WAGER OF BATTLE.
"Then rode they together full right,
With sharpe speares and swordes bright;
They smote together sore.
They spent speares and brake shields;
They pounsed as fowl in the fields;
Either foamed as doth a boar."
SIR TRIAMOUR.
The fatal third day had come about, and with it all the dreadful
preparations for the judicial combat.
With what had passed in the long interval between, to those whose
more than lives, whose very hearts and souls, whose ancient names
and sacred honors, were staked on the event, it is not for us to
know or inquire. Whether the young champion, for it was generally
known that Sir Aradas de Ratcliffe, invested with the golden-spurs
and consecrated with the order of knighthood, by the sword of the
earl mareschal, in order to enable him to meet the appellee on equal
terms, was appointed, with the full consent of the Court of Chivalry,
champion for the appellant--whether, I say, the young champion ever
doubted, and wished he had waited some fairer opportunity, when he
might win the golden-spurs without the fearful risk of dying a
shameful death, and tarnishing forever an unblemished name, I know
not. If he did, it was a human hesitation, and one which had not
dishonored the bravest man who ever died in battle.
Whether the young and gentle maiden, the lovely Guendolen, the most
delicate and tender of women, who scarce might walk the earth, lest
she should dash her foot against a stone; or breathe the free air of
heaven, lest it should blow on her damask cheek too rudely--whether
_she_ never repented that she had told him, "for this I myself will
gird the sword upon your thigh," when she thought of the bloody strife
in which two must engage, but whence one only could come forth alive;
when she thought of the mangled corpse; of the black gibbet; of the
reversed escutcheon; of the dishonored name; whether she never wept,
and trembled, and almost despaired, I know not. If she did not, she
was more or less than woman. But her face was pale as ivory, and her
eyes wore a faint rose-colored margin, as if she had either wept, or
been sleepless, for above one night, when she appeared from her
lodging on that awful morning; though her features were as firm and
rigid as if they had been carved out of that Parian marble which their
complexion most resembled, and her gait and bearing were as steady and
as proud as if she were going to a coronation, rather than to the
awful trial that should seal her every hope on earth, of happiness or
misery.
They little know the spirit of the age of chivalry, who imagine that,
because in the tilt, the tournament, the joust, the carrousel, all was
pomp and splendor, music and minstrelsy, and military glory, largesse
of heralds and love of ladies, _los_ on earth and fame immortal
after death, there was any such illusion or enchantment in the
dreadful spectacle of an appeal to the judgment of God by wager of
battle.
In it there were no gayly decorated lists, flaunting with tapestries
and glittering with emblazoned shields; no gorgeous galleries crowded
with ladies, a galaxy of beauty in its proudest adornment; no banners,
no heralds in their armorial tabards, no spirit-thrilling shouts, no
soul-inspiring music, only a solitary trumpet for the signals; but,
instead of this, a bare space strewed with sawdust, and surrounded
with naked piles, rudely-fashioned with the saw and hatchet; an
entrance at either end, guarded by men-at-arms, and at one angle, just
without the barrier, a huge black-gibbet, a block, with the broad ax,
the dissecting-knife, and all the hideous paraphernalia of the
headsman's trade, and himself a dark and sordid figure, masked and
clad in buff of bull's hide, speckled and splashed with the gory
stains of many a previous slaughter, leaning against the gallows. The
seats for the spectators--for, like all other tragedies of awful and
engrossing interest, a judicial combat never lacked spectators--were
strewed, in lieu of silken-hangings and sendal-cushions, with plain
black serge; and the spectators themselves, in lieu of the gay,
holiday vestments in which they were wont to attend the gay and gentle
passages of arms, wore only their every-day attire, except where some
friend or favorer of the appellant or appellee, affected to wear
white, in token of trust in his innocence, with a belt or kerchief of
the colors worn by the favored party.
Amid all this gloom and horror, the only relieving point was the
superb surcoats and armor of the constable and mareschal, and the
resplendent tabard of the king-at-arms, who sat on their caparisoned
horses without the lists, backed by a powerful body of men-at-arms and
archers, as judges of the field, and doomsters of the vanquished in
that strife which must end in death and infamy to one or the other of
the combatants.
From an early hour, long before the first gray dawn of day, all the
seats, save those preserved for certain distinguished personages, had
been occupied by a well-dressed crowd; all the avenues to the place
were filled, choked, to overflowing; the roofs, the balconies, the
windows of every house that commanded a view of the lists, the
steeples of the neighboring churches, the battlements and the
bartizans of the gray old castle, already gray and old in the second
century of Norman dominion, were crowded with eager and excited
multitudes--so great was the interest created by the tidings of that
awful combat, and the repute for prowess of the knights who were
pitted in it to meet and part no more, until one should go down
forever.
And now the shadow was cast upon the dial, close to the fated hour of
ten, from the clear winter sun, to borrow the words of the greatest
modern poet--
"Which rose upon that heavy day,
And mocked it with its steadiest ray."
The castle gates rolled open on their hinges, grating harsh thunder;
and forth came a proud procession, the high-justiciary and his five
associate judges, with their guard of halberdiers, and the various
high officers of the court, among these the sheriff, whose anxious
and interested looks, and, yet more, whose pale and lovely daughter,
hanging on his arm, so firm and yet so wan and woe-begone, excited
general sympathy.
And when it was whispered through the multitude, as it was almost
instantaneously--for such things travel as by instinct--that she was
the betrothed of the young appellant, and that, to win her with his
spurs of gold, he had assumed this terrible emprize, all other
excitement was swallowed up in the interest created by the cold and
almost stern expression of her lovely features, and her brave
demeanor.
And more ladies than one whispered in the ears of those who were
dearest to them; "If he be vanquished, she will not survive him!"
And many a manly voice, shaken in a little of its firmness, made
reply;
"He may be slain, but he can not be vanquished."
Scarcely had the members of the Court been seated, with those of the
higher gentry and nobility, who had waited to follow in their suit,
when from the tower of a neighboring Cistercian house, the clock
struck ten; and, now, as in that doleful death-scene in Parisina;
"The convent-bells are ringing,
But mournfully and slow:
In the gray square turret swinging,
With a deep sound, to and fro,
Heavily to the heart they go.
Hark! the hymn is singing--
The song for the dead below,
Or the living who shortly shall be so;
For a departing being's soul
The death-hymn peals, and the hollow bells knoll."
While those bells were yet tolling, and before the echoes of the last
stroke of ten had died away, two barefooted friars entered the lists,
one at either end, each carrying a Bible and a crucifix; and at the
same moment the two champions were seen advancing, each to his own end
of the lists, accompanied by his sureties or god-fathers, all armed in
complete suits of chain-mail; Sir Aradas as appellant, entering at the
east, Sir Foulke at the left end of the inclosure.
Here they were met each by one of the friars, the constable and
mareschal riding close up to the barriers, to hear the plighting of
their oaths.
And at this moment, the eyes of all the multitude were riveted on the
forms of the two adversaries, and every judgment was on the stretch to
frame auguries of the issue, from the thews, the sinews, and the
demeanor, of the two champions.
It was seen at a glance that Sir Foulke d'Oilly was by far the
stronger-built and heavier man. He was exceedingly broad-shouldered,
and the great volume of his humeral muscles gave him the appearance of
being round-backed; but he was deep-chested, and long-armed; and,
though his hips were thick and heavy, and his legs slightly
bowed--perhaps in consequence of his almost living on horseback--it was
evident that he was a man of gigantic strength, impaired neither by
excess nor age, for he did not seem to be more than in his fortieth
year.
Sir Aradas de Ratcliffe, on the contrary, was nearly three inches
taller than his opponent, and proportionately longer in the reach; but
altogether he was built more on the model of an Antinous than a
Hercules. If he were not very broad in the shoulders, he was singularly
deep and round in the chest, and remarkable for the arched hollow of
his back and the thinness of his flanks. His arms and legs were
irreproachable, and, all in all, he trod the firm earth with
"A station like the herald Mercury,
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill."
But it was from the features of the two men that most took their
auspices, and that the friends of Aradas drew confident augury of his
triumph.
The face of Sir Foulke d'Oilly was flaccid and colorless, with huge
over-lapping brows shading his small keen eyes with a pent-house of
grizzly bristles, large pendant cheeks, a sinister hooked nose, and a
mouth indicative of lust, cruelty, and iron firmness--altogether, a
sordid vulturine type of man.
The features of Aradas, on the contrary, were clean, clear, fleshless,
and finely marked; a broad, smooth forehead, straight-cut black
eyebrows, well-opened hazel eyes, with a tawny flash when excited, like
to that of a lion or an eagle, a nose slightly aquiline, and a mouth
not less benevolent than resolute. No one could look at him and his
opponent, without thinking instinctively of the gallant heaven-aspiring
falcon matched with the earthly, carrion vulture.
Nor was there less meaning or omen in the tone of their voices, as they
swore.
Men paused to listen breathlessly; for among the lower classes on the
field there were heavy bets pending on the issue, and the critical
judges of those days believed that there was much in the voice of a
man.
As each entered the lists, he was met by a friar, who encountered him
with the question, "Brother, hast thou confessed thy sins this
morning?"
To this, d'Oilly muttered a reply, inaudible to the questioner; but
Aradas made answer, in a voice that rang like a silver bell, "I have
confessed my sins, father, and, thanks to the Lord Jesus, have received
absolution and the most holy sacrament of his body."
The questions were then put to both, to be answered with the hand on
the evangelists and the lip on the crucifix--
"Do you hereby swear that your former answers and allegations are all
true; that you bear no weapons but those allotted by the court; that
you have no charms about you; that you place your whole trust in God,
in the goodness of your cause, and in your own prowess?"
To this solemn query, Sir Foulke replied only by the two words, "I
swear!" and those so obscurely uttered, that the constable called on
him to repeat them.
But Sir Aradas raised his head, and looked about him with a frank and
princely air. "I hereby swear," he said, "that which I swore
heretofore--that Sir Foulke d'Oilly is a murderer, a liar, and a
traitor--to be true, and on his body I will prove it; that I have not,
nor will use any weapons save what the court allot me; that I wear
neither charm nor talisman; and that, save in my good cause, my own
right hand, and my trust in God, I have not whereon to rest my hope,
here, or hereafter. So may He help me, or desert me at my utmost need,
on whose evangelists I am now sworn."
Then the godfathers led the men up face to face, and each grasping the
other by the mailed right hand, they again swore--
The appellant, "My uttermost will I do, and more than my uttermost, if
it may be, to slay thee on this ground whereon we stand, or to force
thee to cry 'craven'--so help me God, in his most holy heaven!"
And the appellee, "My uttermost will I do, and more, if may be, than my
uttermost, to prove my innocence upon thy body, on this ground whereon
we stand--so help me God, in the highest!"
The same difference was observed in the voices of the two men, as they
again swore; for while the tones of Aradas had the steel-tempered ring
of the gallant game-cock's challenge, the notes of Sir Foulke were
liker to the quavering croak of the obscene raven.
Then the godfathers retired them, till they stood face to face, with
thirty feet between them, and delivered to them the arms allotted by
the court. These were--a dagger, with a broad, flat blade, eighteen
inches in length, worn in a scabbard on the right side, behind the hip;
an estoc, or short sword, of about two feet six, with a sharp point,
and grooved bayonet-blade, hanging perpendicularly on the left thigh;
and a huge two-handed broadsword, four feet from guard to point, with a
hilt of twenty inches, and a great leaden pommel to counterbalance the
weight of the blade in striking.
Their defensive arms were nearly similar. Each wore a habergeon, or
closely-fitting shirt of linked mail, with mail sleeves, mail hose,
poldron, genouillieres, and shoes of plated splints of steel; and
flat-topped helmets, with avantailles and beavers. But the neck of Sir
Foulke d'Oilly was defended by the new-fashioned gorget of steel
plates, while Aradas adhered to the old mail-hood or tippet, hooked on
to the lower rim of his beaver. And it was observed that while d'Oilly
wore his small heater-shaped shield on his left arm, De Ratcliffe threw
his over his shoulder, suspended from the chain which held it about his
neck, so as to leave both his arms free to wield his mighty war-sword.
Beyond this, it was only noted that in the casque of Sir Aradas was a
lady's glove, and on his left arm an azure scarf, fringed with gold,
such as the pale girl on the seneschal's arm wore, over her snow-white
cymar, crossing her left shoulder and the region of her heart.
And now the godfathers left the lists, and none remained within them
save the two champions facing each other, like two pillars of steel, as
solid and as motionless, until the word should be given to set on, and
the two barefooted friars, crouching on their knees in the angles of
the lists, muttering their orisons before the crucifixes, which they
held close before their eyes, as if to shut out every untoward sight
which might mar their meditations.
Then a single trumpet was blown. A sharp, stern, warning blast. And a
herald made proclamation;
"Oyez! oyez! oyez! This is _champ clos_, for the judgment of God.
Therefore, beware all men, to give no aid or comfort to either
combatant, by word, deed, sign, or token, on pain of infamy and
mutilation."
Then the constable rose in his stirrups, and cried aloud--
"Let them go!"
And the trumpet sounded.
"Let them go!"
And, again, the trumpet sounded.
"Let them go! Do your duty!"
And the earl mareschal answered,
"And may God defend the right!"
And, the third time, the trumpet sounded, short and direful as the
blast of doom; and at that deadly summons, with brandished blades, both
champions started forward; but the first bound of Sir Aradas carried
him across two thirds of the space, and his sword fell like a
thunderbolt on the casque of his antagonist, and bent him almost to his
knee. But that was no strife to be ended at a blow; and they closed,
foot to foot, dealing at each other sweeping blows, which could not be
parried, and could scarcely be avoided, but which were warded off by
their armor of proof.
It was soon observed that Sir Foulke d'Oilly's blows fell with far the
weightier dint, and that, when they took effect, it was all his lighter
adversary could do to bear up against them. But, on the other hand, it
was seen that, by his wonderful agility, and the lithe motions of his
supple and elastic frame, Sir Aradas avoided more blows than he
received, and that each stroke missed by his enemy told almost as much
against him as a wound.
At the end of half an hour, no material advantage had been gained; the
mail of either champion was broken in many places, and the blood
flowed, of both, from more wounds than one; that of Aradas the more
freely.
But as they paused, perforce, to snatch a moment's breath, it was clear
that Sir Aradas was the fresher and less fatigued of the two; while Sir
Foulke was evidently short of wind, and hard pressed.
It was not the young man's game to give his enemy time--so, before half
a minute had passed, he set on him again, with the same fiery vigor and
energy as before. His opponent, however, saw that the long play was
telling against him, and it appeared that he was determined to bring
the conflict to a close by sheer force.
One great stride he made forward, measuring his distance accurately
with his eye, and making hand and foot keep time exactly, as he swung
his massive blade in a full circle round his head, and delivered the
sweeping blow, at its mightiest impetus, on the right side of his
enemy's casque.
Like a thunderbolt it fell; and, beneath its sway, the baçinet,
cerveilliere, and avantaille of Aradas gave way, shattered like an
egg-shell. He stood utterly unhelmed, save that the beaver and the base
of the casque, protecting the nape of his neck and his lower jaw, held
firm, and supported the mailed hood of linked steel rings, which
defended his neck to the shoulder. All else was bare, and exposed to
the first blow of his now triumphant antagonist.
The fight seemed ended by that single blow; and, despite the injunction
of the herald, a general groan burst from the assembly. Guendolen
covered her face with her hands for a second, but then looked up again,
with a wild and frenzied eye, compelled to gaze, to the last, on that
terribly fascinating scene.
But then was it shown what might there is in activity, what resistless
power in quickness. For, leaping and bounding round the heavy giant,
like a sword-player, letting him waste his every blow on the empty air
or in the impassive sawdust, Aradas plied his sword like a thrasher's
flail, dealing every blow at his neck and the lacings of his casque,
till fastening after fastening broke, and it was clear that d'Oilly,
too, would be unhelmed in a few more moments.
The excitement of the people was ungovernable; they danced in their
seats, they shouted, they roared. No heralds, no pursuivants, no
men-at-arms, could control them. The soul of the people had awakened,
and what could fetter it?
Still, wonderful as they were, the exertions of Aradas, completely
armed in heavy panoply, were too mighty to last. The thing must be
finished. Down came the trenchant blade with a circling sweep, full on
the jointed-plates of d'Oilly's new-fangled gorget. Rivet after rivet,
plate after plate, gave way with a rending crash; his helmet rolled on
the ground. He stood bare-headed, bare-throated, unarmed to the
shoulders.
But the same blow which unhelmed d'Oilly disarmed Aradas. His faithless
sword was shivered to the hilt; and what should he do now, with only
that weak, short estoc, that cumbrous dagger, against the downright
force of the resistless double-handed glaive?
Backward he sprang ten paces. The glittering estoc was in his right,
the short massive dagger in his left. He dropped on his right knee,
crouching low, both arms hanging loosely by his sides, but with his eye
glaring on his foeman, like that of the hunted tiger.
No sooner had Sir Foulke rallied from the stunning effects of the blow,
and seen how it was with him, his enemy disarmed, and, as it seemed, at
his power, than a hideous sardonic smile glared over his lurid
features, and he strode forward with his sword aloft, to triumph and to
kill. When he was within six paces of his kneeling adversary, he
paused, measured his distance--it was the precise length for one
stride, one downright blow, on that bare head, which no earthly power
could now shield against it.
There was no cry now among the people--only a hush. Every heart stood
still in that vast concourse.
"Wilt die, or cry 'craven?'"
The eye of Aradas flashed lightning. Lower, he crouched lower, to the
ground. His left hand rose slowly, till the guard of his dagger was
between his own left, and his enemy's right eye. His right hand was
drawn so far back, that the glittering point of the estoc only showed
in front of his hip. Lower, yet lower, he crouched, almost in the
attitude of the panther couchant for his spring.
One stride made Sir Foulke d'Oilly forward; and down, like some
tremendous engine, came the sword-sweep--the gazers heard it whistle
through the air as it descended.
What followed, no eye could trace, no pen could describe. There was a
wild cry, like that of a savage animal; a fiery leap through a cloud of
whirling dust; a straight flash through the haze, like lightning.
One could see that somehow or other that slashing cut was glanced
aside, but how, the speed of thought could not trace.
It was done in a second, in the twinkling of an eye. And, as the dust
subsided, there stood Aradas, unmoved and calm as the angel of death,
with his arms folded, and nothing in his hand save the dagger shivered
to the guard. And at his feet lay his enemy, as if stricken by a
thunderbolt, with his eyes wide open and his face to heaven, and the
deadly estoc buried, to the gripe, in the throat, that should lie no
more forever.
Pass we the victor's triumph, and the dead traitor's doom; pass we the
lovers' meeting, and the empty roar of popular applause. That was,
indeed, the judgment of God; and when God hath spoken, in the glory of
his speechless workings, it is good that man should hold his peace
before him.