“I do comprehend the charge,” replied Sir Patrick; “and I do deny it solemnly in all its parts. I do deny that I have ever done injury to the Lord of Dirleton, or to any person or thing of his; and I do declare, that both to him and to his I have borne, and do still bear, the strongest love. This do I swear on the holy Evangelists; and God so help me as I do speak the truth.”
Then the second oath—that they had not brought with them other armour or weapon than such as was allowed, nor any engine, instrument, herb, charm, or enchantment, and that neither of them should put affiance or trust in anything other than God and their own valour, as God and the holy Evangelists should help them—being solemnly sworn by both, each was led off to the barrier opposite to the gate he had entered by, where his banner and blazon were set up; and whilst both were in preparation, the usual proclamation was given forth by the heralds.
The lists were then cleared of every one save only of two knights and two esquires, one of each to wait upon the Constable and the Marshal. The knight who was assigned to the Constable was Sir William de Dalzel, and he who was appropriated to the Marshal was Sir John Assueton. To each was given a headless lance, and they sat mounted immediately before the place occupied by the Constable and the Marshal, and directly under the King’s balcony, that they might be ready to part the combatants, if it should so please the King. [[611]]
When all was in readiness, the bugle-note of warning sounded from both barriers, and, after a short pause, the King issued the usual command, “Laissez les aller!” and, the signal being given by the heralds’ trumpets, the knights flew together. Halyburton and Hepborne had been, nay, were at that moment, warmly attached to each other, but his individual honour as a knight was dearer to each of them than even friendship. Whatever had been their feelings of regret, or unwillingness to engage in mortal strife, each now only remembered him of his own name and that of his lady as he spurred; and, throwing the blame on unhappy fate, which had thus doomed them to this unnatural struggle, each thought but of working the death of his opponent, as if it had been but the winning from him of some gaudy trophy in a tournament. The collision was tremendous; the clash resounded far and near, and a murmur of admiration burst from the assembled knights. Both lances were shivered, and both steeds were thrown so much back on their haunches, that, for the fraction of a second, it seemed to the spectators as if it were impossible that they could again recover themselves.
But the horses regaining their legs, the riders lost not an instant in seizing the battle-axes that hung at their saddle-bows; and then the fight became dreadful indeed. Their blows fell so thick and fast upon each other’s head and body, that the sound resembled that which may be supposed to come from the busy forge of an armourer; and desperate were the dints made in the plate-mail both of the horses and their riders. The noble quadrupeds reared and plunged, and, dexterously guided by the rein, leaped forwards and backwards, and from side to side, with as much precision, while the strokes were dealing, as if they had been but parts of the animals that combated on their backs. But this equestrian battle was not of long duration. A heavy blow from the axe of Sir John Halyburton fell upon the head of Hepborne’s favourite war steed, Beaufront, and, in defiance of his steel chamfront, the noble animal was so stunned by it that he staggered, and measured his length on the sod. But as his horse was sinking under him, Sir Patrick made his battle-axe tell heavily and loudly on the helmet of his opponent, who had leaned forward to give his stroke more weight, and he beat him fairly down from his saddle.
Sir Patrick extricated his feet from the stirrups with great agility as his horse was falling, and leaped on the ground. His antagonist, having taken some seconds to regain his legs, was completely in his power. But here friendship came into operation. [[612]]Although he might, with perfect honour, have taken full advantage of Sir John Halyburton, he only brandished his battle-axe over him for an instant to mark that advantage, whilst the spectators shuddered, in expectation of the blow that was to put an end to the combat, and then dropping his arm harmlessly by his side, he retreated a few paces, to wait until his antagonist should be again equal with him. The King, and the knights who looked on, clapped their hands in sign of approbation.
And now the combatants again approached each other, and desperate was the encounter. The armour of both knights was battered so tremendously, that their helmets were soon shorn of their proud plumes and crests, which hung down in tattered fragments about their heads. Soon afterwards, the lacings of their head pieces were cut, and each, in his turn, lost his bassinet. Their surcoats were cut to shreds, and some of the fastenings of the most important defences of their bodies being also demolished, the plates dropped away piecemeal, and the persons of both were left comparatively exposed, having nothing to resist the blows but their hauberks and hauquetons. Still they fought with their battle-axes, until both becoming unable longer to wield them, they seemed to throw them away by mutual consent, and, drawing their swords and daggers, began to cut and stab, aiming at those places where their former weapons had opened breaches, through which they hoped to extract each other’s life’s blood.
And now, indeed, the combat assumed the character of a deadly strife. The most experienced warriors present declared, that so perfectly matched a contest had never before been witnessed, and a very general opinion prevailed, that, instead of one of them only being slain, the death of both the knights would probably be the result of this fierce and desperate duel. Despairing of the life of her champion, the Lady Dirleton had already fainted, and had been borne out to the King’s pavilion. The poor old Lord of Dirleton also began to picture to himself the melancholy scene which must take place on the return of his daughter, the Lady Jane de Vaux, to weep over the cold and bloody corpse of him whom she expected to find warmly waiting to salute her as his bride. As for John de Vaux the Franciscan, he inwardly regretted that he had not been his own champion; the apprehension of evil fortune that naturally arises where there is a doubt, having already led him to fear that Halyburton had much the worst of the combat. As for Assueton and Sang, they each sat silently in their saddles, in the places where they were posted, doubtful and unhappy. Their eyes being more turned [[613]]upon Hepborne than upon his adversary, they trembled to remark each new wound he received, and each reeling step which the successful blows of Halyburton occasioned. His growing faintness was anxiously and fearfully noticed by them in secret, and every moment made an accession to their anxiety and their fear. The minstrel, Adam of Gordon, who was seated among the attendants behind the King, trembled, clasped his hands, groaned, and moved backwards and forwards on his place; and as Duncan MacErchar, who was there with his company of Guards, and who as yet knew little of the usages observed at such duels, it was with the utmost difficulty that he was prevented from rushing to Hepborne’s assistance, and he was at length only hindered from doing so by being seized by the order of the Marshal of the lists.
The combat was raging, though both the knights were evidently growing fainter and fainter, when a bugle sounded at one of the gates, and one of the marshalmen being sent to ascertain the cause, brought a message to the Constable that an esquire waited there who craved immediate admittance to the King; and the circumstance being signified to his Majesty, leave was granted to the stranger to enter. He no sooner appeared within the gate than he was seen to push his horse furiously along behind the drawn-up ranks of the mounted knights who were looking on, making directly for the stair that led up from thence to the King’s gallery. Some who recognized the face of this esquire knew him to be Rory Spears. Leaping from his froth-covered horse, he left him to pant, and, springing up the steps to the King’s gallery, he was seen to throw himself on his knees before His Majesty. What he said was known only to those who were near the Monarch’s person; indeed the sudden appearance of this messenger carried away the eyes of the spectators for a few moments only from the combat, which now appeared to be approaching nearer and nearer to that fatal termination which so many experienced heads had anticipated. Already both knights staggered and grew giddy with their numerous wounds and their loss of blood; and those generous bosoms who surrounded the lists cursed the interruption which the King’s attention was receiving, being persuaded, that if it had been still directed towards the combatants, he could not possibly have allowed the duel to proceed to the extinction of two such brave lives. They trembled with dread that he should not look and act until his interference would be of no avail; for it seemed as if every moment would see both the heroes extended dead upon the [[614]]sod, that had been already rendered slippery with the blood they had spilt.
All at once a great confusion seemed to have taken place in the King’s gallery. His Majesty himself appeared to be much agitated, and a signal was given, in his name by the Regent to the Constable and Marshal, to stop the combat. Their two knights assistants, who had both been in misery for the fate of their friends who were fighting, gave their horses the spur, and darted forward like arrows, with their headless lances extended, to separate the combatants. The two champions, breathless and hardly able to support themselves, were yet not approached by any one, save by those who divided them by their lance-poles, for in this stage of the affair the duel was only stayed; and as it might yet be the King’s pleasure that they should renew their strife to the death, the law required that they should be left precisely in the same state, that if the combat should recommence, it might do so with each champion in the same circumstances, with relation to his adversary, as he had been in when the King had interfered. Faint, and ready to drop, therefore, they supported themselves on their well-hacked swords; and whilst the blood poured from many a wound, they panted, and silently surveyed each other’s grim and gory features, at the short distance by which they were divided, as if each read his own death legibly written in the death-like face of his opponent.