"But how can I do that?" demanded Richard de Ashby, gazing upon him with evident alarm. "How is it possible for me to insure an event which is in the hand of fate alone?"
"In the hand of fate!" cried Guy de Margan, with a scoff. "To hear thee speak, one would think that thou art as innocent as Noe's dove. Art thou not thy cousin's godfather in the list to-morrow?"
"Ay, so he said," replied Richard de Ashby.
"Then instruct him how to slay his adversary," rejoined Guy de Margan. "Tell him not to aim at shield or helmet, but at any spot; his shoulder--his arm--his throat--his hip, where he can see the bare hauberk."
"Alured knows better," said Richard. "He will drive straight upon him with his lance; and then the toughest wood--the firmest seat--the steadiest hand--the keenest eye, will give the victory."
"Nay, but tell him," answered Guy de Margan, in a lower tone, "that you know what is passing in his mind, the doubts, the hesitation, and that the conflict on foot is that wherein alone he can hope to win the day. Ask him if he ever saw Hugh de Monthermer unhorsed by a straight-forward stroke of a lance whoever was his opponent? But show him that, by striking him at the side, and turning him in the saddle, he may be brought to the ground without a doubt."
"But still what is this to me?" asked Richard, impatiently; "the one or the other must win the day."
"No--no!" cried Guy de Margan. "I will show you a means by which, if you can ensure that Alured de Ashby's lance dips but its point in Hugh de Monthermer's blood, it shall carry with it as certain a death as if it went through and through his heart; a scratch--a simple scratch--will do it.--When I was in the land of the old Romans--now filled with priests and sluggards, who have nought on earth to do but to sit and debauch the peasant girls, and hatch means of ridding themselves of enemies--a good honest man, who took care that none should be long his foe, and was possessed of many excellent secrets, gave me, for weighty considerations, a powder of so balmy a quality, that either dropped into a cup or rubbed on a fresh wound, though the quantity be not bigger than will lie on a pin's-head, it will cure the most miserable man of all his sorrows, or within half an hour will take out the pain of the most terrible injury--for ever!"
"I understand--I understand," said Richard de Ashby. "Give me the powder; would I had had it long ago. But how can one fix it to the lance's point, so that in the shock of combat it is not brushed off?"
"Mix it with some gentle unguent," answered Guy de Margan; "'twill have the same effect."