The heralds left their pricking up and down,
Now ringen trumpets loud and clarion.
There is no more to say, but east and west,
In go the speares sadly in the rest,
In goth the sharp spur into the side,
There see men who can just and who can ride;
There shiver shaftes upon shieldes thick,
He feeleth through the heart-spone the prick;
Up springen speares, twenty feet in height,
Out go the swordes to the silver bright;
The helms they to-hewn and to-shred;
Out burst the blood with stern streames red.
Chaucer.
Morning arose in unclouded splendour, and ere the sun was much
above the horizon, the idlest or the most eager of the spectators
appeared on the common, moving to the lists as to a general
centre, in order to secure a favourable situation for viewing the
continuation of the expected games.
The marshals and their attendants appeared next on the field,
together with the heralds, for the purpose of receiving the names
of the knights who intended to joust, with the side which each
chose to espouse. This was a necessary precaution, in order to
secure equality betwixt the two bodies who should be opposed to
each other.
According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight was to be
considered as leader of the one body, while Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, who had been rated as having done second-best in
the preceding day, was named first champion of the other band.
Those who had concurred in the challenge adhered to his party of
course, excepting only Ralph de Vipont, whom his fall had
rendered unfit so soon to put on his armour. There was no want
of distinguished and noble candidates to fill up the ranks on
either side.
In fact, although the general tournament, in which all knights
fought at once, was more dangerous than single encounters, they
were, nevertheless, more frequented and practised by the chivalry
of the age. Many knights, who had not sufficient confidence in
their own skill to defy a single adversary of high reputation,
were, nevertheless, desirous of displaying their valour in the
general combat, where they might meet others with whom they were
more upon an equality. On the present occasion, about fifty
knights were inscribed as desirous of combating upon each side,
when the marshals declared that no more could be admitted, to the
disappointment of several who were too late in preferring their
claim to be included.
About the hour of 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 Prince John and his retinue, attended by many of those
knights who meant to take share in the game, as well as others
who had no such intention.
About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with the Lady
Rowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. This Saxon lord had
arrayed his tall and strong person in armour, in order to take
his place among the combatants; and, considerably to the surprise
of Cedric, had chosen to enlist himself on the part of the Knight
Templar. The Saxon, indeed, had remonstrated strongly with his
friend upon the injudicious choice he had made of his party; but
he had only received that sort of answer usually given by those
who are more obstinate in following their own course, than strong
in justifying it.
His best, if not his only reason, for adhering to the party of
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the prudence to keep to
himself. Though his apathy of disposition prevented his taking
any means to recommend himself to the Lady Rowena, he was,
nevertheless, by no means insensible to her charms, and
considered his union with her as a matter already fixed beyond
doubt, by the assent of Cedric and her other friends. It had
therefore been with smothered displeasure that the proud though
indolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld the victor of the preceding
day select Rowena as the object of that honour which it became
his privilege to confer. In order to punish him for a
preference which seemed to interfere with his own suit,
Athelstane, confident of his strength, and to whom his
flatterers, at least, ascribed great skill in arms, had
determined not only to deprive the Disinherited Knight of his
powerful succour, but, if an opportunity should occur, to make
him feel the weight of his battle-axe.
De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince John, in obedience
to a hint from him, had joined the party of the challengers, John
being desirous to secure, if possible, the victory to that side.
On the other hand, many other knights, both English and Norman,
natives and strangers, took part against the challengers, the
more readily that the opposite band was to be led by so
distinguished a champion as the Disinherited Knight had approved
himself.
As soon as Prince John observed that the destined Queen of the
day had arrived upon the field, assuming that air of courtesy
which sat well upon him when he was pleased to exhibit it, he
rode forward to meet her, doffed his bonnet, and, alighting from
his horse, assisted the Lady Rowena from her saddle, while his
followers uncovered at the same time, and one of the most
distinguished dismounted to hold her palfrey.
"It is thus," said Prince John, "that we set the dutiful example
of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and are ourselves her
guide to the throne which she must this day occupy.---Ladies," he
said, "attend your Queen, as you wish in your turn to be
distinguished by like honours."
So saying, the Prince marshalled Rowena to the seat of honour
opposite his own, while the fairest and most distinguished ladies
present crowded after her to obtain places as near as possible to
their temporary sovereign.
No sooner was Rowena seated, than a burst of music, half-drowned
by the shouts of the multitude, greeted her new dignity.
Meantime, the sun shone fierce and bright upon the polished arms
of the knights of either side, who crowded the opposite
extremities of the lists, and held eager conference together
concerning the best mode of arranging their line of battle, and
supporting the conflict.
The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws of the tourney
should be rehearsed. These were calculated in some degree to
abate the dangers of the day; a precaution the more necessary, as
the conflict was to be maintained with sharp swords and pointed
lances.
The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust with the sword,
and were confined to striking. A knight, it was announced, might
use a mace or battle-axe at pleasure, but the dagger was a
prohibited weapon. A knight unhorsed might renew the fight on
foot with any other on the opposite side in the same predicament;
but mounted horsemen were in that case forbidden to assail him.
When any knight could force his antagonist to the extremity of
the lists, so as to touch the palisade with his person or arms,
such opponent was obliged to yield himself vanquished, and his
armour and horse were placed at the disposal of the conqueror.
A knight thus overcome was not permitted to take farther share in
the combat. If any combatant was struck down, and unable to
recover his feet, his squire or page might enter the lists, and
drag his master out of the press; but in that case the knight was
adjudged vanquished, and his arms and horse declared forfeited.
The combat was to cease as soon as Prince John should throw down
his leading staff, or truncheon; another precaution usually taken
to prevent the unnecessary effusion of blood by the too long
endurance of a sport so desperate. Any knight breaking the rules
of the tournament, or otherwise transgressing the rules of
honourable chivalry, was liable to be stript of his arms, and,
having his shield reversed to be placed in that posture astride
upon the bars of the palisade, and exposed to public derision, in
punishment of his unknightly conduct. Having announced these
precautions, the heralds concluded with an exhortation to each
good knight to do his duty, and to merit favour from the Queen of
Beauty and of Love.
This proclamation having been made, the heralds withdrew to their
stations. The knights, entering at either end of the lists in
long procession, arranged themselves in a double file, precisely
opposite to each other, the leader of each party being in the
centre of the foremost rank, a post which he did not occupy until
each had carefully marshalled the ranks of his party, and
stationed every one in his place.
It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious, sight, to
behold so many gallant champions, mounted bravely, and armed
richly, stand ready prepared for an encounter so formidable,
seated on their war-saddles like so many pillars of iron, and
awaiting the signal of encounter with the same ardour as their
generous steeds, which, by neighing and pawing the ground, gave
signal of their impatience.
As yet the knights held their long lances upright, their bright
points glancing to the sun, and the streamers with which they
were decorated fluttering over the plumage of the helmets. Thus
they remained while the marshals of the field surveyed their
ranks with the utmost exactness, lest either party had more or
fewer than the appointed number. The tale was found exactly
complete. The marshals then withdrew from the lists, and William
de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pronounced the signal words
--"Laissez aller!" The trumpets sounded as he spoke---the spears
of the champions were at once lowered and placed in the rests
---the spurs were dashed into the flanks of the horses, and the
two foremost ranks of either party rushed upon each other in full
gallop, and met in the middle of the lists with a shock, the
sound of which was heard at a mile's distance. The rear rank of
each party advanced at a slower pace to sustain the defeated, and
follow up the success of the victors of their party.
The consequences of the encounter were not instantly seen, for
the dust raised by the trampling of so many steeds darkened the
air, and it was a minute ere the anxious spectator could see the
fate of the encounter. When the fight became visible, half the
knights on each side were dismounted, some by the dexterity of
their adversary's lance,---some by the superior weight and
strength of opponents, which had borne down both horse and man,
---some lay stretched on earth as if never more to rise,---some
had already gained their feet, and were closing hand to hand with
those of their antagonists who were in the same predicament,
---and several on both sides, who had received wounds by which
they were disabled, were stopping their blood by their scarfs,
and endeavouring to extricate themselves from the tumult. The
mounted knights, whose lances had been almost all broken by the
fury of the encounter, were now closely engaged with their
swords, shouting their war-cries, and exchanging buffets, as if
honour and life depended on the issue of the combat.
The tumult was presently increased by the advance of the second
rank on either side, which, acting as 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 one of the forest glades with the
same slow pace and listless and indifferent manner which had
procured him the epithet of the Black Sluggard. After he had
been summoned twice by sound of trumpet, and proclamation of the
heralds, it became necessary to name another to receive the
honours which had been assigned to him. Prince John had now no
further excuse for resisting the claim of the Disinherited
Knight, whom, therefore, he named the champion of the day.
Through a field slippery with blood, and encumbered with broken
armour and the bodies of slain and wounded horses, the marshals
of the lists again conducted the victor to the foot of Prince
John's throne.
"Disinherited Knight," said Prince John, "since by that title
only you will consent to be known to us, we a second time award
to you the honours of this tournament, and announce to you your
right to claim and receive from the hands of the Queen of Love
and Beauty, the Chaplet of Honour which your valour has justly
deserved." The Knight bowed low and gracefully, but returned
no answer.
While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds strained their
voices in proclaiming honour to the brave and glory to the victor
---while ladies waved their silken kerchiefs and embroidered
veils, and while all ranks joined in a clamorous shout of
exultation, the marshals conducted the Disinherited Knight across
the lists to the foot of that throne of honour which was occupied
by the Lady Rowena.
On the lower step of this throne the champion was made to kneel
down. Indeed his whole action since the fight had ended, seemed
rather to have been upon the impulse of those around him than
from his own free will; and it was observed that he tottered as
they guided him the second time across the lists. Rowena,
descending from her station with a graceful and dignified step,
was about to place the chaplet which she held in her hand upon
the helmet of the champion, when the marshals exclaimed with one
voice, "It must not be thus---his head must be bare." The knight
muttered faintly a few words, which were lost in the hollow of
his helmet, but their purport seemed to be a desire that his
casque might not be removed.
Whether from love of form, or from curiosity, the marshals paid
no attention to his expressions of reluctance, but unhelmed him
by cutting the laces of his casque, and undoing the fastening of
his gorget. When the helmet was removed, the well-formed, yet
sun-burnt features of a young man of twenty-five were seen,
amidst a profusion of short fair hair. His countenance was as
pale as death, and marked in one or two places with streaks of
blood.
Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered a faint shriek;
but at once summoning up the energy of her disposition, and
compelling herself, as it were, to proceed, while her frame yet
trembled with the violence of sudden emotion, she placed upon the
drooping head of the victor the splendid chaplet which was the
destined reward of the day, and pronounced, in a clear and
distinct tone, these words: "I bestow on thee this chaplet, Sir
Knight, as the meed of valour assigned to this day's victor:"
Here she paused a moment, and then firmly added, "And upon brows
more worthy could a wreath of chivalry never be placed!"
The knight stooped his head, and kissed the hand of the lovely
Sovereign by whom his valour had been rewarded; and then, sinking
yet farther forward, lay prostrate at her feet.
There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had been struck
mute by the sudden appearance of his banished son, now rushed
forward, as if to separate him from Rowena. But this had been
already accomplished by the marshals of the field, who, guessing
the cause of Ivanhoe's swoon, had hastened to undo his armour,
and found that the head of a lance had penetrated his
breastplate, and inflicted a wound in his side. |
