So saying, he pulled up the standard-spear, splintered it to pieces, threw the banner itself on the ground, and placed his foot upon it.
“Thus,” said he, “I trample on the banner of Austria. Is there a knight among your Teutonic chivalry dare impeach my deed?”
There was a momentary silence; but there are no braver men than the Germans.
“I,” and “I,” and “I,” was heard from several knights of the Duke's followers; and he himself added his voice to those which accepted the King of England's defiance.
“Why do we dally thus?” said the Earl Wallenrode, a gigantic warrior from the frontiers of Hungary. “Brethren and noble gentlemen, this man's foot is on the honour of your country—let us rescue it from violation, and down with the pride of England!”
So saying, he drew his sword, and struck at the King a blow which might have proved fatal, had not the Scot intercepted and caught it upon his shield.
“I have sworn,” said King Richard—and his voice was heard above all the tumult, which now waxed wild and loud—“never to strike one whose shoulder bears the cross; therefore live, Wallenrode—but live to remember Richard of England.”
As he spoke, he grasped the tall Hungarian round the waist, and, unmatched in wrestling, as in other military exercises, hurled him backwards with such violence that the mass flew as if discharged from a military engine, not only through the ring of spectators who witnessed the extraordinary scene, but over the edge of the mount itself, down the steep side of which Wallenrode rolled headlong, until, pitching at length upon his shoulder, he dislocated the bone, and lay like one dead. This almost supernatural display of strength did not encourage either the Duke or any of his followers to renew a personal contest so inauspiciously commenced. Those who stood farthest back did, indeed, clash their swords, and cry out, “Cut the island mastiff to pieces!” but those who were nearer veiled, perhaps, their personal fears under an affected regard for order, and cried, for the most part, “Peace! Peace! the peace of the Cross—the peace of Holy Church and our Father the Pope!”
These various cries of the assailants, contradicting each other, showed their irresolution; while Richard, his foot still on the archducal banner, glared round him with an eye that seemed to seek an enemy, and from which the angry nobles shrunk appalled, as from the threatened grasp of a lion. De Vaux and the Knight of the Leopard kept their places beside him; and though the swords which they held were still sheathed, it was plain that they were prompt to protect Richard's person to the very last, and their size and remarkable strength plainly showed the defence would be a desperate one.
Salisbury and his attendants were also now drawing near, with bills and partisans brandished, and bows already bended.