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Edgar the Ready 16
Edgar the Ready 16
"Very well, Baulch," he said sternly after a pause, "thy neck may rest
at peace on thy shoulders for a space, while thou art finding out who it
was that masqueraded as Sir John. Find out, I say, find out! Dare to
bungle a second time, and the gallows that gape for thee shall have thee
fast!"
With trembling lips the man hastily promised to find out the truth.
Nodding carelessly, Sir Gervaise went on to talk of other matters.
There could be no doubt that his confidence in the ascendancy he had
obtained over the man was not misjudged. The man was obviously under a
spell, mastered by a hidden terror so great that all else was completely
swallowed up.
* * * * *
It was noon the following day when the man again made his appearance and
requested Arnaud to tell Sir Gervaise that James Baulch craved a few
minutes’ further speech. Arnaud complied, though from the __EXPRESSION__ of
his face it might have been inferred that the desire to kick the man was
the feeling uppermost in his mind.
"Well, Baulch?" growled the knight, who still reclined upon a couch, and
whose temper seemed in no way improved by his night’s rest. "Hast news
to tell? If not ’twill be the worse for thee."
"I have news, my lord--strange news. Whether ’twill please thee or not,
I cannot say, but----"
"Peace, knave! Tell thy news and madden me not with thy thoughts of
what pleases me."
"’Twas Edgar Wintour fought with thee in the lists," blurted out the man
hurriedly. "I have heard words let fall that make the matter clear."
"Edgar Wintour--and who is Edgar Wintour?" cried the knight with savage
impatience.
"He is Sir John’s esquire."
The look that came into the knight’s face made Baulch regret the success
of his enquiries. De Maupas gasped, grew even paler than before, and
clutched convulsively at the couch on which he lay. Then a sudden
passion seemed to galvanize him into activity and he rose to his feet
almost with a bound.
"What!" he thundered. "Dare ye tell me that----?"
But his strength was unequal to the effort, and clutching at his
bandages with both hands, as though his head were about to split in
twain, he sank slowly and painfully back upon the couch.
"A pretty debt I owe the boy if thy tale is true," he muttered at last
in a changed voice. "Art sure of thy facts?"
"Sure, my lord. I saw him mounted upon Sir John’s charger early this
morning, and the way he rode made me think at once of the spring and
fire of thine adversary yesterday. Then I heard some words let drop by
one Matthew, a man-at-arms of Sir John, and I knew ’twas so."
"So that was what was in his mind when he gave me that strange look
yesterday," muttered De Maupas to himself. "It was on my lips to demand
an explanation. Would I had done so! I might have forced the quarrel
then and there with the advantage on my side, mailed and ready for a
conflict as I was."
"Canst not let the good earl know of the trick he played?" said the man
presently. "Surely he would punish him for daring so to dupe the
marshals of the lists?"
"Be silent, fool! Dost think I want all the world to know that I, a
knight, was beaten by an unfledged esquire? See to it that no word of
it is breathed by thee."
For some time Sir Gervaise remained silent, staring viciously at the
ground the while. The __EXPRESSION__ on his face was not good to see, and
it might have been as well had Edgar Wintour been there to see it.
"Baulch," said the knight at last, "Baulch, I gave thee money for Sir
John Chartris--alive. I offer thee double the sum for this Edgar
Wintour--dead. Dost understand?"
The tone of the knight’s voice was low and measured, but the __EXPRESSION__
of his face was so deadly that the blackest rage would have seemed less
implacable. Baulch seemed to have no great stomach for the task put to
him, but one furtive look at the knight’s face was sufficient, and he
answered hastily:
"I understand, my lord."
"Then begone."
* * * * *
"Couldst hear no more than that, Peter? Nothing save a few words of
angry reproach against the man when De Maupas’s voice rang highest?"
"No, sir. I could get no nearer, for De Maupas’s esquire, Arnaud, paced
to and fro outside, doubtless by his master’s orders. Most of the time
the two spake only of the tournament, though once I feel sure they
talked of Sir John, but they dropped their voices and only formless
words reached my ears."
"Ah! Then I fear it behoves us to find out," cried Edgar in a decided
tone. "We cannot afford to go on like this, Peter. The Wolsingham
ladies are becoming most anxious, and if we cannot soon get news, we
must acquaint the earl of the truth and implore his aid, though I fear
it will bring us little comfort. Ye say ye know where this man Baulch
lives?"
"Yes, he lives at a low inn in the lowest and most rascally quarter of
the town."
"Good! ’Tis the better for our purpose. At nightfall, Peter, I must
visit this inn, and see what stratagem or the sword will accomplish.
Tell me how I may find it, and then be off and get me some peasant’s
clothing, old and soiled with use, and have it ready an hour or two
before the gates are closed."
At the time appointed Peter produced a bundle of clothing, and Edgar was
soon well disguised as a young countryman on a visit to the town to make
his purchases. The clothing was somewhat malodorous, but as this added
considerably to the realistic effect, Edgar recked little of that. His
own sword was far too well made and well finished to be taken, so Peter
obtained for him the least pretentious amongst those carried by Sir
John’s men-at-arms. This was buckled on in an awkward and clumsy manner,
so as to give as unwarlike an air to a warlike weapon as possible.
Foreseeing the possibility of a fight in a locality of such unsavoury
reputation, Edgar took the precaution to don his light flexible shirt of
steel mail before putting on the peasant’s garments, and to have a
dagger concealed beneath his clothes ready to hand in case of an attack
too sudden and at too close quarters to allow him to draw his sword.
It was a few minutes short of the hour at which the gates of the city
closed when, as a peasant, he rapped loudly at the door of a low-lying,
rambling, single-story structure overlooking the river Garonne. The
street was in complete darkness, save for the dim light emitted through
the shuttered windows of one or two of the hovels and crazy dwellings
which huddled together along each side of the narrow roadway.
After a short delay the door opened, and one of the most
villainous-looking men Edgar had ever set eyes on made his appearance.
"What seek ye?" he enquired, peering suspiciously first at the newcomer
and then over his shoulder, as though to find out whether he was alone.
"Some of thy good cheer, landlord. I was seeking another inn which a
neighbour of mine speaks well of, but lost my way, and a man I chanced
upon by good hap outside sent me to thee. Give me sup of thy best; I
have money and can pay," and Edgar, assuming an air of pride and
importance, flaunted a handful of coins under the man’s eyes.
"Thou shalt have it, noble sir," cried the landlord, with a leer which
was meant to encourage his guest, and he led the way into a long room,
bare of furniture save for a couple of tables and some rough benches.
The room was fairly lofty, but numbers of smoked hams and other objects
hanging from the rafters made it appear low and gloomy. Half a dozen
men, amongst whom Edgar was quick to discern James Baulch, lounged upon
the benches drinking and dicing.
Edgar took stock of his surroundings as the landlord led him to the end
of the room farthest from the other occupants, and, fetching a chair
from a side room and carefully placing it in position at the table,
invited his guest to take a seat.
In a few minutes some food, rough and unpalatable, was brought, and
Edgar made shift to eat it, as though with a good appetite. Then he
leaned back in his chair, and, half-shutting his eyes, pretended to be
nearly asleep. He hoped that most of the men would soon leave, and that
he might have an opportunity of accosting Baulch alone or of following
him to his room, wherever that might be.
Presently he missed one of the men, and shortly after the others broke
into a rough drinking song. Edgar then realized, with something of a
shock, that instead of being the pursuer he was now the pursued. It was
not the mere withdrawal of one of the men that made him think this, but
the quiet, stealthy manner in which the man must have left, and the way
in which the other men began their song simultaneously, as though at a
signal. It almost seemed that the song was intended to cloak something,
perhaps the arrival of a further band of ruffians. Edgar began to
regret that he had exhibited his money so freely--or could it be that
Baulch had seen through his disguise?
A slight rustling noise close to him attracted his attention, and giving
up the pretence of being nearly asleep, he opened his eyes wide and
looked warily about him. The men had stopped their song, and were
gazing in his direction with an air of covert expectation. Something
was going on--that much was clear as noonday. Another slight rustle,
and Edgar looked quickly above him into the blackness beyond the hams
and other objects hanging from the rafters. He was just in time to
catch a glimpse of something as it dropped down over his head. It was a
rope!
Before he had time to spring to his feet and fling it off his shoulders,
it was drawn tightly round his neck with a quick jerk, and he was lifted
almost off his feet. The peril was extreme, and realizing in a flash
that only the most desperate exertions could save him, Edgar grasped the
rope above the slip knot with his left hand, while with his right he
drew his dagger and reached up to cut the rope, straining on tiptoe to
get a purchase.
Suddenly a trapdoor, upon which his chair had evidently been placed,
gave way beneath his feet, and the whole of his weight fell upon his
left arm. Choking, half-strangled, with eyes starting from his head,
Edgar strove to cut the rope with his dagger. One stroke, feeble from
his straining position and reeling brain--a second stroke--then a third,
into which all his remaining strength was put--and like a stone he fell half-fainting through the trapdoor into a cellar below.
Edgar the Ready 15
Edgar the Ready 15
"But why should----?"
"To save Sir John’s honour. Didst not feel as though even death were
better than his dishonour a moment agone when the heralds cried his name
in vain? Hurrah--I could cry aloud to think that that vile Sir Gervaise
will not gain a bloodless victory! But yet--after all--surely he cannot
fail to conquer one who is but an esquire?"
Gertrude answered not, and both maidens sat still and held their breaths
as the stirring scenes passed before their gaze.
It was observed by more than one that on the sudden entry of his
antagonist Sir Gervaise showed signs of excitement. He seemed agitated
and shook--with gusts of anger, those who noticed it supposed--and for
some moments his charger reared and backed unmanageably, as though
sharing his master’s fierce emotions.
After a moment or two, however, the knight regained control over his
steed, and with cruel jabs of the spur urged him back into position. The
charger had been celebrated in the past for its unusual power and
strength, and to this fact the reputation of Sir Gervaise was in a great
measure due. It had now, however, passed its prime, and De Maupas could
no longer count upon its excellence giving him the advantage of his
competitors.
Edgar had profited by the moments occupied by Sir Gervaise in regaining
the mastery over his steed, and had settled down quietly into position.
His thoughts had flown back to the sacrifice his father had made to save
Sir John at Sluys, and he resolved that he would be as ready as his
father to lay down his life, if necessary, in this his own moment of
call. Firmly grasping his lance, he fixed his eyes warily upon his
adversary through his vizor slits. Horse and man seemed as steady and
immovable as a rock, in striking contrast to Sir Gervaise, who fidgeted
with his weapons and seemed impatient during the trying pause before the
onset sounded: "_Laissez aller_".
With the speed of arrows the steel-clad warriors crashed together in the
middle of the lists. Each man aimed his lance at the centre of his
opponent’s shield, and both struck fair and true. The impact hurled the
chargers violently back upon their haunches and forced their riders
backwards to the limit of endurance, while their stout ash lances were
bent and split from end to end! De Maupas, for the moment, kept his
seat successfully, but his horse, pawing the air and snorting
frantically, struggled in vain to regain its balance, and presently
rolled over ignominiously upon the ground. Edgar, on the other hand,
though the shock had been just as severe, managed, by dint of voice and
spur, to aid his steed’s recovery, and in a few seconds it was on its
feet, with its rider ready for the foe.
Disentangling himself from his horse’s trappings, Sir Gervaise drew
sword, and, furious at his undignified mischance, sprang towards his
adversary, thirsting to retrieve his fallen fortunes.
[Illustration: "SIR GERVAISE SPRANG TOWARDS HIS ADVERSARY, THIRSTING
TO RETRIEVE HIS FALLEN FORTUNES"]
Disdaining to meet him at any advantage, Edgar flung away the fragments
of his lance, seized Sir John’s heavy battleaxe, and slipped lightly
from the saddle. Scarce had he faced Sir Gervaise when the furious
knight was upon him with sword up-raised. Knowing that his battleaxe
was almost useless for defence, Edgar heeded not the blow, but,
half-turning, swung his own heavy weapon sideways at his opponent’s
head. The knight’s blow fell first with a stroke that bit deep into
Edgar’s casque, but before De Maupas could spring back out of reach, the
axe stroke smote him on the side of his helmet with a weight and
momentum that sent him crashing headlong to the ground.
A dull roar of applause arose from the whole circle of the lists.
Dropping his axe, Edgar snatched his dagger from his belt and sprang
towards the fallen man. Kneeling upon his chest he cried aloud:
"Yield thee vanquished, Sir Gervaise de Maupas!" Then in a low voice,
but in tones thrilling with resolve, he went on, "_Tell me where Sir
John if, or thy life is forfeit!_"
There was no response.
"Desist, Sir John," cried one of the marshals of the lists, hurriedly
approaching, "he is stunned, if not dead. Thou art acknowledged
victor--retire while we see to the stricken man."
Heavy with disappointment at being thwarted at the moment when he hoped
all might be won, Edgar mechanically mounted and rode slowly round the
lists. The air still rang with the plaudits of the spectators, and, as
he passed along, loud cries reached him, some, wishing to do him the
more honour, calling upon him to unhelm.
Fearing that his refusal at least to lower his vizor might cause some
adverse comment, Edgar dropped it an inch or so and left it, hoping that
it might be thought that the blow his headpiece had received had damaged
the hinges of his vizor. With a final salute, first to the earl and then
to the Wolsingham ladies, he rode dully from the lists. The cheers of
the spectators fell on deaf ears, for though he had defeated Sir
Gervaise and upheld Sir John’s honour, he felt that he was still as far
as ever from solving the mystery of his master’s disappearance.
As he reached the door of his tent, Matthew and Peter came running up,
their faces wreathed with smiles at their young master’s victory.
"Aid me to strip off this armour," cried Edgar, the moment he had
entered the tent, "and remember that Sir John is gone--gone upon the
visit to Faucigny Castle, in the lands of the lady Beatrice, that he has
had all along in mind. He gained the earl’s permission some time since,
as he told me himself. Thus at least we gain some precious days in
which to continue our enquiries."
"Pardon, Master Edgar," cried Peter, suddenly stopping, "with thy
permission I will hie me to Sir Gervaise’s tent. It may well be that
this is a time when it might advantage us to keep close watch upon those
about him."
"Go, Peter. His esquire will be bringing him back in a few minutes. He
is but stunned. Listen for what thou canst hear. Who knows but that a
few chance words may tell us all?"
Waiting for no more, Peter sped off upon his errand, and when, a
half-hour later, Sir Gervaise was carried into his tent, he was snugly
ensconced beneath a pile of horse’s trappings at the very door.
*CHAPTER X*
*News of Sir John*
The dusk of evening was falling as Sir Gervaise raised himself from the
couch upon which he had been restlessly tossing ever since he had been
carried in. His head was swathed in bandages, and the light of the
single lamp showed a face pale beneath its sunburn, in which a pair of
fierce black eyes burned with an unnatural brightness.
"I have waited in suspense long enough," he muttered to himself. Then,
in a louder key, he called to his esquire who was in attendance upon
him.
"Arnaud, I have business that I must transact this night. Fetch me
hither, then, the varlet James Baulch, and then betake thyself to thy
tent. Stay, first fill up my cup, for my head still throbs consumedly
from the blow that trickster Chartris gave me."
The esquire obeyed, and in a minute the wounded knight was alone. Freed
from the restraint of his esquire’s presence, Sir Gervaise groaned aloud
with the pain of his bruised and swollen head, and muttered savagely to
himself what sounded like threats and imprecations against his
successful foe and also the varlet James, who seemed somehow to have
incurred his especial displeasure.
Presently the man arrived escorted by the esquire, who seemed to look
somewhat askance at his charge. He glanced significantly at his master
as he was about to leave the tent, and, interpreting the look, the
knight cried as he scowled savagely at the man: "Yes, Arnaud, remain
outside within call. I may require thy services."
Arnaud bowed and retired, and the knight, raising himself, not without
difficulty, into a sitting posture and placing a dagger ready to his
hand, beckoned the man to approach.
"So thou hast played me false, James Baulch, murderer and vagabond?" he
cried in a voice thick with rage. "Thou, whom I have but to lift a
finger to consign to the gibbet--thou hast dared to lie to me."
The man cowered before the knight’s pallid face and gleaming eyes.
"There is some mistake," he stammered, "I----"
"Aye--thou art right," cried the knight savagely, "’tis the mistake I
made when, with a trumped-up tale, I snatched thee from the sheriff’s
men. I had better have let thee hang and moulder--but ’tis not yet too
late. The arm of the law is strong and swift even in Gascony, and on
the word of a knight thy shrift----"
"My lord! My lord!" cried the man, grovelling in terror on the floor.
"I swear there is some mistake. With mine own eyes at dawn this morning
I saw Sir John, bound and helpless, lying at the bottom of a wagon. I
rode straight hither, and he who fought with thee must be some other.
My lord, it must be so."
"Bah! Scoundrel! That is but a tale--another lie--to save thy wretched
neck from the gallows."
"It is not--it is not!" almost shrieked the man. "Didst not mark--but
thou wert senseless--has not, then, thine esquire told thee that he who
fought as Sir John did not drop his vizor even when he saluted the
earl?"
"Say’st thou so?" cried the knight, startled. "Strange!" he went on,
muttering to himself. "I seemed to feel a difference as he entered the
lists. Both horse and man seemed doubly full of fire, while Sir John
always rode heavily."
"Yes, yes," cried the man eagerly. "It was noticed by others. I heard
two men say that Sir John was riding lighter in the saddle than he used
to."
"Can this be the explanation?" went on De Maupas, still speaking half to
himself. "I never thought of such a daring ruse being played upon me.
Who can the man be? Doubtless one of Sir John’s friends--but who?
’Twill be the worse for him an I find out the truth," he ended darkly,
clenching his teeth with suppressed rage.
"Give me leave to find out the knight’s name, my lord," interrupted
Baulch in an eager voice.
Sir Gervaise for a minute or two made no reply, but gazed at his
accomplice with so gloomy and menacing a look that the man literally shook with fear.
Edgar the Ready 14
Edgar the Ready 14
CHAPTER IX*
*The Encounter with Sir Gervaise*
When Edgar reached his tent, he found that Peter had not yet returned
since he had sent him off to keep watch upon all who came and went at
Sir Gervaise’s quarters. A meal had, however, been laid for him,
probably by Matthew, so, hardly knowing what was to be his next move and
feeling that he might soon need all his strength, Edgar sat down and ate
a hearty dinner. Then, as Peter had still not put in an appearance, he
returned to the scene of the tournament and made his way to the stand
where seats had been allotted to Sir John and his party. Somewhat to
his surprise, he found both Gertrude and Beatrice in their places.
"Hath any news good or ill reached you?" he asked, as he took his place
by their side.
"None," replied Beatrice quickly. "We came hither because we could not
rest at the inn, and, besides, we thought that news might be most
plentiful where so many people were gathered together. We feel little
like enjoying the tourney, brilliant though it is, but we both were glad
to see thee gain the day in thine encounters."
"I had not intended to take part," replied Edgar, "but our captain,
Arthur Pomeroy, sought me out and dragged me with him to the lists.
Nevertheless, while it lasted, I enjoyed it right well."
"Thy part was well done, but best of all, to my mind, was thy succouring
of poor Gaston Dugarde and the chance thou didst give to the mighty
Guilbert to meet thee face to face. Those deeds have been the talk of
the stand--far more so than thy powers with lance and sword. The one
rings of true chivalry, the other is known by a lesser name."
"Mayhap," replied Edgar, "but, even so, skill is not to be despised, for
often ’tis that that makes the other possible. But ’twas not of the
fight I wished to speak. I have forebodings that Sir Gervaise de Maupas
knoweth something of Sir John’s disappearance. I have set Peter to
watch his tent and to let me know who hath called upon him this morning.
He hath not yet returned, and, feeling impatient, I came to tell you and
to learn if perchance you had aught of news for me."
"If thou thinkest ’tis De Maupas, wilt thou not denounce him to the
earl?" cried both Gertrude and Beatrice with one voice. "Surely so
dastardly a deed----"
"Nay, nay, ladies, there is no evidence upon which I could cast such an
aspersion upon the name of a knight of fair fame. ’Twould be useless,
and would but put him upon his guard. Nay, I must proceed much more
cautiously."
"But why should Sir Gervaise seek to do him harm in secret when he hath
full chance to defeat him in the lists?" objected Beatrice.
"But could he defeat him? And even if he did, would Sir John’s honour
have received so foul a blow as when he fails to answer to Sir
Gervaise’s challenge? No, the thing is planned to ruin Sir John’s
honour, and right well do I fear it will do so."
"He will come," cried Gertrude in desperation. "He will strain every
nerve to be in his place at the appointed time. Still will I look for
him."
"I too hope--but surely, Edgar Wintour, there is something to be done!"
cried Beatrice impetuously. "Thou canst act well and strongly in the
lists--art lost when the real need comes outside? Thou art Sir John’s
esquire--appointed in the face of all thy comrades--and he looks to thee
for aid. Prove thy title. Once thou didst boast that when a time of
stress came upon us thou wouldst show thy worth."
"I have done all that man could do," cried Edgar, flushing deeply at the
bitter rebuke.
"Sir John must be found," cried Beatrice, giving a reckless stamp of her
little foot.
Deeply mortified and not a little angry, Edgar bowed low, retired from
the stand, and strode wrathfully back to his tent. His way took him not
far from Sir Gervaise’s quarters, and as he went it occurred to him that
he might pass by and see what he could of Peter. As he drew near he saw
that Sir Gervaise stood at the door already half-armed, for the hour of
his encounter approached apace; and Edgar looked steadily at him to
discern, if possible, some sign of consciousness of villainy in his
strongly-marked features. Their eyes met, and Sir Gervaise beckoned him
to approach.
"See that thy master is ready and well equipped," he said, with a smile
that maddened Edgar, "for I will humble his proud spirit this day--mark
well my words."
Gulping back the torrent of speech that rushed to his lips, Edgar turned
and hurried on his way. In the second that he had met Sir Gervaise eye
to eye, a half-formed idea had hardened and tempered into a firm
resolve. Sir John’s life should be saved and Sir John’s honour should
not be lost.
Peter was awaiting him at his tent, his face aflame with eagerness and
excitement.
"Sir," he cried breathlessly, "one of the men we suspected rode in from
the country but a half-hour agone and had speech with Sir Gervaise. I
lay down at the tent door as though sleeping in the sun, but could hear
naught. When the man came out, however, he was clinking money in his
hand and smiling."
"Didst follow him?"
"I did; and I have learned both his name and his haunts."
"Good! Say no more now, Peter, but call Matthew, for other and starker
work lieth before us."
In a moment Matthew appeared.
"Saddle Sir John’s best charger, ’Furore’, and fetch it hither," cried
Edgar. "Then bring out its armour and trappings, and make it ready for
the lists."
"Ha," cried Matthew joyously, "then thou hast news of Sir John!" and he
hurried off to do the esquire’s bidding.
"Now, Peter," cried Edgar, flinging off his outer garments, "aid me to
don Sir John’s armour--quickly, lad, on thy life!"
"But Sir John----"
"_I_ am Sir John this day. See thou sayest no more to anyone save
Matthew. Sir John’s honour must be saved, and saved it shall be if my
utmost efforts can compass it. With vizor down, who shall know that the
well-known horse and coat-armour hold not the knight, and that the
shield that beareth his blazonings is borne by another?"
Speechless with amazement, Peter strapped and buckled with might and
main, and Edgar was almost ready when Matthew entered for the horse’s
trappings.
When he saw who it was that was donning Sir John’s armour, he gave a
gasp of astonishment. Then gathering from Edgar’s set face the full
significance of the proceeding, his own took on a grim smile as, without
a word, he seized the horse’s gear and hurried from the tent.
"Wilt take thine own weapons?" enquired Peter presently.
"Nay. I will take Sir John’s and give no loophole to suspicion. Their
weight is little more than mine, and I feel strung to a pitch that would
make them feel light were they twice the weight."
"And for gage? Wilt wear the lady Gertrude’s colours?"
"Nay. I fear I cannot do that, or she will be sure ’tis Sir John. I
will wear none, as in the mêlée. See now if ’Furore’ be ready."
The horse was ready, and, carefully closing his vizor, Edgar stepped
outside and vaulted into the saddle. Shield and lance were handed up to
him, and after testing his charger’s gear to see that all was fast, he
prepared to start. Sir John’s armour was somewhat heavier than his own,
but he was so accustomed to wearing armour in his practices and so tense
with excitement and determination that he scarcely noticed it.
Edgar was now nineteen, and well grown and well developed. Though Sir
John was a man of more weighty build, he was no broader and but a
fraction taller. The armour, therefore, fitted the esquire well, and,
mounted upon "Furore" and with vizor closed, scarce his most intimate
friend would have known him from his master. The horse was a splendid
animal, far better than Edgar’s, and bore the weight of armour and rider
with ease and spirit.
It was now the hour for the encounter with Sir Gervaise, and in the
distance Edgar could hear the trumpets of the heralds announcing the
combat. He could picture De Maupas riding majestically into the lists,
confident of adding to his prestige by a victory by default against so
well-known an antagonist as Sir John Chartris. How he would make his
steed curvet and prance before the populace, as he rode round the lists
waiting in vain for his foe to answer to the challenge!
A second time the trumpets of the heralds rang out, and, setting spurs
to his horse, Edgar rode straight for the enclosure. "Furore" seemed to
enter fully into the spirit of the enterprise, and it was at a swinging
gallop that Edgar dashed suddenly into the lists.
A roar of applause arose from the whole circle of the spectators, who
were just beginning to wonder where Sir John Chartris might be. Without
a pause, Edgar rode to the earl’s stand and saluted. Then he paced on
down to his own end of the lists, saluting the Wolsingham ladies as he
passed them by.
"He hath come!" cried Gertrude, tense with excitement, the instant horse
and man appeared in the lists.
Beatrice followed her gaze, and for one instant joyfully agreed. Then
she began to doubt.
"Nay, nay, Gertrude, this cannot be Sir John. Where are thy colours?"
"He hath had no time----"
"But Sir John is waxing on in years, and rideth heavily in his saddle.
This man rideth with an ease and spring as though younger and of a
lighter make. Hush--cry not out--’tis Edgar Wintour, of a certainty!’Tis to this that I have goaded him on!"
Edgar the Ready 13
Edgar the Ready 13
"Straight along the lines a furlong. Let the youths bring the gear, and
for the nonce I will walk to it."
It was still five minutes short of noon when Edgar mounted and, closely
shepherded by Arthur Pomeroy, who seemed to fear he might yet escape,
rode off to the competitors’ enclosure adjoining the lists.
"Thou must know," said Arthur, "that I have agreed with the leader of
the Gascon esquires that our men shall be placed facing opponents of the
same relative powers. ’Twould be a poor spectacle if our best were
pitted against their weakest and their strongest against our tail end;
so we have, for the first onset only, arranged that best shall meet
best, and so forth. Thou art matched against Gaston Dugarde."
"I know nothing of him," replied Edgar. "Is he weak?"
"Weak! Thou wilt see. We have not thrown thee away."
Exactly how to take the reply Edgar hardly knew, but he was too full of
his great trouble and too anxious to be through with the present
encounter to care to enquire further. The intense eagerness with which
he had looked forward to so thrilling a mêlée had gone, and he now only
wished it over, that he might continue his enquiries respecting Sir
John.
As they cantered into the enclosure, however, he felt his enthusiasm
revive. No one could view the glittering scene unmoved, and to Edgar,
who had never been to a tournament before, the scene was full of meaning
and interest. The wide sweep of the lists, the towering stands at the
middle, the dense masses of spectators--a large proportion of whom were
soldiers--the glitter of armour, and the tramp of spirited chargers, all
struck the fullest note of chivalry and warriorhood.
"Come, Arthur," cried one of the English esquires impatiently, "thou art
behindhand. Guy de Parfrey hath marshalled his men, and awaits us."
"No matter, Stephen, since we are now seven. Now, comrades all, wheel
into line in the order agreed upon. Forget not the rules--I would not
that we scored by transgressing them. Strike home, and remember ’tis
St. George for England!"
The English esquires wheeled into their places and, headed by their
captain, Arthur Pomeroy, cantered gaily into the lists in single file
simultaneously with their adversaries. Amidst a gay fanfare of
trumpets, the two lines of steel-clad horsemen filed, saluting, before
the Earl of Derby. Then, without a pause, they diverged to their own
ends of the lists, each man halting his steed and turning as the line
passed his own position. In a very few seconds the files of prancing
horsemen became two lines of motionless figures with lances couched,
facing one another watchfully.
There was but a slight pause, and then the marshals gave the signal for
the onset. And loud the trumpets blared!
With a thunder of hoofs, the two walls of steel dashed swiftly inwards,
as though drawn by a gigantic magnet, and met in the centre of the lists
with a crash that could be heard for miles. Indeed, men passing to and
fro in the city streets and alleys heard the noise, and stopped to
question one another as to what it portended.
Five men--two English and three Gascons--bit the dust in that first
terrific onset, and the survivors, with few thoughts for the vanquished,
rode at one another fiercely, and with sword, lance, or axe, whichever
was most to their user’s liking, hewed and thrust at one another with
heartiest goodwill.
Edgar struck his opponent full on the shield with the point of his
lance, and, to his surprise, the impact lifted his opponent out of the
saddle and sent him crashing backwards to the ground. The shock must
have been great, for the unfortunate esquire lay just where he had
fallen, motionless, and apparently senseless. Fearing lest he might be
trampled upon in the mêlée, for the dust was rising and the combatants
could scarce see what was under their horses’ feet, Edgar slipped
quickly from his saddle, raised the fallen man, and bore him away out of
the press.
His temporary withdrawal made the two forces again equal, but this
equality was of very short duration, for one of the Gascons, who was
known as Guilbert "Strongarm", was an esquire of great bulk and
tremendous strength, and with two successive swings of his huge
battleaxe smote two of the English esquires so strongly that they
dropped half-fainting from their saddles.
Arthur Pomeroy, who, as captain, kept watch over what was happening to
others of his force while fighting his own battle, saw that his side was
in immediate peril of being vanquished offhand, and called loudly to
Edgar to resume the combat.
"Mount, Edgar! Mount and aid us!"
Though he had not seen the deadly strokes that had so altered the
complexion of affairs, Edgar guessed that things were going ill, and
hastily handed the stricken man to pages who hovered on the outskirts of
the fight. His horse had followed him, and, vaulting into the saddle,
he spurred once more into the conflict.
His re-entry was somewhat unexpected to the Gascons, and, still
possessing the lance that had already done such good service, he could
easily have unhorsed Guilbert from the rear. But disdaining to defeat a
foe so ingloriously, Edgar smartly tapped his lance upon his backplate
and waited. Guilbert and one of his comrades were busily hacking at
Arthur Pomeroy, who was fighting desperately and wheeling his steed
continuously in his efforts to keep the twain at bay. Astounded at the
buffet from the rear, Guilbert hastily turned and rode at Edgar, leaning
over in his saddle and swinging his great battleaxe in readiness for a
telling blow.
Dropping his lance, Edgar drew his sword and, as Guilbert came within
reach and aimed a blow at him, turned his horse and avoided the stroke
by a hairbreadth. The axe, meeting no resistance, swung down nearly to
the ground, drawing Guilbert downward with it. Simultaneously Edgar
turned in his saddle, and, reaching out, smote his adversary so shrewdly
on the wrist that he was compelled to drop his axe. Ere he could draw
his sword with his left hand--for his right was bruised and almost
useless--Edgar had twice gently smitten him upon headpiece and
breastplate, and, acknowledging defeat, Guilbert rode sullenly out of
the conflict.
Another man on either side had by this time fallen, and of the fourteen
men who had entered upon the mêlée only two English and two Gascons
remained.
Arthur Pomeroy was the second survivor of the English esquires, and in
spite of the exertions he had made, was still in good fighting trim.
Edgar had not received a scratch, and was virtually as fresh as when he
started. The two Gascons, on the other hand, were both bleeding, and
one appeared to be scarce fit to continue the combat.
"Come now, Edgar," cried Arthur exultingly, "one more charge and the
battle is ours. St. George for England! On! on!"
Side by side the two esquires rode down upon their adversaries, who,
wounded as they were, made ready to meet them right gallantly.
Suddenly the earl raised his hand.
"Desist, desist!" he cried.
At a signal from the marshals the trumpets again blared, and all knew
that the conflict was at an end.
Cheering and counter-cheering had been well-nigh continuous all the time
the stirring encounter had been proceeding, but at the signal for the
cessation of hostilities the burst of sound threatened to rend the
skies. For some minutes it continued unabated, and it was not until the
earl stood up as though about to speak that the volume of sound died
gradually away.
"Ye have all done right well," cried the earl warmly, "and I have no
wish that ye should push matters to extremities in your friendly
rivalries. Ye started equal and ye have finished equal; right nobly doth
the result speak for the valour of both wings of our army. I hail it as
the happiest augury for the campaign that lies before us."
Loud and hearty cheers greeted his words. His politic intervention had
relaxed the tension between the English and Gascon spectators, and, with
the honour of both well saved, they could cheer the well-fought fight
without bitterness and without stint.
"Let the victors approach," commanded the earl, and the four esquires
cantered to the stand and dismounted.
Pages assisted them to unhelm, and they were led forward by the marshal
up the steps to the platform where the earl stood. It was remarked by
all those near enough to observe that while the faces of the two Gascon
esquires were pale and blood-streaked, and Pomeroy’s was flushed with
exertion, Edgar’s showed no sign of the conflict whatever.
With a few words of hearty commendation, the earl presented each esquire
with a jewelled dagger and a purse of gold as tokens of the esteem in
which their victorious emergence from the conflict had caused them to be
held. Then they again mounted and, with heads still uncovered, made a
full circuit of the lists before withdrawing to their own enclosure.
Loud cheers and shouts of approval followed them, and Edgar, preoccupied
as he had again become at the uncertainty of his master’s fate now that
the combat was over, could not help feeling a thrill of pleasure at
having borne his part in upholding his country’s fair renown in the
domains of chivalry.
"Grammercy, my fair Edgar, thou didst almost lose us the fight," cried
Arthur Pomeroy, as the two filed across to their comrades’ side of the
greensward. "I thought our friend the ’strong-arm’ had me of a surety
when thou didst call him off just in time. ’Twas a near thing betwixt
victory and defeat."
"Not victory, Arthur. ’Tis an honourable draw."
"We held the winning position--that is enough for me. Come now, where
art bound? Let us first go and congratulate our comrades the Gascons on
the stout fight they provided us withal. Then, if they agree, perchance
we may retire to the esquires’ pavilion and celebrate the mêlée in a
manner fitting to the occasion."
"Right willingly will I join in thy congratulations of our friends the
enemy," cried Edgar; "but I must beg thee to excuse me from taking part
in any celebrations. I have not time, even had I the inclination, to
join thee there. I have matters on foot that claim attention without
delay, and I must be off the instant I have added my meed of praise to
thine."
In a few minutes the esquires of both bands were clustered together,
eagerly discussing the many exciting incidents of the encounter, and
Edgar was presently able to make good his exit without attracting special attention.
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