The gallant Lindsay leaped from his horse, and, altogether unheeding the praises that were showering upon him, ran to lift up his opponent, who lay without motion. With the assistance of the seconds and esquires, he raised him, and his helmet being unlaced, he was discovered to be in a swoon, and it was judged that he was severely bruised. A litter was immediately brought, and the discomfited knight speedily carried off to his lodgings in the Tower. Meanwhile Lindsay’s attention was called by the voice of the King.
“Sir David de Lindsay,” said he, addressing him from his balcony, “we do heartily give thee joy of thy victory. Thou hast acquitted thyself like a true and valiant knight. Come up hither that we may bestow our Royal guerdon on thee.”
Lindsay ran up stairs to the balcony where the King sat, and kneeling on one knee before him—
“Accept this gemmed golden chain, in token of Richard’s approbation of thy prowess,” said the Monarch, throwing the chain over his neck; “and now thou hast full leave to return to thine own country when thou mayest be pleased so to do, bearing with thee safe-conduct through the realm of England.”
“Most Royal Sir,” said Lindsay, “I shall bear this thy gift as my proudest badge; but may I crave thy gracious leave to tarry at thy Court until I do see that the Lord Welles is restored to health by the leeches? Verily, I should return but [[501]]sadly into Scotland did I believe that I had caused aught of serious evil to so brave a lord.”
“Nay, that at thy discretion, Sir Knight,” replied Richard; “our Court shall be but the prouder while graced by such a flower of chivalry as thyself.”
Lindsay bowed his thanks, and then retreated from the applauses which rang in his ears, that he might hasten to follow the Lord Welles to his lodgings, where he took his place by his bed-side, and began to execute the duties of a nurse, rarely quitting him for many days, that is, until his cure was perfected.
Lindsay was no sooner gone than the gay Sir Piers Courtenay, who had by this time mounted, and who had been all along writhing under the ridicule which Sir William de Dalzel had thrown upon him, now prepared to give his challenge in form. Bringing his horse’s head round to front the Royal balcony, and backing him with the most perfect skill, he rose in his stirrups, and made a most graceful obeisance to his King.
“What wouldst thou with us, Courtenay?” said Richard, with a smile playing about his mouth.
“My liege,” replied Courtenay, bowing again with peculiar grace, “I have to ask a boon of your Royal favour.”