THE DUKE ENTERS THE LISTS
In that first "joyous and gentle passage of arms," wherein the weapons
were those "of courtesy," their points covered with small disks,
several knights broke their lances fairly, two horsemen of the side
wearing red plumes became unseated, and their opponents, designated as
the "white plumes," swept on intact.
"Well done!" commented the king from his high tribunal, as the squires
and attendants began to clear the lists, assisting the fallen
belligerents to their tents. "We shall have another such memorable
field as that of Ashby-de-la-Zouch!"
The following just, reduced to six combatants, three of the red plumes
and three of the white, was even yet more spirited than the first tilt,
for the former trio couched their lances with the determination to
retrieve the day for their party. In this encounter two of the whites
were unhorsed, thus placing the contention once more on an equal basis,
while in the third conflict the whites again suffered similar disaster,
and but one remained to redeem his party's lapse from an advantage
gained in the opening combat.
All eyes were now fastened upon this single remnant of the white
fellowship in arms, who, to wrest victory from defeat, became obliged
to overcome each in turn of the trio of reds, a formidable task for one
who had already been successful in three stubborn matches. It was a
hero-making opportunity, but, alas! for the last of the little white
company. Like many another, he made a brave dash for honor and the
"bubble reputation"; the former slipped tantalizingly from his grasp,
and the latter burst and all its pretty colors dissolved in thin air.
Now he lay still on the sands and the king only remarked:
"Certes, he possessed courage."
And the words sounded like an epitaph, a not inglorious one, although
the hand that gripped the lance had failed. The defeated champion was
removed; the opportunity had passed; the multitude stoically accepted
the lame and impotent conclusion, and the tournament proceeded.
Event followed event, and those court ladies who at first had professed
their nerves were weaker than their foremothers' now watched the arena
with sparkling eyes, no longer turning away at the thrilling moment of
contact. Taking their cue from the king, they were lavish in praise
and generous in approval, and at an unusual exhibition of skill the
stand grew bright with waving scarfs and handkerchiefs. Simultaneous
with such an animated demonstration from the galleries would come a
roar of approval from the peasantry below, crowded where best they
could find places, bespeaking for their part, likewise, an increasing
lust for the stirring pastime.
In truth, the only dissatisfied onlookers were the quick-fingered
spoilers and rovers who, packed as close as dried dates in a basket by
the irresistible forward press of the people, found themselves suddenly
occupationless, without power to move their arms, or ply their hands.
Thus held in a mighty compress, temporary prisoners with their spoils
in their pockets, and cheap jewelry shining enticingly all about them,
they were obliged for the time to comport themselves like honest
citizens. But, although their bodies were in durance vile, their eyes
could roam covetously to a showy trinket on the broad bosom of some
buxom good-wife, or a gewgaw that hung from the neck of a red-cheeked
lass.
"Ha!" muttered the scamp-student to his good spouse, "here are all the
jolly boys immersed to their necks, like prisoners buried in the sand
by the Arabs."
"Hush!" she whispered, warningly. "See you yonder--the duke's fool; he
wears the arms of Charles, the emperor."
"And there's the Duke of Friedwald himself," answered the ragged
scholar. "Look! the jesters are going to fight. They have arranged
them in two parties. Half of them go with the duke and his knights;
the other half with his Lordship's opponents."
"But the duke's fool, by chance, is set against his master," she
mumbled, significantly.
"Call you it chance?" he said in a low voice, and Nanette nudged him
angrily in the side with her elbow, so that he cried out, and attention
would have been called to them but for a ripple of laughter which
started on the edge of the crowd and was taken up by the serried ranks.
"Ho! ho! Look at Triboulet!" shouted the delighted populace. "Ah, the
droll fellow!"
All eyes were now bent to the arena, where, on a powerful nag, sat
perched the misshapen jester. With whip and spur he was vehemently
plying a horse that stubbornly stood as motionless as carven stone.
Thinking at the last moment of a plan for escape from the dangerous
features of the tourney, the hunchback had bribed one of the attendants
to fetch him a steed which for sullen obduracy surpassed any charger in
the king's stables. Fate, he was called, because nothing could move or
change him, and now, with head pushed forward and ears thrust back, he
proved himself beneath the blows and spurring of the seemingly excited
rider, worthy of this appellation.
"Go on, Fate; go on!" exclaimed the apparently angry dwarf. "Will you
be balky now, when Triboulet has glory within his grasp? Miserable
beast! unhappy fate! When bright eyes are watching the great
Triboulet!"
If not destined to score success with his lance, the dwarf at least had
won a victory through his comical situation and ready wit. Fair ladies
forgot his ugliness; the pages his ill-humor; the courtiers his
vindictive slyness; the monarch the disappointment of his failure to
worst the duke's fool, and all applauded the ludicrous figure,
shouting, waving his arms, struggling with inexorable destiny.
Finally, in despair, his hands fell to his side.
"Oh, resistless necessity!" he cried. But in his heart he said: "It is
well. I am as safe as on a wooden horse. Here I stand. Let others
have their heads split or their bodies broken. Triboulet, like the
gods, views the carnage from afar."
While this bit of unexpected comedy riveted the attention of the
spectators the duke and his followers had slowly ridden to their side
of the inclosure. Here hovered the squires, adjusting a stirrup,
giving a last turn to a strap, or testing a bridle or girth. Behind
stood the heralds, trumpeters and pursuivants in their bright garb of
office. At his own solicitation had the duke been assigned an active
part in the day's entertainment. The king, fearing for the safety of
his guest and the possible postponement of the marriage should any
injury befall him, had sought to dissuade him from his purpose, but the
other had laughed boisterously at the monarch's fears and sworn he
would break a lance for his lady love that day. Francis, too gallant a
knight himself to interpose further objection to an announcement so in
keeping with the traditions of the lists, thereupon had ordered the
best charger in his stables to be placed at the disposal of the
princess' betrothed, and again nodded his approbation upon the
appearance of the duke in the ring. But at least one person in that
vast assemblage was far from sharing the monarch's complaisant mood.
If the mind of the duke's fool had heretofore been filled with
bitterness upon witnessing festal honors to a mere presumptuous free
baron, what now were his emotions at the reception accorded him? From
king to churl was he a gallant noble; he, a swaggerer, ill-born, a
terrorist of mountain passes. Even as the irony of the demonstration
swept over the jester, from above fell a flower, white as the box from
whence it was wafted. Downward it fluttered, a messenger of amity,
like a dove to his gauntlet. And with the favor went a smile from the
Lady of the Lists. But while _Bon Vouloir_ stood there, the symbol in
his hand and the applause ringing in his ears, into the tenor of his
thoughts, the consciousness of partly gratified ambition, there crept
an insinuating warning of danger.
"My Lord," said the trooper with the red mustache, riding by the side
of his master, "the fool is plotting further mischief."
"What mean you?" asked the free baron, frowning, as he turned toward
his side of the field.
"Go slowly, my Lord, and I will tell you. I saw the fool and another
jester with their heads together," continued the trooper in a low tone.
"They were standing in front of the jesters' tent. You bade me watch
him. So I entered their pavilion at the back. Making pretext to be
looking for a gusset for an armor joint, I made my way near the
entrance. There, bending over barbet pieces, I overheard fragments of
their conversation. It even bore on your designs."
"A conversation on my designs! He has then dared--"
"All, my Lord. A scheming knave! After I had heard enough, I gathered
up a skirt of tassets--"
"What did you hear?" said the other, impatiently.
"A plan by which he hoped to let the emperor know--"
A loud flourish of trumpets near them interrupted the free baron's
informer, and when the clarion tones had ceased it was the master who
spoke. "There's time but for a word now. Come to my tent afterward.
Meanwhile," he went on, hurriedly, "direct a lance at the fool--"
"But, my Lord," expostulated the man, quickly, "the jesters only are to
oppose one another."
"It will pass for an accident. Francis likes him not, and will clear
you of unknightly conduct, if--" He finished with a boldly significant
look, which was not lost upon his man.
"Even if the leaden disk should fall from my lance and leave the point
bare?" said the trooper, hoarsely.
"Even that!" responded the free baron, hastily.
"_Laissez-aller!_" cried the marshals, giving the signal to begin.
Above, in her white box, the princess turned pale. With bated breath
and parted lips, she watched the lines sweep forward, and, like two
great waves meeting, collide with a crash. The dust that arose seemed
an all-enshrouding mist. Beneath it the figures appeared, vague,
undefined, in a maze of uncertainty.
"Oh!" exclaimed Louise, striving to penetrate the cloud; "he is
victorious!"
"They have killed him!" said Jacqueline, at the same time staring
toward another part of the field.
"Killed him!--what--" began the princess, now rosy with excitement.
"No; he has won," added the maid, in the next breath, as a portion of
the obscuring mantle was swept aside.
"Of course! Where are your eyes?" rejoined her mistress triumphantly.
"The duke, is one of the emperor's greatest knights."
"In this case, Madam, it is but natural your sight should be better
than my own," half-mockingly returned the maid.
And, in truth, the princess was right, for the king's guest, through
overwhelming strength and greater momentum, had lightly plucked from
his seat a stalwart adversary. Others of his following failed not in
the "attaint," and horses and troopers floundered in the sand. Apart
from the duke's victory, two especial incidents, one comic, stood out
in the confused picture.
That which partook of the humorous aspect, and was seen and appreciated
by all, had for its central figure an unwilling actor, the king's
hunchback. Like the famous steed builded by the Greeks, Triboulet's
"wooden horse" contained unknown elements of danger, and even while the
jester was congratulating himself upon absolute immunity from peril the
nag started and quivered. At the flourish of the brass instruments his
ears, that had lain back, were now pricked forward; he had once, in his
palmy, coltish time, been a battle charger, and, perhaps, some memory
of those martial days, the waving of plumes and the clashing of arms,
reawoke his combative spirit of old. Or, possibly his brute
intelligence penetrated the dwarf's knavish pusillanimity, and,
changing his tactics that he might still range on the side of
perversity, resolved himself from immobility into a rampant agency of
motion. Furiously he dashed into the thick of the conflict, and
Triboulet, paralyzed with fear and dropping his lance, was borne
helplessly onward, execrating the nag and his capricious humor.
Opposed to the hunchback rode Villot, who, upon reaching the dwarf and
observing his predicament, good-naturedly turned aside his point, but
was unable to avoid striking him with the handle as he rode by. To
Triboulet that blow, reëchoing in the hollow depths of his steel shell,
sounded like the dissolution of the universe, and, not doubting his
last moment had come, mechanically he fell to earth, abandoning to its
own resources the equine Fate that had served him so ill. Striking the
ground, and, still finding consciousness had not deserted him, instinct
prompted him to demonstrate that if his armor was too heavy for him to
run away in, as the smithy-_valet de chambre_ had significantly
affirmed, yet he possessed the undoubted strength and ability to crawl.
Thus, amid the guffaws of the peasantry and the smiles of the nobles,
he swiftly scampered from beneath the horses' feet, hurriedly left the
scene of strife, and finally reached triumphantly the haven of his tent.
The other incident, witnessed by Jacqueline, was of a more serious
nature. As the lines swept together, with the dust rising before, she
perceived that the duke's trooper had swerved from his course and was
bearing down upon the duke's fool.
"Oh," she whispered to herself, "the master now retaliates on the
jester." And held her breath.
Had he, too, observed these sudden perfidious tactics? Apparently.
Yet he seemed not to shun the issue.
"Why does he not turn aside?" thought the maid. "He might yet do it.
A fool and a knight, forsooth!"
But the fool pricked his horse deeply; it sprang to the struggle madly;
crash! like a thunderbolt, steed and rider leaped upon the trooper.
Then it was Jacqueline had murmured: "They have killed him!" not
doubting for a moment but that he had sped to destruction.
A second swift glance, and through the veil, less obscure, she saw the
jester riding, unharmed, his lance unbroken. Had he escaped, after
all? And the trooper? He lay among the trampling horses' feet. She
saw him now. How had it all come about? Her mind was bewildered, but
in spite of the princess' assertion to the contrary, her sight seemed
unusually clear.
"Good lance, fool!" cried a voice from the king's box.
"The jester rides well," said another. "The knight's lance even passed
over his head, while the fool's struck fairly with terrific force."
"But why did he select the jester as an adversary?" continued the first
speaker.
"Mistakes will happen in the confusion of a _mêlée_--and he has paid
for his error," was the answer. And Jacqueline knew that none would be
held accountable for the treacherous assault.
Now the fool had dismounted and she observed that he was bending over
another jester who had been unhorsed. "Why," she murmured to herself
in surprise, "Caillette! As good a soldier as a fool. Who among the
jesters could have unseated him?"
But her wonderment would have increased, could she have overheard the
conversation between the duke's fool and Caillette, as the former
lifted the other from the sands and assisted him to walk, or rather
limp, to the jesters' pavilion.
"Did I not tell you to beware of the false duke?" muttered Caillette,
not omitting a parenthesis of deceptive groans.
"Ah, if it had only been he, instead," began the fool.
"Why," interrupted the seemingly injured man, "think you to stand up
against the boar of Hochfels?"
"I would I might try!" said the other quickly.
"Your success with the trooper has turned your head," laughed
Caillette, softly. "One last word. Look to yourself and fear not for
me. Mine injuries--which I surmise are internal as they are not
visible--will excuse me for the day. Nor shall I tarry at the palace
for the physician, but go straight on without bolus, simples or pills,
a very Mercury for speed. Danger will I eschew and a pretty maid shall
hold me no longer than it takes to give her a kiss in passing. Here
leave me at the tent. Turn back to the field, or they will suspect.
Trust no one, and--you'll mind it not in a friend, one who would serve
you to the end?--forget the princess! Serve her, save her, as you
will, but, remember, women are but creatures of the moment. Adieu,
_mon ami_!"
And Caillette turned as one in grievous physical pain to an attendant,
bidding him speedily remove the armor, while the duke's fool, more
deeply stirred than he cared to show, moved again to the lists.