CHAPTER 27
As Myles took his place at the south end of the lists, he found
the Sieur de la Montaigne already at his station. Through the
peep-hole in the face of the huge helmet, a transverse slit known
as the occularium, he could see, like a strange narrow picture,
the farther end of the lists, the spectators upon either side
moving and shifting with ceaseless restlessness, and in the
centre of all, his opponent, sitting with spear point directed
upward, erect, motionless as a statue of iron, the sunlight
gleaming and flashing upon his polished plates of steel, and the
trappings of his horse swaying and fluttering in the rushing of
the fresh breeze.
Upon that motionless figure his sight gradually centred with
every faculty of mind and soul. He knew the next moment the
signal would be given that was to bring him either glory or shame
from that iron statue. He ground his teeth together with stern
resolve to do his best in the coming encounter, and murmured a
brief prayer in the hallow darkness of his huge helm. Then with a
shake he settled himself more firmly in his saddle, slowly raised
his spear point until the shaft reached the exact angle, and
there suffered it to rest motionless. There was a moment of dead,
tense, breathless pause, then he rather felt than saw the Marshal
raise his baton. He gathered himself together, and the next
moment a bugle sounded loud and clear. In one blinding rush he
drove his spurs into the sides of his horse, and in instant
answer felt the noble steed spring forward with a bound.
Through all the clashing of his armor reverberating in the hollow
depths of his helmet, he saw the mail-clad figure from the other
end of the lists rushing towards him, looming larger and larger
as they came together. He gripped his saddle with his knees,
clutched the stirrup with the soles of his feet, and bent his
body still more forward. In the instant of meeting, with almost
the blindness of instinct, he dropped the point of his spear
against the single red flower-de-luce in the middle of the
on-coming shield. There was a thunderous crash that seemed to
rack every joint, he heard the crackle of splintered wood, he
felt the momentary trembling recoil of the horse beneath him, and
in the next instant had passed by. As he checked the onward rush
of his horse at the far end of the course, he heard faintly in
the dim hollow recess of the helm the loud shout and the clapping
of hands of those who looked on, and found himself gripping with
nervous intensity the butt of a broken spear, his mouth clammy
with excitement, and his heart thumping in his throat.
Then he realized that he had met his opponent, and had borne the
meeting well. As he turned his horse's head towards his own end
of the lists, he saw the other trotting slowly back towards his
station, also holding a broken spear shaft in his hand.
As he passed the iron figure a voice issued from the helmet,
"Well done, Sir Myles, nobly done!" and his heart bounded in
answer to the words of praise. When he had reached his own end of
the lists, he flung away his broken spear, and Gascoyne came
forward with another.
"Oh, Myles!" he said, with sob in his voice, "it was nobly done.
Never did I see a better ridden course in all my life. I did not
believe that thou couldst do half so well. Oh, Myles, prithee
knock him out of his saddle an thou lovest me!"
Myles, in his high-keyed nervousness, could not forbear a short
hysterical laugh at his friend's warmth of enthusiasm. He took
the fresh lance in his hand, and then, seeing that his opponent
was walking his horse slowly up and down at his end of the lists,
did the same during the little time of rest before the next
encounter.
When, in answer to the command of the Marshal, he took his place
a second time, he found himself calmer and more collected than
before, but every faculty no less intensely fixed than it had
been at first. Once more the Marshal raised his baton, once more
the horn sounded, and once more the two rushed together with the
same thunderous crash, the same splinter of broken spears, the
same momentary trembling recoil of the horse, and the same onward
rush past one another. Once more the spectators applauded and
shouted as the two knights turned their horses and rode back
towards their station.
This time as they met midway the Sieur de la Montaigne reined in
his horse. "Sir Myles," said his muffled voice, "I swear to thee,
by my faith, I had not thought to meet in thee such an opponent
as thou dost prove thyself to be. I had thought to find in thee a
raw boy, but find instead a Paladin. Hitherto I have given thee
grace as I would give grace to any mere lad, and thought of
nothing but to give thee opportunity to break thy lance. Now I
shall do my endeavor to unhorse thee as I would an acknowledged
peer in arms. Nevertheless, on account of thy youth, I give thee
this warning, so that thou mayst hold thyself in readiness."
"I give thee gramercy for thy courtesy, my Lord," answered Myles,
speaking in French; "and I will strive to encounter thee as best
I may, and pardon me if I seem forward in so saying, but were I
in thy place, my Lord, I would change me yon breast-piece and
over-girth of my saddle; they are sprung in the stitches."
"Nay," said the Sieur de la Montaigne, laughing, "breast-piece
and over-girth have carried me through more tilts than one, and
shall through this. An thou give me a blow so true as to burst
breast-piece and over-girth, I will own myself fairly conquered
by thee." So saying, he saluted Myles with the butt of the spear
he still held, and passed by to his end of the lists.
Myles, with Gascoyne running beside him, rode across to his
pavilion, and called to Edmund Wilkes to bring him a cup of
spiced wine. After Gascoyne had taken off his helmet, and as he
sat wiping the perspiration from his face Sir James came up and
took him by the hand.
"My dear boy," said he, gripping the hand he held, "never could I
hope to be so overjoyed in mine old age as I am this day. Thou
dost bring honor to me, for I tell thee truly thou dost ride like
a knight seasoned in twenty tourneys."
"It doth give me tenfold courage to hear thee so say, dear
master," answered Myles. "And truly," he added, "I shall need all
my courage this bout, for the Sieur de la Montaigne telleth me
that he will ride to unhorse me this time."
"Did he indeed so say?" said Sir James. "Then belike he meaneth
to strike at thy helm. Thy best chance is to strike also at his.
Doth thy hand tremble?"
"Not now," answered Myles.
"Then keep thy head cool and thine eye true. Set thy trust in
God, and haply thou wilt come out of this bout honorably in spite
of the rawness of thy youth."
Just then Edmund Wilkes presented the cup of wine to Myles, who
drank it off at a draught, and thereupon Gascoyne replaced the
helm and tied the thongs.
The charge that Sir James Lee had given to Myles to strike at his
adversary's helm was a piece of advice he probably would not have
given to so young a knight, excepting as a last resort. A blow
perfectly delivered upon the helm was of all others the most
difficult for the recipient to recover from, but then a blow upon
the helm was not one time in fifty perfectly given. The huge
cylindrical tilting helm was so constructed in front as to slope
at an angle in all directions to one point. That point was the
centre of a cross formed by two iron bands welded to the
steel-face plates of the helm where it was weakened by the
opening slit of the occularium, or peephole. In the very centre
of this cross was a little flattened surface where the bands were
riveted together, and it was upon that minute point that the blow
must be given to be perfect, and that stroke Myles determined to
attempt.
As he took his station Edmund Wilkes came running across from the
pavilion with a lance that Sir James had chosen, and Myles,
returning the one that Gascoyne had just given him, took it in
his hand. It was of seasoned oak, somewhat thicker than the
other, a tough weapon, not easily to be broken even in such an
encounter as he was like to have. He balanced the weapon, and
found that it fitted perfectly to his grasp. As he raised the
point to rest, his opponent took his station at the farther
extremity of the lists, and again there was a little space of
breathless pause. Myles was surprised at his own coolness; every
nervous tremor was gone. Before, he had been conscious of the
critical multitude looking down upon him; now it was a conflict
of man to man, and such a conflict had no terrors for his young
heart of iron.
The spectators had somehow come to the knowledge that this was to
be a more serious encounter than the two which had preceded it,
and a breathless silence fell for the moment or two that the
knights stood in place.
Once more he breathed a short prayer, "Holy Mary, guard me!"
Then again, for the third time, the Marshal raised his baton, and
the horn sounded, and for the third time Myles drove his spurs
into his horse's flanks. Again he saw the iron figure of his
opponent rushing nearer, nearer, nearer. He centred, with a
straining intensity, every faculty of soul, mind, and body upon
one point--the cross of the occularium, the mark he was to
strike. He braced himself for the tremendous shock which he knew
must meet him, and then in a flash dropped lance point straight
and true. The next instant there was a deafening stunning
crash--a crash like the stroke of a thunder-bolt. There was a
dazzling blaze of blinding light, and a myriad sparks danced and
flickered and sparkled before his eyes. He felt his horse stagger
under him with the recoil, and hardly knowing what he did, he
drove his spurs deep into its sides with a shout. At the same
moment there resounded in his ears a crashing rattle and clatter,
he knew not of what, and then, as his horse recovered and sprang
forward, and as the stunning bewilderment passed, he found that
his helmet had been struck off. He heard a great shout arise from
all, and thought, with a sickening, bitter disappointment, that
it was because he had lost. At the farther end of the course he
turned his horse, and then his heart gave a leap and a bound as
though it would burst, the blood leaped to his cheeks tingling,
and his bosom thrilled with an almost agonizing pang of triumph,
of wonder, of amazement.
There, in a tangle of his horse's harness and of embroidered
trappings, the Sieur de la Montaigne lay stretched upon the
ground, with his saddle near by, and his riderless horse was
trotting aimlessly about at the farther end of the lists.
Myles saw the two squires of the fallen knight run across to
where their master lay, he saw the ladies waving their kerchiefs
and veils, and the castle people swinging their hats and shouting
in an ecstasy of delight. Then he rode slowly back to where the
squires were now aiding the fallen knight to arise. The senior
squire drew his dagger, cut the leather points, and drew off the
helm, disclosing the knight's face--a face white as death, and
convulsed with rage, mortification, and bitter humiliation.
"I was not rightly unhorsed!" he cried, hoarsely and with livid
lips, to the Marshal and his attendants, who had ridden up. "I
unhelmed him fairly enough, but my over-girth and breast-strap
burst, and my saddle slipped. I was not unhorsed, I say, and I
lay claim that I unhelmed him."
"Sir," said the Marshal calmly, and speaking in French, "surely
thou knowest that the loss of helmet does not decide an
encounter. I need not remind thee, my Lord, that it was so
awarded by John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, when in the jousting
match between Reynand de Roye and John de Holland, the Sieur
Reynand left every point of his helm loosened, so that the helm
was beaten off at each stroke. If he then was justified in doing
so of his own choice, and wilfully suffering to be unhelmed, how
then can this knight be accused of evil who suffered it by
chance?"
"Nevertheless," said the Sieur de la Montaigne, in the same
hoarse, breathless voice, "I do affirm, and will make my
affirmation good with my body, that I fell only by the breaking
of my girth. Who says otherwise lies!"
"It is the truth he speaketh," said Myles. "I myself saw the
stitches were some little what burst, and warned him thereof
before we ran this course.
"Sir," said the Marshal to the Sieur de la Montaigne, "how can
you now complain of that thing which your own enemy advised you
of and warned you against? Was it not right knightly for him so
to do?"
The Sieur de la Montaigne stood quite still for a little while,
leaning on the shoulder of his chief squire, looking moodily upon
the ground; then, without making answer, he turned, and walked
slowly away to his pavilion, still leaning on his squire's
shoulder, whilst the other attendant followed behind, bearing his
shield and helmet.
Gascoyne had picked up Myles's fallen helmet as the Sieur de la
Montaigne moved away, and Lord George and Sir James Lee came
walking across the lists to where Myles still sat. Then, the one
taking his horse by the bridle-rein, and the other walking beside
the saddle, they led him before the raised dais where the King
sat.
Even the Comte de Vermoise, mortified and amazed as he must have
been at the overthrow of his best knight, joined in the praise
and congratulation that poured upon the young conqueror. Myles,
his heart swelling with a passion of triumphant delight, looked
up and met the gaze of Lady Alice fixed intently upon him. A red
spot of excitement still burned in either cheek, and it flamed to
a rosier red as he bowed his head to her before turning away.
Gascoyne had just removed Myles's breastplate and gorget, when
Sir James Lee burst into the pavilion. All his grim coldness was
gone, and he flung his arms around the young man's neck, hugging
him heartily, and kissing him upon either cheek.
Ere he let him go, "Mine own dear boy," he said, holding him off
at arm's-length, and winking his one keen eye rapidly, as though
to wink away a dampness of which he was ashamed--"mine own dear
boy, I do tell thee truly this is as sweet to me as though thou
wert mine own son; sweeter to me than when I first broke mine own
lance in triumph, and felt myself to be a right knight."
"Sir," answered Myles, "what thou sayest doth rejoice my very
heart. Ne'theless, it is but just to say that both his
breast-piece and over-girth were burst in the stitches before he
ran his course, for so I saw with mine own eyes."
"Burst in the stitches!" snorted Sir James. "Thinkest thou he did
not know in what condition was his horse's gearing? I tell thee
he went down because thou didst strike fair and true, and he did
not so strike thee. Had he been Guy of Warwick he had gone down
all the same under such a stroke and in such case."
