The puzzled Paul looked inquiringly at Zabern, who explained that it was an old usage in Czernova, adopted as a precaution against poisoned blades.
The two combatants were now bidden to stand as far apart as the cords would permit, and each after kissing his blade held it vertically aloft, repeating after the herald the following oath,—
"Hear, O ye people, that I have this day neither eaten nor drunk aught, nor have I upon my person either charm or amulet, nor have I practised any enchantment or sorcery, whereby the law of Heaven may be abased, or the law of Satan be exalted. So help me God and His saints!"
Very absurd and mediæval, no doubt, but being a part of the ancient ritual its enunciation was required from each champion.
The news of the coming duel had been announced to the populace without, and their cries of excitement contrasted strangely with the deadly stillness that reigned within the interior of the fane.
Upon that part of the cathedral roof that overlooked the square, a group of soldiers could be seen standing about a flag-staff, at the foot of which were two banners, one white, the other black. The eyes of all the people below were set upon this flag-staff, when it became known that the hoisting of the white standard would signify the triumph of the princess's champion, and the black standard his defeat.
The time for the great contest had now come, and the herald stepped backward a few paces.
"May Heaven defend the right! In the name of God—fight!"
As the blades clashed together the spectators drew a deep breath. The time occupied by the preliminaries, though in reality very brief, had seemed so long that the beginning of the duel came as an actual relief.
A shiver of expectancy ran around the cathedral. Five thousand pairs of eyes were riveted upon the choir, and upon naught else. The loveliest lady present might have sighed in vain for a single glance.