Wilsten's lance had been shivered by Longpole; and now, with his sword drawn, on the other side of the mêlée, he was aiming a desperate blow at the unarmed head of the traveller, who defended himself from a spearman in front; but at that moment the knight charged the adventurer through the midst, overturning all that came in his way, and shouting loud his battle-cry, to call his adversary's attention, and divert him from the fatal blow which he was about to strike. The plan succeeded. Wilsten heard the sound; and seeing Shoenvelt dead upon the plain, turned furiously on Darnley. Urging their horses between all the others, they met in the midst, and thus seemed to separate the rest of the combatants, who, for a moment or two, looked on inactive; while the swords of the two champions played about each other's heads, and sought out the weaker parts of their harness. Both were strong, and active, and skilful; and though Sir Osborne was decidedly superior, it was long before the combat appeared to turn in his favour. At length, by a quick movement of his horse, the knight brought himself close to the adventurer's side, and gaining a fair blow, plunged the point of his sword through his corslet into his bosom.
At that moment, the combat having been renewed by the rest, one of the marauders struck the knight from behind so violently on the head, that it shook him in the saddle, and breaking the fastenings of his helmet, the casque came off and rolled upon the plain. But the blow was too late to save Wilsten, who now lay dead under his horse's feet; and Sir Osborne well repaid it by a single back-stroke at this new opponent's thigh.
By this time only two of the marauders remained on horseback, so well had Longpole, the traveller, and Frederick, done their devoir; and these two were not long in putting spurs to their steeds and flying with all speed, leaving the knight and his companions masters of the field. Looking round, however, Sir Osborne missed the gallant young Hainaulter, while he saw his horse flying masterless over the plain.
"Where is Frederick?" cried the knight, springing to the ground. "By my knighthood! if he be dead, we have bought our victory dear!"
"Not dead, monseigneur, but hurt," said a faint voice near; and turning, he beheld the poor youth fallen to the earth, and leaning on one arm, while with the other he was striving to take off his casque, from the bars of which the blood dripped out fast upon the greensward. Darnley hastened to his aid; and having disencumbered him of his helmet, discovered a bad wound in his throat, which, however, did not appear to him to be mortal; and Longpole, with the stranger, having dismounted and come to his aid, they contrived to stanch the bleeding, which was draining away his life.
When this was done, the noble traveller turned towards Darnley.
"Sir knight," said he, with the calm, dignified tone of one seldom used to address an equal, "how you came here, or why, I cannot tell; but it seems as if heaven had sent you on purpose to save my life. However that may be, I will say of you, that never did a more famous knight wield sword; and, therefore, as the best soldiers in Europe may be proud of such a companion, let me beg you to take this collar, till I can thank you better;" and he cast over the knight's neck the golden chain of the order of St. Michael, with which he was decorated.
"As for you, good squire," he continued, addressing Longpole, "you are worthy of your lord; therefore kneel down."
"Faith, your worship," answered the yeoman, "I never knelt to any man in my life, and never will to any but a king, while I'm in this world!"
"Fie, fie! Heartley!" cried Sir Osborne; "bend your knee. It is the king, man! Do you not understand? It is King Francis!"