by Jane Yolen
Encouraged by Bradamante’s enthusiasm, the young knight stood. He followed the lady knight across the meadow, and they started up the steep side of a ravine. Just then they were overtaken by a messenger from King Agramant’s camp who cried out, “My lady, Bradamante! His Majesty commands you to return to the army.”
“I will not return till I have helped this young man rescue his beloved, and rescued two brave men besides,” Bradamante told the messenger. As she spoke to the messenger, she had her back to the young knight and did not see the look on his face.
Bradamante! he was thinking. Of all the knights to find me here . . . For he was Sir Pinabel of the house of Mayence, which had long been feuding with Bradamante’s own house of Clermont. “If I do not rid myself of her, she will surely do me mortal injury.” And he resolved not to tell her his name or his lineage but to find some way to slay her surreptitiously. He knew he could not hope to kill her in a fair fight.
Bradamante knew none of this, of course, and she encouraged the young man, saying, “We shall together find a way to bring your fair maiden home. Do not fear. Do not lose heart.”
As they proceeded up the trail, leading their horses, Pinabel no longer thought of his bride-to-be. All he could think of was how to get rid of the lady knight. So he proposed that he go ahead a little ways up the ravine. “Thus I may scout out our whereabouts and see if there is shelter for the night,” said Pinabel.
“I am pleased,” said Bradamante to him, “that you have given up simply waiting for death, for it will come upon us all in time without our greeting it.”
She did not see the sneer on his face as he left.
Pinabel soon found a cleft in the rock and, looking down through it, discovered that it widened below into a spacious cavern. Meanwhile Bradamante, after scouting on either side for enemies and finding none, hurried after him.
“See that cavern?” Pinabel asked. “I just saw a beautiful damsel there who was weeping and crying out for help. I was just about to make my way to her when a ruffian came from behind and dragged her away.”
“It is too far to jump with safety,” declared Bradamante. She looked around and found a large elm growing out of the side of the ravine. Lopping off one mighty branch of it, she thrust it into the opening. “There,” she said, “I have made a bridge. You hold tight one end and I will climb down. Then I will hold the bottom and you can come after me.”
So it was agreed. But as she started down the branch, Pinabel called out, “Are you a good leaper?” and let go of his end of the branch so that branch and Bradamante fell into the pit. Then he ran off, back down the ravine.
But if he thought to murder her, Pinabel was mistaken. The foliage cushioned her fall and she was not seriously injured, though for a long moment she was stunned and could not move.
At last able to stand again, Bradamante saw that the cavern was not a natural place at all. There was a door at one end and a torch flickering in a holder beside it.
Grasping the torch, she examined the door and saw that there was a simple latch. She opened the door and passed into another cavern, loftier than the first, which looked like some kind of temple, for there were alabaster columns supporting an alabaster roof. In the middle of this chamber was a simple altar, over which hung a lamp, the radiance of which was reflected back by the alabaster so that the entire room shimmered with rainbows.
Bradamante fell to her knees in awe and prayed aloud. “I thank Thee for preserving me.” She heard the sound of a door opening, looked up, and saw a woman coming toward her with flowing robes.
“Brave and gracious Bradamante, arise,” the woman said.
“You know my name?” Bradamante was puzzled.
“Not I but my master, the spirit of Merlin, whose last earthly abode was this place. He answers questions of those who approach his tomb.”
“Who am I,” Bradamante said modestly, “that the great Merlin himself should speak to me?” Still, she held a secret satisfaction that it was so, and so she followed the maiden to the altar.
No sooner had they come close to the altar than a voice filled the cavern, saying, “O noble maiden, future mother of heroes, great captains and renowned knights shall be numbered among your descendants.”
“Whom . . .” She breathed the word. “Whom shall I marry?”
“Ruggiero shall be your bridegroom. Fly then to his deliverance, and lay in the dust the wicked enchanter who has snatched him from you and holds him in chains.”
It was what she wanted to hear. “But I do not know the way,” she reminded Merlin’s voice.
“I know the way,” said the woman. “Tomorrow morning we will climb through the mountain’s hidden passageways and I will lead you there.”
THE NEXT MORNING, good as her word, the young woman led Bradamante between rocks and precipices, and across rapid rivers, imparting to the lady knight much important knowledge as they went.
“The enchanter’s castle is indeed impenetrable by normal means,” she said. “And his winged steed is a hippogriff, with the head of an eagle—and claws and talons—but the body of a horse. Even more, the enchanter bears a magic buckler, which flashes a light so brilliant, anyone who looks at it is struck blind. Yet, you cannot just close your eyes against it, for how then would you fight him?”
“How indeed,” Bradamante remarked. “With no magic of my own.”
“Ah, but magic you shall have. For the king of the Moors also desires to rescue young Ruggiero, whom he loves like a son. He has a magic ring that renders all other enchantments useless and he has given it to his craftiest servant, the dwarf Brunello. If you can get the ring from this creature, then you—and not Brunello—will have a chance to set Ruggiero free.”
They made one more torturous turn through the mountainside and, to Bradamante’s astonishment, came out into a clearing. In front of them was a rich and wide river pouring out into the sea.
“Not far from here, in the city of Bordeaux, is a hostelry called the Spotted Hound,” the woman said. “There you will find the Moor’s dwarf, and you will recognize him because he is but four feet tall, with thick eyebrows and a tufted beard. You can tell him that you are a knight seeking to combat the enchanter, but do not let him know that you know about the ring.”
“I see,” said Bradamante, though she was not sure she understood anything at all.
“Let him offer to be your guide, and you offer to be his sword. But take care to stay behind him till you see the castle before you. Then do not hesitate—strike him dead, for the wretch deserves no pity from you. However, do not let him suspect you, for he will put the ring in his mouth and become invisible at once.”
So saying, the young woman took her leave of Bradamante, and the lady knight was on her own.
ALL WENT AS Merlin’s young acolyte predicted. Bradamante had no trouble discovering the dwarf, and even less trouble engaging him in conversation. She did not ever say her true name or her sex, not her religion or the country she came from. And as they sat outside speaking—for the day was warm—there was a sudden shout from the people around them.
Bradamante stood and looked where the people pointed, and in the sky was a winged horse with feathers all colors of the rainbow. A mounted knight sat on the horse’s back, and in moments steed and rider disappeared behind the summits of the mountains.
“It is the enchanter I seek,” said the dwarf.
“I, too,” said Bradamante, “though I know not how to go after him.”
“Why, I have a map,” said the dwarf. “If you lend me your sword and right hand to keep me safe from wild animals and wilder men, I shall guide you there.”
They shook hands on it then and there. And the next morning, having purchased two horses for their trip, off they went into the Pyrenees, and by a route very different from the one Bradamante had taken with Pinabel, to the very summit of the mountains where one can look down at Spain, France, and the two seas.
IT TOOK A DAY and a night and a day bef
ore they got there and, from the top, made their way, by a fatiguing ride, into a deep valley. But eventually they found themselves before an isolated mountain upon the summit of which stood a castle hewn out of the rock, surrounded with a wall of brass.
“There is the enchanter’s castle,” said Brunello. “One must have wings to mount to that place.” He got off his horse and stood marveling at it. Bradamante got off her horse as well, standing a bit behind the dwarf.
Seeing the castle she knew that the time had come for her to take the magic ring, but she could not in good faith slay an unarmed man. So she seized him before he was aware of what she was up to, tied him to a tree, and skinned the ring from his finger.
“What are you doing? You do not know what you do!” he shouted. “You do not know who I am!”
But Bradamante did not listen. Instead she got back on her horse, advanced to the foot of the castle rock, and took her battle horn from her belt. She blew her challenge into it loud and long.
Suddenly from the top of the castle’s turrets, rising to her call, flew the enchanter on his winged horse. Three times he circled around her before landing in front of her.
Bradamante was relieved to see he bore no lance or club. He had only, on his arm, the dreaded buckler and, in his hand, an open book.
Bradamante drew her sword and struck first one side and then the other, but all she wounded was the wind. Then, slicing three more times, she dismounted to appear as if she planned to continue the battle on foot.
The enchanter uncovered the magic buckler, but when he held it high—because Bradamante had the ring that confounded all magic—it did not blind her. However, the enchanter did not know this, and when she threw herself down on the ground, pretending to be overcome by the shield, he dismounted and, with a set of chains to bind her, approached her.
Bradamante waited until he was near and then she sprang up, seized him, threw him down, and with his own chains bound him fast.
“Take my life, as you take my magic, young man!” he cried.
But Bradamante did no such thing.
“Tell me first your name and why you have built this fortress. And tell me, too, why you have captured all these fine knights and maidens.”
“Alas,” cried the magician, tears spilling down his face, “I built this castle only to guard the life of the young knight I raised from birth. My arts showed me that he was to become a Christian and after that perish by the blackest of treasons.”
“And the youth’s name?” whispered Bradamante, unable to speak aloud.
“Ruggiero,” the enchanter said. “And I am the unhappy Atlante, who has reared him from childhood. He went from me to serve his king, but fearing for his life I have conspired to bring him back. I have collected a great many young knights and ladies to render his captivity light, for they can amuse him and keep his thoughts from battles and glory.”
“But if those are the things he wishes for—” Bradamante said.
“You young men are all alike.” The magician sighed. “Yet I beg you—take my magical steed and my buckler. Take what friends of yours are up in my castle. Only take me back there and leave me with my glorious son. Or else kill me on the spot!”
“It is Ruggiero alone I seek,” said Bradamante. “Your entreaties are in vain, old man. You wish to keep him here in a life of sloth and pleasure, fearing that which your magic foresees. Foolish father! You could not even foresee your own fortune. Nor guess my secret.”
She took off her battle helmet. “My name is Bradamante and I am called the lady knight. Take me up on your steed and loose all the prisoners. I shall not kill you. Ruggiero’s father is my father, too.”
Then they rode up to the castle and all the prisoners were freed—though some, it must be said, regretted leaving.
As for Ruggiero, when he saw Bradamante, he was rapturous with joy. They pledged their love. And if they did not live happily ever after, it was because they had many more adventures to come.
ENGLAND
Molly Whuppie
Smart, forward, and brave—that’s the very definition of a hero
ONCE UPON A TIME there were a man and a wife who had one-two-three-four-five—too many children, and they could not feed them all. So, they took the three youngest and left them in the deepest part of a dark and tangled wood.
Hand in hand in hand, the three little girls walked and walked, looking for a way home, but they could find none. They just got more lost and more frightened and more hungry.
At last they were so deep in the woods, they had all but given themselves up to despair, when they spied a light.
“Look,” said the youngest, whose name was Molly Whuppie, “there is a house. We can stop there for the night, and get something to eat besides.” Oh, that Molly Whuppie was a smart girl!
So, they rapped on the door, and a woman came out who was as broad as she was tall. “What do ye want?” asked the woman.
“Please, ma’am,” said Molly, “let us in and give us some bread.” Oh, that Molly Whuppie was a forward girl!
“That I dare not do,” said the woman, “for my husband is a giant and he would as soon kill ye as look at ye.”
“Then let us stop for a while,” begged Molly. “We will be away before he comes home.” Oh, that Molly Whuppie was a brave girl!
So the woman took them in and she had just set them down by the fire with some milk and bread when there came a great knock at the door.
“Fe-fi-fo-fum,” said the voice.
“Oh dear,” said the woman, “it is my husband himself. Do not say a word.”
And into the house came the giant. He was ten feet tall and his head scraped the rooftree. His hands were like shovels. His teeth like knives.
“Fe-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of some earthly one,” said the giant. “Who’s here, wife?”
“Just three small lassies,” said the giant’s wife. “They are hungry and cold. And not a bite between them. So ye leave them be.” She shook her wooden spoon at him.
So he sat down at the table, ignoring the girls, and ate an entire cow at one sitting. Whooomp! Just like that. And when he was done, he turned in his chair and stared at the three girls—the two who shook in their boots, and little Molly Whuppie.
“I have three lassies of my own,” he said in that great awful voice. “They will like some company. So ye shall sleep this night with them.” And he led them up a wooden ladder to a loft, where the giant’s lassies lay tucked into bed, snoring through their slit nostrils and whistling through their fangs.
The oldest of the girls relaxed then. “He’s not so bad after all,” she whispered to Molly Whuppie as they all climbed into the giant bed. And soon enough they were fast asleep. All except Molly Whuppie, though she pretended to be.
Then the giant returned, and he placed straw ropes around Molly Whuppie’s neck and her sisters’. But on his own daughters’ necks he placed golden chains.
So when the giant had gone back down the ladder again, Molly sat up. She took the straw chain off of her own and her sisters’ necks, and she took the golden chains off the giant’s lassies. Then she exchanged them. After that, she lay down again and pretended to sleep. Oh, that Molly Whuppie was a clever girl!
In the middle of the night, the deep hind end of night when dangerous deeds get done and evil roams at will, the giant came back up the ladder to the loft. In the dark he felt at the neck of all the lassies, looking for the strands of straw. Then he picked up the girls—who were his own daughters—and carried them down the stairs, where he battered them with a club till they were all but dead. Then he lay down again to sleep, believing that he would have three earthly girls for breakfast.
As soon as Molly Whuppie heard him snoring, she woke her sisters up.
“Be quiet!” she warned them, and quiet they were. Then hand in hand in hand, they got out of the giant’s house and ran and ran till they came to a grand house on the other side of the woods.
Now, tha
t house was the king’s own house. So Molly went right in and told him what had happened. Oh, that Molly Whuppie was a sturdy girl!
The king said, “Well, Molly, you have managed well. But you can manage better yet. Go back and steal the sword that hangs over the giant’s bed, and I shall let your eldest sister marry my eldest son.”
“I will surely try,” said Molly Whuppie. Oh, that Molly Whuppie was a daring girl!
SO SHE WENT BACK, following her own trail, and slipped into the giant’s house when the giant was out on one of his raids and his wife was bending over the cook pot. Then she quickly hid under his big bed and made not a sound.
The giant came home and ate up three sheep for supper. Whooomp! Just like that. And he didn’t smell Molly because of the boiling cook pot. Then he went to bed and was fast asleep, his wife beside him.
Molly waited until they were both snoring, then she crept out from under the bed, stood carefully on the giant’s bed, right above his pillow, and took down the sword. But just as she was about to get it free, the place on the bed where she was standing gave a rattle and she had to just grab the sword and run, for the giant awoke.
Out the door she went, with the giant right behind her. She ran and he ran, but she ran faster till she came to a bridge that was made of just one hair. Molly took a great deep breath and ran across it. She was so light, she skipped right over, but the giant did not dare go across.
He shook his great fist at her. “Ye near killed my girls, ye stole my sword!” he cried. “Woe unto ye, Molly Whuppie, if ye ever come here again.”
But Molly only laughed and called back, “Twice yet I’ll come to Spain!”
Then she took the sword to the king, and he had her eldest sister married to his eldest son that same day, though the feasting and dancing went on for seven.
Then the king said, “You have managed well, young Molly Whuppie. But you can do better yet. Go back and steal the purse that lies below the giant’s pillow, and I will marry your second sister to my second son.”