Jeannette's invaluable optimism and unflagging hopefulness, though simple almost to the verge of childishness, did much to fortify Alice for the trying ordeal before her. In spite of her anxiety, she laughed outright at the recital of Jeannette's dream. Presently, at the sound of the trumpet the castle gates were again thrown open, and forth issued a gaily dressed cavalcade; heralds, marshals, judges, leading the way, and followed by eight or ten knights armed cap-à-pié, each one being attended by his esquire. Alice scrutinised closely each knight as they severally filed past her, and dipped the point of their lances in salutation.
"The Saxon is not here. Some accident, I fear, has happened," she tremulously whispered to Jeannette.
"Don't agitate yourself, my lady; they will not fail us. Wulfhere said I should see his face this day; but I was to be careful not to show my recognition of him, or I should probably betray them."
Now the scene presented an animated appearance, as the knights and their esquires ranged themselves on opposite sides of the enclosure, whilst the heralds, marshals, and judges rode between the ranks, examining the points of each combatant's lance, to see that each one was blunt, and such as was allowed by the laws of the tourney.
Meanwhile, Norman soldiers crowd round the enclosure, whilst here and there groups of Saxons are wedged amongst them. Some half-dozen Saxon churls have been stood together on the outskirts of the crowd for some time, engaged in eager conversation. A careful observer would perceive that, despite their cowed and woe-begone appearance, they have some common purpose in view. They each of them carry a quarter staff,—not a formidable weapon, it is true; but no formidable weapon would be permitted them. At one end of those staves they have deftly inserted stout steel goads, which no casual observer would detect. I was first attracted to this group, in particular, by having observed them obey certain signals given by their leader. But my eyes turned on all occasions naturally and sympathetically to the Saxon portion of the crowd; and the result of my diligent scrutiny of this little band was quickened by my discovery of the fact that the leader was none other than Badger. Presently they divide themselves into couples and take their stand equidistant from each other, along with the spectators who line the enclosure. Soon, by dint of pushing and wriggling, they force their way close to the railings' side.
Now, at a signal the trumpet again sounds, and a marshal rides into the centre of the arena, and reads the proclamation and rules of the tourney. Just at that moment, however, a piercing blast from a horn in the distance makes the greenwood ring again. Immediately from the leafy bower there emerges a knight tall of stature, and mail-clad from head to foot. On his shield he bears a device of the rising sun on a field vert, and as the rays of the midday sun smite upon his helmet and breast-plate, the refulgence thereof is as of molten gold. He rode a handsome charger, whose trappings and housings were richly embroidered and resplendent with many strange devices. In close attendance rode his squire, bearing his lance and shield; he also was of brawny and athletic build, like his master. He had on a helmet with harness of link mail. His face and hands, which were uncovered, seemed deeply tanned, as though they had been subjected to long exposure in some sunny clime. Behind the knight and his esquire there rode a couple of men-at-arms, bronzed and brown as the squire.
It was soon buzzed about amidst the crowd that this was the foreign knight for whose advent the tourney had been delayed a full hour. The knight and his squire were admitted into the enclosure at once; but the couple of men-at-arms stood without. There was a brief consultation with the stewards in the Norman tongue, and the explanations were evidently satisfactory, for the knight rode on. And as he passed the dais, where sat the Queen of Beauty, he dipped the point of his lance and bowed low.
The crimson flood mounted to Alice's face and neck, as she, with great nervousness, acknowledged the salute. This momentary flush, followed by, if possible, a still deeper pallor and greater agitation, did not escape the notice of our Abbot, who turned keen and scrutinising glances, first on the knight, and then on Alice. He was suspicions as usual. Could it be possible that there was some love entanglement between these two which boded evil to his brother the Baron? Hitherto, none had appeared in the lists, saving knights who would probably be easily overthrown by Vigneau. Though this was but a joust of courtesy, yet the ignominy of being unhorsed, he knew, would exasperate his brother into desperation. This knight of commanding stature, and of warlike appearance and renown, introduced an element of grave uncertainty into the day's contest. There was, further, the gravest suspicion that this stranger knight was imported on purpose to frustrate his brother's union with Alice, a union which, he knew, was cordially detested by both father and daughter. The Baron also, suspicious by disposition, with lowering brow glared upon the stranger from behind his visor, and hated him at sight.
Not that he feared being overthrown, for his self-confidence was unlimited. His great weight and personal strength and skill had borne him to victory in many a famous joust in times past, and he was contemptuous of any rival he might chance to meet. But a knight young, handsome, and well-appointed as this stranger, might yet, with De Montfort's connivance, wrest the prize from his grasp. He swore a deep oath under his breath, and grasped his lance with a keener clutch. Clearly he meant mischief.
The preliminaries being now over, the knights wheeled into line and faced each other, ready for the signal to charge, their squires being in close attendance behind. Vigneau and the stranger knight found themselves opposed by antagonists much smaller in stature, and indifferently horsed. The trumpeter stood at the head of the lists, bugle in hand, ready to sound the onset at a signal from De Montfort. Excitement was visibly expressed in every countenance, the clamour of voices having given place to a hushed suspense, which was painful and sickening to Alice; though she saw that Vigneau and the "Knight of the Sun" would not antagonise each other in the first shock. Now the trumpet sends forth a shrill blast, and on the instant spurs are driven into each charger's side, and, with a snort of pain, they dash across the sward. There is a loud shock, and a confused and struggling mass of men and horses. Vigneau had thrown the whole weight and strength of himself and a powerful horse upon a feeble opponent, and both man and horse rolled over together before him. Then, with a contemptuous oath, he wheeled again to his place, utterly regardless of his fallen antagonist, whose horse had kicked him severely in its plunges to regain its feet. The "Knight of the Sun," on the other hand, rode steadily at his opponent, and seemed rather to push him over the horse's croup than to strike him with unmeasured force. Immediately, also, he sprang to the ground and chivalrously assisted the fallen knight to rise, exclaiming, as he did so,—