CHAPTER 33
There was a little while of restless, rustling silence, during which theConstable took his place in the seat appointed for him directly infront of and below the King's throne. A moment or two when even therestlessness and the rustling were quieted, and then the King leanedforward and spoke to the Constable, who immediately called out, in aloud, clear voice.
"Let them go!" Then again, "Let them go!" Then, for the third and lasttime, "Let them go and do their endeavor, in God's name!"
At this third command the combatants, each of whom had till that momentbeen sitting as motionless as a statue of iron, tightened rein, and rodeslowly and deliberately forward without haste, yet without hesitation,until they met in the very middle of the lists.
In the battle which followed, Myles fought with the long sword, the Earlwith the hand-gisarm for which he had asked. The moment they met, thecombat was opened, and for a time nothing was heard but the thunderousclashing and clamor of blows, now and then beating intermittently, nowand then pausing. Occasionally, as the combatants spurred together,checked, wheeled, and recovered, they would be hidden for a moment ina misty veil of dust, which, again drifting down the wind, perhapsrevealed them drawn a little apart, resting their panting horses. Then,again, they would spur together, striking as they passed, wheeling andstriking again.
Upon the scaffolding all was still, only now and then for the buzz ofmuffled exclamations or applause of those who looked on. Mostly theapplause was from Myles's friends, for from the very first he showed andsteadily maintained his advantage over the older man. "Hah! well struck!well recovered!" "Look ye! the sword bit that time!" "Nay, look, saw yehim pass the point of the gisarm?" Then, "Falworth! Falworth!" as somemore than usually skilful stroke or parry occurred.
Meantime Myles's father sat straining his sightless eyeballs, as thoughto pierce his body's darkness with one ray of light that would show himhow his boy held his own in the fight, and Lord Mackworth, leaning withhis lips close to the blind man's ear, told him point by point how thebattle stood.
"Fear not, Gilbert," said he at each pause in the fight. "He holdeth hisown right well." Then, after a while: "God is with us, Gilbert. Albanis twice wounded and his horse faileth. One little while longer and thevictory is ours!"
A longer and more continuous interval of combat followed thislast assurance, during which Myles drove the assault fiercely andunrelentingly as though to overbear his enemy by the very powerand violence of the blows he delivered. The Earl defended himselfdesperately, but was borne back, back, back, farther and farther. Everynerve of those who looked on was stretched to breathless tensity, when,almost as his enemy was against the barriers, Myles paused and rested.
"Out upon it!" exclaimed the Earl of Mackworth, almost shrilly in hisexcitement, as the sudden lull followed the crashing of blows. "Why doththe boy spare him? That is thrice he hath given him grace to recover;an he had pushed the battle that time he had driven him back against thebarriers."
It was as the Earl had said; Myles had three times given his enemy gracewhen victory was almost in his very grasp. He had three times sparedhim, in spite of all he and those dear to him must suffer should hiscruel and merciless enemy gain the victory. It was a false and foolishgenerosity, partly the fault of his impulsive youth--more largely ofhis romantic training in the artificial code of French chivalry. He feltthat the battle was his, and so he gave his enemy these three chances torecover, as some chevalier or knight-errant of romance might havedone, instead of pushing the combat to a mercifully speedy end--and hisfoolish generosity cost him dear.
In the momentary pause that had thus stirred the Earl of Mackworth toa sudden outbreak, the Earl of Alban sat upon his panting, sweatingwar-horse, facing his powerful young enemy at about twelve pacesdistant. He sat as still as a rock, holding his gisarm poised in frontof him. He had, as the Earl of Mackworth had said, been wounded twice,and each time with the point of the sword, so much more dangerous than adirect cut with the weapon. One wound was beneath his armor, and no onebut he knew how serious it might be; the other was under the overlappingof the epauhere, and from it a finger's-breadth of blood ran straightdown his side and over the housings of his horse. From without, thestill motionless iron figure appeared calm and expressionless; within,who knows what consuming blasts of hate, rage, and despair swept hisheart as with a fiery whirlwind.
As Myles looked at the motionless, bleeding figure, his breast swelledwith pity. "My Lord," said he, "thou art sore wounded and the fight isagainst thee; wilt thou not yield thee?"
No one but that other heard the speech, and no one but Myles heard theanswer that came back, hollow, cavernous, "Never, thou dog! Never!"
Then in an instant, as quick as a flash, his enemy spurred straight uponMyles, and as he spurred he struck a last desperate, swinging blow, inwhich he threw in one final effort all the strength of hate, of fury,and of despair. Myles whirled his horse backward, warding the blow withhis shield as he did so. The blade glanced from the smooth face of theshield, and, whether by mistake or not, fell straight and true, and withalmost undiminished force, upon the neck of Myles's war-horse, and justbehind the ears. The animal staggered forward, and then fell upon itsknees, and at the same instant the other, as though by the impetus ofthe rush, dashed full upon it with all the momentum lent by the weightof iron it carried. The shock was irresistible, and the stunned andwounded horse was flung upon the ground, rolling over and over. As hishorse fell, Myles wrenched one of his feet out of the stirrup; the othercaught for an instant, and he was flung headlong with stunning violence,his armor crashing as he fell. In the cloud of dust that arose noone could see just what happened, but that what was done was donedeliberately no one doubted. The earl, at once checking and spurringhis foaming charger, drove the iron-shod war-horse directly over Myles'sprostrate body. Then, checking him fiercely with the curb, reined himback, the hoofs clashing and crashing, over the figure beneath. Sohe had ridden over the father at York, and so he rode over the son atSmithfield.
Myles, as he lay prostrate and half stunned by his fall, had seen hisenemy thus driving his rearing horse down upon him, but was not able todefend himself. A fallen knight in full armor was utterly powerless torise without assistance; Myles lay helpless in the clutch of the veryiron that was his defence. He closed his eyes involuntarily, and thenhorse and rider were upon him. There was a deafening, sparkling crash,a glimmering faintness, then another crash as the horse was reinedfuriously back again, and then a humming stillness.
In a moment, upon the scaffolding all was a tumult of uproar andconfusion, shouting and gesticulation; only the King sat calm, sullen,impassive. The Earl wheeled his horse and sat for a moment or two asthough to make quite sure that he knew the King's mind. The blow thathad been given was foul, unknightly, but the King gave no sign either ofacquiescence or rebuke; he had willed that Myles was to die.
Then the Earl turned again, and rode deliberately up to his prostrateenemy.
When Myles opened his eyes after that moment of stunning silence, it wasto see the other looming above him on his war-horse, swinging his gisarmfor one last mortal blow--pitiless, merciless.
The sight of that looming peril brought back Myles's wandering senseslike a flash of lightning. He flung up his shield, and met the blow evenas it descended, turning it aside. It only protracted the end.
Once more the Earl of Alban raised the gisarm, swinging it twice aroundhis head before he struck. This time, though the shield glanced it, theblow fell upon the shoulder-piece, biting through the steel plate andleathern jack beneath even to the bone. Then Myles covered his head withhis shield as a last protecting chance for life.
For the third time the Earl swung the blade flashing, and then it fell,straight and true, upon the defenceless body, just below the left arm,biting deep through the armor plates. For an instant the blade stuckfast, and that instant was Myles's salvation. Under the agony of theblow he gave a muffled cry, and almost instinctively grasped the shaftof the weapon with b
oth hands. Had the Earl let go his end of theweapon, he would have won the battle at his leisure and most easily; asit was, he struggled violently to wrench the gisarm away from Myles. Inthat short, fierce struggle Myles was dragged to his knees, and then,still holding the weapon with one hand, he clutched the trappings of theEarl's horse with the other. The next moment he was upon his feet. Theother struggled to thrust him away, but Myles, letting go the gisarm,which he held with his left hand, clutched him tightly by the sword-beltin the intense, vise-like grip of despair. In vain the Earl strove tobeat him loose with the shaft of the gisarm, in vain he spurred andreared his horse to shake him off; Myles held him tight, in spite of allhis struggles.
He felt neither the streaming blood nor the throbbing agony of hiswounds; every faculty of soul, mind, body, every power of life, wascentered in one intense, burning effort. He neither felt, thought, norreasoned, but clutching, with the blindness of instinct, the heavy,spiked, iron-headed mace that hung at the Earl's saddle-bow, he gave itone tremendous wrench that snapped the plaited leathern thongs that heldit as though they were skeins of thread. Then, grinding his teeth aswith a spasm, he struck as he had never struck before--once, twice,thrice full upon the front of the helmet. Crash! crash! And then, evenas the Earl toppled sidelong, crash! And the iron plates split andcrackled under the third blow. Myles had one flashing glimpse of anawful face, and then the saddle was empty.
Then, as he held tight to the horse, panting, dizzy, sick to death, hefelt the hot blood gushing from his side, filling his body armor, andstaining the ground upon which he stood. Still he held tightly to thesaddle-bow of the fallen man's horse until, through his glimmeringsight, he saw the Marshal, the Lieutenant, and the attendants gatheraround him. He heard the Marshal ask him, in a voice that sounded faintand distant, if he was dangerously wounded. He did not answer, and oneof the attendants, leaping from his horse, opened the umbril of hishelmet, disclosing the dull, hollow eyes, the ashy, colorless lips, andthe waxy forehead, upon which stood great beads of sweat.
"Water! water!" he cried, hoarsely; "give me to drink!" Then, quittinghis hold upon the horse, he started blindly across the lists towards thegate of the barrier. A shadow that chilled his heart seemed to fall uponhim. "It is death," he muttered; then he stopped, then swayed for aninstant, and then toppled headlong, crashing as he fell.
CONCLUSION
But Myles was not dead. Those who had seen his face when the umbril ofthe helmet was raised, and then saw him fall as he tottered across thelists, had at first thought so. But his faintness was more from lossof blood and the sudden unstringing of nerve and sense from the intensefurious strain of the last few moments of battle than from the vitalnature of the wound. Indeed, after Myles had been carried out of thelists and laid upon the ground in the shade between the barriers,Master Thomas, the Prince's barber-surgeon, having examined the wounds,declared that he might be even carried on a covered litter to ScotlandYard without serious danger. The Prince was extremely desirous of havinghim under his care, and so the venture was tried. Myles was carried toScotland Yard, and perhaps was none the worse therefore. The Prince, theEarl of Mackworth, and two or three others stood silently watching asthe worthy shaver and leecher, assisted by his apprentice and Gascoyne,washed and bathed the great gaping wound in the side, and bound it withlinen bandages. Myles lay with closed eyelids, still, pallid, weak asa little child. Presently he opened his eyes and turned them, dull andlanguid, to the Prince.
"What hath happed my father, my Lord?" said he, in a faint, whisperingvoice.
"Thou hath saved his life and honor, Myles," the Prince answered. "Heis here now, and thy mother hath been sent for, and cometh anon with thepriest who was with them this morn."
Myles dropped his eyelids again; his lips moved, but he made no sound,and then two bright tears trickled across his white cheek.
"He maketh a woman of me," the Prince muttered through his teeth, andthen, swinging on his heel, he stood for a long time looking out of thewindow into the garden beneath.
"May I see my father?" said Myles, presently, without opening his eyes.
The Prince turned around and looked inquiringly at the surgeon.
The good man shook his head. "Not to-day," said he; "haply to-morrow hemay see him and his mother. The bleeding is but new stanched, and suchmatters as seeing his father and mother may make the heart to swell, andso maybe the wound burst afresh and he die. An he would hope to live, hemust rest quiet until to-morrow day."
But though Myles's wound was not mortal, it was very serious. The feverwhich followed lingered longer than common--perhaps because of the hotweather--and the days stretched to weeks, and the weeks to months, andstill he lay there, nursed by his mother and Gascoyne and Prior Edward,and now and again by Sir James Lee.
One day, a little before the good priest returned to Saint Mary'sPriory, as he sat by Myles's bedside, his hands folded, and his sightturned inward, the young man suddenly said, "Tell me, holy father, is italways wrong for man to slay man?"
The good priest sat silent for so long a time that Myles began to thinkhe had not heard the question. But by-and-by he answered, almost with asigh, "It is a hard question, my son, but I must in truth say, meseemsit is not always wrong."
"Sir," said Myles, "I have been in battle when men were slain, but neverdid I think thereon as I have upon this matter. Did I sin in so slayingmy father's enemy?"
"Nay," said Prior Edward, quietly, "thou didst not sin. It was forothers thou didst fight, my son, and for others it is pardonable to dobattle. Had it been thine own quarrel, it might haply have been morehard to have answered thee."
Who can gainsay, even in these days of light, the truth of this that thegood priest said to the sick lad so far away in the past?
One day the Earl of Mackworth came to visit Myles. At that time theyoung knight was mending, and was sitting propped up with pillows, andwas wrapped in Sir James Lee's cloak, for the day was chilly. After alittle time of talk, a pause of silence fell.
"My Lord," said Myles, suddenly, "dost thou remember one part of amatter we spoke of when I first came from France?"
The Earl made no pretence of ignorance. "I remember," said he, quietly,looking straight into the young man's thin white face.
"And have I yet won the right to ask for the Lady Alice de Mowbray towife?" said Myles, the red rising faintly to his cheeks.
"Thou hast won it," said the Earl, with a smile.
Myles's eyes shone and his lips trembled with the pang of sudden joyand triumph, for he was still very weak. "My Lord," said he, presently"belike thou camest here to see me for this very matter?"
The Earl smiled again without answering, and Myles knew that he hadguessed aright. He reached out one of his weak, pallid hands frombeneath the cloak. The Earl of Mackworth took it with a firm pressure,then instantly quitting it again, rose, as if ashamed of his emotion,stamped his feet, as though in pretence of being chilled, and thencrossed the room to where the fire crackled brightly in the great stonefireplace.
Little else remains to be told; only a few loose strands to tie, and thestory is complete.
Though Lord Falworth was saved from death at the block, though his honorwas cleansed from stain, he was yet as poor and needy as ever. TheKing, in spite of all the pressure brought to bear upon him, refused torestore the estates of Falworth and Easterbridge--the latter of whichhad again reverted to the crown upon the death of the Earl of Albanwithout issue--upon the grounds that they had been forfeited not becauseof the attaint of treason, but because of Lord Falworth having refusedto respond to the citation of the courts. So the business dragged alongfor month after month, until in January the King died suddenly in theJerusalem Chamber at Westminster. Then matters went smoothly enough, andFalworth and Mackworth swam upon the flood-tide of fortune.
So Myles was married, for how else should the story end? And one dayhe brought his beautiful young wife home to Falworth Castle, which hisfather had given him for his own, and at the gateway of which he
was metby Sir James Lee and by the newly-knighted Sir Francis Gascoyne.
One day, soon after this home-coming, as he stood with her at an openwindow into which came blowing the pleasant May-time breeze, he suddenlysaid, "What didst thou think of me when I first fell almost into thylap, like an apple from heaven?"
"I thought thou wert a great, good-hearted boy, as I think thou artnow," said she, twisting his strong, sinewy fingers in and out.
"If thou thoughtst me so then, what a very fool I must have looked tothee when I so clumsily besought thee for thy favor for my jousting atDevlen. Did I not so?"
"Thou didst look to me the most noble, handsome young knight that didever live; thou didst look to me Sir Galahad, as they did call thee,withouten taint or stain."
Myles did not even smile in answer, but looked at his wife with such alook that she blushed a rosy red. Then, laughing, she slipped from hishold, and before he could catch her again was gone.
I am glad that he was to be rich and happy and honored and beloved afterall his hard and noble fighting.
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