CHAPTER XXIII.

Of two fearful combats, and the death of the Knight of Montfaucon.

Just at this time, Theobaldo had arrived at the inn, which was now occupied by the Chevalier de Montfaucon, and where the latter had just loaded a sumpter-mule with a great store of richly-ornamented weapons, in order, in his character of a merchant, to appear with them before the grand emir, Nurreddin, who had commanded his attendance. But as Theobaldo, about an hour before, had discovered that the noble Castilian, Don Hernandez, had appeared with his galleys in the harbour, Sir Folko concluded that the emir might wait, and began to lay plans with the Italian for their flight and escape across the seas, even in the night of that same day.

In the midst of their important dialogue, however, the chevalier could not help fixing his eyes steadfastly on a golden chain which was visible over the slave’s frock worn by Theobaldo; and as the merchant spoke with vehement gestures, Gabrielle’s magic ring came at last fully into view.--“Whence hast thou obtained that gem?” inquired Sir Folko, in a severe tone, and with the deep flush of anger on his countenance.--“For such questions,” said the merchant, in a tone of calm defiance, with which it was his wont to answer whatever was addressed to him in an angry or commanding strain, “for such trifling questions, methinks, a fitter time might have been chosen than the present; but, as you consider it of such extreme importance to learn how I came by this ring, know then, that I received it from the fair hands of the lady to whom it lately belonged, and that she bestowed it on me as a bounty when I entered her service, in order that I might be true and faithful.”--“The bargain then is null and void,” said Sir Folko, scarcely repressing his anger: “too much noble blood has already been shed for the sake of this ring, to permit the thought that it should become yours, only because a helpless woman, in the hour of terror and distress, was not able to refuse your insolent request. Give it up to me then before we speak of aught else;--give up the ring directly!”--“You might as well demand my life,” answered Theobaldo; “and you may rest assured, that it is not by a few despotic and chevalier-like words that you will obtain either the one or the other. But moderate your anger;--I renounce all pretensions which the ring might give me to castles and lands. Solely for its own sake have I wished to obtain it as my property, and you must know that I am not without rightful pretensions to this magic gem.”--“It would be fitting and praiseworthy, forsooth,” answered the Knight of Montfaucon, “that I should thus bargain with the cunning merchant for that ring of which the worth is beyond all price or calculation. I shall now prove to you what force the words of a Chevalier de Montfaucon, which you so much despise, can carry along with them.”--Thereupon he seized the ring and chain, along with the collar of the Italian, so powerfully and rapidly, that the latter, in spite of his usual activity, stood for a space as if spell-bound and motionless; so that he would in another minute have been deprived of his ring, had not the Count Alessandro Vinciguerra entered, and, with a noble dignity of manner, which shone even through his present disguise, inquired,--“What have you to say against my squire, Sir Knight of Montfaucon?”--“Signor,” answered Sir Folko, letting Theobaldo go, “order him but to restore to me this ring, which I demand from him in the name of the Lady Gabrielle de Portamour; and if that be done, there is nothing in the world of which I can accuse him.”--“I had perhaps commanded him to do so,” answered the Count de Vinciguerra, “had you made a request to me in the proper manner for that purpose, but now----.”--“You had perhaps commanded him, forsooth?” interrupted Theobaldo, (smiling, and looking down upon the knights with unwonted dignity), “but by so doing you would have succeeded not a jot better than the Knight of Montfaucon!”--Vinciguerra cast an angry look at his squire for this boldness; while Sir Folko, attending only to the count’s last words, resumed,--“I should have made a request sayest thou?--Know that I appear in such manner only before my king, whom I am sworn to serve and honour; but with other men I but demand my own proper rights. Is it your pleasure to admit them at this time or not?”--“Thou would’st, methinks, speak more politely and calmly before me, sir knight,” answered the count, “were it not that I now stand before you as an unarmed and defenceless captive!”

These words fell like corroding poison, or fire, into the pure and generous heart of the Knight of Montfaucon; so that, wholly forgetful of the time and place, with all the dangers by which they were surrounded, he had, in a moment, drawn out two Persian sabres from among the weapons by which the mule was loaded, held them cross-ways, with the handles towards Vinciguerra, and said,--“My lord count, take your choice; they are both of the same length, and both equally sharp. European weapons were indeed better; but, alas! I have none here to offer you.”--While the count, somewhat surprised at this proceeding, but yet resolute, made his choice between the two sabres, Theobaldo endeavoured to remind them how formidable were the enemies by whom they were now both beset, and how little a kingdom, torn by civil dissensions, need ever hope for victory. A contemptuous look from the chevalier was the answer that he first received, and on this followed the decisive words:--“The question here is of my honour; and do you keep to your measuring-rod, good merchant!”--Shrugging his shoulders, and, with a look of proud contempt, Theobaldo then turned away, saying,--“The time will come, however, when you will gladly take that assistance which I alone can offer you!”--So he went away to the sea-shore, and walked up and down for pastime, while the two knights fell furiously on each other. In vain did the falcon, with his golden collar and rose-coloured parchment, hover round his master’s head, watching the moment when he might descend. The knight never observed his approach, his whole heart being now possessed by fiery passions, how different from the sweet emotion wherewith he should have welcomed this messenger of love!

Neither of the combatants had ever used such a weapon as a Persian sabre for a serious combat; but the far-travelled pupil of Sir Huguenin had before exercised himself in this, as well as in every other mode of warfare. In a few moments the crooked falchion fitted his hand as well as his own sword would have done; and while the count in his confusion often struck with the blunt side of the sabre, Sir Folko never failed to use the sharp edge, the blade being fashioned like that of a sickle, and in a short space Vinciguerra had received three deep wounds in the breast and arm, so that he fell powerless to the ground.--“There you have performed a notable and most prudent exploit!” said Theobaldo, who now again stood near them; “take yourself out of the way, however, as quickly as you can, and I shall remove the wounded man.”--Thereupon, with a dexterous movement, he lifted the unfortunate count on his shoulders, and vanished with his burden into one of the neighbouring garden-houses.

While the chevalier still stood irresolute what he should now do, and scarcely attending to the merchant’s last words, the advice which the latter had given him became all at once but too clearly intelligible.--“Do I see rightly?--Was there ever such insolence known?” cried a well-known voice behind him. It was the Prince Mutza, who, with a numerous train of attendants, now stopped his horse, lost in surprise, and gazed steadfastly on Sir Folko’s features. The latter wished to have reassumed his old character of a merchant; but now, when it was too late, he perceived what, in the heat of the combat, had wholly escaped his attention. One of Vinciguerra’s blows with the blunt side of the sabre had struck off the turban from his head; his false beard had fallen along with it; and now, with his luxuriant brown hair curling round his handsome features, the Knight of Montfaucon stood there with the bloody sabre in his hand: for Mutza to have past him by would have been impossible. Much sooner than the prince expected, however, did the chevalier recover from the confusion of that moment. He took an iron glove from the armour with which the mule was loaded, and, throwing it in Mutza’s face, he called out,--“I challenge thee, caitiff as thou art, to single combat, for life and death;--I give thee the choice of whatsoever weapons thou wilt use; and by all this I shew to thee far more condescension than thou deservest; for not only hast thou, like a base slave, broken thy parole of honour, granted to a true knight, but, like a common robber, hast forced away from their home two noble damsels, by whom, instead of being treated as a prisoner, thou wert entertained as a guest.”--At these words a deadly paleness overspread Mutza’s features. Was this the effect of anger, or did some worse feelings now work in his bosom? So much at least is certain, that, even by one step out of the straight-forward path of virtue, even the best among us may bring himself under the dominion of evil spirits, whose very existence he had not before suspected. The Prince Mutza was now so far sunk and depraved, that he pretended no longer to know the Knight of Montfaucon, but called out to his attendants,--“Take him prisoner!--Will this base merchant,--assassin too as he seems,--dare to expect that a prince will meet him in the lists?”

Then all the armed men of the prince’s train threw themselves from their horses, and, trusting to their superiority of numbers, thought that they would easily have overpowered Sir Folko. But, as if suddenly gifted with supernatural energy, he struck with his Persian sabre two or three of those who first approached him too rashly and confidently, in such manner, that they fell disabled to the ground. Then, as the rest stood for a moment astonished at this achievement, he rushed up to the sumpter-mule, drew forth daggers, arrows, javelins, and battle-axes, and with incredible strength and rapidity of arm, hurled them at the mob of his assailants, till they howled and shrieked in their confusion and terror. “Try the base merchant!” cried he in a voice of thunder. “These are his wares,--and the price he demands is but the blood of cowards and robbers!” The prince’s attendants now retired and fled in all directions; nor did any one among them seem inclined to renew the contest. At length Mutza, with the fiery blush of shame and rage on his features, exclaimed, “Pitiful cravens as you are, then must I myself end the career of this madman?” He was preparing to dismount from his horse, when the Knight of Montfaucon exclaimed, “Of all the cowards that have been here present, thou thyself art the most pitiful and dastardly; nor dost thou any longer deserve that a brave knight should honour thee with the chances of a single combat!” Thereupon he hurled a battle-axe at his opponent, taking his aim so securely and resolutely, that the iron struck deep into Mutza’s lofty forehead, and the false-hearted young libertine fell lifeless from his horse. Just ere he lost his place in the saddle, however, either in the convulsions of approaching death, or as a last effort of his vehement rage, he threw his Damascus sabre at his foe, and the sharp weapon struck so fearful a wound in Sir Folko’s breast, that he also fell to the ground, and the cowardly squires, glad to avail themselves of this accident, in order to revenge their master’s death and their own disgrace, rushed up to the now fainting chevalier, and cut him with their sabres, so that his blood flowed in torrents on the grass. Anxiously and mournfully did the faithful falcon hover in the air, looking down on this frightful adventure.

But, now behold! there drew near, two female forms, that came in their beauty like gleams of sunlight amid the raging and tumultuous assemblage. These were Blanchefleur and Gabrielle, who, in the confusion that now prevailed in the palace, had been deserted by the slaves appointed to watch them, and had escaped from their confinement. They threw themselves down by the lifeless remains of Sir Folko,--wept and kissed his pale lips in their despair, and prayed to Heaven, that, since in this world they had no longer either hope or joy, their lives also might in mercy be taken from them. For a while the slaves and armed men stood gazing at them, as if they had beheld some supernatural apparition; but ere long their thirst of revenge and bloodshed was renewed, and first in confused murmurs, then with loud shouts of rage, they began to demand, that, as an atonement for the death of their prince, these Christian enchantresses, who, by their wicked attractions, had brought him into danger, should now be sacrificed. Blinded by their tears, and awake only to their excessive grief, the damsels saw not the threatening gestures of those who were now around them, and would soon have been put to death, had not a champion come to their aid, who was in truth more like a demi-god than a man, at whose appearance the mob became submissive and respectful. This was the grand emir, Nurreddin.

“These damsels,” said he, “are under my protection;” and no sooner had these words, though pronounced quietly, without anger or effort, escaped his lips, than the crowd retired, without daring even to murmur their disapprobation. Thereupon the emir contrived, by gentle persuasions, and, as if with paternal care and affection, to remove them from the dead body of Sir Folko; and they were placed in a magnificent palanquin, with orders that they should immediately be carried to the best apartments of his palace. Then he turned his attention to the fallen champions. As to Prince Mutza, death was visibly imprinted on his distorted features, and his nearest relations bore him away with tears and lamentations. The wisest physicians too, who had been summoned to the fatal spot, declared that the Chevalier de Montfaucon was irrecoverably lost, inasmuch as even one only of the many wounds that he had received would have been enough to destroy the most powerful warrior. Thereupon the grand emir commanded that his body should be placed in a neighbouring tomb, which was appropriated for the cemetery of princes and others of the highest rank. The faithful falcon then followed the procession, and the slow heavy motion of his wings betokened his grief. When the strong iron gate of the vault was closed, he seated himself thereon, clung to the iron bars with his talons, and pecked vehemently at them; thereafter, as if in wild despair, he mounted aloft, and fled across the seas into the boundless realms of distance.