Many years ago there lived a Baron, famous in peace and war, but chiefly in the latter. War was his great delight, fighting his natural occupation; and he was never so much in his element as when leading his valiant troops to battle, mounted on his noble iron-gray charger. Ah! what a charger that was!—stately and strong, swift and sure, fiery and bold, yet ready to obey his master’s lightest touch or softest word; briefly, a horse in ten thousand. Right proud the Baron was of his gallant steed; and right well did they love each other, horse and master.
The vassals of the Baron knew no greater pleasure than to see their lord ride by mounted on Gray Berold; it filled their souls with joy, and caused them to throw up their caps and shout “Hi!” in a hilarious manner. As for the lovely Ermengarde, the Baron’s young and beautiful wife, she would far rather have gone without her dinner than have missed the sight. Whenever Gray Berold was brought to the door, she hastened out, and overwhelmed him with caresses and words of endearment, proffering meanwhile the toothsome sugar and the crisp and sprightly apple, neither of which the engaging animal disdained to accept. In truth, it was a goodly sight to see the golden locks of the lady (for was she not known in all the country as Ermengarde of the Fair Tresses?) mingling with the wavy silver of the charger’s mane as he bent his head lovingly over his fair young mistress,—a goodly sight, and one which often sent the bold Baron rejoicing on his way, with a tender smile on his otherwise slightly ferocious countenance.
It chanced one day that a great tournament was about to take place in the neighborhood. All the knights in the country round, and many bold champions from a greater distance, were to show their prowess in riding at the ring, and in friendly combat with each other. Among the gallant knights, who so ready for the tournament as our bold Baron? He fairly pranced for the fray; for there had been no war for two months, and he was very weary of the long peaceful days. He had been practising for a week past, riding at any number of rings of different sizes, and tilting with his squire, whom he had run through the body several times, thereby seriously impairing that worthy’s digestive powers.
And now the eventful morning was come. The vassals were assembled in the courtyard of the castle, a goodly array, to see their master depart in pomp and pride.
Gray Berold was brought round to the door, magnificently caparisoned, his bridle and housings glittering with precious stones. The gallant steed pawed the ground, and tossed his head proudly, as impatient of delay as his master. From a balcony above leaned the lovely Ermengarde, her golden tresses crowned with a nightcap of rare and curious design; for the Baron was making an early start, and his fair lady had not yet completed her toilet.
Amid the vociferous cheers of his vassals, the Baron descended the steps, armed cap-à-pie, his good sword by his side, and his mace, battle-axe, cutlass, and shillalah displayed about his stately person in a very imposing manner. He could scarcely walk, it is true, so many and so weighty were his accoutrements; but then, as he himself aptly observed, he did not want to walk.
He got into the saddle with some difficulty, owing to the tendency of his battle-axe to get between his legs; but once there, the warrior was at home. An attendant handed him his lance, with its glittering pennon. Gray Berold pranced and curvetted, making nothing of the enormous weight on his back; the Lady Ermengarde waved her broidered kerchief; and, with a parting glance at his lovely bride, the Baron rode slowly out of the courtyard.
But, alas! he was not destined to ride far. Alas for the proud Baron! Alas and alack for the gallant steed!
He had scarcely ridden a hundred paces when he heard a fearful growl behind him, which caused him to turn quickly in his saddle. What was his horror to see a huge bear spring out of the woods and come rushing towards him!
For one moment the Baron was paralyzed; the next, he wheeled his horse round, and couching his lance, prepared to meet his savage assailant.