WHAT voice shall do justice to the deeds of the renowned warrior-maiden, Britomart? For love of the brave Sir Arthegall, whom Merlin had long since prophesied would be her wedded lord, she had covered her yellow tresses with a plumed helmet, and hid the beating of her woman’s heart under a breast-plate of steel. So many conquests had she won in tourney and on the field, that her fame almost equaled that of the peerless Arthur, Prince of the Round Table, a knight whose friendship held her in proud esteem.
Now, as my tale opens, this warrior-maid rode briskly toward the sea, which washed an enchanted shore, where day after day the scornful Prince Marinell kept watch and ward that he might do battle with any one bold enough to venture upon its boundaries.
With him Britomart sought to measure lances in an encounter, because of all knights he was accounted one of the most difficult to overcome.
