And the earl mareschal answered,
"And may God defend the right!"
And, the third time, the trumpet sounded, short and direful as the blast of doom; and at that deadly summons, with brandished blades, both champions started forward; but the first bound of Sir Aradas carried him across two thirds of the space, and his sword fell like a thunderbolt on the casque of his antagonist, and bent him almost to his knee. But that was no strife to be ended at a blow; and they closed, foot to foot, dealing at each other sweeping blows, which could not be parried, and could scarcely be avoided, but which were warded off by their armor of proof.
It was soon observed that Sir Foulke d'Oilly's blows fell with far the weightier dint, and that, when they took effect, it was all his lighter adversary could do to bear up against them. But, on the other hand, it was seen that, by his wonderful agility, and the lithe motions of his supple and elastic frame, Sir Aradas avoided more blows than he received, and that each stroke missed by his enemy told almost as much against him as a wound.
At the end of half an hour, no material advantage had been gained; the mail of either champion was broken in many places, and the blood flowed, of both, from more wounds than one; that of Aradas the more freely.
But as they paused, perforce, to snatch a moment's breath, it was clear that Sir Aradas was the fresher and less fatigued of the two; while Sir Foulke was evidently short of wind, and hard pressed.
It was not the young man's game to give his enemy time—so, before half a minute had passed, he set on him again, with the same fiery vigor and energy as before. His opponent, however, saw that the long play was telling against him, and it appeared that he was determined to bring the conflict to a close by sheer force.
One great stride he made forward, measuring his distance accurately with his eye, and making hand and foot keep time exactly, as he swung his massive blade in a full circle round his head, and delivered the sweeping blow, at its mightiest impetus, on the right side of his enemy's casque.
Like a thunderbolt it fell; and, beneath its sway, the baçinet, cerveilliere, and avantaille of Aradas gave way, shattered like an egg-shell. He stood utterly unhelmed, save that the beaver and the base of the casque, protecting the nape of his neck and his lower jaw, held firm, and supported the mailed hood of linked steel rings, which defended his neck to the shoulder. All else was bare, and exposed to the first blow of his now triumphant antagonist.
The fight seemed ended by that single blow; and, despite the injunction of the herald, a general groan burst from the assembly. Guendolen covered her face with her hands for a second, but then looked up again, with a wild and frenzied eye, compelled to gaze, to the last, on that terribly fascinating scene.