The Junior Classics, Volume 5: Stories that never grow old

by Unknown

Soon after the vast multitude had retired from the deserted field and lights began to glimmer through the twilight, announcing the toil of the armourers, which was to continue through the whole night in order to repair or alter the suits of armour to be used again on the morrow.

The next day dawned in unclouded splendour, and at ten o'clock the whole plain was crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot- passengers, hastening to the tournament; and shortly after a grand flourish of trumpets announced the arrival of Prince John and his gorgeous retinue.

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon with the Lady Rowena. He had been accompanied on the previous day by another noble Saxon, Athelstane, Lord of Coningsburgh, a suitor for the hand of Rowena, and one who considered his union with that lady as a matter already fixed beyond doubt, by the assent of Cedric and her other friends. Rowena herself, however, had never given her consent to such an alliance; and entertained but a poor opinion of her would-be lover, whose pretensions for her hand she had received with marked disdain. Her Saxon lover was not one of her party at the tourney on the second day. He had observed with displeasure that Rowena was selected by the victor on the preceding day as the object of that honour which it became his privilege to confer, and Athelstane, confident of his own strength and skill, had himself donned his armour with a determination to make his rival feel the weight of his battle-axe.

The combat on the second day of the tournament was on a much more extended scale than that of the previous one; and when the signal for battle was given some fifty knights, at the same moment, charged wildly at each other in the lists. The champions encountered each other with the utmost fury, and with alternate success; the tide of battle seeming to flow now toward the southern, now toward the northern extremity of the lists as the one or the other party prevailed. The clang of the blows, and the shouts of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the sound of the trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who fell, and lay rolling beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid armour of the knights was now defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every stroke of the sword and battle-axe; while the gay plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted upon the breeze like snowflakes.

In the thick of the press and turmoil of the fight Bois-Guilbert and the Disinherited Knight repeatedly endeavoured to single out each other, spurred by mutual animosity. Such, however, was the crowd and confusion that, during the earlier part of the conflict, their efforts to meet were unavailing. But when the field became thin, by the numbers on either side who had yielded themselves vanquished or had been rendered incapable of continuing the strife, the Templar and the unknown knight at length encountered, hand to hand, with all the fury that mortal animosity, joined to rivalry of honour, could inspire. Such was the skill of each in parrying and striking that the spectators broke forth into a unanimous and involuntary shout of delight and admiration.

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight had the worst. Front-de-Boeuf and Athelstane, having defeated those immediately opposed to them, were now free to come to the aid of their friend the Templar; and, turning their horses at the same moment, the two spurred against the Disinherited Knight.

This champion, exposed as he was to the furious assaults of three opponents each of whom was almost a match for him single-handed, must now have soon been overpowered when an unexpected incident changed the fortunes of the day.

Amongst the ranks of the Disinherited Knight was a champion in black armour, mounted on a black horse, whose shield bore no device of any kind. He had engaged with some few combatants, and had easily defeated them during the earlier stages of the contest, but seemed to take no further interest in the event of the fight, acting the part rather of a spectator than of a party in the tournament.

The moment, however, he saw his leader so hard bestead he seemed to throw aside his apathy, and setting spurs to his horse he came to his assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like a trumpet call, "Disinherited to the rescue!"

Under the fury of his first stroke, Front-de-Boeuf, horse and all, rolled stunned to the ground. He then turned his steed upon Athelstane, and, wrenching from the hand of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he wielded, bestowed him such a blow upon the crest, that the Lord of Coningsburgh also lay senseless on the field. Having achieved this double feat, he returned calmly to the extremity of the lists, leaving his leader to cope as best he could with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. This was no longer matter of so much difficulty as formerly. The Templar's horse had bled much, and gave way under the shock of the Disinherited Knight's charge. As Bois-Guilbert rolled on the field, his antagonist sprung from horseback, and was in the act of commanding his adversary to yield or die, when Prince John gave the signal that the conflict was at an end.