Even from a distance Geoffrey felt sure that he recognized the steel-clad figure and the device on his shield, and a glance at the vacant seat on Sir Yves' right hand strengthened his conviction—'twas Sir Denis de Valadour, brother of the Tyrant of Malevereux.
Then arose a fanfare of trumpets, and, escorted by a body of men-at-arms, a tall, gaunt, erect figure entered the arena. In spite of his pale features—for weeks of confinement had banished the bronzed hue of health—Geoffrey could make no mistake. The new-comer was his father, Sir Oliver Lysle.
CHAPTER XI
HOW SIR OLIVER GAINED HIS FREEDOM
A roar of merriment, mingled with a few cries of shame and pity, greeted the English knight's reappearance in the lists. Clad in an ill-fitting suit of chain mail with breastplate and bascinet, the joints of which were so rusty and stiff that considerable effort was necessary to move them, Sir Oliver rode slowly into the lists, his lean and decrepit steed barely able to carry its rider.
Yet, in spite of the obvious inferiority of his harness and the feebleness of his horse, Sir Oliver Lysle bore himself with a knightly demeanour that changed the roar of mirth into the silence of shame.
"Sir, this is beyond knightly forbearance," expostulated Sir Conyers de Saye, one of the champions in the previous encounters. "I pray thee grant this knight the use of his harness and a proper charger."
"Nay, Sir Conyers, he must abide by that which he hath," replied Sir Yves angrily.
"I pray thee, Sir Oliver, to do me the favour of accepting the loan of my plate armour," cried another knight.
"And my charger," added another.