

As it happened, there dwelt not far off, in a lofty castle of iron walls and golden battlements, a monstrous giant, who had long sought one of these mermaids in marriage; but she fearing his temper, and not wishing to leave her watery home had ever disdainfully refused to listen to his proposals. He now was wandering along the shore in search of her to prosecute his suit.

As he looked down into the cave and saw the mermaids, one of whom was his beloved, pulling away on one side at the faithful Terence, while Saint Patrick pulled on the other, he uttered a loud roar of rage and fury. The sound so alarmed the mermaids that they let go their hold, and fled away in terror, to hide themselves in their coral homes, while Saint Patrick, looking up, beheld the Giant frowning down defiance at him.

The Irish Champion, nothing daunted, drew his falchion. "Ah, my trusty weapon, thou hast at length found a worthy enemy!" he exclaimed, climbing up the cliff towards the Giant, closely followed by the faithful Terence. Black as jet was the Giant, but blacker were his looks, yet blackest of all were his intentions. Behind him stood a huge crocodile, opening wide its immense jaws, and threatening to devour anyone who came within their compass. Many a stout warrior would have avoided the encounter; but Saint Patrick boldly advanced, trusting in a good cause, his own arm, and his well-tempered sword, feeling assured, also, that Terence would give a good account of the crocodile.

Quickly were heard to sound the ringing strokes of the Champion's trusty falchion against the black shield of the Giant, whose huge battle-axe dealt many a fearful blow in return. Fiercely raged the combat. Blow after blow was given and taken with right good will, while the Giant bellowed out so loudly his threats of vengeance against the valiant Knight, that the rocks and distant mountains resounded with his cries mingled with the clang of desperate strife.

Terence stood by to watch the contest, not to deprive his loved master of a shred of glory, till he saw the crocodile opening his monstrous jaws to snap at his legs. Then he saw that the time for action had arrived, and, rushing up, began to assail the brute with right good will.

The crocodile snapped and snapped his huge jaws with a sound which made the hills ring and ring again; but he failed to get the faithful Terence within the power of his grinders; at the same time, in vain the Squire sought a vulnerable point into which to thrust his trusty sword. The length of the monster's snout prevented him from reaching his eyes, and, as to getting a fair thrust at his shoulders, that seemed utterly impossible.

All this time Saint Patrick and the Giant, it must not be forgotten, were fighting furiously.

"Let my tame crocodile alone, or I'll make mincemeat of you when I have killed your master!" cried the Giant hoarsely, through his clinched teeth.

"Faith, then, I hope that time will never arrive then, my beauty," answered the faithful Terence, making a spring, and leaping nimbly on the crocodile's back. "It's not exactly the sort of steed I'd choose, except for the honour of riding, but I'll make him pay the piper, at all events;" whereupon he began slashing away with his trusty sword most furiously on the neck and shoulders of the crocodile. A delicate maiden might as well have tried to pierce the hide of an aged hippopotamus with a bodkin.

At last, losing patience, he sprang to his feet on the back of the monster, and plunged his sword into one of his eyes, just as he was about to make a snap at Saint Patrick's thigh. The crocodile, feeling itself wounded, turned aside, when the Squire plunged his weapon into the other eye.

Thus blinded, and furious with pain, the brute rushed forward, snapping in every direction, and running against his master, caught hold of the calf of his leg with a gripe so firm that the Giant, groaning with pain, turned aside his proud looks to see what was the matter.

The opportunity was not lost on Saint Patrick, who, pressing forward, plunged his falchion into the neck of his antagonist, who, bellowing louder than ten thousand bulls, made a desperate cut with his battle-axe at the helm of the Knight. The Champion sprang aside, and the blow descended on the neck of the tame crocodile, whereby its head was severed from its body, Terence narrowly escaping from the effects of the blow.

The death of his favourite brute enraged the Giant still further; but rage invariably blinds judgment, and neglecting his proper guards, he soon found himself treated as he had treated the crocodile, his head, by a stroke of the Knight's battle-axe, falling on the sand, while his eyes continued to roll most horribly, as if still animated with fury and malicious hatred.

The faithful Terence having found a huge brazen key, and a purse of gold, in the Giant's pocket, and transferred the latter to his own, to be ready for future emergencies, Saint Patrick and he left the two carcasses to be devoured by the birds of the air, and proceeded to the Giant's castle. The huge brazen key opened the castle gate; when entering, they wandered amazed through the spacious halls, and courts, and galleries, admiring the wonders there collected. In the armoury were numerous tall and straight trees of cocoa-nut and pine, with iron or steel points, which served the Giant as spears; his sword even Saint Patrick could scarcely lift, while near was another tree, taller than all the rest, with a cable at one end, and a hook bigger than a huge ship's anchor, with which in his hand the Giant sat on a rock and bobbed for whales.

In the stables, instead of some vast horses, which they expected to find, capable of carrying so monstrous a being, they beheld rows of alligators and hippopotami, which the Giant was wont to harness to his brazen chariots when he went to war, or out a pleasuring; while, as no saddles or bridles were found, it was evident that he possessed no steed capable of bearing his ponderous weight.

Saint Patrick and his Squire, making themselves at home in the Giant's castle, passed several pleasant days, while they recovered from the fatigues of their combat and refreshed themselves after their voyage. Then, that they might keep their own steeds ready for any emergency, they harnessed a dozen hippopotami, and as many tame crocodiles, to one of the Giant's chariots, and so, with great comfort and convenience, proceeded on their journey. The canopy of the chariot was of azure silk fringed with silver, which sheltered them from the warm rays of the sun.

"Faith, this is pleasanter far than riding along over a dusty road!" quoth the Squire to the Knight, with that easy familiarity which the superior delighted to encourage in his faithful attendant. "What would they say in Old Ireland if they saw us two now a travelling along, quite at our ease, over the burning plains of Africa!" Whereat Saint Patrick made some suitable reply. But their pleasant conversation was cut short by the sounds of some terrible wails and laments, uttered by female voices, and at the same time of loud harsh voices and rude laughter, proceeding from out of a neighbouring wood, which they beheld before them. On this Terence whipped on the crocodiles and hippopotami with right good will, their own trusty steeds trotting behind till they arrived at the borders of the wood; when, securely fastening their chariot to a stout tree, they mounted their chargers, and dashed forward, in the direction from whence the cries proceeded.

Louder and louder grew the shrieks and lamentations, till the Knight and his Squire arrived at a spot whence, looking down into a sylvan dell, they beheld a sight which made their hearts melt with pity, and their blood run cold with horror. There, with the salt tears running down their cheeks, and their eyes imploring mercy and pity, they saw six lovely damsels, clad in green garments, bound to as many trees, while round them danced a hundred fierce satyrs, terrible of aspect, and hideous to behold.

Each satyr was armed with a huge club of the size of a tree, which he flourished wildly, and on his other arm he bore a shield of vast proportions, like the moon at the full, as she rises over the housetops; while scabbardless two-handed swords hung with brazen chains by their sides, and long-bows and quivers full of arrows were suspended at their backs; their voices as they danced giving forth those hideous sounds which had attracted the Knight and Squire.

Near the ladies stood six milk-white palfreys, and a little way behind, who had not at first been seen, six other damsels, their dress and bearing showing them to be the serving maidens of the lovely ladies in green. In an instant the heart of the Champion of Ireland, and of his faithful Squire, were all in a flame, burning to rescue these six lovely ladies and their six inestimable serving women from the power of those hideous satyrs; so, drawing their falchions, and uttering the war-cry of Old Ireland, they dashed with headlong speed in among them, cutting and slashing and hewing away before any of those terrific beings had any knowledge of their approach.

Soon recovering themselves, after a few of their number had bitten the dust, the hideous satyrs, uniting in one body, and seeing that their enemies consisted but of a single knight and his squire, flourished their huge clubs, and with loud shouts, louder than the roaring of ten thousand bulls, advanced towards them.

Heroically fought Saint Patrick, and manfully combated his Squire. The blows from the monstrous clubs of the hideous satyrs fell like hail about their helmets; but their thirsty swords rapidly drank the life-blood of their foes, and now one satyr, now another, was overthrown. Still more came on. Some stood at a distance, shooting their arrows from their long-bows; others came around, with their two-handed swords, and struck and slashed so fiercely that it required all the activity and courage of both Knight and Squire, of which they fortunately possessed so large a portion, to keep their enemies at bay. Still the sight of the lovely ladies tied to the trees, not forgetting the six serving maidens, as well as their own honour, and desire for glory and renown, induced them to persevere.

Full one-third of the hideous satyrs had sunk lifeless from their stalwart blows, while many others limped off sorely wounded and maimed; yet the remainder, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause, fiercely continued the combat.

At length, Saint Patrick telling Terence to escape, wheeled his horse round as if to fly, but it was only a cunning device, as his faithful Squire well knew; for, instantly returning to the charge with redoubled vigour among the scattered ranks of his foes, he dealt such slaughter and destruction among them, that the survivors were fain to fly far away, howling, into the distant woods, which resounded with their mournful cries, leaving the six ladies and their six serving maidens to the care and protection of the gallant Knight and his attendant.

While Saint Patrick cut loose the cords from the fair limbs of the six ladies all clothed in green, Terence performed the same office for the serving maidens.

After they had been refreshed by some pure draughts from the neighbouring crystal brook, and partaken of such fare as the Champion could offer them, he led them forth from the wood, and with courteous attentions, and many polite expressions, placed them in his chariot drawn by the crocodiles and hippopotami. Then, and not till then, did he inquire their names, and state, and nation.

The eldest replied:—"Know, most puissant and valiant Knight, that we are the unfortunate daughters of the King of Georgia. Our lives since our births have been unhappy. First, we were carried off by a monstrous giant, and, being turned into swans for seven long years, lost sight of the outer world, neither knowing what dresses were worn, how fashions were changed, and many other important matters.

"At length, through the courage of a noble Knight, Saint Andrew of Scotland, of whom you have doubtless heard, we were happily released from our thraldom. What, however, was our astonishment when we got back to our father's court to find that our eldest sister had departed as the bride of another famed Champion, Saint Anthony of Italy, by whose mighty prowess the giant had been slain; and in a brief time Saint Andrew, hearing or this, also set off in search of his former comrade and brother knight.

"Now—why need we be ashamed to confess it?—we had allowed a feeling of regard to spring up in our bosoms for that worthy Knight, and we all agreed that we could no longer exist out of his society; and so we also set off from our father's court, resolved to search for him the world around, and bring him back to our native land, or lie down, and mournful die beside his tomb."

"The noble Champion for whom you took in hand this weary travel is my much approved good friend," exclaimed Saint Patrick. "To get a sight of him I would go more miles than there are trees throughout this mighty continent; therefore, will my faithful squire, Terence O'Grady, whom I now crave leave to make known unto you, and I travel in your company, and in that of your six serving maidens, till we have found the right noble Saint Andrew, or some other of those six brave Knights of Christendom who for seven summers I have not seen."

Much pleased with the discourse and the polished courtesy of Saint Patrick, the six princesses consented to his proposal; and thus we will, for the present, leave them journeying in the giant's chariot, drawn by the dozen crocodiles and hippopotami, and followed by the six maidens and their six milk-white palfreys, and escorted on either side by Saint Patrick and his faithful Squire, in the direction they believed Saint Andrew had taken.



CHAPTER TEN.

THE ADVENTURES OF SAINT DAVID OF WALES.

The last but not the least of all the Seven Champions to be mentioned famed for heroic courage and gallantry is that most noble and renowned Knight, Saint David of Wales. After he had quitted the brazen pillar, followed by his faithful attendant, Owen ap Rice, he proceeded towards the up-rising of the sun, visiting many of the courts of the first monarchs of Europe, attending many tournaments, engaging in many desperate battles, and performing innumerable heroic deeds; which his faithful Squire took very great care to recount, nor did he allow his histories to lose anything in the telling. Wonderful indeed were the numbers of foes his master's sword had slain; huge were the giants he had overthrown; savage were the wild beasts he had slaughtered; terrific were the monsters he had put to flight; powerful were the magicians whose guiles he had circumvented; and horrible were the spirits, and ghosts, and goblins amid whom he had fought his onward way; indeed few could hear the faithful Owen recount his master's deeds, and eke his own, without being impressed with the belief that more heroic Knight did not exist, nor more brave and trusty Squire.

Thus they journeyed on till Europe was left behind; and entering the ancient continent of Asia, they arrived at the court of the far-famed Emperor of Tartary. Here Saint David's fame had preceded him, and they were received with all that courtesy which to so valiant a Knight was due.

On the day of their arrival a sumptuous entertainment was prepared, at which all the chief lords and nobles of the realm were present, when huge beakers of rosy wine were quaffed; nor could anyone compete with Saint David in the quantity of the generous liquor he imbibed. For the following day a grand tournament was arranged, when it was expected that the noblest feats of arms ever beheld in the empire would be performed.

From far and near came valiant knights from all the neighbouring provinces, habited in every conceivable style of richest armour; yet none surpassed Saint David in the sumptuousness of his plume and burgonet, the trappings of his steed, the richness of his scarf, the splendour of his shield and breastplate, or of his whole armour, which, from his lofty helm to his knightly spurs, shone with resplendent beauty. Numerous champions entered the lists, and many desperate encounters took place. At length Saint David rode in, followed by the faithful Owen carrying his spear. The trumpets sounded, Saint David took his spear, and shaking it aloft prepared for the encounter. A Knight, one of the chief nobles of Tartary, was his first opponent. Of blue steel was his casque, and armour, and mighty shield, while a blue scarf floated from his shoulders. Bravely the Tartar Knight bore himself, and bravely he withstood the terrible shock of Saint David's lance. A second time the two Knights charged, when Saint David, mustering all his powers, struck the Tartar a blow so terrible that he sent him reeling from his saddle, and with a hollow groan he fell senseless on the ground; but time will not permit an account of each separate combat of that far-famed tournament.

Six valiant Knights did Saint David meet, each of whom was vanquished by his arm. At length, the only son and heir of the Emperor, seeing that no more worthy antagonist could be found, and willing to retrieve the disgrace he conceived his countrymen had received, entered the lists, and bravely challenged the Champion of Wales. The heart of the gallant Saint David bounded at the thought of engaging in so noble a contest as that with the Emperor's son, and he declared himself ready to commence the course whenever it was the pleasure of the noble prince to meet his lance.

"No time like the present, Sir Knight," replied the gallant Tartar, who was arrayed in armour of rare and curious workmanship, studded all over with gold and precious gems.

"It were a pity to slay so brave a prince," thought Saint David; "yet for the honour of my country, than which no nobler exists, as also for my own, than whom no..." (what Saint David thought need not be repeated). "If he presses me it must be done."

The trumpets sounded, the steeds sprang forward, the ground trembled beneath their feet, clouds of dust arose in the air; terrific was the shock, but both Knights kept their seats, though both were sorely pressed. Again they charged, with a like result. A third time they met, and Saint David felt that he was reeling in his saddle; but recovering himself by a mighty effort, he prepared for another and more desperate encounter. Little wotted the proud son of the great Emperor of all the Tartars with what a doughty Champion he had to contend; little thought he of the gallant heroes that far-distant land of Cambria was able to produce. Shaking his spear, he shouted loudly to Saint David to prepare himself for an overthrow. The Welsh Knight only grasped his own spear the tighter in consequence, and pressed his knees the firmer against his charger's sides.

"And the Prince expects that he is going to throw my master, does he?" observed the faithful Owen. "Let him beware of Saint David; I may tell him he has borne down to the ground twelve as good men as he is, with one thrust of his lance, before now."

The trumpets sounded, and the Tartar Prince and the Champion of Wales met in the middle of the lists. Terrific was the encounter; the spear of the Tartar Prince was shivered into a thousand fragments; but the Welsh Knight, with true gallantry, let his fall by his side, and grasped his battle-axe, that they might light on equal terms. Already, however, had the spear inflicted a desperate wound on the Prince's side; but his pride would not let him yield. Now sparks of fire flew thickly around them from the extraordinary rapidity of their strokes, so that they appeared to be fighting in the midst of a furnace (so Owen the faithful Squire ever afterwards averred), till at length Saint David's axe descended with force so terrific on the helm of the Tartar Prince that he clove it in two, nor did the cruel weapon stop till it had pierced the brain of the hapless heir to the throne of the great Emperor of Tartary.

When the spectators beheld what had occurred, loud cries of grief, anger, and dismay rent the air; the great Emperor and all his courtiers, from the highest to the lowest, crying louder than anyone else. The lists were immediately broken up, and the Emperor, ordering the Welsh Knight to be brought before him, retired into his palace. The obsequies of that precious jewel of Tartary, now dimmed by death, being concluded, the Emperor, having ceased his woeful lamentations and sad sighs, thus addressed the Welsh Champion:—

"Know that there dwells on the borders of Tartary a mighty Magician, Ormandine by name who holds an enchanted castle and garden, within the magic walls of which whoever enters never again returns. Now truly, although thou deservest death for what thou hast done, yet if thou wilt adventure into the Magician's domains, and bring hither his head, I grant thee not only life, but therewithal the crown of Tartary after my death."

This strange adventure highly pleased the noble Champion of Wales, and he expressed himself ready forthwith to depart about it. On which the Emperor bound him by his oath of knighthood, and by the love he bore his native country, never to follow any other adventure till he had performed the promise he now had given.

In three days he and the faithful Owen, having made all preparation, were ready to set out.

Travelling eastward for many a weary day, though conversing pleasantly to beguile the way, they at length reached the confines of a dreadful forest, the trees twisting and twining in every direction, and briars and creepers of all sorts, with long thorns and hooks, hanging from all the branches. Mysterious flames seemed to be bursting forth, wavering and flickering in the dark recesses of the forest, while amid the boughs flew birds of evil omen, night-owls, and ravens, and bats, and other winged things of hideous form, with harsh and croaking voices. Within this forest, so Saint David had learned, stood the castle of the Magician Ormandine.

"My faithful Owen," he exclaimed, "by my honour and my oath of knighthood, I am bound to enter and to traverse this strange and woeful wood; but do you wait my return without, and if I never do return, go to my kinsmen, in our native land, and tell them all about my sad and melancholy end."

The faithful Owen, on hearing these words, burst into tears, and replied: "My long-loved honoured Master, if there were ten thousand forests, and if in each thrice ten thousand ill-doing necromancers lived, and if through each you had to fight your way, I would remain steadfast by your side, and fight as long as arm, and hand, and sword could do their work."

"Then onward into this dreadful forest, my faithful Owen, let us go!" exclaimed Saint David, drawing his sword, and beginning to hew away at the creepers and briars which impeded their progress. In this labour he was ably seconded by the faithful Owen; and thus, by slow degrees, they worked their onward way. As they proceeded, the shouts and shrieks increased, the sky overhead was filled with lurid meteors, and hideous and ill-omened birds flew thickly around their heads, screeching their terrific notes into the ears of the adventurous strangers.

"Few things worth having can be obtained without difficulty and perseverance," exclaimed Saint David, as he went on cutting and cutting away at the creepers. "As to all the hooting, and the screeching, and crying which assail our ears, it cannot hurt us if we take no heed to it. Few noble enterprises have ever been undertaken without numbers of people, like those hideous night-owls, endeavouring to hoot them down."

Thus manfully cutting and hewing away, they at length came in sight of the dark and frowning, damp, and moss-overgrown walls of an ancient castle. Near it was a huge rock, still more damp and moss-covered than the castle-walls. In this rock, by magic art, was enclosed a sword, the hilt being the only part which could be seen. It was of steel work, engraven curiously, and set with jaspers, sapphires, and other precious gems. Around the pommel was engraven, in golden letters, the following words:—

"By magic spells remain most firmly bound, The world's strange wonder unknown by anyone, Till that a knight within the north be found To pull the sword from out this rock of stone: Then end my charms, my magic arts and all, By whose strong hand sage Ormandine must fall."

"A northern knight!—that must mean me," exclaimed Saint David. "Undoubtedly, I am destined to pull the magic sword from out of that rock. See how I'll do it!" On this, dismounting from his steed, he grasped hold of the hilt, and began to pull and pull away right manfully; but in vain he pulled, and tugged, and hauled; not a hundredth part of an inch had he drawn forth of the sword, but, still persevering, he would not let go. At length, the faithful Owen entreated that he might be allowed to come and help. Then Knight and Squire tugged and tugged away, but still the sword would not move. Next, putting both their hands to the huge hilt, and their feet against the rock, they bethought them most surely that they would move it. Scarcely, however, had they in that guise begun to pull, than there arose around them fearful shouts of mocking laughter, and, the gates of the castle opening wide, twelve hideous dwarfs, with faces black as coal, and bodies horribly deformed, issued forth, and bearing in their hands some iron chains, which clanged as they moved, approached, with grinning mouths and threatening gestures, the Knight and his Squire.

Saint David and the faithful Owen would fain have let go the richly gemmed hilt of the magic sword, but when they strove to do so they found their hands clinched firmly to it. Now they struggled as much to free their hands as before they had to draw out the sword. But in vain was all their tugging and struggling.

The dwarfs stood round awhile to enjoy their dismay, and then throwing the iron chains around them, they bound them in fetters which no earthly power could undo, and carried them away, helpless as infants in their nurses' arms, to the magic castle. There, in the centre of an iron hall of vast dimensions and sombre hue—the only light emitted from a lurid torch burning at the further end—on iron beds, of which a countless number appeared ranged around, lay writhing the victims which the fell Magician's cruelty had left bound. There, for many years, till the full term of seven was accomplished, we, too, will leave them, daily visited by the Enchanter Ormandine, who came to mock at, and gloat over their misery.

"Ah! ah!" he exclaimed, with a voice croaking like ten thousand frogs, and loud as thunder, "you came to cut off my head, and carry the gory trophy to the Emperor; but now you find, my friends, you've caught a Tartar."

Notwithstanding, however, this conduct of the Enchanter, his chief captive was not so miserable as he supposed. A kind fairy all the time watched over him; and as Saint David lay on his couch she sent four of her attendant spirits, in the form of damsels, of no mean beauty, who tended him with the gentlest care, and brought him fruits and other luxuries, which they offered whenever he awoke, and then sang him to sleep again with their sweet voices, so that his time passed far more agreeably than would certainly otherwise have been the case, or the Enchanter had any idea of.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE RELEASE OF SAINT GEORGE.

Seven times had frosty-bearded winter covered the ground with snow, and behung the trees with crystal icicles, since the Champion Saint George, and the faithful De Fistycuff, lay groaning in their far-off dungeon in Egypt, for having ventured to assert that crocodiles, and apes, and snakes, were not fit objects of reverence.

One day, as by chance the Knight was wringing his hands, in despair of ever getting free, he chanced to rub in a peculiar manner the magic ring which the Fairy Sabrina had given him. A bright light was forthwith emitted from it, which increased and increased till it filled the chamber, and from the midst of it appeared the Fairy herself, in her chariot drawn by ten peacocks.

"Gallant Knight, why did you not summon me before?" she asked, in her sweet voice; and Saint George had to confess, with shame, that he had forgotten all about the power of the magic ring.

"I cannot free you from this prison by magic power; but I will give you tools with which you may free yourselves, and then you will set more value on your liberty than if you had gained it without toil. I never afford aid to any who are not ready to labour for themselves."

The Fairy having thus spoken, supplied the Knight and his Squire with hammers, chisels, spades, mattocks, and crowbars.

"Your steeds and weapons you will find ready outside the gates," added the Fairy. "When once more prepared for battle, go forth, and conquer."

The Knight and De Fistycuff felt their strength and spirits wonderfully improved at these words, and already they fancied themselves scouring over the plain in pursuit of a thousand flying foes.

"But is there no gallant achievement, no heroic deed, which you would desire me to perform, as a mark of my gratitude?" asked Saint George, after he had duly thanked the Fairy for the aid she had wrought him.

"Well spoken," answered the Fairy; "yes, there languishes, even now, a brother knight, one for whose country I have a fond regard, Saint David, of Wales, in the gloomy castle of the Magician Ormandine, on the borders of Tartary. Go and free him. From trusting entirely to his own strength, and not seeking rightly for all other aids, he failed in what he undertook to accomplish. A magic sword, by which alone the Magician can be conquered, is held in a rock near his castle. No human strength can pull it out; but take this flask of oil, pour it into the rock, and, waiting patiently, you will find the sword easily come forth."

The Knight promised to obey the Fairy's directions; and she having disappeared, he and De Fistycuff set to work so manfully, although not accustomed to handle such tools, that in a few days they hewed themselves a subterranean passage beneath the walls of the city. Through iron plates, and thick walls, and granite rocks, and mud, and sand, they worked, the last, like slippery people, giving them the greatest difficulty to deal with. At length the sky appeared; and there, at the mouth of the cave out of which they emerged, stood their steeds, held by two dwarfs of ugly aspect, who presented them with their spears, and swords, and other weapons.

No sooner were they mounted, and Saint George was about, to reward the dwarfs, than he found that they had disappeared.

Accordingly, they set off, as fast as Bayard and the Squire's steed could carry them, along the neck of land which joins Africa to Asia, and then galloped rapidly northward. In wonderful condition were the horses, while the pure, fresh air their riders breathed, after their long imprisonment, added fresh vigour to their limbs, and courage to their hearts.

Many adventures, which cannot here be recorded, were met with; and at length they reached the magic forest which surrounded the castle of the fell Enchanter. They witnessed the same terrific sights, and heard the same sounds as did Saint David and the faithful Owen; but, equally dauntless, they clove their onward way through brake and briar, in spite of the hissing of serpents and hooting of owls, groans and shrieks, and other similar sounds, to which they were pretty well accustomed by this time, till they reached the Magician's castle.

There, in the rock, they beheld the hilt of the magic sword. De Fistycuff was about to seize hold of it at once; but Saint George warned him to desist till he wisely had obeyed the Fairy's directions, and poured the oil upon the rock.

Slowly it trickled down through many a crevice, when the Knight, waiting patiently for the oil to take effect, grasped the sword with his left hand, while he kept his own falchion ready to use in the right.

"Who knows but the Magician may come forth to attack me before I have freed the sword?" he observed to his Squire. Gradually, but surely, the sword yielded to his unwearied and long-sustained efforts. While still drawing it forth, a terrific uproar was heard within the castle; the ground shook, trembled violently, rocking to and fro, and flames darted forth from the rock; but the Knight held fast the weapon.

Suddenly the brazen gates of the castle burst open, and there issued forth the Necromancer Ormandine, arrayed in all the terrors with which he could clothe himself. His helmet had a fiery plume, hissing snakes were writhing about his casque and shoulders, his armour seemed of red-hot metal. A hooting owl of hideous aspect sat on his shoulder, while he brandished an iron club covered with spikes, like his armour, red-hot. He made directly at Saint George; but Ascalon was in the Knight's grasp, and wielding it, as he well knew how, he kept the Magician at bay, while he tugged more vehemently than ever at the magic sword.

With a clap louder than that of any thunder, it came at length forth from the rock, and taking it in his right hand he with it furiously assailed the Magician, who no sooner felt its keen edge than his club fell from his nerveless grasp, the owl flew hooting away, the serpents crawled hissing off, and the once-powerful Magician fell humbly on his knees and craved for mercy.

Saint George, telling De Fistycuff to guard him, entered the castle, where, on iron beds, he found, bound with chains, his friend and comrade Saint David, and the faithful Owen, groaning, and sighing, and mourning their hard fate. Cutting the chains, with as much ease as if they had been cords of silk, with the magic sword, he set them, to their great joy, on their legs, when, with a profusion of words, they poured out their expressions of gratitude.

Saint David then told Saint George of his vow to the Emperor of Tartary; when the English Knight informed him that the Enchanter was in his power, but that he was unwilling to take his life.

"But, behold the signs of his cruelty!" said Saint David, pointing out to Saint George the other nine hundred and ninety-eight iron beds in the hall. "There lie bound many other noble knights and squires who for many long years have been prevented from engaging in any deeds of heroism. Think how many victories they might have won; how many captive knights released; how many forlorn maidens rescued from durance vile; how many other noble deeds they might have done!"

This speech so completely changed Saint George's view of things, that he told Saint David he would hand over the Magician to him. Then the Champion of Wales went forth from the castle, and with one blow of his sword cut off Ormandine's hideous head, and sticking it on a pole, which he delivered to the faithful Owen to carry, informed his brother Champion that he was ready forthwith to depart for the court of the Emperor of Tartary.

The other nine hundred and ninety-eight gallant knights and squires, released by the courage and wisdom of Saint George, having expressed a strong desire to follow his fortunes, he undertook to lead them round the world in search of adventures worthy of their prowess. Saint David, also, promised, when he had fulfilled his vow to the Emperor of Tartary, to search him out and aid him.

Often had the noble Champion of England thought of the lovely Sabra, but knew not where she was. At length, with his army of valiant knights and trusty squires, having reached the kingdom of Bagabornabou, he, on inquiring for her, heard, with dismay, that she had been carried off a prisoner by Almidor, the black King of Morocco, and had ever since been pining in a dungeon.

Calling his knights around him, he told them of the occurrence, and with loud shouts, waving on high their swords, they promised to accompany him to rescue her, or to die in the attempt. Setting off forthwith, they reached the dominions of the black King; when Saint George, disguising himself as a humble palmer, entered the city, followed by De Fistycuff, in the same habit, to ascertain in what vile dungeon the lovely Sabra was shut up.

In vain he wandered up and down, whispering her name, and inquiring of all he met, till, at length, he saw a beautiful white dove fly upward from a hole in the ground beneath the massive wall of a huge castle. Catching the dove, he wrote on a slip of parchment, which he placed under its wing, "Saint George of England has come to Sabra's rescue. Tell me if you are here!"

Soon the dove, having entered the hole, returned to the Knight, when he discovered, under its wing, on the same parchment: "I, the hapless Sabra, am here; oh, free me, and receive a maiden's grateful love!" Instantly returning to his knights, and throwing off his palmer garments, Saint George led them to the assault.

On every side the castle-walls were stormed. Some climbed up ladders, some over each other's backs, with such desperate valour, that the Moorish soldiers gave way on every side; till Almidor, hearing the turmoil and loud shouts of war, rushed to the battlements. Then ensued a fight most desperate between the noble Champion of England and the black King, in which the latter would most assuredly have been slain had he not, like a recreant, turned his back and fled, among his followers, through a postern gate, which, happily for him, stood open,—proudly asserting that he would return and fight another day.

Having thus victoriously taken possession of the Moorish castle, Saint George and all his knights and squires burst open all the doors and gates, and explored all the passages they could find, till they arrived at a gloomy vault. Within it was a little door. Saint George thundered at it with his battle-axe. It burst open; and there he beheld his lovely and beloved Sabra, her beauty dimmed, but not extinguished, by her long imprisonment.

Saint George and his knights having taken possession of the Moorish capital, he held a grand banquet in honour of the occasion, when a herald announced, in due form, that the British Champion was about to wed the lovely African Princess. Thrice was the announcement made; and no one objecting, the fair Sabra, after all her misfortune, became, as her reward, the bride of the noblest Knight Europe, or the world, has ever known.

So enchanted were the Moors with the valour and courtesy of Saint George, that their chiefs, lords, and nobles, and the councillors of state, came in humble guise and proffered him the crown of their country; but he declared, with many expressions suitable to the occasion, that he had not yet won that renown for which his soul panted, and must decline the honour.

Having dismissed the nine hundred and ninety-eight knights and squires, whom he had rescued from the castle of Ormandine, with warm thanks for the assistance they had rendered him, and sincere wishes for their welfare, they all departed to their separate countries and homes, and such as were married to their wives and children, who had long been mourning their absence, and in most cases, though not in all, wishing for their return; Saint George and his beautiful bride, the enchanting Sabra, set out on their travels, through many unknown and strange lands, attended by the faithful De Fistycuff, whose wife would much rather that he had gone back to look after her and their children in England.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE TOURNAMENT AT CONSTANTINOPLE.

Now it happened that the great Emperor of the East held a grand tournament at Constantinople, to which all the knights and nobles of Christendom were invited, to do honour to his nuptials with a princess he was about to wed. Thither came the Seven Champions, not knowing each other after their long separation, but each believing the others in some distant quarter of the globe. The Emperor had, however, pitched seven tents of seven different colours, wherein the Seven Champions might remain till the sound of the silver trumpets summoned them to appear. Seven days the tournament was to last, and each day a different Knight was to be Champion of the field.

The first day, Saint Denis of France, under the title of the Golden Knight, was the Champion. His tent was of the colour of the celandine, and on the summit flamed a sun of wondrous brilliancy.

His horse, an iron grey, was graced with a plume of gold-bespangled feathers. Before him rode the faithful Le Crapeau, bearing his banner, on which was designed the golden fleur-de-lys. Numberless were the foreign knights with whom he tilted, every one of whom he overthrew.

Next day, Saint James of Spain, habited in silver armour, rode forth as the Champion; his Squire, the faithful Pedrillo, bearing aloft four banners, on each of which were inscribed his names and titles, and those of his ancestors, so that not a spot of silk remained uncovered. Well he behaved himself, to the admiration of all beholders.

Clad in blue steel, and called the Azure Knight, on the third day, Saint Anthony of Italy rode forth as the chief Champion, attended by the faithful Niccolo, bearing his standard, an eagle on a field of blue. Above his tent was a smaller pavilion in the shape of a watch-tower, in which was seated, as spectatress of the fights, the Georgian Princess, the strong-minded Rosalinde, who had, by praiseworthy perseverance, and allowing no trifles to stand in her way, completely won the heart of Saint Anthony, and had become his bride. Well, also, did he, the Italian Champion, acquit himself, and many valiant knights were by his spear unhorsed.

On the fourth day, Saint Andrew of Scotland was the chief Challenger for the tournament. His tent was framed in the manner of a ship swimming on the waves of the sea, environed about with dolphins, tritons, and many strangely-contrived mermaids; on the top stood a figure of Neptune, the god of the sea, bearing in his hand a streamer, whereon, in one corner, was wrought a cross in crimson silk. He was called the Red Knight, for a blood-red cloth completely covered his charger. His worthy achievements obtained such favour in the Emperor's eyes, that he threw him his silver gauntlet, which was prized at a thousand portagues, and the which Murdoch McAlpine, lifting it from the ground, bore with no little satisfaction to his master's tent; where the Champion also retired, and after his noble encounters enjoyed a sweet repose.

The fifth day, Saint Patrick of Ireland, as chief Champion, entered the lists, mounted on an Irish hobby, covered with a green veil. He was attended by the faithful Terence O'Grady, in sylvan habit, bearing on his shoulder a blooming tree, his motto, virtus semper viret. His tent resembled a summer bower, formed chiefly of the shamrock, and beautified with wreaths of roses. He was named the Green Knight; but he was green only in name, for no Knight proved himself more accomplished, or performed nobler deeds.

Upon the sixth day, the famed Champion of Wales entered the lists, mounted on a Tartar steed, which was covered with a black cloth, to signify, as Owen ap Rice made known, that a black and tragical day was this for all Knights of every nation who durst approve his fortitude. On his shield was portrayed a silver griffin rampant, and upon a golden helmet, the ancient arms of Britain. His tent was in the form of a castle, the battlements guarded by numerous sturdy men-at-arms. His princely achievements not only obtained due commendations at the Emperor's hands, but all the fair and high-born dames present (so the faithful Owen ever afterwards averred) applauded him as the most noble Knight that ever shivered lance, and the most fortunate Champion that ever appeared at the Court of the Eastern Emperor.

Upon the seventh and last day, Saint George of England entered the lists as chief Challenger, mounted on a sable-coloured steed, betrapped with bars of burnished gold, and whose forehead was beautiful with a gorgeous plume of purple feathers, from whence hung many pendants of gold. The Knight's armour was of the purest steel inlaid with silver; his helmet was richly adorned with pearls and many precious stones; and on his banner, borne before him by the faithful De Fistycuff, was pictured, on a blood-red field, a lion rampant, bearing three crowns upon his head. His tent, white as the feathers of the swan, was supported by figures of four elephants of purest brass. Before it stood an ivory chariot, guarded by twelve coal-black negroes, and in it sat his lovely bride, the Princess Sabra, spectatress of the tournament. All eyes turned towards the English Champion, to gaze and admire. His steed bore him right nobly, and never gave encounter to any knight but both man and horse were speedily hurled helpless to the ground. That day the tournament lasted from the sun's up-rising till the evening star appeared, during which time he conquered five hundred of the hardiest knights of Asia, and shivered a thousand lances, to the admiration of all beholders.

The tournament being over, the Emperor sent to Saint George's tent a golden tree with seven branches, to be divided equally among the seven foreign Champions. There they all assembled; and what was their astonishment, when they removed their casques, to discover that they were the long parted and ancient comrades! Warmly they grasped each other's hands, and talked and laughed right pleasantly. High revelry, also, did they hold that evening in Saint George's tent, and told each other of their adventures, exploits, and achievements. Jovially they quaffed full golden beakers of rosy in wine, and many a jovial song they sang, and many a tale they told. All inquired who the lady could be who had been seen on the summit of Saint Anthony's tent; when he confessed that the strong-minded Princess Rosalinde of Georgia had won his heart and hand.

"She, then, is sister of the six lovely Princesses I had the happiness of being instrumental in turning from swans into young ladies. Your bride will be glad to hear that they appeared none the worse for their transformation!" exclaimed Saint Andrew.

"Ah! you do not know, then, what happened after you left the country, my cousin of Scotland!" cried Saint Patrick. "Ha! ha! ha! They all set off to follow you, unknown to their father. I met them in a wood with their six maidens, wandering alone, and had the satisfaction of rescuing them from the power of some unpleasant enemies, among whom they had fallen. I thought they would have found you out before now."

"No, indeed, I have escaped them hitherto," answered Saint Andrew, rubbing his hands. "One of them might have persuaded me to marry her, and that would not at all have suited me. I intend to remain a bachelor for many a year to come."

"I wonder you did not offer to marry one of them, at least, my brave Irish friend," observed Saint Anthony; "it would have been but in accordance with the acknowledged gallantry of your countrymen. I, too, should have been glad to have hailed you as a brother-in-law."

"Faith! so I would have married one or all of them, if it hadn't been from the difficulty of making a selection, and hurting the feelings of the rest; for a more amiable collection of young ladies I never set eyes on; so I gave them a little chariot I had got, drawn by a few alligators and hippopotami, and advised them to go quietly back to their father's court, instead of gadding about the world as they were then doing. Whether or not they took my advice I cannot say, for when they went north I turned my horse's head, and, with my faithful Squire, rode away south."

Many other similar adventures to these were told by the old comrades, of which there is no space to tell.

But if the Knights were merry, much more so were their Squires. Joyfully they discovered each other, and agreed to meet together in the tent of the faithful De Fistycuff. Right jovial was the meeting, and huge the amount of the viands they consumed, and innumerable the beakers of Samian and Falernian wine they quaffed. Merry the stories they told of their numberless adventures, and facetious the songs they sang. Each Squire boasted loudly of the deeds of his master, and of the country to which he belonged; but no one boasted louder than did the faithful Owen ap Rice, of Saint David especially, and of his own loved country, Wales. Terence O'Grady was not much behind him in that respect; while Murdoch McAlpine declared that Saint Andrew was one of the best of masters, and that if Scotland was not the finest and the largest country in the world, it was, at all events, the one he loved the best, just because it was Scotland and his native land.

"Your hand, old comrade," exclaimed De Fistycuff, springing up, "that's the very reason why I like Merrie England. She has her faults, I'll allow; but though I've wandered nearly all the world around, there's no country in my mind to be compared to her, and with all her faults I love her still."

"Bah!" exclaimed Le Crapeau, "she is not equal to la belle France, at all events."

"Inferior to Italy, without doubt. Look, what noble people the ancient Romans were!" observed Niccolo, swallowing a handful of macaroni.

"The idea of comparing a little island to a magnificent territory like Spain!" cried Pedrillo. "Why, we were civilised, and a province of Rome, while the British were painted barbarians, unknown to all the rest of the world."

Thus they disputed, but all in good humour, and many a joke was bartered on the subject. All things terrestrial must come to an end, and so did, at length, the Knights' banquet and the Squires' jovial supper.

The next day, scarcely had the Champions arisen from their downy couches, whereon they had rested their weary limbs, after the fatigues of the numberless combats in which they had been engaged, when it was announced that six foreign Princesses, of great beauty, had arrived in the capital, and had been witnesses of the tournament, in disguise. Some said they had come in one way, some in another; and among other descriptions of the mode in which they travelled, it was asserted that they came in a chariot, drawn by twelve tame alligators and as many hippopotami.

"The Georgian Princesses, a crown against a baubee!" exclaimed Saint Andrew, starting up from his couch. "Murdoch, go and find out, with all speed, and if it is the case, get ready our steeds and baggage without delay, or one of these strong-minded young ladies will be insisting on accompanying me to my ancestral halls in bonnie Scotland."

"They've run their game to earth; there's no doubt about it," cried Saint Patrick, who had been fond of sporting in his youth, when he heard the news. "They deserve our brushes for their pains; and one thing must be said in their favour, that they are very pretty young women, and not at all afflicted with the ordinary prejudices and bashfulness which stands in the way of so many young ladies in finding themselves comfortable establishments. What say you, Terence? Don't you think that I might go further and fare worse?"

"Ah! faith! noble Master, that you might, unless, mark me, you get back to old Ireland; and there it isn't much difficulty I'd have in finding many a score of sweet creatures, to whom, it's my belief, these Georgian Princesses couldn't hold a candle."

The mention of his fair countrywomen (of whom Saint Patrick was a warm admirer, and who is not who knows them?) artfully thrown in by his Squire, turned the Knight from the intention he began to entertain of making one of the Princesses his bride.

When the Seven Champions met at breakfast, they talked the matter over with due gravity. They recollected that there were six ladies and only five bachelor knights, two only being benedicts.

"But suppose we five were to marry five of the Princesses, one still would be like puss in the corner—she must be left out," observed Saint Andrew, who was evidently the least inclined of any of the party to wed, and had arranged to start away directly after breakfast.

"Oh! one must become a nun," observed Saint Patrick. "It's a mighty pleasant sort of life to those who don't like work, and are fond of being utterly useless."

Scarcely was the breakfast over than the Champions were summoned into the presence of the Emperor; and there, seated around him, were the six Princesses of Georgia, radiant in beauty, and looking bewitching and killing in the extreme.

"Fair ladies, and right noble strong-minded Princesses, here are the Seven Champions of Christendom. It has come to our imperial knowledge that you have left the Court of my brother of Georgia, your royal father, for the purpose of wedding one, if not more, of these right valorous Champions, for in that matter there seems to be some little difficulty. Make your choice, therefore, most strong-minded Princesses; whom will you wed? For, from the observations I have made of these Knights' gallantry, I can pledge my imperial word that they will not refuse your moderate and modest requests."

Now, the six Princesses, on hearing these words, looked unutterable things, and a roseate hue rushed into their lily-like cheeks; but their eyes did not wander up and down the hall among the Knights, for, with a constancy worthy of all admiration and imitation, they fixed them on Saint Andrew.

"He is the Knight who changed us from swans into maidens, he is the Knight, for love of whom we left our father's home, and in search of whom we wandered, all forlorn, the world up and down, and with him alone do any of us wish to wed."

"Well spoken, fair Princesses," observed the Emperor. "That much circumscribes the question, and decreases the difficulty. Which of you desires to wed with the gallant Christian Knight? For, remember, that only one wife can he have, whatever may be the custom in Asia."

Saint Andrew, who had never feared mortal foe or foes, giants, wild beasts, or evil spirits, began at these words to tremble in his shoes, and to regret that he had not recommenced his travels by daybreak.

The strong-minded Princesses all sat looking at him.

"I'm the one to marry him," cried the eldest.

The Champion's heart began to sink within him.

"I'm the one to marry him," cried the second.

"But I'm the one to marry him," cried the third.

"But I say that I'm the one to marry him," cried the fourth.

"But I declare that I'm the one to marry him," cried the fifth.

"You are all wrong!" exclaimed the sixth. "From the very first I am sure that it was understood clearly that I was to be his wife."

"Stay, sweet Princesses," observed the Emperor, calmly, "I see clearly that there has been some slight misunderstanding among you about this matter, and I am sure Saint Andrew is too gallant a Knight to desire to make any five of you unhappy, or jealous of the sixth. I, therefore, purpose to send you all back, under a proper escort, to your father's court, and I hope that you will there speedily find six noble knights to lead you to the altar of Hymen."

The six strong-minded Princesses made very long faces at the decision of the Emperor; but, as his decisions were always final, they could make no reply; though, when they once more turned their eyes towards the Scottish Knight, the spectators could not but remark that their expression was very much changed, and Saint Andrew evidently thought it wise to keep at a respectful distance from their fingers.

"Certes, Master," whispered Murdoch to Saint Andrew, "you are, to my belief, very well out of it."

"It's a mighty easy way of settling the matter," said Terence O'Grady, "but I wonder what the six serving maids are to do!"

History reports, however, that they went back to Georgia, married six stalwart knights, and lived very happily afterwards, as did their six fair attendants, who, in like manner, married six faithful squires, who all in time became knights and great lords of the realm.

After the tournament and all the festivities were over, the Seven Champions prepared to depart, each for his own country; but, ere they commenced their journey, news arrived that all the great Pagan Powers had banded together to overthrow the Christian Emperor of the East, who, therefore, sent to entreat all the aid they and their followers could afford. With one accord they promised to raise an army, and to hurry back to his assistance.

Saint George, leaving his youthful bride, the lovely Princess Sabra, in his castle near Coventry, soon levied a powerful army; and, setting sail, no longer as a knight-errant, but as a renowned general, he arrived with his forces on the coast of Portugal, where he was joined by the other six Champions, who each brought troops in proportion to the size of his country. So enchanted were the Portuguese with Saint George, that, having no Champion of their own, they entreated him to become theirs, and have ever since retained him among their most honoured saints and heroes. Here Saint George was chosen generalissimo of all the Christian forces, and, once more setting sail, he entered the Mediterranean. Then, landing on the coast of Morocco, he bethought him of punishing Almidor, the black King of that country, who was about to join the Pagan armies.

The Moors in vain endeavoured to prevent the landing of the Christian Champions. The battle was hot and furious. Almidor rushed to the van, where quickly he was singled out by Saint George. Terrific was the combat, and never before was the Moorish Monarch so hotly pressed.

Now he had prepared, in full expectation of victory, a vast cauldron of boiling metal, in which he purposed, with fell intent, to cast the Christian Champions and their followers; but when at length, unable any longer to withstand the far-famed sword of Saint George, he fled in despair, to cast himself headlong in, and his example being followed by his generals and chief officers, the furious battle was brought to a speedy end, and the Princess Sabra was well avenged for the cruelties the black Almidor had inflicted on her.

Scarcely had this satisfactory event been brought about than Saint George received the unwelcome news that the Earl of Coventry was besieging his castle in England, for the purpose of carrying off the Lady Sabra, his bride, and now the mother of three blooming boys,—the wicked Earl having spread a report that the great Champion of England, whom no other foe could conquer, had yielded to the inevitable hand of death.

The brave Knight hastened back with the speed of lightning, when sad was the sight which met his eyes. His castle was burnt to the ground, and his lady had been carried off by the wicked Earl, and, as she had refused all his offers of marriage, had been accused of witchcraft, and lay in prison, condemned to be burned alive. What had become of his three blooming boys he could not tell.

Putting spurs to his horse, the Knight and De Fistycuff galloped into Coventry. There he met the Earl going out hunting; and there, in mortal combat, he laid him low.

Scarcely had the Earl breathed his last, acknowledging with his dying breath the lady's innocence, than the Princess Sabra was led forth to execution. Quickly her guards were put to flight, and mounting her on his horse, he bore her off to a neighbouring forest, where he might defy pursuit.

There, as they wandered up and down, one day they espied three beauteous boys, sleeping on a bed of roses, beneath a shady bower. The parents' hearts told them that the children were their own. They flew towards them, when they saw, seated at the further end of the bower a beautiful lady. Instantly Saint George knew her as the kind Fairy who so often before befriended him, and who had now saved his children from the burning castle. Again and again he thanked the Fairy, who, smiling sweetly, vanished from his sight.