CHAPTER XV. MONTJOIE! MONTJOIE! ST. DENIS!
IT was nine o'clock in the morning. The heralds went about everywhere,shouting aloud, "Lace your helms, brave knights! lace your helms!"
The combatants got ready for the conflict. They examined for the lasttime with the greatest care every minute point of their armour, andmade sure that their horses were properly equipped and saddled. Theseprecautions taken, they hurried off to the lists; the Saracens by thesouthern gate, the Christians by the northern.
Charlemagne took his place in the Royal pavilion, with Himiltrude byhis side. Aude placed herself on the throne reserved for the Queenof Beauty. Oghris laid himself at her feet, surveying the crowd withwondering eyes.
The benches were crowded. The knights took their places. Trumpet-pealand shout rent the air. The Emperor was in his place.
The heralds next proclaimed silence, read the conditions of thetournament, and called on the knights to do their duty, for the honourof Heaven, the Emperor, and the ladies. Then they called the twoleaders, Christian and Saracen, to take command of their forces.
Garlan the Bearded rode forth, and reviewed his men. Miton did the same,and advanced into the centre of the lists. His novel style of armourattracted some attention.
"What is this?" said Charlemagne. "Is Miton out of his senses, or doeshe come here to seek certain death? Go instantly, and command him toquit the lists."
Ogier the Dane darted forward to convey the Royal command, but wasstopped by Turpin, who had heard Charles's exclamation.
"Pardon me, sire, for thus suspending the execution of an order you havegiven; but Miton is performing a vow. Your Majesty would find it vain toforbid him the combat. Heaven alone is able to preserve him." The severeeye of the bishop met the supplicating looks of Mita, and her eyessought the ground.
Aude understood all, and wished to interpose.
"Sire, you will not suffer so brave a knight to be slain----"
Charlemagne shook his head sadly. "I know Miton, and nothing willprevent him from carrying out his enterprise."
Then turning towards the suite of the Queen of Beauty, he said--
"I have among you, ladies, a cruel foe, who thus devotes to death one ofmy bravest knights. Let us say the prayer for the dead on behalf of thevictim of this relentless beauty."
All rose, and repeated the supplication in a low voice, Turpin leadingthem. The terrified Mita alone had not the power to rise. She sank onher knees, and would have remained there motionless and overcome, hadnot her sister raised her.
In the meantime Miton, ignorant of what was passing, and not evenhearing the shouts of the crowd, or the entreaties of his comrades, whobegged him not to devote himself in this way to destruction--
Miton, gay and proud, to think of the trial he was subjected to, hadmade all his dispositions for the combat.
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There were a hundred horsemen in the field--fifty on either side.Their leaders drew them up in two lines of twenty-five. It was truly animposing sight--these brave fellows, clad in their glittering arms; infirm and compact lines, planted well in their war-saddles. One mighthave called them a column of iron. The horses, no less impatient thantheir masters, whinnied and pawed the ground.
At last Charlemagne gave the signal.
"Charge!" shouted the heralds.
Scarcely were their voices heard ere the first rank of combatants dashedforward. The two parties met halfway with an alarming crash. In vain didthe spectators attempt to make out the result of this first onset. Theywere obliged to wait till the dust had blown off. The heart of Mita beatvery fast during those few seconds, but at last she beheld her knighthand-to-hand with Garlan the Bearded. One half of the combatants werestretched on the earth; some so sorely wounded, that their squires hadto come, raise them, and drag them out of the _melee_. Others, however,got up without aid, and went to seek fresh adversaries.
Priamus had his spear broken, but he had kept his seat in the saddle.Seeing Girars of Roussillon engaged with Corsablix, a wild chieffrom the Atlas, he rushed towards them with uplifted blade. But theBurgundian knight perceived his approach, and rapidly dashing at hisfirst opponent, he seized him by the throat, made him do service as ashield against the blows of the King of Persia, and finally flung him, ableeding and mangled corpse, under the feet of the horses. Then, havingbut one enemy to deal with, he determined to seize Priamus's horse, andmade such good use of his feet, nails, and teeth, that in a twinklinghe was in the saddle; while the King of Persia, rolling in the dust,yielded up his impious soul through twenty gaping wounds.
"Allah Akbar! Allah is great!" cried the Saracens.
"St. Denis, Montjoie! Montjoie!" cried the knights; and, lo! the secondrank flung itself into the conflict.
The blare of trumpets and Saracen horns, the beating of drums and gongs,drowned the noise of groans and imprecations.
The dead and dying were once more dragged out. The wounded soughtshelter as best they could. Forty warriors yet remained to contest thefield--twenty-five Saracens and fifteen Franks.
For a quarter of an hour Miton and Garlan had fought together, with noadvantage on either side. With his keen blade the Count of Rennes hadcleft the casque of the Alcalde of Valentia, and would have split hisskull open but for the turban, which deadened the blow. Garlan hadhacked in pieces his adversary's shield, and the corselet of cambricbegan to be marbled with streaks of gore. Miton saw that the ranks ofhis warriors were thinning, and was anxious to make an end of his foe inorder to hasten to their aid. He closed with him, knee to knee, foot tofoot, and, regardless of the danger to which he exposed himself, seizedGarlan by the gorget of his coat of mail, dragged him from his horse,and then passing him from his right hand to his left, held the point ofhis sword to his throat, and compelled him to yield to his mercy. Thenhe sent the miscreant a foot beyond the barriers, and gave his chargerto Thierry, Duke of Ardennes, who had just been unhorsed.
Cha'chaan el Da'djah, Emir of Toledo, entertained the presumptuous ideaof avenging Garlan the Bearded, as if, because he had strangled a fewlions in the desert, ripped up a few elephants, and cut in pieces amillion or so of enemies, he could pretend to hope for, the conquest ofa French knight. He shouted his war-cry, and darted forward to meetthe Count of Rennes, brandishing, as he did so, a huge flail with sevenchains, the same with which Attila armed himself when fighting thelegions of Aetius. But the blow was delivered in empty air--dragged theEmir forward, and made him lose his balance. Miton took advantage ofthis miss to seize Cha'chaan el Da'djah by the leg, and dragged him fromhis seat with such violence as to break the saddle, entangle him withthe harness, and throw the horse down on its side. Then the spectatorsbeheld a strange sight. The Count of Rennes grasped his foeman by theankles, rose in his stirrups, and, using the body as a mace, swung itround his head, dashed into the thick of the fight, and began layingabout right and left at the Saracens with the Emir. Every time thisnovel arm fell it encountered some weapon of defence, so that beforelong little was left of it but shreds. After a time the mortalinstrument of war lost its weight, and became useless. When Miton flungit away it had stretched eight Saracens on the plain.
He cast his eye over the field. Marganice, Governor of Carthagena, wasfighting with Roard of Limoges and Itiers of Clermont; Garnaille,King of Ethiopia, confronted Lambert the Short and Humbert, Count ofBourges; M'kamat Iladdada, Caliph of Mecca, was showing a bold frontto Riol of Mans, Hoel of Nantes, and Bazin of Geneva. Alis, King ofMorocco, was engaged with Pinabel; while Sangaran, who ruled at thesource of the Niger, Baimalanko, chief of the tribes on the bordersof the Dead Sea--each one of these two blacker than the other--andZunizum-Kalakh, King of Garbe, pressed hard on Aimery of Narbonne, whowas, however, giving them two blows for one.
Miton flew to his rescue, and in three minutes, and with twenty strokesof his sword, had ridded him of his foes. Sangaran and Baimalanko fellbefore his arm, and went to rejoin the Evil One whose livery they wore.
"Thanks, I owe you a similar service,"
said Aimery to the Count ofRennes. "I shall have finished with this villain in a few seconds. I amnot afraid of a single encounter, so leave me and go succour Pinabel,who has scarce blood enough left to keep him alive."
And, in truth, the nephew of Ganelon was fighting in the dark, forhe was blinded with his own blood. The King of Morocco, who saw anew foeman coming towards him, determined to abandon the contest withPinabel and charge at once on Miton, a manouvre he accomplished sorapidly that he took the latter by surprise. For four seconds theCount of Rennes was exposed defenceless to the fury of Alis, and thisunguarded moment cost him a gash which laid open his left arm fromshoulder to elbow, and marked him with a purple chevron on the wrist.Mita uttered a shriek as if she had received the blow, and hid her facein her hands.
"See," said Himiltrude, "what interest the little Mita takes in thecombat, sire. The wound the Count of Rennes has just received makes herheart bleed."
"Keep your nonsense to yourself, madam," said the Emperor, who hated tobe interfered with at the wrong moment. "When men wield the sword,women should not wag the tongue and he abruptly turned his back on hisconsort. In point of fact, it was not a well-chosen time for talking."
And now Riol of Mans had, with a dexterous back stroke, sent the headof M'kamat Haddada flying, and this new kind of projectile had struckMarganice, Governor of Carthagena, in the face, and so confused him thathe neglected to parry a furious blow aimed at him by Itiers of Clermont.This really excusable oversight cost him his life. One sharp thrustpinned him to his horse's crupper like a butterfly on a cork.
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Garnaille also perceived his end approaching. Lambert the Short gave himno respite.
"It shall never be said," cried, fiercely, the King of the Ethiopians,"that I received my death-blow from a Christian hand." Thereupon,resting the pommel of his sword on the ground, he flung himself on thepoint and expired shouting, "Allah!"
Aimery of Narbonne, a lad of sixteen, seemed to be playing with hisopponent.
"Dog!" exclaimed Zumzum-Ivalakh, "cannot you fight more steadily?"
"I will give you a lesson in politeness," said Aimery, still smiling."First of all, I don't approve of people addressing me without baringtheir heads." As he spoke, his sword sent the King of Garbe's helmflying. It was one of the famous casques of the ancient tribes ofBeni-Ad.
"Bravo, Pagan. Are not you afraid of getting sunburnt?"
A blow of the battle-axe, which shivered the Count of Narbonne's shield,was all the answer vouchsafed by Zumzum-Ivalakh.
"Bless me! he's getting vicious," said Aimery, without being in theleast put out. "We must teach him to say he's sorry."
His sword whirled in the air and smote off the wrist of the King ofGarbe, and so brought the combat to a close.
The King of Morocco alone continued to make resistance. Miton hastenedto dispatch him, for he felt his strength failing him. However, he wouldreceive aid from no quarter save Heaven. His shield was riven, his leftarm, laid open with a terrible gash, hung powerless by his side, andevery blow he dealt his enemy cost him five in return.
Mita had no eyes for any but the Count of Rennes. She lived with hislife, she suffered for his wounds, and she would have fallen dead had heperished. How she blamed her cruel commands, and how she hated the Kingof Morocco! In truth few men's deaths have been as fervently prayed foras his was.
Miton felt a cold sweat seize him; a mournful singing in his ears madehim fancy his end was approaching. He struggled against death, and gaveone last blow at his opponent, then fell senseless under his horse'shoofs. That blow was the last the Moorish king received. The swordpierced his bosom, and the steel remained fast in the wound. He wasimmediately seized with the death shudder, flung wide his arms, droppedhis weapons, and uttered so terrible a cry that his frightened steed ranaway at full speed straight ahead until he dashed against the wallsof the lists. His rider rolled in the dust. The King of Morocco was nomore.
Charlemagne sprang up beaming with joy.
"Ogier," said he to the King of Denmark, "go bring me news of Miton, andtell him how I prize his valour. I am, moreover, not the only one whoprizes him here, it appears. Well, little one," he added, turning toMita, "you have perilous fancies. For this once all has turned out well,but you must promise me not to tempt the devil a second time."
Mita flung herself at the Emperor's feet, and kissed his hand insilence. Charlemagne smiled.
"Come," said he, "rise, Countess of Rennes."
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