“Undoubtedly,” replied De Noailles. “Whither are you going?” he demanded.
“To the palace-garden,” replied Courtenay. “It is the only place in the Tower, where we can be free from interruption. Beneath the trees we shall be unobserved.”
“Lead on then, my lord,” cried Renard, impatiently. “The affair ought to have been arranged by this time.”
Hastily quitting the corridor, they descended the grand staircase, and traversing with rapid steps a long suite of apartments, passed through a small door opening from the range of building called the Queen’s gallery, upon the privy garden. At the western angle of this garden stood a grove of trees, and thinking themselves unobserved they hastened towards it.
It chanced however at this moment that Xit was passing along one of the walks, and struck by their furious looks he immediately conjectured their errand, and being, as has before been shown, of an inquisitive turn, determined to watch them, and with this view struck into a shrubbery, which effectually screened him from observation.
On reaching the grove, Renard instantly divested himself of his cloak, and drawing his rapier and dagger, placed himself in an attitude of defence. Courtenay did not remove his mantle, and therefore he was in readiness before his adversary. The preliminary forms always observed by the combatants of the period, being gone through, the conflict commenced with great fury on the side of Courtenay, and with equal animosity, but more deliberation, on that of Renard. As the latter was the most perfect swordsman of his time, he felt little doubt as to the result of the combat—but still the fury of the Earl was so irresistible that he broke through his surest wards. In one of these furious passes Renard received a slight wound in the arm, and roused by the pain, he forgot his cautious system, and returned Courtenay’s thrusts with others equally desperate.
Feeling that he was no match for his antagonist, who was evidently his superior both in force and skill, the Earl now determined to bring the combat to a close, before his strength should be further exhausted. Collecting all his energies, he dashed upon Renard with such impetuosity, that the latter was compelled to retreat, and his foot catching against the root of a tree, he fell, and lay at the mercy of his antagonist.
“Strike!” he cried. “I will never yield.”
“No,” replied Courtenay. “I will not take this advantage. Arise, and renew the combat.”
“Your courtesy is like your attachment, misplaced, my lord,” replied Renard, springing to his feet, and preparing to attack him. “Look to yourself.”