CHAPTER XXIII.

How Sir Otto vanquished the Knight of Montfaucon.

On the morning of the following day, at an early hour, there arose great tumult and bustle in the spacious court of the castle, which was covered with green turf, and planted on all sides with rows of tall lime-trees. There were posts driven into the ground, and rails laid upon them, as a grating, which should keep the by-standers at a proper distance, and this grating was also hung with embroidered drapery. Within the lists there were brought carts full of dry white sand, which the squires spread carefully over the turf, so that both man and horse might have firmer footing thereon, than the slippery grass would have afforded. Meanwhile, Don Hernandez and the Count de Vinciguerra were seen hastening hither and thither, giving orders, and attending to all the preparations; for, on the preceding evening, it had been agreed that they were to act as umpires and seconds at the combat. After mature deliberation, they laid down the exact dimensions for the lists, and tried how both champions might be placed with equal advantages of wind and sunlight. For the ladies they had erected a grand stage among the branches of the lime-trees; so that, sitting therein, they were at once shaded and protected, yet at the same time had a free view of the battle-field. A multitude of spectators had already collected, waiting with impatience for the knights and ladies, who were to play the principal parts at this tragic festival.

The Chevalier de Montfaucon and the Knight of Trautwangen meanwhile donned their armour in separate chambers. In the service of the latter, his friend Theobaldo was this day more zealous than ever, evincing a degree of anxiety and tenderness which was to him quite unusual. From the eagle-helmet down to the golden spurs, he examined minutely every plate, belt, and buckle, now drawing them tight, now loosening them again, and yet never found his arrangements good enough for his master and friend. Sir Otto looked at him kindly, and said, “How is this, Theobaldo? You seem as melancholy and anxious, as if you were arming me for the last time!” “That may indeed be so,” answered the merchant; “sad feelings and sad words often turn into true prophecies!” Then, deeply moved, he bent his head over the knight’s yet unarmed right hand.

The door now opened suddenly, and in his armour of blue and gold, gleaming like the vault of heaven in a starry night, appeared at it Sir Folko de Montfaucon. He wore his golden helmet with the visor still open and a squire followed bearing his great battle-sword. “Dear brother,” said he to Sir Otto, “we have spent the time like good friends together up to this day, and interchanged many kind looks. Now, however, it may come to pass, that after we have drawn down our visors, we shall never behold each other again. Therefore have I come to you at this time, that I may once more heartily embrace you; and that, ere our meeting in the lists, we may pray together in the chapel before the altar.” Therewith he spread his arms, into which Sir Otto threw himself, and the two champions embraced with such fervour, as if the warmth of their friendship could have melted the cold iron with which they were covered. Then a trumpet sounded from the court, and they broke asunder suddenly. “It is the first signal,” said Sir Folko. “My noble adversary will now, if it so please him, gird on my sword, and I shall render him the like service.” This was accordingly done; and, as the massive glittering weapons were adjusted, they related on both sides by whom these swords had been presented to them, Sir Folko’s being the gift of his stepfather, Sir Huguenin, and that of Sir Otto, as we have already told, being received from his father, Sir Hugh von Trautwangen. Thereafter they went arm in arm down to the chapel, where they kneeled together, one on each side of the altar, and remained there in silent prayer, until the trumpets sounded another signal. Then rising up, they looked once more with great kindness on each other, drew down their visors, and came forth into the castle court, which was now brightly illumined by the sunbeams.

The ladies were already seated in their balcony, amid the foliage of the lime-trees; and Sir Folko said to his companion, “In those northern realms, from which our family is sprung, we have an old legend touching the golden apples of immortality. Brother, do you mark them yonder, among the branches, above us?” These words he had intended to be playful and light-hearted; but uttered, as they were, from behind the cold motionless visor, unaided by a smile or lively glance, hollow too and suppressed in tone, they sounded rather like a mournful forewarning of death. The knights now shook hands before the assembled spectators, and went severally to mount their horses. As Sir Folko, on the left of the balcony, approached his silver-grey charger, his noble falcon, which had now almost recovered from the wound inflicted by Theobaldo, flew down from a window of the castle, and took his place on the knight’s helmet, which he would not leave till he was taken thence by his master’s hand. The latter then stroked him kindly on the neck, and, pulling down the hood over the faithful creature’s eyes, gave him in charge to one of his squires, who carried him away. A deep-sounding murmur then arose through the multitude; by some it was interpreted as a sure anticipation of victory for Sir Folko; while others thought that the poor bird wished to take his last farewell, and that his master would of necessity die. Then, for the third time, the herald sounded his trumpet; all voices were hushed; and now, mounted on their war-steeds, the two champions came from opposite sides into their proper places.

Thereafter, underneath the balcony where the ladies sat, arose Don Hernandez, in magnificent armour, with his visor open; he called aloud, “Be it known to all knights and ladies, also to others of whatsoever degree, who are here present, that my friend, the Count Alessandro de Vinciguerra, who is now beside me, holds in his hands a gold casket, with the ring, which is to be the prize of this combat. The champions have the free right of contending with lances and with swords, on horseback, or on foot. Whosoever of the twain shall be able courteously to approach the Count of Vinciguerra, take the casket from his hands, bring it to the Lady Gabrielle in the balcony, and place the ring on her finger, without interruption from his adversary, shall be looked upon as the victor, and all contentions for this cause are from henceforth at an end. Noble champions, are these conditions understood and approved?”

Both knights thereupon inclined their heads, with their long waving plumes, in token of consent; and Hernandez, with grave dignity, took his place again beside the Count. A deep stillness prevailed through the assembly, yet it lasted but for a moment; for there was heard from all sides a great flourish of trumpets; the spectators all trembled, and both knights urged forward their foaming highspirited horses. In the middle of the battle-field, they struck together with such a frightful clash, that the noise even overpowered that of the trumpets, and, like two gigantic statues, the silver-grey and the light-brown charger stood opposite to each other, both on their hind-legs, and pawing in the air with their fore-hoofs, in order to regain their equipoise after that terrible shock, by which the lances on both sides had been shivered in pieces, and strewed over the battle-ground. The riders sat firmly, both leaning forwards, and spurring their horses; but, after a brief space of uncertain motion, both of them, being unable to regain their proper position, fell backwards with a great crash upon the sand.

A cry of horror now sounded from the balcony, and was echoed by all the spectators. But ere the cry had ceased, and before the horses had risen from the ground, both knights had disengaged themselves, and ran with swords drawn towards the place where the Count Alessandro de Vinciguerra was stationed with the ring. Each perceiving, however, that his opponent was ready to prevent him from obtaining it, they stood looking for a space at each other, then grasped their swords firmly, and went, with measured steps, back to the place where they had fallen, and where their shields yet lay upon the ground. At the same moment each had seized on his glittering targe; while their horses, having now raised themselves up, watchfully followed every movement. It was mournful, however, to behold how Sir Folko’s silver-grey charger, severely wounded on the shoulder, struggled vainly with his lameness; snorting and neighing as he had done at the commencement of the battle, and thus proving, that though his activity were lost, he retained yet all his courage and attachment. Observing this, Sir Otto, who would by no means take advantage of his adversary, said, with a look of compassion for the poor steed,--“Noble Sir, shall we not rather desire our horses to be led away?” With a courteous and thankful salutation, Sir Folko replied,--“Be it according to your pleasure. Your conduct here is indeed such as from the beginning I had expected of you.” So the horses were led out of the lists.

But scarcely had the knights, with their raised shields and gleaming swords, come up against each other; scarcely had their first blows sounded on their armour, when, behold! Sir Otto’s light-brown steed, which, in spite of their utmost efforts, had broken from the squires, sprung over the rails, and would have immediately attacked his master’s opponent. Sir Otto, however, seized him by the bridle, and led him back to the gateway of the lists, giving him again in charge to the squires, while, with threatening gestures and a stern voice, he commanded him to stand quiet; so that the noble steed remained motionless, nor did the by-standers even require the reins to hold him.

On Sir Otto’s return, the Chevalier de Montfaucon made him a kind and courteous salutation with his sword; then raised it for a vehement attack, and the frightful combat began anew. Ere long, the blows on both sides fell thick as hail, till oftentimes the combatants stood with their shields pressed together, watching their opportunity to strike, and then again flew suddenly asunder. At length Sir Folko’s sword descended, with the rapidity of lightning, on his opponent’s left arm, in such manner, that his shield was cleft in twain, and one half fell rattling on the ground. “Hold, hold!” cried the chevalier; and Sir Otto lowered his weapon, which he had just then upraised, asking, at the same time,--“Are you wounded, brother? otherwise there is no need of a pause.” “Not so; your shield is wanting,” said Sir Folko, “while mine is yet uninjured; on which account I shall lay it aside; for the conditions of an honourable combat require that our means of defence and attack should, on both sides, be the same.” Thereupon he made a sign that his squire should draw near, and gave him his blue and gold shield; but Sir Otto interfered, and would by no means allow that it should be carried away. Sir Folko then said, in a grave determined tone,--“Sir Knight, young as you now are in years and experience, methinks you must, for this once, bear with a lesson from me. I have worn armour some twelve years longer than you have done, and I know perchance as well as another what is or is not fitting. Since I have respectfully and thankfully accepted from you the favour, that when my horse was wounded, yours should be led out of the lists, methinks it is not too much to expect that you should receive some like grace at the hands of Sir Folko de Montfaucon.” “You are in the right, my noble brother,” answered Sir Otto; “I bow to the judgment of one who is indeed a mirror and pattern of knighthood.” With these words, he made a humble obeisance, and an attendant squire bore away the bright-gleaming shield. Thereafter the battle was renewed with fresh spirit and vigour; but had not continued long, ere one of Sir Otto’s blows came with such force on the left arm of the chevalier, that the weapon made its way between the corslet and cuirass; whereupon a stream of blood followed the wound. Sir Folko began to totter, with difficulty supporting himself on his sword, and ere the Knight of Trautwangen could catch him in his arms, fell to the ground. Then Sir Otto kneeled down beside him, after such manner, that the by-standers at first believed he too was wounded, and could not support himself; but ere long they perceived that he was busily employed in loosening the helmet, corslet, and cuirass, of his fallen adversary. Blanchefleur soon hastened from the balcony to assist in the same services, knelt on the other side beside her brother, and wept bitterly. Otto perceiving this, looked at her kindly. “God be praised,” said he, “your brother yet lives; and the wound, though on the left side, has not reached his heart!” At this moment Sir Folko opened his eyes, and the Lady Blanchefleur held her hand across to his opponent, with a smile of thanks for the kind words that he had spoken. Having respectfully kissed the beautiful hand thus offered him, Sir Otto at length arose, and went to the Count de Vinciguerra to receive the casket with the ring. Thereafter, when he made his appearance under the green leaves of the balcony,--when Gabrielle, with a sweet smile, came forward to meet him,--when the trumpets flourished, and all the people called out “Long live Sir Otto von Trautwangen!” the knight, as if lost in a fairy dream, knelt down, and in this attitude he placed the ring on the snow-white finger of the Lady Gabrielle; while, at the same moment, the too happy youth felt a soft kiss breathed on his forehead.