CHAPTER XV. MONTJOIE! MONTJOIE! ST. DENIS!
IT was nine o’clock in the morning. The heralds went about everywhere, shouting aloud, “Lace your helms, brave knights! lace your helms!”
The combatants got ready for the conflict. They examined for the last time with the greatest care every minute point of their armour, and made sure that their horses were properly equipped and saddled. These precautions taken, they hurried off to the lists; the Saracens by the southern gate, the Christians by the northern.
Charlemagne took his place in the Royal pavilion, with Himiltrude by his side. Aude placed herself on the throne reserved for the Queen of Beauty. Oghris laid himself at her feet, surveying the crowd with wondering eyes.
The benches were crowded. The knights took their places. Trumpet-peal and shout rent the air. The Emperor was in his place.
The heralds next proclaimed silence, read the conditions of the tournament, and called on the knights to do their duty, for the honour of Heaven, the Emperor, and the ladies. Then they called the two leaders, Christian and Saracen, to take command of their forces.
Garlan the Bearded rode forth, and reviewed his men. Miton did the same, and advanced into the centre of the lists. His novel style of armour attracted some attention.
“What is this?” said Charlemagne. “Is Miton out of his senses, or does he come here to seek certain death? Go instantly, and command him to quit the lists.”
Ogier the Dane darted forward to convey the Royal command, but was stopped by Turpin, who had heard Charles’s exclamation.
“Pardon me, sire, for thus suspending the execution of an order you have given; but Miton is performing a vow. Your Majesty would find it vain to forbid him the combat. Heaven alone is able to preserve him.” The severe eye of the bishop met the supplicating looks of Mita, and her eyes sought the ground.