He ceased, and both were silent for a while.
“And since that time,” asked Bertrand at last, “thou hast followed De Raguenel’s banner?”
“That have I,” said the Norman, “and follow it I will while I can put foot in stirrup, or take lance in hand.”
“Long may’st thou be able to do both, brave man,” said Du Guesclin, heartily. “But tell me, I pray thee—this Lady Tiphaine, who readeth the future as a pilot reads the stars, hath she ever told aught of thy destiny?”
“She hath, in good sooth, for my lord her father craved it of her; but all she told us thereof was that my life must end on that day when she should meet for the first time the man who was appointed to save her from her greatest peril, and aid France in its sorest need.”
Du Guesclin started visibly, for the words brought back to his mind, suddenly and startlingly as a flash of lightning, his mysterious dream, and the strange prophecies that had preceded it; and for some moments he was silent and thoughtful.
“Said she who the destined man was to be?” he inquired at length. “Some mighty champion, belike?”
“Nay, of that she said nought,” replied the man-at-arms. “She did but tell us that the day of his coming should be the day of my death. And, for mine own part, I am well content with such a bode; for in this I am of the mind of an old hunting-hound—when my teeth fail, and others can do better service to my master and mistress than I can, then ’tis full time that my life should end.”
CHAPTER VIII
Lance to Lance
It was a bright, warm, cloudless morning in the summer of 1337, and along the dusty high-roads of Brittany crowds of people were pouring toward Rennes from every side; for a great tournament was about to be held near the town, and at that period such displays aroused the same universal excitement, and drew together the same multitudes as a race-meeting of our own day.