Of two fearful combats, and the death of the Knight of
Montfaucon.
Just at this time, Theobaldo had arrived at the inn, which was now
occupied by the Chevalier de Montfaucon, and where the latter had
just loaded a sumpter-mule with a great store of richly-ornamented
weapons, in order, in his character of a merchant, to appear with them
before the grand emir, Nurreddin, who had commanded his attendance.
But as Theobaldo, about an hour before, had discovered that the noble
Castilian, Don Hernandez, had appeared with his galleys in the harbour,
Sir Folko concluded that the emir might wait, and began to lay plans
with the Italian for their flight and escape across the seas, even in
the night of that same day.
In the midst of their important dialogue, however, the chevalier
could not help fixing his eyes steadfastly on a golden chain which
was visible over the slave’s frock worn by Theobaldo; and as the
merchant spoke with vehement gestures, Gabrielle’s magic ring came at
last fully into view.--“Whence hast thou obtained that gem?” inquired
Sir Folko, in a severe tone, and with the deep flush of anger on his
countenance.--“For such questions,” said the merchant, in a tone of
calm defiance, with which it was his wont to answer whatever was
addressed to him in an angry or commanding strain, “for such trifling
questions, methinks, a fitter time might have been chosen than the
present; but, as you consider it of such extreme importance to learn
how I came by this ring, know then, that I received it from the fair
hands of the lady to whom it lately belonged, and that she bestowed it
on me as a bounty when I entered her service, in order that I might
be true and faithful.”--“The bargain then is null and void,” said
Sir Folko, scarcely repressing his anger: “too much noble blood has
already been shed for the sake of this ring, to permit the thought
that it should become yours, only because a helpless woman, in the
hour of terror and distress, was not able to refuse your insolent
request. Give it up to me then before we speak of aught else;--give
up the ring directly!”--“You might as well demand my life,” answered
Theobaldo; “and you may rest assured, that it is not by a few despotic
and chevalier-like words that you will obtain either the one or the
other. But moderate your anger;--I renounce all pretensions which the
ring might give me to castles and lands. Solely for its own sake have
I wished to obtain it as my property, and you must know that I am not
without rightful pretensions to this magic gem.”--“It would be fitting
and praiseworthy, forsooth,” answered the Knight of Montfaucon, “that I
should thus bargain with the cunning merchant for that ring of which
the worth is beyond all price or calculation. I shall now prove to you
what force the words of a Chevalier de Montfaucon, which you so much
despise, can carry along with them.”--Thereupon he seized the ring and
chain, along with the collar of the Italian, so powerfully and rapidly,
that the latter, in spite of his usual activity, stood for a space as
if spell-bound and motionless; so that he would in another minute have
been deprived of his ring, had not the Count Alessandro Vinciguerra
entered, and, with a noble dignity of manner, which shone even through
his present disguise, inquired,--“What have you to say against my
squire, Sir Knight of Montfaucon?”--“Signor,” answered Sir Folko,
letting Theobaldo go, “order him but to restore to me this ring, which
I demand from him in the name of the Lady Gabrielle de Portamour; and
if that be done, there is nothing in the world of which I can accuse
him.”--“I had perhaps commanded him to do so,” answered the Count de
Vinciguerra, “had you made a request to me in the proper manner for
that purpose, but now----.”--“You had perhaps commanded him, forsooth?”
interrupted Theobaldo, (smiling, and looking down upon the knights with
unwonted dignity), “but by so doing you would have succeeded not a
jot better than the Knight of Montfaucon!”--Vinciguerra cast an angry
look at his squire for this boldness; while Sir Folko, attending only
to the count’s last words, resumed,--“I should have made a request
sayest thou?--Know that I appear in such manner only before my king,
whom I am sworn to serve and honour; but with other men I but demand my
own proper rights. Is it your pleasure to admit them at this time or
not?”--“Thou would’st, methinks, speak more politely and calmly before
me, sir knight,” answered the count, “were it not that I now stand
before you as an unarmed and defenceless captive!”
These words fell like corroding poison, or fire, into the pure and
generous heart of the Knight of Montfaucon; so that, wholly forgetful
of the time and place, with all the dangers by which they were
surrounded, he had, in a moment, drawn out two Persian sabres from
among the weapons by which the mule was loaded, held them cross-ways,
with the handles towards Vinciguerra, and said,--“My lord count,
take your choice; they are both of the same length, and both equally
sharp. European weapons were indeed better; but, alas! I have none
here to offer you.”--While the count, somewhat surprised at this
proceeding, but yet resolute, made his choice between the two sabres,
Theobaldo endeavoured to remind them how formidable were the enemies
by whom they were now both beset, and how little a kingdom, torn by
civil dissensions, need ever hope for victory. A contemptuous look
from the chevalier was the answer that he first received, and on this
followed the decisive words:--“The question here is of my honour;
and do you keep to your measuring-rod, good merchant!”--Shrugging his
shoulders, and, with a look of proud contempt, Theobaldo then turned
away, saying,--“The time will come, however, when you will gladly take
that assistance which I alone can offer you!”--So he went away to the
sea-shore, and walked up and down for pastime, while the two knights
fell furiously on each other. In vain did the falcon, with his golden
collar and rose-coloured parchment, hover round his master’s head,
watching the moment when he might descend. The knight never observed
his approach, his whole heart being now possessed by fiery passions,
how different from the sweet emotion wherewith he should have welcomed
this messenger of love!
Neither of the combatants had ever used such a weapon as a Persian
sabre for a serious combat; but the far-travelled pupil of Sir Huguenin
had before exercised himself in this, as well as in every other mode of
warfare. In a few moments the crooked falchion fitted his hand as well
as his own sword would have done; and while the count in his confusion
often struck with the blunt side of the sabre, Sir Folko never failed
to use the sharp edge, the blade being fashioned like that of a sickle,
and in a short space Vinciguerra had received three deep wounds in the
breast and arm, so that he fell powerless to the ground.--“There you
have performed a notable and most prudent exploit!” said Theobaldo, who
now again stood near them; “take yourself out of the way, however, as
quickly as you can, and I shall remove the wounded man.”--Thereupon,
with a dexterous movement, he lifted the unfortunate count on his
shoulders, and vanished with his burden into one of the neighbouring
garden-houses.
While the chevalier still stood irresolute what he should now do,
and scarcely attending to the merchant’s last words, the advice
which the latter had given him became all at once but too clearly
intelligible.--“Do I see rightly?--Was there ever such insolence
known?” cried a well-known voice behind him. It was the Prince Mutza,
who, with a numerous train of attendants, now stopped his horse, lost
in surprise, and gazed steadfastly on Sir Folko’s features. The latter
wished to have reassumed his old character of a merchant; but now, when
it was too late, he perceived what, in the heat of the combat, had
wholly escaped his attention. One of Vinciguerra’s blows with the blunt
side of the sabre had struck off the turban from his head; his false
beard had fallen along with it; and now, with his luxuriant brown hair
curling round his handsome features, the Knight of Montfaucon stood
there with the bloody sabre in his hand: for Mutza to have past him
by would have been impossible. Much sooner than the prince expected,
however, did the chevalier recover from the confusion of that moment.
He took an iron glove from the armour with which the mule was loaded,
and, throwing it in Mutza’s face, he called out,--“I challenge thee,
caitiff as thou art, to single combat, for life and death;--I give thee
the choice of whatsoever weapons thou wilt use; and by all this I shew
to thee far more condescension than thou deservest; for not only hast
thou, like a base slave, broken thy parole of honour, granted to a true
knight, but, like a common robber, hast forced away from their home
two noble damsels, by whom, instead of being treated as a prisoner,
thou wert entertained as a guest.”--At these words a deadly paleness
overspread Mutza’s features. Was this the effect of anger, or did some
worse feelings now work in his bosom? So much at least is certain,
that, even by one step out of the straight-forward path of virtue, even
the best among us may bring himself under the dominion of evil spirits,
whose very existence he had not before suspected. The Prince Mutza
was now so far sunk and depraved, that he pretended no longer to know
the Knight of Montfaucon, but called out to his attendants,--“Take him
prisoner!--Will this base merchant,--assassin too as he seems,--dare to
expect that a prince will meet him in the lists?”
Then all the armed men of the prince’s train threw themselves from
their horses, and, trusting to their superiority of numbers, thought
that they would easily have overpowered Sir Folko. But, as if suddenly
gifted with supernatural energy, he struck with his Persian sabre two
or three of those who first approached him too rashly and confidently,
in such manner, that they fell disabled to the ground. Then, as the
rest stood for a moment astonished at this achievement, he rushed
up to the sumpter-mule, drew forth daggers, arrows, javelins, and
battle-axes, and with incredible strength and rapidity of arm, hurled
them at the mob of his assailants, till they howled and shrieked in
their confusion and terror. “Try the base merchant!” cried he in a
voice of thunder. “These are his wares,--and the price he demands is
but the blood of cowards and robbers!” The prince’s attendants now
retired and fled in all directions; nor did any one among them seem
inclined to renew the contest. At length Mutza, with the fiery blush of
shame and rage on his features, exclaimed, “Pitiful cravens as you are,
then must I myself end the career of this madman?” He was preparing
to dismount from his horse, when the Knight of Montfaucon exclaimed,
“Of all the cowards that have been here present, thou thyself art the
most pitiful and dastardly; nor dost thou any longer deserve that a
brave knight should honour thee with the chances of a single combat!”
Thereupon he hurled a battle-axe at his opponent, taking his aim so
securely and resolutely, that the iron struck deep into Mutza’s lofty
forehead, and the false-hearted young libertine fell lifeless from
his horse. Just ere he lost his place in the saddle, however, either
in the convulsions of approaching death, or as a last effort of his
vehement rage, he threw his Damascus sabre at his foe, and the sharp
weapon struck so fearful a wound in Sir Folko’s breast, that he also
fell to the ground, and the cowardly squires, glad to avail themselves
of this accident, in order to revenge their master’s death and their
own disgrace, rushed up to the now fainting chevalier, and cut him
with their sabres, so that his blood flowed in torrents on the grass.
Anxiously and mournfully did the faithful falcon hover in the air,
looking down on this frightful adventure.
But, now behold! there drew near, two female forms, that came in
their beauty like gleams of sunlight amid the raging and tumultuous
assemblage. These were Blanchefleur and Gabrielle, who, in the
confusion that now prevailed in the palace, had been deserted by the
slaves appointed to watch them, and had escaped from their confinement.
They threw themselves down by the lifeless remains of Sir Folko,--wept
and kissed his pale lips in their despair, and prayed to Heaven, that,
since in this world they had no longer either hope or joy, their lives
also might in mercy be taken from them. For a while the slaves and
armed men stood gazing at them, as if they had beheld some supernatural
apparition; but ere long their thirst of revenge and bloodshed was
renewed, and first in confused murmurs, then with loud shouts of
rage, they began to demand, that, as an atonement for the death of
their prince, these Christian enchantresses, who, by their wicked
attractions, had brought him into danger, should now be sacrificed.
Blinded by their tears, and awake only to their excessive grief, the
damsels saw not the threatening gestures of those who were now around
them, and would soon have been put to death, had not a champion come to
their aid, who was in truth more like a demi-god than a man, at whose
appearance the mob became submissive and respectful. This was the grand
emir, Nurreddin.
“These damsels,” said he, “are under my protection;” and no sooner
had these words, though pronounced quietly, without anger or effort,
escaped his lips, than the crowd retired, without daring even to
murmur their disapprobation. Thereupon the emir contrived, by gentle
persuasions, and, as if with paternal care and affection, to remove
them from the dead body of Sir Folko; and they were placed in a
magnificent palanquin, with orders that they should immediately be
carried to the best apartments of his palace. Then he turned his
attention to the fallen champions. As to Prince Mutza, death was
visibly imprinted on his distorted features, and his nearest relations
bore him away with tears and lamentations. The wisest physicians too,
who had been summoned to the fatal spot, declared that the Chevalier de
Montfaucon was irrecoverably lost, inasmuch as even one only of the
many wounds that he had received would have been enough to destroy the
most powerful warrior. Thereupon the grand emir commanded that his body
should be placed in a neighbouring tomb, which was appropriated for the
cemetery of princes and others of the highest rank. The faithful falcon
then followed the procession, and the slow heavy motion of his wings
betokened his grief. When the strong iron gate of the vault was closed,
he seated himself thereon, clung to the iron bars with his talons,
and pecked vehemently at them; thereafter, as if in wild despair, he
mounted aloft, and fled across the seas into the boundless realms of
distance.