Part 21 (1/2)

'I would have you know, brother Sancho,' said he, 'that in whatsoever danger you may see me you shall stand aside, and never seek to defend me, unless those who set on me should come of base forefathers, and not be people of gentle birth. For if those who attack me are knights, it is forbidden by the laws of chivalry that a knight be attacked by any man that has himself not received the honour of knighthood.'

'Your lords.h.i.+p shall be obeyed in all that you say,' answered Sancho, 'and the more readily that I am a man of peace, and like not brawls.

But, see, who are these that approach us?'

The question was natural, for the procession advancing along the road was a strange one, even at that day. First came two monks of the Order of St. Benedict, mounted on mules so large that Don Quixote, with some reason, took them to be dromedaries. The better to conceal their faces they had masks, and carried parasols. After them came a coach which had for a guard four or five mounted men and two muleteers, and inside the coach was seated a lady on her way to join her husband in the city of Seville. In reality the monks were strangers to her, and had nothing to do with her party, but this Don Quixote did not know, and, being ever on the watch to give help to any who needed it, he said:

'Either my eyes deceive me, or this is the most wonderful adventure that ever fell to the lot of a knight. For those black shapeless monsters that you see yonder are magicians carrying off some princess, and I must undo this wrong with all the strength I have.'

'Look you, master,' answered Sancho hastily, 'if you take up with this adventure, you will fare worse than you did with the windmills. Those are no magicians but monks of St. Benedict, while the others are travellers, journeying for business or pleasure. Think, I pray you, lest it be a snare of the Evil One.'

'I have often told you, Sancho, that, being what you are, you can know nothing of adventures,' replied Don Quixote; 'but what I have said, I do, as you will see'; and as he spoke he planted himself in the middle of the road, and awaited the approach of the friars.

As soon as they drew near enough for his voice to reach their ears, Don Quixote cried loudly:

'Fiends and sc.u.m of all the wicked, set free on this instant the captive princess whom you hold imprisoned in that coach, or else prepare for death, which is the just punishment of all your crimes.'

The monks reined in their mules and stared at Don Quixote, whose figure, to say truth, was no less startling than his words. At first they were very angry, then gentler counsels prevailed, and they answered:

'Fair sir, we are neither fiends nor sc.u.m, but only two friars of St.

Benedict, who are riding peacefully along the king's highway, and know nothing of any captive princess.'

'Miscreants that you are, do you think I am a man to be deceived by false speeches?' cried the Don, now beside himself with fury, and, das.h.i.+ng with his lance in rest at the friar next him, he would indeed have given him his last shrift had not the monk slipped cleverly from the other side of his saddle, so that the lance pa.s.sed over his head.

His companion, fearing that like treatment was in store for him, galloped away with all his might.

As for the squire, directly he saw the man fall to the ground he ran up and began to strip off his clothes, till he was stopped in this proceeding by a blow on his head from one of the attendants of the two monks. The friar, left to himself, jumped on his mule, and rode off pale and trembling to rejoin his companion, while Don Quixote busied himself with conversing with the lady in the coach, and a.s.suring her of his protection.

It were long indeed to tell of the many battles delivered by Don Quixote, who troubled himself little about the sore wounds he received on his own body as long as he could give aid to those in distress. What grieved him far more than mere sword-thrusts or bruises was the loss of his helmet.

But, come what might, his spirit was never daunted, though he could not deny that, as Sancho Panza truly said, never had they gained any battle, unless they counted one which was doubtful, and even at that the knight had come off the poorer by half an ear and half a helmet.

'From the first day we set out,' went on the good squire, 'until this moment, we have received nothing but blows and more blows, beatings and more beatings, over and above the tossing I once got in a blanket. And you tell me that the fellows who maltreat me so are enchanted, and would not feel my blows if I had a chance of returning them. In truth, my eyes are too dull to see where lies the pleasure of conquering one's foes, of which your wors.h.i.+p is always telling me.'

'Ah, Sancho, that is just what grieves me,' answered Don Quixote sadly; 'but henceforth I will seek to gird myself always with a sword that shall be enchanted in such a manner that it will defend me from any spells they may try to throw over me. Maybe that Fortune will send me that of Amadis, one of the keenest blades in the world, and the best sword that ever knight had. But look, do you see that cloud of dust rising out there? That tells us that a large army, made up of men and nations without number, are marching towards us.'

'By that way of reckoning,' answered the squire, 'another army must be advancing to meet them, for behind us the cloud is just as thick.'

Filled with joy at the thought of fighting two armies, Don Quixote turned to look, and his heart beat high. The dust was so thick that neither he nor Sancho could perceive that the clouds of dust were caused by two immense flocks of sheep. To the mind of the knight they _could_ be nothing but vast armies, and this he declared so positively that at length Sancho Panza came to believe it also. The squire, however, looked on the fact with very different feelings to his master, and asked anxiously:

'n.o.ble sir, what are we to do?'

'What _can_ we do,' replied the knight, 'except fly to the help of those who need it? For you must know, friend Sancho, that the army in front of us is led by the Emperor Alifanfaron, while the other, which is marching to meet him, is Pentapolin of the Uplifted Arm, so called because he rides into battle with his right arm bare.'

'And what is their quarrel?' asked Sancho.

'Alifanfaron is a Moslem, yet desires to marry the daughter of Pentapolin,' replied Don Quixote, 'but her father will not give her to him till he ceases to be an unbeliever.'