CHAPTER VII.
THE RENOWNED COMBAT BETWEEN SIR ANTHONY WOODVILLE AND THE BASTARD OF
BURGUNDY.
And now the day came for the memorable joust between the queen's
brother and the Count de la Roche. By a chapter solemnly convoked at
St. Paul's, the preliminaries were settled; upon the very timber used
in decking the lists King Edward expended half the yearly revenue
derived from all the forests of his duchy of York. In the wide space
of Smithfield, destined at a later day to blaze with the fires of
intolerant bigotry, crowded London's holiday population: and yet,
though all the form and parade of chivalry were there; though in the
open balconies never presided a braver king or a comelier queen;
though never a more accomplished chevalier than Sir Anthony Lord of
Scales, nor a more redoubted knight than the brother of Charles the
Bold, met lance to lance,--it was obvious to the elder and more
observant spectators, that the true spirit of the lists was already
fast wearing out from the influences of the age; that the gentleman
was succeeding to the knight, that a more silken and scheming race had
become the heirs of the iron men, who, under Edward III., had realized
the fabled Paladins of Charlemagne and Arthur. But the actors were
less changed than the spectators,--the Well-born than the People.
Instead of that hearty sympathy in the contest, that awful respect for
the champions, that eager anxiety for the honour of the national
lance, which, a century or more ago, would have moved the throng as
one breast, the comments of the bystanders evinced rather the cynicism
of ridicule, the feeling that the contest was unreal, and that
chivalry was out of place in the practical temper of the times. On
the great chessboard the pawns were now so marshalled, that the
knight's moves were no longer able to scour the board and hold in
check both castle and king.
"Gramercy," said Master Stokton, who sat in high state as sheriff,
[Fabyan] "this is a sad waste of moneys; and where, after all, is the
glory in two tall fellows, walled a yard thick in armor, poking at
each other with poles of painted wood?"
"Give me a good bull-bait!" said a sturdy butcher, in the crowd below;
"that's more English, I take it, than these fooleries."
Amongst the ring, the bold 'prentices of London, up and away betimes,
had pushed their path into a foremost place, much to the discontent of
the gentry, and with their flat caps, long hair, thick bludgeons, loud
exclamations, and turbulent demeanour, greatly scandalized the formal
heralds. That, too, was a sign of the times. Nor less did it show
the growth of commerce, that, on seats very little below the regal
balconies, and far more conspicuous than the places of earls and
barons, sat in state the mayor (that mayor a grocer!) [Sir John
Yonge.--Fabyan] and aldermen of the city.
A murmur, rising gradually into a general shout, evinced the
admiration into which the spectators were surprised, when Anthony
Woodville Lord Scales--his head bare--appeared at the entrance of the
lists,--so bold and so fair was his countenance, so radiant his
armour, and so richly caparisoned his gray steed, in the gorgeous
housings that almost swept the ground; and around him grouped such an
attendance of knights and peers as seldom graced the train of any
subject, with the Duke of Clarence at his right hand, bearing his
bassinet.
But Anthony's pages, supporting his banner, shared at least the
popular admiration with their gallant lord: they were, according to
the old custom, which probably fell into disuse under the Tudors,
disguised in imitation of the heraldic beasts that typified his
armourial cognizance; [Hence the origin of Supporters] and horrible
and laidly looked they in the guise of griffins, with artful scales of
thin steel painted green, red forked tongues, and griping the banner
in one huge claw, while, much to the marvel of the bystanders, they
contrived to walk very statelily on the other. "Oh, the brave
monsters!" exclaimed the butcher. "Cogs bones, this beats all the
rest!"
But when the trumpets of the heralds had ceased, when the words
"Laissez aller!" were pronounced, when the lances were set and the
charge began, this momentary admiration was converted into a cry of
derision, by the sudden restiveness of the Burgundian's horse. This
animal, of the pure race of Flanders, of a bulk approaching to
clumsiness, of a rich bay, where, indeed, amidst the barding and the
housings, its colour could be discerned, had borne the valiant Bastard
through many a sanguine field, and in the last had received a wound
which had greatly impaired its sight. And now, whether scared by the
shouting, or terrified by its obscure vision, and the recollection of
its wound when last bestrode by its lord, it halted midway, reared on
end, and, fairly turning round, despite spur and bit, carried back the
Bastard, swearing strange oaths, that grumbled hoarsely through his
vizor, to the very place whence he had started.
The uncourteous mob yelled and shouted and laughed, and wholly
disregarding the lifted wands and drowning the solemn rebukes of the
heralds, they heaped upon the furious Burgundian all the expressions
of ridicule in which the wit of Cockaigne is so immemorially rich.
But the courteous Anthony of England, seeing the strange and
involuntary flight of his redoubted foe, incontinently reined in,
lowered his lance, and made his horse, without turning round, back to
the end of the lists in a series of graceful gambadas and caracoles.
Again the signal was given, and this time the gallant bay did not fail
his rider; ashamed, doubtless, of its late misdemeanour, arching its
head till it almost touched the breast, laying its ears level on the
neck, and with a snort of anger and disdain, the steed of Flanders
rushed to the encounter. The Bastard's lance shivered fairly against
the small shield of the Englishman; but the Woodville's weapon, more
deftly aimed, struck full on the count's bassinet, and at the same
time the pike projecting from the gray charger's chaffron pierced the
nostrils of the unhappy bay, which rage and shame had blinded more
than ever. The noble animal, stung by the unexpected pain, and bitted
sharply by the rider, whose seat was sorely shaken by the stroke on
his helmet, reared again, stood an instant perfectly erect, and then
fell backwards, rolling over and over the illustrious burden it had
borne. Then the debonair Sir Anthony of England, casting down his
lance, drew his sword, and dexterously caused his destrier to curvet
in a close circle round the fallen Bastard, courteously shaking at him
the brandished weapon, but without attempt to strike.
"Ho, marshal!" cried King Edward, "assist to his legs the brave
count."
The marshal hastened to obey. "Ventrebleu!" quoth the Bastard, when
extricated from the weight of his steed, "I cannot hold by the clouds,
but though my horse failed me, surely I will not fail my companions;"
and as he spoke, he placed himself in so gallant and superb a posture,
that he silenced the inhospitable yell which had rejoiced in the
foreigner's discomfiture. Then, observing that the gentle Anthony had
dismounted, and was leaning gracefully against his destrier, the
Burgundian called forth,--
"Sir Knight, thou hast conquered the steed, not the rider. We are now
foot to foot. The pole-axe, or the sword,--which? Speak!"
"I pray thee, noble sieur," quoth the Woodville, mildly, "to let the
strife close for this day, and when rest bath--"
"Talk of rest to striplings,--I demand my rights!"
"Heaven forefend," said Anthony Woodville, lifting his hand on high,
"that I, favoured so highly by the fair dames of England, should
demand repose on their behalf. But bear witness," he said (with the
generosity of the last true chevalier of his age, and lifting his
vizor, so as to be heard by the king, and even through the foremost
ranks of the crowd)--"bear witness, that in this encounter, my cause
hath befriended me, not mine arm. The Count de la Roche speaketh
truly; and his steed alone be blamed for his mischance."
"It is but a blind beast!" muttered the Burgundian.
"And," added Anthony, bowing towards the tiers rich with the beauty of
the court--"and the count himself assureth me that the blaze of yonder
eyes blinded his goodly steed." Having delivered himself of this
gallant conceit, so much in accordance with the taste of the day, the
Englishman, approaching the king's balcony, craved permission to
finish the encounter with the axe or brand.
"The former, rather please you, my liege; for the warriors of Burgundy
have ever been deemed unconquered in that martial weapon."
Edward, whose brave blood was up and warm at the clash of steel, bowed
his gracious assent, and two pole-axes were brought into the ring.
The crowd now evinced a more earnest and respectful attention than
they had hitherto shown, for the pole-axe, in such stalwart hands, was
no child's toy. "Hum," quoth Master Stokton, "there may be some
merriment now,--not like those silly poles! Your axe lops off a limb
mighty cleanly." The knights themselves seemed aware of the greater
gravity of the present encounter. Each looked well to the bracing of
his vizor; and poising their weapons with method and care, they stood
apart some moments, eying each other steadfastly,--as adroit fencers
with the small sword do in our schools at this day.
At length the Burgundian, darting forward, launched a mighty stroke at
the Lord Scales, which, though rapidly parried, broke down the guard,
and descended with such weight on the shoulder that but for the
thrice-proven steel of Milan, the benevolent expectation of Master
Stokton had been happily fulfilled. Even as it was, the Lord Scales
uttered a slight cry,--which might be either of anger or of pain,--and
lifting his axe with both hands, levelled a blow on the Burgundian's
helmet that well nigh brought him to his knee. And now for the space
of some ten minutes, the crowd with charmed suspense beheld the almost
breathless rapidity with which stroke on stroke was given and parried;
the axe shifted to and fro, wielded now with both hands, now the left,
now the right, and the combat reeling, as it were, to and fro,--so
that one moment it raged at one extreme of the lists, the next at the
other; and so well inured, from their very infancy, to the weight of
mail were these redoubted champions, that the very wrestlers on the
village green, nay, the naked gladiators of old, might have envied
their lithe agility and supple quickness.
At last, by a most dexterous stroke, Anthony Woodville forced the
point of his axe into the vizor of the Burgundian, and there so firmly
did it stick, that he was enabled to pull his antagonist to and fro at
his will, while the Bastard, rendered as blind as his horse by the
stoppage of the eye-hole, dealt his own blows about at random, and was
placed completely at the mercy of the Englishman. And gracious as the
gentle Sir Anthony was, he was still so smarting under many a bruise
felt through his dinted mail, that small mercy, perchance, would the
Bastard have found, for the gripe of the Woodville's left hand was on
his foe's throat, and the right seemed about to force the point
deliberately forward into the brain, when Edward, roused from his
delight at that pleasing spectacle by a loud shriek from his sister
Margaret, echoed by the Duchess of Bedford, who was by no means
anxious that her son's axe should be laid at the root of all her
schemes, rose, and crying, "Hold!" with that loud voice which had so
often thrilled a mightier field, cast down his warderer.
Instantly the lists opened; the marshals advanced, severed the
champions, and unbraced the count's helmet. But the Bastard's martial
spirit, exceedingly dissatisfied at the unfriendly interruption,
rewarded the attention of the marshals by an oath worthy his
relationship to Charles the Bold; and hurrying straight to the king,
his face flushed with wrath and his eyes sparkling with fire,--
"Noble sire and king," he cried, "do me not this wrong! I am not
overthrown nor scathed nor subdued,--I yield not. By every knightly
law till one champion yields he can call upon the other to lay on and
do his worst."
Edward paused, much perplexed and surprised at finding his
intercession so displeasing. He glanced first at the Lord Rivers, who
sat a little below him, and whose cheek grew pale at the prospect of
his son's renewed encounter with one so determined, then at the
immovable aspect of the gentle and apathetic Elizabeth, then at the
agitated countenance of the duchess, then at the imploring eyes of
Margaret, who, with an effort, preserved herself from swooning; and
finally beckoning to him the Duke of Clarence, as high constable, and
the Duke of Norfolk, as earl marshal, he said, "Tarry a moment, Sir
Count, till we take counsel in this grave affair." The count bowed
sullenly; the spectators maintained an anxious silence; the curtain
before the king's gallery was closed while the council conferred. At
the end of some three minutes, however, the drapery was drawn aside by
the Duke of Norfolk; and Edward, fixing his bright blue eye upon the
fiery Burgundian, said gravely, "Count de la Roche, your demand is
just. According to the laws of the list, you may fairly claim that the
encounter go on."
"Oh, knightly prince, well said! My thanks. We lose time.--Squires,
my bassinet!"
"Yea," renewed Edward, "bring hither the count's bassinet. By the
laws, the combat may go on at thine asking,--I retract my warderer.
But, Count de la Roche, by those laws you appeal to, the said combat
must go on precisely at the point at which it was broken off.
Wherefore brace on thy bassinet, Count de la Roche; and thou, Anthony
Lord Scales, fix the pike of thine axe, which I now perceive was
inserted exactly where the right eye giveth easy access to the brain,
precisely in the same place. So renew the contest, and the Lord have
mercy on thy soul, Count de la Roche!"
At this startling sentence, wholly unexpected, and yet wholly
according to those laws of which Edward was so learned a judge, the
Bastard's visage fell. With open mouth and astounded eyes, he stood
gazing at the king, who, majestically reseating himself, motioned to
the heralds.
"Is that the law, sire?" at length faltered forth the Bastard.
"Can you dispute it? Can any knight or gentleman gainsay it?"
"Then," quoth the Bastard, gruffly, and throwing his axe to the
ground, "by all the saints in the calendar, I have had enough! I came
hither to dare all that beseems a chevalier, but to stand still while
Sir Anthony Woodville deliberately pokes out my right eye were a feat
to show that very few brains would follow. And so, my Lord Scales, I
give thee my right hand, and wish thee joy of thy triumph, and the
golden collar." [The prize was a collar of gold, enamelled with the
flower of the souvenance.]
"No triumph," replied the Woodville, modestly, "for thou art only, as
brave knights should be, subdued by the charms of the ladies, which no
breast, however valiant, can with impunity dispute."
So saying, the Lord Scales led the count to a seat of honour near the
Lord Rivers; and the actor was contented, perforce, to become a
spectator of the ensuing contests. These were carried on till late at
noon between the Burgundians and the English, the last maintaining the
superiority of their principal champion; and among those in the melee,
to which squires were admitted, not the least distinguished and
conspicuous was our youthful friend, Master Marmaduke Nevile.
