Ivanhoe, Walter Scott [the lemonade war series txt] 📗

a reserve, now rushed on to

aid their companions. The followers of Brian de Bois-Guilbert

shouted ---“Ha! Beau-seant! Beau-seant!*

“Beau-seant” was the name of the Templars’ banner, which was half black, half white, to intimate, it is said, that they were candid and fair towards Christians, but black and terrible towards infidels.

“--- For the Temple---For the Temple!” The opposite party shouted

in answer---“Desdichado! Desdichado!”---which watch-word they

took from the motto upon their leader’s shield.

The champions thus encountering each other with the utmost fury,

and with alternate success, the tide of battle seemed to flow now

toward the southern, now toward the northern extremity of the

lists, as the one or the other party prevailed. Meantime 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 defenceless beneath the feet

of the horses. The splendid armour of the combatants was now

defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every stroke of the

sword and battle-axe. The gay plumage, shorn from the crests,

drifted upon the breeze like snow-flakes. All that was beautiful

and graceful in the martial array had disappeared, and what was

now visible was only calculated to awake terror or compassion.

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar

spectators, who are naturally attracted by sights of horror, but

even the ladies of distinction who crowded the galleries, saw the

conflict with a thrilling interest certainly, but without a wish

to withdraw their eyes from a sight so terrible. Here and there,

indeed, a fair cheek might turn pale, or a faint scream might be

heard, as a lover, a brother, or a husband, was struck from his

horse. But, in general, the ladies around encouraged the

combatants, not only by clapping their hands and waving their

veils and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming, “Brave lance! Good

sword!” when any successful thrust or blow took place under their

observation.

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this bloody

game, that of the men is the more easily understood. It showed

itself in loud acclamations upon every change of fortune, while

all eyes were so riveted on the lists, that the spectators seemed

as if they themselves had dealt and received the blows which were

there so freely bestowed. And between every pause was heard the

voice of the heralds, exclaiming, “Fight on, brave knights! Man

dies, but glory lives!---Fight on---death is better than defeat!

---Fight on, brave knights!---for bright eyes behold your deeds!”

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of all

endeavoured to discover the leaders of each band, who, mingling

in the thick of the fight, encouraged their companions both by

voice and example. Both displayed great feats of gallantry, nor

did either Bois-Guilbert or the Disinherited Knight find in the

ranks opposed to them a champion who could be termed their

unquestioned match. They repeatedly endeavoured to single out

each other, spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that the fall

of either leader might be considered as decisive of victory.

Such, however, was the crowd and confusion, that, during the

earlier part of the conflict, their efforts to meet were

unavailing, and they were repeatedly separated by the eagerness

of their followers, each of whom was anxious to win honour, by

measuring his strength against the leader of the opposite party.

But when the field became thin by the numbers on either side who

had yielded themselves vanquished, had been compelled to the

extremity of the lists, or been otherwise rendered incapable of

continuing the strife, the Templar and the Disinherited Knight at

length encountered hand to hand, with all the fury that mortal

animosity, joined to rivalry of honour, could inspire. Such was

the address of each in parrying and striking, that the spectators

broke forth into a unanimous and involuntary shout, expressive of

their delight and admiration.

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight had the

worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de-Boeuf on the one flank, and

the ponderous strength of Athelstane on the other, bearing down

and dispersing those immediately exposed to them. Finding

themselves freed from their immediate antagonists, it seems to

have occurred to both these knights at the same instant, that

they would render the most decisive advantage to their party, by

aiding the Templar in his contest with his rival. Turning their

horses, therefore, at the same moment, the Norman spurred against

the Disinherited Knight on the one side, and the Saxon on the

other. It was utterly impossible that the object of this unequal

and unexpected assault could have sustained it, had he not been

warned by a general cry from the spectators, who could not but

take interest in one exposed to such disadvantage.

“Beware! beware! Sir Disinherited!” was shouted so universally,

that the knight became aware of his danger; and, striking a full

blow at the Templar, he reined back his steed in the same moment,

so as to escape the charge of Athelstane and Front-de-Boeuf.

These knights, therefore, their aim being thus eluded, rushed

from opposite sides betwixt the object of their attack and the

Templar, almost running their horses against each other ere they

could stop their career. Recovering their horses however, and

wheeling them round, the whole three pursued their united purpose

of bearing to the earth the Disinherited Knight.

Nothing could have saved him, except the remarkable strength and

activity of the noble horse which he had won on the preceding

day.

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of Bois-Guilbert

was wounded, and those of Front-de-Boeuf and Athelstane were both

tired with the weight of their gigantic masters, clad in complete

armour, and with the preceding exertions of the day. The

masterly horsemanship of the Disinherited Knight, and the

activity of the noble animal which he mounted, enabled him for a

few minutes to keep at sword’s point his three antagonists,

turning and wheeling with the agility of a hawk upon the wing,

keeping his enemies as far separate as he could, and rushing now

against the one, now against the other, dealing sweeping blows

with his sword, without waiting to receive those which were aimed

at him in return.

But although the lists rang with the applauses of his dexterity,

it was evident that he must at last be overpowered; and the

nobles around Prince John implored him with one voice to throw

down his warder, and to save so brave a knight from the disgrace

of being overcome by odds.

“Not I, by the light of Heaven!” answered Prince John; “this same

springald, who conceals his name, and despises our proffered

hospitality, hath already gained one prize, and may now afford to

let others have their turn.” As he spoke thus, an unexpected

incident changed the fortune of the day.

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight a champion

in black armour, mounted on a black horse, large of size, tall,

and to all appearance powerful and strong, like the rider by whom

he was mounted, This knight, who bore on his shield no device of

any kind, had hitherto evinced very little interest in the event

of the fight, beating off with seeming ease those combatants who

attacked him, but neither pursuing his advantages, nor himself

assailing any one. In short, he had hitherto acted the part

rather of a spectator than of a party in the tournament, a

circumstance which procured him among the spectators the name of

“Le Noir Faineant”, or the Black Sluggard.

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, when he

discovered the leader of his party so hard bestead; for, setting

spurs to his horse, which was quite fresh, he came to his

assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like a

trumpet-call, “Desdichado, to the rescue!” It was high time;

for, while the Disinherited Knight was pressing upon the Templar,

Front-de-Boeuf had got nigh to him with his uplifted sword; but

ere the blow could descend, the Sable Knight dealt a stroke on

his head, which, glancing from the polished helmet, lighted with

violence scarcely abated on the “chamfron” of the steed, and

Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground, both horse and man equally

stunned by the fury of the blow. “Le Noir Faineant” then turned

his horse upon Athelstane of Coningsburgh; and his own sword

having been broken in his encounter with Front-de-Boeuf, he

wrenched from the hand of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he

wielded, and, like one familiar with the use of the weapon,

bestowed him such a blow upon the crest, that Athelstane also lay

senseless on the field. Having achieved this double feat, for

which he was the more highly applauded that it was totally

unexpected from him, the knight seemed to resume the sluggishness

of his character, returning calmly to the northern extremity of

the lists, leaving his leader to cope as he best could with Brian

de Bois-Guilbert. This was no longer matter of so much

difficulty as formerly. The Templars horse had bled much, and

gave way under the shock of the Disinherited Knight’s charge.

Brian de Bois-Guilbert rolled on the field, encumbered with the

stirrup, from which he was unable to draw his foot. His

antagonist sprung from horseback, waved his fatal sword over the

head of his adversary, and commanded him to yield himself; when

Prince John, more moved by the Templars dangerous situation than

he had been by that of his rival, saved him the mortification of

confessing himself vanquished, by casting down his warder, and

putting an end to the conflict.

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight which

continued to burn; for of the few knights who still continued in

the lists, the greater part had, by tacit consent, forborne the

conflict for some time, leaving it to be determined by the strife

of the leaders.

The squires, who had found it a matter of danger and difficulty

to attend their masters during the engagement, now thronged into

the lists to pay their dutiful attendance to the wounded, who

were removed with the utmost care and attention to the

neighbouring pavilions, or to the quarters prepared for them in

the adjoining village.

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, one of the

most gallantly contested tournaments of that age; for although

only four knights, including one who was smothered by the heat of

his armour, had died upon the field, yet upwards of thirty were

desperately wounded, four or five of whom never recovered.

Several more were disabled for life; and those who escaped best

carried the marks of the conflict to the grave with them. Hence

it is always mentioned in the old records, as the Gentle and

Joyous Passage of Arms of Ashby.

It being now the duty of Prince John to name the knight who had

done best, he determined that the honour of the day remained with

the knight whom the popular voice had termed “Le Noir Faineant.”

It was pointed out to the Prince, in impeachment of this decree,

that the victory had been in fact won by the Disinherited Knight,

who, in the course of the day, had overcome six champions with

his own hand, and who had finally unhorsed and struck down the

leader of the opposite party. But Prince John adhered to his own

opinion, on the ground that the Disinherited Knight and his party

had lost the day, but for the powerful assistance of the Knight

of the Black Armour, to whom, therefore, he persisted in awarding

the prize.

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight thus

preferred was nowhere to be found. He had left the lists

immediately when the conflict ceased, and had been observed by

some spectators to move down