THE Bordeaux lists were, as has already been explained, situatedupon the plain near the river upon those great occasions when thetilting-ground in front of the Abbey of St. Andrew's was deemedto be too small to contain the crowd. On the eastern side ofthis plain the country-side sloped upwards, thick with vines insummer, but now ridged with the brown bare enclosures. Over thegently rising plain curved the white road which leads inland,usually flecked with travellers, but now with scarce a livingform upon it, so completely had the lists drained all thedistrict of its inhabitants. Strange it was to see such a vastconcourse of people, and then to look upon that broad, white,empty highway which wound away, bleak and deserted, until itnarrowed itself to a bare streak against the distant uplands.

Shortly after the contest had begun, any one looking from thelists along this road might have remarked, far away in theextreme distance, two brilliant and sparkling points whichglittered and twinkled in the bright shimmer of the winter sun.Within an hour these had become clearer and nearer, until theymight be seen to come from the reflection from the head-pieces oftwo horsemen who were riding at the top of their speed in thedirection of Bordeaux. Another half-hour had brought them soclose that every point of their bearing and equipment could bediscerned. The first was a knight in full armor, mounted upon abrown horse with a white blaze upon breast and forehead. He wasa short man of great breadth of shoulder, with vizor closed, andno blazonry upon his simple white surcoat or plain black shield.The other, who was evidently his squire and attendant, wasunarmed save for the helmet upon his head, but bore in his righthand a very long and heavy oaken spear which belonged to hismaster. In his left hand the squire held not only the reins ofhis own horse but those of a great black war-horse, fullyharnessed, which trotted along at his side. Thus the threehorses and their two riders rode swiftly to the lists, and it wasthe blare of the trumpet sounded by the squire as his lord rodeinto the arena which had broken in upon the prize-giving anddrawn away the attention and interest of the spectators.

"Ha, John!" cried the prince, craning h s neck, "who is thiscavalier, and what is it that he desires?"

"On my word, sire," replied Chandos, with the utmost surpriseupon his face, "it is my opinion that he is a Frenchman."

"A Frenchman!" repeated Don Pedro. "And how can you tell that,my Lord Chandos, when he has neither coat-armor, crest, orblazonry?"

"By his armor, sire, which is rounder at elbow and at shoulderthan any of Bordeaux or of England. Italian he might be were hisbassinet more sloped, but I will swear that those plates werewelded betwixt this and Rhine. Here comes his squire, however,and we shall hear what strange fortune hath brought him over themarches."

As he spoke the attendant cantered up the grassy enclosure, andpulling up his steed in front of the royal stand, blew a secondfanfare upon his bugle. He was a raw-boned, swarthy-cheeked man,with black bristling beard and a swaggering bearing.

Having sounded his call, he thrust the bugle into his belt, and,pushing his way betwixt the groups of English and of Gasconknights, he reined up within a spear's length of the royal party.

"I come," he shouted in a hoarse, thick voice, with a strongBreton accent, "as squire and herald from my master, who is avery valiant pursuivant-of-arms, and a liegeman to the great andpowerful monarch, Charles, king of the French. My master hasheard that there is jousting here, and prospect of honorableadvancement, so he has come to ask that some English cavalierwill vouchsafe for the love of his lady to run a course withsharpened lances with him, or to meet him with sword, mace,battle-axe, or dagger. He bade me say, however, that he wouldfight only with a true Englishman, and not with any mongrel whois neither English nor French, but speaks with the tongue of theone, and fights under the banner of the other."

"Sir!" cried De Clisson, with a voice of thunder, while hiscountrymen clapped their hands to their swords. The squire,however, took no notice of their angry faces, but continued withhis master's message.

"He is now ready, sire," he said, "albeit his destrier hastravelled many miles this day, and fast, for we were in fear lestwe come too late for the jousting."

"Ye have indeed come too late," said the prince, "seeing that theprize is about to be awarded; yet I doubt not that one of thesegentlemen will run a course for the sake of honor with thiscavalier of France."

"And as to the prize, sire," quoth Sir Nigel, "I am sure that Ispeak for all when I say this French knight hath our leave tobear it away with him if he can fairly win it."

"Bear word of this to your master," said the prince, "and ask himwhich of these five Englishmen he would desire to meet. Butstay; your master bears no coat-armor, and we have not yet heardhis name."

"My master, sire, is under vow to the Virgin neither to revealhis name nor to open his vizor until he is back upon Frenchground once more."

"Yet what assurance have we," said the prince, "that this is notsome varlet masquerading in his master's harness, or some caitiffknight, the very touch of whose lance might bring infamy upon anhonorable gentleman?"

"It is not so, sire," cried the squire earnestly. "There is noman upon earth who would demean himself by breaking a lance withmy master."

"You speak out boldly, squire," the prince answered; "but unlessI have some further assurance of your master's noble birth andgentle name I cannot match the choicest lances of my courtagainst him."

"You refuse, sire?"

"I do refuse."

"Then, sire, I was bidden to ask you from my master whether youwould consent if Sir John Chandos, upon hearing my master's name,should assure you that he was indeed a man with whom you mightyourself cross swords without indignity."

"I ask no better," said the prince.

"Then I must ask, Lord Chandos, that you will step forth. I haveyour pledge that the name shall remain ever a secret, and thatyou will neither say nor write one word which might betray it.The name is ----" He stooped down from his horse and whisperedsomething into the old knight's ear which made him start withsurprise, and stare with much curiosity at the distant Knight,who was sitting his charger at the further end of the arena.

"Is this indeed sooth?" he exclaimed.

"It is, my lord, and I swear it by St. Ives of Brittany."

"I might have known it," said Chandos, twisting his mousetache,and still looking thoughtfully at the cavalier.

"What then, Sir John?" asked the prince.

"Sire, this is a knight whom it is indeed great honor to meet,and I would that your grace would grant me leave to send mysquire for my harness, for I would dearly love to run a coursewith him.

"Nay, nay, Sir John, you have gained as much honor as one man canbear, and it were hard if you could not rest now. But I prayyou, squire, to tell your master that he is very welcome to ourcourt, and that wines and spices will be served him, if he wouldrefresh himself before jousting."

"My master will not drink," said the squire.

"Let him then name the gentleman with whom he would break aspear."

"He would contend with these five knights, each to choose suchweapons as suit him best."

"I perceive," said the prince, "that your master is a man ofgreat heart and high of enterprise. But the sun already is lowin the west, and there will scarce be light for these courses. Ipray you, gentlemen, to take your places, that we may see whetherthis stranger's deeds are as bold as his words."

The unknown knight had sat like a statue of steel, lookingneither to the right nor to the left during these preliminaries.He had changed from the horse upon which he had ridden, andbestrode the black charger which his squire had led beside him.His immense breadth, his stern composed appearance, and the modein which he handled his shield and his lance, were enough inthemselves to convince the thousands of critical spectators thathe was a dangerous opponent. Aylward, who stood in the front rowof the archers with Simon, big John, and others of the Company,had been criticising the proceedings from the commencement withthe ease and freedom of a man who had spent his life under armsand had learned in a hard school to know at a glance the pointsof a horse and his rider. He stared now at the stranger with awrinkled brow and the air of a man who is striving to stir hismemory.

"By my hilt! I have seen the thick body of him before to-day. YetI cannot call to mind where it could have been. At Nogentbelike, or was it at Auray? Mark me, lads, this man will prove tobe one of the best lances of France, and there are no better inthe world."

"It is but child's play, this poking game," said John. "I wouldfain try my hand at it, for, by the black rood! I think that itmight be amended."

"What then would you do, John?" asked several.

"There are many things which might be done," said the foresterthoughtfully. "Methinks that I would begin by breaking myspear."

"So they all strive to do."

"Nay, but not upon another man's shield. I would break it overmy own knee."

"And what the better for that, old beef and bones?" asked BlackSimon.

"So I would turn what is but a lady's bodkin of a weapon into avery handsome club."

"And then, John?"

"Then I would take the other's spear into my arm or my leg, orwhere it pleased him best to put it, and I would dash out hisbrains with my club."

"By my ten finger-bones! old John," said Aylward, "I would givemy feather-bed to see you at a spear-running. This is a mostcourtly and gentle sport which you have devised."

"So it seems to me," said John seriously. "Or, again, one mightseize the other round the middle, pluck him off his horse andbear him to the pavilion, there to hold him to ransom."

"Good!" cried Simon, amid a roar of laughter from all the archersround. "By Thomas of Kent I we shall make a camp-marshal ofthee, and thou shalt draw up rules for our jousting. But, John,who is it that you would uphold in this knightly and pleasingfashion?"

"What mean you?"

"Why, John, so strong and strange a tilter must fight for thebrightness of his lady's eyes or the curve of her eyelash, evenas Sir Nigel does for the Lady Loring."

"I know not about that," said the big archer, scratching his headin perplexity. "Since Mary hath played me false, I can scarcefight for her."

"Yet any woman will serve."

"There is my mother then," said John. "She was at much pains atmy upbringing, and, by my soul! I will uphold the curve of hereyelashes, for it tickleth my very heart-root to think of her.But who is here?"

"It is Sir William Beauchamp. He is a valiant man, but I fearthat he is scarce firm enough upon the saddle to bear the thrustof such a tilter as this stranger promises to be."

Aylward's words were speedily justified, for even as he spoke thetwo knights met in the centre of the lists. Beauchamp struck hisopponent a shrewd blow upon the helmet, but was met with sofrightful a thrust that he whirled out of his saddle and rolledover and over upon the ground. Sir Thomas Percy met with littlebetter success, for his shield was split, his vambrace torn andhe himself wounded slightly in the side. Lord Audley and theunknown knight struck each other fairly upon the helmet; but,while the stranger sat as firm and rigid as ever upon hischarger, the Englishman was bent back to his horse's crupper bythe weight of the blow, and had galloped half-way down the listsere he could recover himself. Sir Thomas Wake was beaten to theground with a battle-axe--that being the weapon which he hadselected--and had to be carried to his pavilion. These rapidsuccesses, gained one after the other over four celebratedwarriors, worked the crowd up to a pitch of wonder andadmiration. Thunders of applause from the English soldiers, aswell as from the citizens and peasants, showed how far the loveof brave and knightly deeds could rise above the rivalries ofrace.

"By my soul! John," cried the prince, with his cheek flushed andhis eyes shining, "this is a man of good courage and greathardiness. I could not have thought that there was any singlearm upon earth which could have overthrown these four champions."

"He is indeed, as I have said, sire, a knight from whom muchhonor is to be gained. But the lower edge of the sun is wet, andit will be beneath the sea ere long."

"Here is Sir Nigel Loring, on foot and with his sword," said theprince. "I have heard that he is a fine swordsman."

"The finest in your army, sire," Chandos answered. "Yet I doubtnot that he will need all his skill this day."

As he spoke, the two combatants advanced from either end in fullarmor with their two-handed swords sloping over their shoulders.The stranger walked heavily and with a measured stride, while theEnglish knight advanced as briskly as though there was no ironshell to weigh down the freedom of his limbs. At four pacesdistance they stopped, eyed each other for a moment, and then inan instant fell to work with a clatter and clang as though twosturdy smiths were busy upon their anvils. Up and down went thelong, shining blades, round and round they circled in curves ofglimmering light, crossing, meeting, disengaging, with flash ofsparks at every parry. Here and there bounded Sir Nigel, hishead erect, his jaunty plume fluttering in the air, while hisdark opponent sent in crashing blow upon blow, followingfiercely up with cut and with thrust, but never once getting pastthe practised blade of the skilled swordsman. The crowd roaredwith delight as Sir Nigel would stoop his head to avoid a blow,or by some slight movement of his body allow some terrible thrustto glance harmlessly past him. Suddenly, however, his time came.The Frenchman, whirling up his sword, showed for an instant achink betwixt his shoulder piece and the rerebrace which guardedhis upper arm. In dashed Sir Nigel, and out again so swiftlythat the eye could not follow the quick play of his blade, but atrickle of blood from the stranger's shoulder, and a rapidlywidening red smudge upon his white surcoat, showed where thethrust had taken effect. The wound was, however, but a slightone, and the Frenchman was about to renew his onset, when, at asign from the prince, Chandos threw down his baton, and themarshals of the lists struck up the weapons and brought thecontest to an end.

"It were time to check it," said the prince, smiling, "for SirNigel is too good a man for me to lose, and, by the five holywounds! if one of those cuts came home I should have fears forour champion. What think you, Pedro?"

"I think, Edward, that the little man was very well able to takecare of himself. For my part, I should wish to see so wellmatched a pair fight on while a drop of blood remained in theirveins."

"We must have speech with him. Such a man must not go from mycourt without rest or sup. Bring him hither, Chandos, and,certes, if the Lord Loring hath resigned his claim upon thisgoblet, it is right and proper that this cavalier should carry itto France with him as a sign of the prowess that he has shownthis day."

As he spoke, the knight-errant, who had remounted his warhorse,galloped forward to the royal stand, with a silken kerchief boundround his wounded arm. The setting sun cast a ruddy glare uponhis burnished arms, and sent his long black shadow streamingbehind him up the level clearing. Pulling up his steed, heslightly inclined his head, and sat in the stern and composedfashion with which he had borne himself throughout, heedless ofthe applauding shouts and the flutter of kerchiefs from the longlines of brave men and of fair women who were looking down uponhim.

"Sir knight," said the prince, "we have all marvelled this day atthis great skill and valor with which God has been pleased toendow you. I would fain that you should tarry at our court, fora time at least, until your hurt is healed and your horsesrested.."

"My hurt is nothing, sire, nor are my horses weary," returned thestranger in a deep, stern voice.

"Will you not at least hie back to Bordeaux with us, that you maydrain a cup of muscadine and sup at our table?"

"I will neither drink your wine nor sit at your table," returnedthe other. "I bear no love for you or for your race, and thereis nought that I wish at your hands until the day when I see thelast sail which bears you back to your island vanishing awayagainst the western sky."

"These are bitter words, sir knight," said Prince Edward, with anangry frown.

"And they come from a bitter heart," answered the unknown knight."How long is it since there has been peace in my hapless country?Where are the steadings, and orchards, and vineyards, which madeFrance fair? Where are the cities which made her great? FromProvidence to Burgundy we are beset by every prowling hireling inChristendom, who rend and tear the country which you have lefttoo weak to guard her own marches. Is it not a by-word that aman may ride all day in that unhappy land without seeing thatchupon roof or hearing the crow of cock? Does not one fair kingdomcontent you, that you should strive so for this other one whichhas no love for you? Pardieu! a true Frenchman's words may wellbe bitter, for bitter is his lot and bitter his thoughts as herides through his thrice unhappy country."

"Sir knight," said the prince, "you speak like a brave man, andour cousin of France is happy in having a cavalier who is so fitto uphold his cause either with tongue or with sword. But if youthink such evil of us, how comes it that you have trustedyourselves to us without warranty or safe-conduct?"

"Because I knew that you would be here, sire. Had the man whosits upon your right been ruler of this land, I had indeedthought twice before I looked to him for aught that was knightlyor generous." With a soldierly salute, he wheeled round hishorse, and, galloping down the lists, disappeared amid the densecrowd of footmen and of horsemen who were streaming away from thescene of the tournament.

"The insolent villain!" cried Pedro, glaring furiously after him."I have seen a man's tongue torn from his jaws for less. Wouldit not be well even now, Edward, to send horsemen to hale himback? Bethink you that it may be one of the royal house ofFrance, or at least some knight whose loss would be a heavy blowto his master. Sir William Felton, you are well mounted, gallopafter the caitiff, I pray you."

"Do so, Sir William," said the prince," and give him this purseof a hundred nobles as a sign of the respect which I bear forhim; for, by St. George! he has served his master this day evenas I would wish liegeman of mine to serve me." So saying, theprince turned his back upon the King of Spain, and springing uponhis horse, rode slowly homewards to the Abbey of Saint Andrew's.