Ivanhoe: A Romance
with those of their antagonists who were in the same predicament,—and
several on both sides, who had received wounds by which they were
disabled, were stopping their blood by their scarfs, and endeavouring
to extricate themselves from the tumult. The mounted knights, whose
lances had been almost all broken by the fury of the encounter, were
now closely engaged with their swords, shouting their war-cries, and
exchanging buffets, as if honour and life depended on the issue of the
combat.
The tumult was presently increased by the advance of the second rank on
either side, which, acting as a reserve, now rushed on to aid their
companions. The followers of Brian de Bois-Guilbert shouted—“Ha!
Beau-seant! Beau-seant! 20
“—For the Temple—For the Temple!” The opposite party shouted in
answer—“Desdichado! Desdichado!”—which watch-word they took from the
motto upon their leader’s shield.
The champions thus encountering each other with the utmost fury, and
with alternate success, the tide of battle seemed to flow now toward
the southern, now toward the northern extremity of the lists, as the
one or the other party prevailed. Meantime the clang of the blows, and
the shouts of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the sound of the
trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who fell, and lay rolling
defenceless beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid armour of the
combatants was now defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every
stroke of the sword and battle-axe. The gay plumage, shorn from the
crests, drifted upon the breeze like snow-flakes. All that was
beautiful and graceful in the martial array had disappeared, and what
was now visible was only calculated to awake terror or compassion.
Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar spectators,
who are naturally attracted by sights of horror, but even the ladies of
distinction who crowded the galleries, saw the conflict with a
thrilling interest certainly, but without a wish to withdraw their eyes
from a sight so terrible. Here and there, indeed, a fair cheek might
turn pale, or a faint scream might be heard, as a lover, a brother, or
a husband, was struck from his horse. But, in general, the ladies
around encouraged the combatants, not only by clapping their hands and
waving their veils and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming, “Brave lance!
Good sword!” when any successful thrust or blow took place under their
observation.
Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this bloody game, that
of the men is the more easily understood. It showed itself in loud
acclamations upon every change of fortune, while all eyes were so
riveted on the lists, that the spectators seemed as if they themselves
had dealt and received the blows which were there so freely bestowed.
And between every pause was heard the voice of the heralds, exclaiming,
“Fight on, brave knights! Man dies, but glory lives!—Fight on—death is
better than defeat!—Fight on, brave knights!—for bright eyes behold
your deeds!”
Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of all endeavoured to
discover the leaders of each band, who, mingling in the thick of the
fight, encouraged their companions both by voice and example. Both
displayed great feats of gallantry, nor did either Bois-Guilbert or the
Disinherited Knight find in the ranks opposed to them a champion who
could be termed their unquestioned match. They repeatedly endeavoured
to single out each other, spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that
the fall of either leader might be considered as decisive of victory.
Such, however, was the crowd and confusion, that, during the earlier
part of the conflict, their efforts to meet were unavailing, and they
were repeatedly separated by the eagerness of their followers, each of
whom was anxious to win honour, by measuring his strength against the
leader of the opposite party.
But when the field became thin by the numbers on either side who had
yielded themselves vanquished, had been compelled to the extremity of
the lists, or been otherwise rendered incapable of continuing the
strife, the Templar and the Disinherited Knight at length encountered
hand to hand, with all the fury that mortal animosity, joined to
rivalry of honour, could inspire. Such was the address of each in
parrying and striking, that the spectators broke forth into a unanimous
and involuntary shout, expressive of their delight and admiration.
But at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight had the worst;
the gigantic arm of Front-de-Bœuf on the one flank, and the ponderous
strength of Athelstane on the other, bearing down and dispersing those
immediately exposed to them. Finding themselves freed from their
immediate antagonists, it seems to have occurred to both these knights
at the same instant, that they would render the most decisive advantage
to their party, by aiding the Templar in his contest with his rival.
Turning their horses, therefore, at the same moment, the Norman spurred
against the Disinherited Knight on the one side, and the Saxon on the
other. It was utterly impossible that the object of this unequal and
unexpected assault could have sustained it, had he not been warned by a
general cry from the spectators, who could not but take interest in one
exposed to such disadvantage.
“Beware! beware! Sir Disinherited!” was shouted so universally, that
the knight became aware of his danger; and, striking a full blow at the
Templar, he reined back his steed in the same moment, so as to escape
the charge of Athelstane and Front-de-Bœuf. These knights, therefore,
their aim being thus eluded, rushed from opposite sides betwixt the
object of their attack and the Templar, almost running their horses
against each other ere they could stop their career. Recovering their
horses however, and wheeling them round, the whole three pursued their
united purpose of bearing to the earth the Disinherited Knight.
Nothing could have saved him, except the remarkable strength and
activity of the noble horse which he had won on the preceding day.
This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of Bois-Guilbert was
wounded, and those of Front-de-Bœuf and Athelstane were both tired with
the weight of their gigantic masters, clad in complete armour, and with
the preceding exertions of the day. The masterly horsemanship of the
Disinherited Knight, and the activity of the noble animal which he
mounted, enabled him for a few minutes to keep at sword’s point his
three antagonists, turning and wheeling with the agility of a hawk upon
the wing, keeping his enemies as far separate as he could, and rushing
now against the one, now against the other, dealing sweeping blows with
his sword, without waiting to receive those which were aimed at him in
return.
But although the lists rang with the applauses of his dexterity, it was
evident that he must at last be overpowered; and the nobles around
Prince John implored him with one voice to throw down his warder, and
to save so brave a knight from the disgrace of being overcome by odds.
“Not I, by the light of Heaven!” answered Prince John; “this same
springald, who conceals his name, and despises our proffered
hospitality, hath already gained one prize, and may now afford to let
others have their turn.” As he spoke thus, an unexpected incident
changed the fortune of the day.
There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight a champion in
black armour, mounted on a black horse, large of size, tall, and to all
appearance powerful and strong, like the rider by whom he was mounted.
This knight, who bore on his shield no device of any kind, had hitherto
evinced very little interest in the event of the fight, beating off
with seeming ease those combatants who attacked him, but neither
pursuing his advantages, nor himself assailing any one. In short, he
had hitherto acted the part rather of a spectator than of a party in
the tournament, a circumstance which procured him among the spectators
the name of “Le Noir Faineant”, or the Black Sluggard.
At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, when he
discovered the leader of his party so hard bestead; for, setting spurs
to his horse, which was quite fresh, he came to his assistance like a
thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like a trumpet-call, “Desdichado,
to the rescue!” It was high time; for, while the Disinherited Knight
was pressing upon the Templar, Front-de-Bœuf had got nigh to him with
his uplifted sword; but ere the blow could descend, the Sable Knight
dealt a stroke on his head, which, glancing from the polished helmet,
lighted with violence scarcely abated on the “chamfron” of the steed,
and Front-de-Bœuf rolled on the ground, both horse and man equally
stunned by the fury of the blow. “Le Noir Faineant” then turned his
horse upon Athelstane of Coningsburgh; and his own sword having been
broken in his encounter with Front-de-Bœuf, he wrenched from the hand
of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he wielded, and, like one
familiar with the use of the weapon, bestowed him such a blow upon the
crest, that Athelstane also lay senseless on the field. Having achieved
this double feat, for which he was the more highly applauded that it
was totally unexpected from him, the knight seemed to resume the
sluggishness of his character, returning calmly to the northern
extremity of the lists, leaving his leader to cope as he best could
with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. This was no longer matter of so much
difficulty as formerly. The Templars horse had bled much, and gave way
under the shock of the Disinherited Knight’s charge. Brian de
Bois-Guilbert rolled on the field, encumbered with the stirrup, from
which he was unable to draw his foot. His antagonist sprung from
horseback, waved his fatal sword over the head of his adversary, and
commanded him to yield himself; when Prince John, more moved by the
Templars dangerous situation than he had been by that of his rival,
saved him the mortification of confessing himself vanquished, by
casting down his warder, and putting an end to the conflict.
It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight which continued
to burn; for of the few knights who still continued in the lists, the
greater part had, by tacit consent, forborne the conflict for some
time, leaving it to be determined by the strife of the leaders.
The squires, who had found it a matter of danger and difficulty to
attend their masters during the engagement, now thronged into the lists
to pay their dutiful attendance to the wounded, who were removed with
the utmost care and attention to the neighbouring pavilions, or to the
quarters prepared for them in the adjoining village.
Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, one of the most
gallantly contested tournaments of that age; for although only four
knights, including one who was smothered by the heat of his armour, had
died upon the field, yet upwards of thirty were desperately wounded,
four or five of whom never recovered. Several more were disabled for
life; and those who escaped best carried the marks of the conflict to
the grave with them. Hence it is always mentioned in the old records,
as the Gentle and Joyous Passage of Arms of Ashby.
It being now the duty of Prince John to name the knight who had done
best, he determined that the honour of the day remained with the knight
whom the popular voice had termed “Le Noir Faineant.” It was pointed
out to the Prince, in impeachment of this decree, that the victory had
been in fact won by the Disinherited Knight, who, in the course of the
day, had overcome six champions with his own hand, and who had finally
unhorsed and struck down the leader of the opposite party. But Prince
John adhered to his own opinion, on the ground that the Disinherited