Cedric turned to the three little maids with a smile.
“The Saxons have held their own nobly,” he said, and his eyes flashed with pride. “How like ye this great sport of knights?”
“It’s—it’s strenuous,” declared Rose, “but it’s certainly the most exciting thing any one ever did. I’ve been clenching my hands so hard I’ve almost dug my nails through the skin.”
“So have I,” Ruth murmured. “I feel dazed with it all—such noise and dash and colour and—oh, such fierceness!”
Cedric laughed. “And thou, Rowena?”
Rowena’s blue eyes were aflame.
“Marked thou the knight in silver?” she asked. “He is young, but how he rode, and with what ease he overthrew yonder huge fellow in black, with the Norman arms on his shield. Think ye he is Ivanhoe, the Saxon knight we have heard of? Would I were queen of the tourney, and might crown him with the bay!”
“So, so,” and her guardian smiled at the eager maid. “Some day perhaps thou wilt be queen; none will merit it more. As for the youth, I know him not. But let us away to the tents there, and get refreshments ere the jousts begin once more.”
So down they went, and preceded by two of their escort, made their way through the gay throngs, where every one wore silks and satins and fine woollens and furs and leather jerkins or else jinkling armour, or perhaps the robes of a priest or a monk, till it seemed like a gigantic masquerade.
At the tent where they stopped were cakes and goblets of wine, pasties of game, a roast sucking pig and other delicacies, which the girls, hungry after the ride and the excitement of the morning, made gallant inroads upon, drinking milk instead of the wine which Cedric quaffed, a milk that tasted odd, and which Rowena told them was goat’s milk.