d 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 pe
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