Well might he be so proudly exultant, for only four knights were now left in the lists to encounter him and his two brothers, and the prize seemed already within his grasp.
But few wiser sayings have ever been uttered than the good old proverb which warns men against counting their chickens before they are hatched; and an obstacle of which he little dreamed lay between the young swaggerer and the distinction that he so boastfully accounted his own. Just as he turned to ride back to the end of the lists for what he expected to be his final course, the day’s programme was suddenly disturbed by a startling and unlooked-for interruption.
From the far end of the wide meadow in which the lists had been set came clearly through the still air the sound of a trumpet, waking all the echoes with a ringing blast of defiance.
All eyes were instantly turned with eager curiosity in the direction of a sound betokening the coming of some new champion to take part in the contest, and in another moment a horseman in full armour, with the visor of his helmet closed, was seen making his way slowly through the crowd, which opened, as if by word of command, to give him passage.
The new-comer was alone, save for the single attendant who had sounded the trumpet; and he, in direct contradiction of established usage, wore no blazonry or distinguishing badge of any kind, being simply clad in a long grey mantle, with an overlapping hood that hid his face.
But, strange as was the appearance of the servant, that of the master was stranger still.
He was short of stature, but his massive build and vast shoulder-breadth gave a promise of surpassing strength, amply borne out by the unusual weight of the shield and lance that he carried. The shield itself was wholly blank, having neither device nor motto. The stranger’s armour was black as night from head to heel, as was also the horse that he rode; and, with his barred visor and sombre panoply, there was in his whole aspect something so gloomy, grim, and almost unearthly, that a thrill of superstitious awe pulsed through the gazing crowd, and reached even the more exalted spectators around the duke’s throne.
The unknown warrior never uttered a word, and this ominous silence added to the chilling effect of his sudden and gloomy apparition. But his attendant blew a second blast, and proclaimed aloud that his master had made a vow to St. Yves of Brittany to keep the lists that day against all comers, and craved permission of the most high and mighty Duke John to discharge his vow.
Such vows, and others more irrational still, were too common in that age of chivalrous extravagance to surprise any one, and the duke at once assented, though secretly convinced that this bold stranger had little chance of holding his own against seven of the best knights in Brittany.
But not so thought the most experienced judges present. Apart from the stranger’s show of vast bodily strength, the skill with which he handled lance and horse argued no ordinary power of managing both, and a dead hush of expectation sank over the whole multitude as the unknown was seen to take his place in the lists.