"What English knight?"
"I know not. 'Tis reported that he hath been a prisoner here for some time past. But in any case we shall see what a half-starved Englishman can do 'gainst a gallant Frenchman."
"Who is to oppose this English knight?"
"Rumour hath it that Sir Denis himself will sweep the rogue from his horse. Ma foi, 'twill be a merry business. But——"
A loud blast upon a horn caused the conversation to terminate abruptly; the guests made a hurried scramble towards the platforms, while a crowd of lacqueys and serving-men ran hither and thither, removing the depleted tables and wine-casks.
In a few minutes all signs of the feast had vanished. Soldiers began to erect the barrier for the spear-running, while the opposing knights with their squires and pages took up their position at one end of the lists.
Precisely at high noon a fanfare of trumpets announced the entry of Sir Yves de Valadour, Lord of Malevereux, and his chosen company.
Sir Yves was a man of about fifty years of age, dark features, black-bearded, and with beetling brows that, in spite of the festive season, seemed to wear a perpetual scowl. He was slightly over middle height, bull-necked and inclined to obesity, while as he walked his legs seemed too weak to support his ponderous body. He was richly apparelled in silk trimmed with fur, though men would have it that underneath his slashed doublet he wore a suit of light sword-proof mail. With the exception of a short dagger he was unarmed, while in his hand he carried a warder with which the signal for the commencement or termination of an encounter was to be given.
Amidst the plaudits of the majority of the spectators, who louted with the utmost servility as he passed, Sir Yves ascended the daïs, which was raised about five feet from the ground, and took his seat in a high-backed oak chair. On his right sat Sir Denis, his brother, his face still inflamed from the glowing charcoal that Gripwell had hurled at him on the occasion of the raid upon the village of Taillemartel.
At his left hand sat Arnaud de Convers, a knight of almost as bad a reputation as his host. With them were about two score ladies and their husbands or lovers, their bright garments adding to the picturesqueness of the assembly.