บทที่ บทที่ 24 · HOW A CHAMPION CAME FORTH FROM THE EAST.

. HOW A CHAMPION CAME FORTH FROM THE EAST.

The Bordeaux lists were, as has already been explained, situated

upon the plain near the river upon those great occasions when the

tilting-ground in front of the Abbey of St. Andrew's was deemed to be

too small to contain the crowd. On the eastern side of this plain the

country-side sloped upwards, thick with vines in summer, but now ridged

with the brown bare enclosures. Over the gently rising plain curved the

white road which leads inland, usually flecked with travellers, but now

with scarce a living form upon it, so completely had the lists drained

all the district of its inhabitants. Strange it was to see such a vast

concourse of people, and then to look upon that broad, white, empty

highway which wound away, bleak and deserted, until it narrowed itself

to a bare streak against the distant uplands.

Shortly after the contest had begun, any one looking from the lists

along this road might have remarked, far away in the extreme distance,

two brilliant and sparkling points which glittered and twinkled in

the bright shimmer of the winter sun. Within an hour these had become

clearer and nearer, until they might be seen to come from the reflection

from the head-pieces of two horsemen who were riding at the top of their

speed in the direction of Bordeaux. Another half-hour had brought

them so close that every point of their bearing and equipment could be

discerned. The first was a knight in full armor, mounted upon a brown

horse with a white blaze upon breast and forehead. He was a short man of

great breadth of shoulder, with vizor closed, and no blazonry upon his

simple white surcoat or plain black shield. The other, who was evidently

his squire and attendant, was unarmed save for the helmet upon his

head, but bore in his right hand a very long and heavy oaken spear which

belonged to his master. In his left hand the squire held not only the

reins of his own horse but those of a great black war-horse, fully

harnessed, which trotted along at his side. Thus the three horses and

their two riders rode swiftly to the lists, and it was the blare of the

trumpet sounded by the squire as his lord rode into the arena which

had broken in upon the prize-giving and drawn away the attention and

interest of the spectators.

“Ha, John!” cried the prince, craning his neck, “who is this cavalier,

and what is it that he desires?”

“On my word, sire,” replied Chandos, with the utmost surprise upon his

face, “it is my opinion that he is a Frenchman.”

“A Frenchman!” repeated Don Pedro. “And how can you tell that, my Lord

Chandos, when he has neither coat-armor, crest, or blazonry?”

“By his armor, sire, which is rounder at elbow and at shoulder than any

of Bordeaux or of England. Italian he might be were his bassinet more

sloped, but I will swear that those plates were welded betwixt this and

Rhine. Here comes his squire, however, and we shall hear what strange

fortune hath brought him over the marches.”

As he spoke the attendant cantered up the grassy enclosure, and pulling

up his steed in front of the royal stand, blew a second fanfare upon

his bugle. He was a raw-boned, swarthy-cheeked man, with black bristling

beard and a swaggering bearing.

Having sounded his call, he thrust the bugle into his belt, and, pushing

his way betwixt the groups of English and of Gascon knights, he reined

up within a spear's length of the royal party.

“I come,” he shouted in a hoarse, thick voice, with a strong Breton

accent, “as squire and herald from my master, who is a very valiant

pursuivant-of-arms, and a liegeman to the great and powerful monarch,

Charles, king of the French. My master has heard that there is jousting

here, and prospect of honorable advancement, so he has come to ask that

some English cavalier will vouchsafe for the love of his lady to run a

course with sharpened lances with him, or to meet him with sword, mace,

battle-axe, or dagger. He bade me say, however, that he would fight only

with a true Englishman, and not with any mongrel who is neither English

nor French, but speaks with the tongue of the one, and fights under the

banner of the other.”

“Sir!” cried De Clisson, with a voice of thunder, while his countrymen

clapped their hands to their swords. The squire, however, took no notice

of their angry faces, but continued with his master's message.

“He is now ready, sire,” he said, “albeit his destrier has travelled

many miles this day, and fast, for we were in fear lest we come too late

for the jousting.”

“Ye have indeed come too late,” said the prince, “seeing that the prize

is about to be awarded; yet I doubt not that one of these gentlemen will

run a course for the sake of honor with this cavalier of France.”

“And as to the prize, sire,” quoth Sir Nigel, “I am sure that I speak

for all when I say this French knight hath our leave to bear it away

with him if he can fairly win it.”

“Bear word of this to your master,” said the prince, “and ask him which

of these five Englishmen he would desire to meet. But stay; your master

bears no coat-armor, and we have not yet heard his name.”

“My master, sire, is under vow to the Virgin neither to reveal his name

nor to open his vizor until he is back upon French ground once more.”

“Yet what assurance have we,” said the prince, “that this is not some

varlet masquerading in his master's harness, or some caitiff knight,

the very touch of whose lance might bring infamy upon an honorable

gentleman?”

“It is not so, sire,” cried the squire earnestly. “There is no man upon

earth who would demean himself by breaking a lance with my master.”

“You speak out boldly, squire,” the prince answered; “but unless I have

some further assurance of your master's noble birth and gentle name I

cannot match the choicest lances of my court against him.”

“You refuse, sire?”

“I do refuse.”

“Then, sire, I was bidden to ask you from my master whether you would

consent if Sir John Chandos, upon hearing my master's name, should

assure you that he was indeed a man with whom you might yourself cross

swords without indignity.”

“I ask no better,” said the prince.

“Then I must ask, Lord Chandos, that you will step forth. I have your

pledge that the name shall remain ever a secret, and that you will

neither say nor write one word which might betray it. The name is----”

He stooped down from his horse and whispered something into the old

knight's ear which made him start with surprise, and stare with much

curiosity at the distant Knight, who was sitting his charger at the

further end of the arena.

“Is this indeed sooth?” he exclaimed.

“It is, my lord, and I swear it by St. Ives of Brittany.”

“I might have known it,” said Chandos, twisting his moustache, and still

looking thoughtfully at the cavalier.

“What then, Sir John?” asked the prince.

“Sire, this is a knight whom it is indeed great honor to meet, and I

would that your grace would grant me leave to send my squire for my

harness, for I would dearly love to run a course with him.”

“Nay, nay, Sir John, you have gained as much honor as one man can bear,

and it were hard if you could not rest now. But I pray you, squire, to

tell your master that he is very welcome to our court, and that wines

and spices will be served him, if he would refresh himself before

jousting.”

“My master will not drink,” said the squire.

“Let him then name the gentleman with whom he would break a spear.”

“He would contend with these five knights, each to choose such weapons

as suit him best.”

“I perceive,” said the prince, “that your master is a man of great heart

and high of enterprise. But the sun already is low in the west, and

there will scarce be light for these courses. I pray you, gentlemen, to

take your places, that we may see whether this stranger's deeds are as

bold as his words.”

The unknown knight had sat like a statue of steel, looking neither to

the right nor to the left during these preliminaries. He had changed

from the horse upon which he had ridden, and bestrode the black charger

which his squire had led beside him. His immense breadth, his stern

composed appearance, and the mode in which he handled his shield and his

lance, were enough in themselves to convince the thousands of critical

spectators that he was a dangerous opponent. Aylward, who stood in

the front row of the archers with Simon, big John, and others of the

Company, had been criticising the proceedings from the commencement with

the ease and freedom of a man who had spent his life under arms and had

learned in a hard school to know at a glance the points of a horse and

his rider. He stared now at the stranger with a wrinkled brow and the

air of a man who is striving to stir his memory.

“By my hilt! I have seen the thick body of him before to-day. Yet I

cannot call to mind where it could have been. At Nogent belike, or was

it at Auray? Mark me, lads, this man will prove to be one of the best

lances of France, and there are no better in the world.”

“It is but child's play, this poking game,” said John. “I would fain

try my hand at it, for, by the black rood! I think that it might be

amended.”

“What then would you do, John?” asked several.

“There are many things which might be done,” said the forester

thoughtfully. “Methinks that I would begin by breaking my spear.”

“So they all strive to do.”

“Nay, but not upon another man's shield. I would break it over my own

knee.”

“And what the better for that, old beef and bones?” asked Black Simon.

“So I would turn what is but a lady's bodkin of a weapon into a very

handsome club.”

“And then, John?”

“Then I would take the other's spear into my arm or my leg, or where

it pleased him best to put it, and I would dash out his brains with my

club.”

“By my ten finger-bones! old John,” said Aylward, “I would give my

feather-bed to see you at a spear-running. This is a most courtly and

gentle sport which you have devised.”

“So it seems to me,” said John seriously. “Or, again, one might seize

the other round the middle, pluck him off his horse and bear him to the

pavilion, there to hold him to ransom.”

“Good!” cried Simon, amid a roar of laughter from all the archers round.

“By Thomas of Kent! we shall make a camp-marshal of thee, and thou

shalt draw up rules for our jousting. But, John, who is it that you

would uphold in this knightly and pleasing fashion?”

“What mean you?”

“Why, John, so strong and strange a tilter must fight for the brightness

of his lady's eyes or the curve of her eyelash, even as Sir Nigel does

for the Lady Loring.”

“I know not about that,” said the big archer, scratching his head in

perplexity. “Since Mary hath played me false, I can scarce fight for

her.”

“Yet any woman will serve.”

“There is my mother then,” said John. “She was at much pains at my

upbringing, and, by my soul! I will uphold the curve of her eyelashes,

for it tickleth my very heart-root to think of her. But who is here?”

“It is Sir William Beauchamp. He is a valiant man, but I fear that he is

scarce firm enough upon the saddle to bear the thrust of such a tilter

as this stranger promises to be.”

Aylward's words were speedily justified, for even as he spoke the two

knights met in the centre of the lists. Beauchamp struck his opponent a

shrewd blow upon the helmet, but was met with so frightful a thrust that

he whirled out of his saddle and rolled over and over upon the ground.

Sir Thomas Percy met with little better success, for his shield was

split, his vambrace torn and he himself wounded slightly in the side.

Lord Audley and the unknown knight struck each other fairly upon the

helmet; but, while the stranger sat as firm and rigid as ever upon his

charger, the Englishman was bent back to his horse's cropper by the

weight of the blow, and had galloped half-way down the lists ere he

could recover himself. Sir Thomas Wake was beaten to the ground with a

battle-axe--that being the weapon which he had selected--and had to be

carried to his pavilion. These rapid successes, gained one after the

other over four celebrated warriors, worked the crowd up to a pitch of

wonder and admiration. Thunders of applause from the English soldiers,

as well as from the citizens and peasants, showed how far the love of

brave and knightly deeds could rise above the rivalries of race.

“By my soul! John,” cried the prince, with his cheek flushed and his

eyes shining, “this is a man of good courage and great hardiness. I

could not have thought that there was any single arm upon earth which

could have overthrown these four champions.”

“He is indeed, as I have said, sire, a knight from whom much honor is to

be gained. But the lower edge of the sun is wet, and it will be beneath

the sea ere long.”

“Here is Sir Nigel Loring, on foot and with his sword,” said the prince.

“I have heard that he is a fine swordsman.”

“The finest in your army, sire,” Chandos answered. “Yet I doubt not that

he will need all his skill this day.”

As he spoke, the two combatants advanced from either end in full armor

with their two-handed swords sloping over their shoulders. The stranger

walked heavily and with a measured stride, while the English knight

advanced as briskly as though there was no iron shell to weigh down the

freedom of his limbs. At four paces distance they stopped, eyed each

other for a moment, and then in an instant fell to work with a clatter

and clang as though two sturdy smiths were busy upon their anvils. Up

and down went the long, shining blades, round and round they circled in

curves of glimmering light, crossing, meeting, disengaging, with flash

of sparks at every parry. Here and there bounded Sir Nigel, his head

erect, his jaunty plume fluttering in the air, while his dark opponent

sent in crashing blow upon blow, following fiercely up with cut and with

thrust, but never once getting past the practised blade of the skilled

swordsman. The crowd roared with delight as Sir Nigel would stoop his

head to avoid a blow, or by some slight movement of his body allow some

terrible thrust to glance harmlessly past him. Suddenly, however, his

time came. The Frenchman, whirling up his sword, showed for an instant

a chink betwixt his shoulder piece and the rerebrace which guarded his

upper arm. In dashed Sir Nigel, and out again so swiftly that the eye

could not follow the quick play of his blade, but a trickle of blood

from the stranger's shoulder, and a rapidly widening red smudge upon his

white surcoat, showed where the thrust had taken effect. The wound was,

however, but a slight one, and the Frenchman was about to renew his

onset, when, at a sign from the prince, Chandos threw down his baton,

and the marshals of the lists struck up the weapons and brought the

contest to an end.

“It were time to check it,” said the prince, smiling, “for Sir Nigel is

too good a man for me to lose, and, by the five holy wounds! if one of

those cuts came home I should have fears for our champion. What think

you, Pedro?”

“I think, Edward, that the little man was very well able to take care of

himself. For my part, I should wish to see so well matched a pair fight

on while a drop of blood remained in their veins.”

“We must have speech with him. Such a man must not go from my court

without rest or sup. Bring him hither, Chandos, and, certes, if the Lord

Loring hath resigned his claim upon this goblet, it is right and proper

that this cavalier should carry it to France with him as a sign of the

prowess that he has shown this day.”

As he spoke, the knight-errant, who had remounted his warhorse, galloped

forward to the royal stand, with a silken kerchief bound round his

wounded arm. The setting sun cast a ruddy glare upon his burnished

arms, and sent his long black shadow streaming behind him up the level

clearing. Pulling up his steed, he slightly inclined his head, and

sat in the stern and composed fashion with which he had borne himself

throughout, heedless of the applauding shouts and the flutter of

kerchiefs from the long lines of brave men and of fair women who were

looking down upon him.

“Sir knight,” said the prince, “we have all marvelled this day at this

great skill and valor with which God has been pleased to endow you.

I would fain that you should tarry at our court, for a time at least,

until your hurt is healed and your horses rested.”

“My hurt is nothing, sire, nor are my horses weary,” returned the

stranger in a deep, stern voice.

“Will you not at least hie back to Bordeaux with us, that you may drain

a cup of muscadine and sup at our table?”

“I will neither drink your wine nor sit at your table,” returned the

other. “I bear no love for you or for your race, and there is nought

that I wish at your hands until the day when I see the last sail which

bears you back to your island vanishing away against the western sky.”

“These are bitter words, sir knight,” said Prince Edward, with an angry

frown.

“And they come from a bitter heart,” answered the unknown knight. “How

long is it since there has been peace in my hapless country? Where are

the steadings, and orchards, and vineyards, which made France fair?

Where are the cities which made her great? From Providence to Burgundy

we are beset by every prowling hireling in Christendom, who rend and

tear the country which you have left too weak to guard her own marches.

Is it not a by-word that a man may ride all day in that unhappy land

without seeing thatch upon roof or hearing the crow of cock? Does not

one fair kingdom content you, that you should strive so for this other

one which has no love for you? Pardieu! a true Frenchman's words may

well be bitter, for bitter is his lot and bitter his thoughts as he

rides through his thrice unhappy country.”

“Sir knight,” said the prince, “you speak like a brave man, and our

cousin of France is happy in having a cavalier who is so fit to uphold

his cause either with tongue or with sword. But if you think such evil

of us, how comes it that you have trusted yourselves to us without

warranty or safe-conduct?”

“Because I knew that you would be here, sire. Had the man who sits upon

your right been ruler of this land, I had indeed thought twice before I

looked to him for aught that was knightly or generous.” With a soldierly

salute, he wheeled round his horse, and, galloping down the lists,

disappeared amid the dense crowd of footmen and of horsemen who were

streaming away from the scene of the tournament.

“The insolent villain!” cried Pedro, glaring furiously after him. “I

have seen a man's tongue torn from his jaws for less. Would it not be

well even now, Edward, to send horsemen to hale him back? Bethink you

that it may be one of the royal house of France, or at least some knight

whose loss would be a heavy blow to his master. Sir William Felton, you

are well mounted, gallop after the caitiff, I pray you.”

“Do so, Sir William,” said the prince, “and give him this purse of a

hundred nobles as a sign of the respect which I bear for him; for,

by St. George! he has served his master this day even as I would wish

liegeman of mine to serve me.” So saying, the prince turned his back

upon the King of Spain, and springing upon his horse, rode slowly

homewards to the Abbey of Saint Andrew's.