CHAPTER XXIV.
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 I 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.
