That cruell word her tender hart so thrild, xxxvii That suddein cold did runne[221] through euery vaine, And stony horrour all her sences fild With dying fit, that downe she fell for paine. The knight her lightly reared vp againe, And comforted with curteous kind reliefe: Then wonne from death, she bad him tellen plaine The further processe of her hidden griefe; The lesser pangs can beare, who hath endur’d the chiefe. Then gan the Pilgrim thus, I chaunst this day, xxxviii This fatall day, that shall I euer rew, To see two knights in trauell on my way (A sory sight) arraung’d in battell new, Both breathing vengeaunce, both of wrathfull hew: My fearefull flesh did tremble at their strife, To see their blades so greedily imbrew, That drunke[222] with bloud, yet thristed[223] after life: What more? the _Redcrosse_ knight was slaine with Paynim knife. Ah dearest Lord (quoth she) how might that bee, xxxix And he the stoutest knight, that euer wonne? Ah dearest dame (quoth he) how might I see The thing, that might not be, and yet was donne? Where is (said _Satyrane_) that Paynims sonne, That him of life, and vs of ioy hath reft? Not far away (quoth he[224]) he hence doth wonne Foreby a fountaine, where I late him left Washing his bloudy wounds, that through the steele were cleft. Therewith the knight thence marched forth in hast, xl Whiles _Vna_ with huge heauinesse opprest, Could not for sorrow follow him so fast; And soone he came, as he the place had ghest, Whereas that _Pagan_ proud him selfe did rest, In secret shadow by a fountaine side: Euen he it was, that earst would haue supprest Faire _Vna_: whom when _Satyrane_ espide, With fowle reprochfull words he boldly him defide. And said, Arise thou cursed Miscreaunt, xli That hast with knightlesse guile and trecherous train Faire knighthood fowly shamed, and doest vaunt That good knight of the _Redcrosse_ to haue slain: Arise, and with like treason now maintain Thy guilty wrong, or else thee guilty yield. The Sarazin this hearing, rose amain, And catching vp in hast his three square shield, And shining helmet, soone him buckled to the field. And drawing nigh him said, Ah misborne Elfe, xlii In euill houre thy foes thee hither sent, Anothers wrongs to wreake vpon thy selfe: Yet ill thou blamest me, for hauing blent My name with guile and traiterous intent; That _Redcrosse_ knight, perdie, I neuer slew, But had he beene, where earst his armes were lent, Th’enchaunter vaine his errour should not rew: But thou his errour shalt, I hope now prouen trew.