Cedric, the Forester

by Bernard Gay Marshall

“Sir Hugh of Leicester,” he said to an aged knight of his train, “make search of both these champions, and tell us whether they wear other arms or armor than the terms permit.”

In the meantime my father had thrown aside his cloak and belt; and his sword being far heavier than De Latiere’s, had received the loan of a lighter weapon from one of the King’s attendants. Sir Hugh approached and lightly struck the shoulders and breast and waist of both the combatants, and announced to the King that neither carried other weapons of offense or defense than the swords in their hands.

Thereupon a space some twelve paces across was cleared in the center of the hall, and Sir Philip and Lord Mountjoy stood facing one another, awaiting the word.

On a signal from the King, the herald shouted, and instantly the blades struck fire, and the champions whirled about one another in mortal combat. The Frenchman danced and dodged with a quickness that minded me, even then, of the beast he so resembled. My father had much ado to continue facing him; and soon ’twas plain to see that the Carleton champion was such a master of fence as would find few to equal him in all England. His blade so flashed in thrust and parry that the eye could not follow its motions; and my father, of whom always I had thought as the finest of swordsmen, soon had all he could do, and more, in defending his breast from the assault, and had no instant’s leisure to threaten his enemy.

Half a minute had not passed ere the Frenchman’s slashing blade drew blood from the Mountjoy’s arm, then from his shoulder; and for one black instant methought the blow was mortal. But for minute after minute, my father fought on, with lips tight closed and eyes that ever followed the hand of his enemy. Then I wondered if De Latiere, with all his leaps and runs, would not tire himself at the last, and slowing in his thrusts, give my father’s slower spent strength its chance for victory. But again I saw how fast the Mountjoy bled from the two wounds he already had; and this hope flitted.

Then truly, in bitterness of spirit, did I perceive how false and cruel is our vaunted trial by wager of battle. Here was my father, a good man and true, fighting to defend the life of an innocent youth; and this dancing Frenchman, to whom the sword was as the wand of a juggler, would soon kill him before our eyes. That Cedric, the forester, was guiltless of the treacherous deed with which he stood charged altered not a whit the devilish skill of the champion who fought to see him hang. And if De Latiere overcame my father at the last, and left him dead at the feet of the King, the tale that I had told would be no whit less true for such an outcome. Verily at that moment my eyes were opened, and thoughts came to me that shall remain while yet I live.

Now the end fast approached. Blood streamed from my father’s wounds, and he breathed fast and thickly. He scarce moved from his tracks save ever to turn and face his ape-like enemy, whose blade flashed as swiftly as ever, and in whose eyes gleamed a look of deadly purpose.

My eyes could never follow the stroke which brought to a close this desperate, unequal combat. What I saw was that the Frenchman’s blade had pierced my father’s breast. Then—all the Saints be thanked!—one last fierce blow from the Champion of Mountjoy.

This instant was the first since the duel began when De Latiere’s matchless guarding had not fenced his body from my father’s thrust. As quick as the light’s rebound when it strikes the surface of still water was the Mountjoy’s return of the stroke he had received. The next moment both the champions lay on the floor; and King and knights and lords rushed forward to their succor.

De Latiere was thrust clean through the body; and he never moved nor spoke. But my father’s wound, though grievous, it now appeared was far from mortal, his enemy’s blade not having deeply pierced him. Now he raised himself on his arm and claimed the victory for Mountjoy and the right.