Rowena laughed. “We will arrive in good season,” she said soothingly, “and the Thane will not go at a harder pace when he takes maidens with him. ’Tis but a scant three miles farther. See, yonder rides a train bent the same way.”
Sure enough, through the scattering trees, that grew more openly here, with the grass green under them, another group of horsemen rode through the sun-flecked shade. The light flashed on steel, and rioted in the blues, scarlets and yellows of their doublets and cloaks. There was a prodigious clanking as they raced along, and a sound of hearty laughter. Only for a moment they showed, and then the forest hid them once more.
Ruth and Rose had a thousand questions to ask, and Rowena apparently liked nothing better than to reply. Ruth was particularly interested in finding out who was going to do the fighting, and whether any one could get killed.
“They grow pretty fierce sometimes, don’t they?” she asked.
Rowena nodded. “Many a young knight is injured in these mock battles. But a man must abide the chance of the day.”
“Like foot-ball games. I never saw one of those yet, but lots of boys are hurt in them, and some are killed every year,” she told the Saxon girl.
“Men are made that way, I trow,” Rowena answered. “With all this jousting and the real wars, I marvel there is a man left alive.”
Just here the woods broke away, and the little company came out on the brow of a hill, that sloped down by easy degrees to a fair plain. Two little American girls gave a gasp of admiration as they gazed at the scene spread before them.
In the centre of the plain was an oblong square, surrounded by a stout palisade. Up from this the ground sloped in every direction crowded with gay tents and pavilions, with grand-stands decorated with streamers, and hung with rich tapestries. Throngs of brilliantly clad people were climbing to the various seats, glittering as they moved like fireflies over a field of June clover. Darting about between the tents and across the meadow were numerous horsemen, evidently messengers and heralds. At either end of the enclosed space were huge wooden gates, guarded by a splendid group of mounted men-at-arms. At both sides of each entrance a herald gorgeously apparelled sate his horse, pennant in hand. Before the different pavilions flashed great shields, bearing the arms of the knights who were to carry them. Hawkers of cakes and other things to eat and drink moved here and there, or displayed their wares under awnings on the outskirts of the throng. An immense buzz and rattle, mellowed by distance, rang in the air.
“In the elevated seat under the purple and scarlet canopy, there in the centre,” explained Rowena, “the King and Prince John will sit. See, those are the royal arms. At the further end are the knights challengers, and nearer us the defenders. Over opposite the King’s seat you see another throne—that is for the Queen of Love and Beauty, who will give the prizes. How wonderful it would be to occupy that seat. I would rather sit there than on the throne of the real queen.”