Joust.
Girt with his soldiery, secure in his feudal hold, enchanted with the
beauty of the earth, sky, and sea around, and passionately adoring his
Adeline, Montreal for awhile forgot all his more stirring projects and
his ruder occupations. His nature was capable of great tenderness, as of
great ferocity; and his heart smote him when he looked at the fair cheek
of his lady, and saw that even his presence did not suffice to bring
back the smile and the fresh hues of old. Often he cursed that fatal
oath of his knightly order which forbade him to wed, though with one
more than his equal; and remorse embittered his happiest hours. That
gentle lady in that robber hold, severed from all she had been taught
most to prize--mother, friends, and fair fame--only loved her seducer
the more intensely; only the more concentrated upon one object all the
womanly and tender feelings denied every other and less sinful vent.
But she felt her shame, though she sought to conceal it, and a yet
more gnawing grief than even that of shame contributed to prey upon her
spirits and undermine her health. Yet, withal, in Montreal’s presence
she was happy, even in regret; and in her declining health she had at
least a consolation in the hope to die while his love was undiminished.
Sometimes they made short excursions, for the disturbed state of the
country forbade them to wander far from the castle, through the sunny
woods, and along the glassy sea, which make the charm of that delicious
scenery; and that mixture of the savage with the tender, the wild
escort, the tent in some green glade in the woods at noon, the lute and
voice of Adeline, with the fierce soldiers grouped and listening at the
distance, might have well suited the verse of Ariosto, and harmonised
singularly with that strange, disordered, yet chivalric time, in which
the Classic South became the seat of the Northern Romance. Still,
however, Montreal maintained his secret intercourse with the Hungarian
king, and, plunged in new projects, willingly forsook for the present
all his designs on Rome. Yet deemed he that his more august ambition
was only delayed, and, bright in the more distant prospects of his
adventurous career, rose the Capitol of Rome and shone the sceptre of
the Caesars.
One day, as Montreal, with a small troop in attendance, passed on
horseback near the walls of Terracina, the gates were suddenly thrown
open, and a numerous throng issued forth, preceded by a singular figure,
whose steps they followed bareheaded and with loud blessings; a train
of monks closed the procession, chanting a hymn, of which the concluding
words were as follows:--
Beauteous on the mountains--lo, The feet of him glad tidings gladly
bringing; The flowers along his pathway grow, And voices, heard aloft,
to angel harps are singing: And strife and slaughter cease Before thy
blessed way, Young Messenger of Peace! O’er the mount, and through the
moor, Glide thy holy steps secure. Day and night no fear thou knowest,
Lonely--but with God thou goest. Where the Heathen rage the fiercest,
Through the armed throng thou piercest. For thy coat of mail, bedight
In thy spotless robe of white. For the sinful sword--thy hand Bearing
bright the silver wand: Through the camp and through the court, Through
the bandit’s gloomy fort, On the mission of the dove, Speeds the
minister of love; By a word the wildest taming, And the world to Christ
reclaiming: While, as once the waters trod By the footsteps of thy
God, War, and wrath, and rapine cease, Hush’d round thy charmed path, O
Messenger of Peace!
The stranger to whom these honours were paid was a young, unbearded man,
clothed in white wrought with silver; he was unarmed and barefooted: in
his hand he held a tall silver wand. Montreal and his party halted in
astonishment and wonder, and the Knight, spurring his horse toward the
crowd, confronted the stranger.
“How, friend,” quoth the Provencal, “is thine a new order of pilgrims,
or what especial holiness has won thee this homage?”
“Back, back,” cried some of the bolder of the crowd, “let not the robber
dare arrest the Messenger of Peace.”
Montreal waved his hand disdainfully.
“I speak not to you, good sirs, and the worthy friars in your rear know
full well that I never injured herald or palmer.”
The monks, ceasing from their hymn, advanced hastily to the spot; and
indeed the devotion of Montreal had ever induced him to purchase the
goodwill of whatever monastery neighboured his wandering home.
“My son,” said the eldest of the brethren, “this is a strange spectacle,
and a sacred: and when thou learnest all, thou wilt rather give the
messenger a passport of safety from the unthinking courage of thy
friends than intercept his path of peace.”
“Ye puzzle still more my simple brain,” said Montreal, impatiently, “let
the youth speak for himself; I perceive that on his mantle are the
arms of Rome blended with other quarterings, which are a mystery to
me,--though sufficiently versed in heraldic art as befits a noble and a
knight.”
“Signor,” said the youth, gravely, “know in me the messenger of Cola di
Rienzi, Tribune of Rome, charged with letters to many a baron and prince
in the ways between Rome and Naples. The arms wrought upon my mantle are
those of the Pontiff, the City, and the Tribune.”
“Umph; thou must have bold nerves to traverse the Campagna with no other
weapon than that stick of silver!”
“Thou art mistaken, Sir Knight,” replied the youth, boldly, “and judgest
of the present by the past; know that not a single robber now lurks
within the Campagna, the arms of the Tribune have rendered every road
around the city as secure as the broadest street of the city itself.”
“Thou tellest me wonders.”
“Through the forest--and in the fortress,--through the wildest
solitudes,--through the most populous towns,--have my comrades borne
this silver wand unmolested and unscathed; wherever we pass along,
thousands hail us, and tears of joy bless the messengers of him who
hath expelled the brigand from his hold, the tyrant from his castle, and
ensured the gains of the merchant and the hut of the peasant.”
“Pardieu,” said Montreal, with a stern smile, “I ought to be thankful
for the preference shown to me; I have not yet received the commands,
nor felt the vengeance, of the Tribune; yet, methinks, my humble castle
lies just within the patrimony of St. Peter.”
“Pardon me, Signor Cavalier,” said the youth; “but do I address the
renowned Knight of St. John, warrior of the Cross, yet leader of
banditti?”
“Boy, you are bold; I am Walter de Montreal.”
“I am bound, then, Sir Knight, to your castle.”
“Take care how thou reach it before me, or thou standest a fair chance
of a quick exit. How now, my friends!” seeing that the crowd at these
words gathered closer round the messenger, “Think ye that I, who have
my mate in kings, would find a victim in an unarmed boy? Fie! give
way--give way. Young man, follow me homeward; you are safe in my castle
as in your mother’s arms.” So saying, Montreal, with great dignity
and deliberate gravity, rode slowly towards his castle, his soldiers,
wondering, at a little distance, and the white-robed messenger following
with the crowd, who refused to depart; so great was their enthusiasm,
that they even ascended to the gates of the dreaded castle, and insisted
on waiting without until the return of the youth assured them of his
safety.
Montreal, who, however lawless elsewhere, strictly preserved the rights
of the meanest boor in his immediate neighbourhood, and rather affected
popularity with the poor, bade the crowd enter the courtyard, ordered
his servitors to provide them with wine and refreshment, regaled the
good monks in his great hall, and then led the way to a small room,
where he received the messenger.
“This,” said the youth, “will best explain my mission,” as he placed a
letter before Montreal.
The Knight cut the silk with his dagger, and read the epistle with great
composure.
“Your Tribune,” said he, when he had finished it, “has learned the
laconic style of power very soon. He orders me to render this castle,
and vacate the Papal Territory within ten days. He is obliging; I must
have breathing time to consider the proposal; be seated, I pray you,
young sir. Forgive me, but I should have imagined that your lord had
enough upon his hands with his Roman barons, to make him a little more
indulgent to us foreign visitors. Stephen Colonna--”
“Is returned to Rome, and has taken the oath of allegiance; the Savelli,
the Orsini, the Frangipani, have all subscribed their submission to the
Buono Stato.”
“How!” cried Montreal, in great surprise.
“Not only have they returned, but they have submitted to the
dispersion of all their mercenaries, and the dismantling of all their
fortifications. The iron of the Orsini palace now barricades the
Capitol, and the stonework of the Colonna and the Savelli has added new
battlements to the gates of the Lateran and St. Laurence.”
“Wonderful man!” said Montreal, with reluctant admiration. “By what
means was this effected?”
“A stern command and a strong force to back it. At the first sound of
the great bell, twenty thousand Romans rise in arms. What to such an
army are the brigands of an Orsini or a Colonna?--Sir Knight, your
valour and renown make even Rome admire you; and I, a Roman, bid you
beware.”
“Well, I thank thee--thy news, friend, robs me of breath. So the Barons
submit, then?”
“Yes: on the first day, one of the Colonna, the Lord Adrian, took the
oath; within a week, Stephen, assured of safe conduct, left Palestrina,
the Savelli in his train; the Orsini followed--even Martino di Porto has
silently succumbed.”
“The Tribune--but is that his dignity--methought he was to be king--”
“He was offered, and he refused, the title. His present rank, which
arrogates no patrician honours, went far to conciliate the nobles.”
“A wise knave!--I beg pardon, a sagacious prince!--Well, then, the
Tribune lords it mightily, I suppose, over the great Roman names?”
“Pardon me--he enforces impartial justice from peasant or patrician; but
he preserves to the nobles all their just privileges and legal rank.”
“Ha!--and the vain puppets, so they keep the semblance, scarce miss the
substance--I understand. But this shows genius--the Tribune is unwed, I
think. Does he look among the Colonna for a wife?”
“Sir Knight, the Tribune is already married; within three days after his
ascension to power, he won and bore home the daughter of the Baron di
Raselli.”
“Raselli! no great name; he might have done better.”
“But it is said,” resumed the youth, smiling, “that the Tribune will
shortly be allied to the Colonna, through his fair sister the Signora
Irene. The Baron di Castello woos her.”
“What, Adrian Colonna! Enough! you have convinced me that a man who
contents the people and awes or conciliates the nobles is born for
empire. My answer to this letter I will send myself. For your news, Sir
Messenger, accept this jewel,” and the knight took from his finger a gem
of some price. “Nay, shrink not, it was as freely given to me as it is
now to thee.”
The youth, who had been agreeably surprised, and impressed, by the
manner of the renowned freebooter, and who was not a little astonished
himself with the ease and familiarity with which he had been relating
to Fra Moreale, in his own fortress, the news of Rome, bowed low as he
accepted the gift.
The astute Provencal, who saw the evident impression he had made,
perceived also that it might be of advantage in delaying the measures
he might deem it expedient to adopt. “Assure the Tribune,” said he, on
dismissing the messenger, “shouldst thou return ere my letter arrive,
that I admire his genius, hail his power, and will not fail to consider
as favourably as I may of his demand.”
“Better,” said the messenger, warmly (he was of good blood, and gentle
bearing),--“better ten tyrants for our enemy, than one Montreal.”
“An enemy! believe me, sir, I seek no enmity with princes who know how
to govern, or a people that has the wisdom at once to rule and to obey.”
The whole of that day, however, Montreal remained thoughtful and uneasy;
he despatched trusty messengers to the Governor of Aquila (who was then
in correspondence with Louis of Hungary), to Naples, and to Rome:--the
last charged with a letter to the Tribune, which, without absolutely
compromising himself, affected submission, and demanded only a longer
leisure for the preparations of departure. But, at the same time, fresh
fortifications were added to the castle, ample provisions were laid in,
and, night and day, spies and scouts were stationed along the pass, and
in the town of Terracina. Montreal was precisely the chief who prepared
most for war when most he pretended peace.
One morning, the fifth from the appearance of the Roman messenger,
Montreal, after narrowly surveying his outworks and his stores, and
feeling satisfied that he could hold out at least a month’s siege,
repaired, with a gayer countenance than he had lately worn, to the
chamber of Adeline.
The lady was seated by the casement of the tower, from which might be
seen the glorious landscape of woods, and vales, and orange groves--a
strange garden for such a palace! As she leant her face upon her hand,
with her profile slightly turned to Montreal, there was something
ineffably graceful in the bend of her neck,--the small head so
expressive of gentle blood,--with the locks parted in front in that
simple fashion which modern times have so happily revived. But the
expression of the half-averted face, the abstracted intentness of
the gaze, and the profound stillness of the attitude, were so sad and
mournful, that Montreal’s purposed greeting of gallantry and gladness
died upon his lips. He approached in silence, and laid his hand upon her
shoulder.
Adeline turned, and taking the hand in hers, pressed it to her heart,
and smiled away all her sadness. “Dearest,” said Montreal, “couldst thou
know how much any shadow of grief on thy bright face darkens my heart,
thou wouldst never grieve. But no wonder that in these rude walls--no
female of equal rank near thee, and such mirth as Montreal can summon to
his halls, grating to thy ear--no wonder that thou repentest thee of thy
choice.”
“Ah, no--no, Walter, I never repent. I did but think of our child as you
entered. Alas! he was our only child! How fair he was, Walter; how he
resembled thee!”
“Nay, he had thine eyes and brow,” replied the Knight, with a faltering
voice, and turning away his head.
“Walter,” resumed the lady, sighing, “do you remember?--this is his
birthday. He is ten years old today. We have loved each other eleven
years, and thou hast not tired yet of thy poor Adeline.”
“As well might the saints weary of paradise,” replied Montreal, with an
enamoured tenderness, which changed into softness the whole character of
his heroic countenance.
“Could I think so, I should indeed be blest!” answered Adeline. “But
a little while longer, and the few charms I yet possess must fade; and
what other claim have I on thee?”
“All claim;--the memory of thy first blushes--thy first kiss--of thy
devoted sacrifices--of thy patient wanderings--of thy uncomplaining
love! Ah, Adeline, we are of Provence, not of Italy; and when did Knight
of Provence avoid his foe, or forsake his love? But enough, dearest, of
home and melancholy for today. I come to bid thee forth. I have sent
on the servitors to pitch our tent beside the sea,--we will enjoy the
orange blossoms while we may. Ere another week pass over us, we may have
sterner pastime and closer confines.”
“How, dearest Walter! thou dost not apprehend danger?”
“Thou speakest, lady-bird,” said Montreal, laughing, “as if danger were
novelty; methinks by this time, thou shouldst know it as the atmosphere
we breathe.”
“Ah, Walter, is this to last for ever? Thou art now rich and renowned;
canst thou not abandon this career of strife?”
“Now, out on thee, Adeline! What are riches and renown but the means to
power! And for strife, the shield of warriors was my cradle--pray the
saints it be my bier! These wild and wizard extremes of life--from the
bower to the tent--from the cavern to the palace--today a wandering
exile, tomorrow the equal of kings--make the true element of the
chivalry of my Norman sires. Normandy taught me war, and sweet Provence
love. Kiss me, dear Adeline; and now let thy handmaids attire thee.
Forget not thy lute, sweet one. We will rouse the echoes with the songs
of Provence.”
The ductile temper of Adeline yielded easily to the gaiety of her lord;
and the party soon sallied from the castle towards the spot in which
Montreal had designed their resting-place during the heats of day. But
already prepared for all surprise, the castle was left strictly guarded,
and besides the domestic servitors of the castle, a detachment of ten
soldiers, completely armed, accompanied the lovers. Montreal himself
wore his corselet, and his squires followed with his helmet and lance.
Beyond the narrow defile at the base of the castle, the road at that day
opened into a broad patch of verdure, circled on all sides, save that
open to the sea, by wood, interspersed with myrtle and orange, and
a wilderness of odorous shrubs. In this space, and sheltered by the
broad-spreading and classic fagus (so improperly translated into the
English “beech”), a gay pavilion was prepared, which commanded the
view of the sparkling sea;--shaded from the sun, but open to the gentle
breeze. This was poor Adeline’s favourite recreation, if recreation it
might be called. She rejoiced to escape from the gloomy walls of her
castellated prison, and to enjoy the sunshine and the sweets of that
voluptuous climate without the fatigue which of late all exercise
occasioned her. It was a gallantry on the part of Montreal, who foresaw
how short an interval might elapse before the troops of Rienzi besieged
his walls; and who was himself no less at home in the bower than in the
field.
As they reclined within the pavilion--the lover and his lady,--of the
attendants without, some lounged idly on the beach; some prepared the
awning of a pleasure-boat against the decline of the sun; some, in a
ruder tent, out of sight in the wood, arranged the mid-day repast; while
the strings of the lute, touched by Montreal himself with a careless
skill, gave their music to the dreamy stillness of the noon.
While thus employed, one of Montreal’s scouts arrived breathless and
heated at the tent.
“Captain,” said he, “a company of thirty lances completely armed, with
a long retinue of squires and pages, have just quitted Terracina. Their
banners bear the two-fold insignia of Rome and the Colonna.”
“Ho!” said Montreal, gaily, “such a troop is a welcome addition to our
company; send our squire hither.”
The squire appeared.
“Hie thee on thy steed towards the procession thou wilt meet with in the
pass, (nay, sweet lady mine, no forbiddal!) seek the chief, and say that
the good Knight Walter de Montreal sends him greeting, and prays him,
in passing our proper territory, to rest awhile with us a welcome guest;
and--stay,--add, that if to while an hour or so in gentle pastime be
acceptable to him, Walter de Montreal would rejoice to break a lance
with him, or any knight in his train, in honour of our respective
ladies. Hie thee quick!”
“Walter, Walter,” began Adeline, who had that keen and delicate
sensitiveness to her situation, which her reckless lord often wantonly
forgot; “Walter, dear Walter, canst thou think it honour to--”
“Hush thee, sweet Fleur de lis! Thou hast not seen pastime this many
a day; I long to convince thee that thou art still the fairest lady in
Italy--ay, and of Christendom. But these Italians are craven knights,
and thou needst not fear that my proffer will be accepted. But in truth,
lady mine, I rejoice for graver objects, that chance throws a Roman
noble, perhaps a Colonna, in my way;--women understand not these
matters; and aught concerning Rome touches us home at this moment.”
With that the Knight frowned, as was his wont in thought, and Adeline
ventured to say no more, but retired to the interior division of the
pavilion.
Meanwhile the squire approached the procession that had now reached the
middle of the pass. And a stately and gallant company it was:--if the
complete harness of the soldiery seemed to attest a warlike purpose,
it was contradicted on the other hand by a numerous train of unarmed
squires and pages gorgeously attired, while the splendid blazon of
two heralds preceding the standard-bearers, proclaimed their object
as peaceful, and their path as sacred. It required but a glance at the
company to tell the leader. Arrayed in a breast-plate of steel, wrought
profusely with gold arabesques, over which was a mantle of dark green
velvet, bordered with pearls, while above his long dark locks waved a
black ostrich plume in a high Macedonian cap, such as, I believe, is now
worn by the Grand Master of the order of St. Constantine, rode in the
front of the party, a young cavalier, distinguished from his immediate
comrades, partly by his graceful presence and partly by his splendid
dress.
The squire approached respectfully, and dismounting, delivered himself
of his charge.
The young cavalier smiled, as he answered, “Bear back to Sir Walter de
Montreal the greeting of Adrian Colonna, Baron di Castello, and say,
that the solemn object of my present journey will scarce permit me to
encounter the formidable lance of so celebrated a knight; and I regret
this the more, inasmuch as I may not yield to any dame the palm of my
liege lady’s beauty. I must live in hope of a happier occasion. For
the rest, I will cheerfully abide for some few hours the guest of so
courteous a host.”
The squire bowed low. “My master,” said he, hesitatingly, “will grieve
much to miss so noble an opponent. But my message refers to all this
knightly and gallant train; and if the Lord Adrian di Castello deems
himself forbidden the joust by the object of his present journey, surely
one of his comrades will be his proxy with my master.”
Out and quickly spoke a young noble by the side of Adrian, Riccardo
Annibaldi, who afterwards did good service both to the Tribune and to
Rome, and whose valour brought him, in later life, to an untimely end.
“By the Lord Adrian’s permission,” cried he, “I will break a lance
with--”
“Hush! Annibaldi,” interrupted Adrian. “And you, Sir Squire, know, that
Adrian di Castello permits no proxy in arms. Avise the Knight of St.
John that we accept his hospitality, and if, after some converse on
graver matters, he should still desire so light an entertainment, I will
forget that I am the ambassador to Naples, and remember only that I am a
Knight of the Empire. You have your answer.”
The squire with much ceremony made his obeisance, remounted his steed,
and returned in a half-gallop to his master.
“Forgive me, dear Annibaldi,” said Adrian, “that I balked your valour;
and believe me that I never more longed to break a lance against any man
than I do against this boasting Frenchman. But bethink you, that though
to us, brought up in the dainty laws of chivalry, Walter de Montreal
is the famous Knight of Provence, to the Tribune of Rome, whose grave
mission we now fulfil, he is but the mercenary captain of a Free
Company. Grievously in his eyes should we sully our dignity by so wanton
and irrelevant a holiday conflict with a declared and professional
brigand.”
“For all that,” said Annibaldi, “the brigand ought not to boast that a
Roman knight shunned a Provencal lance.”
“Cease, I pray thee!” said Adrian, impatiently. In fact, the young
Colonna, already chafed bitterly against his discreet and dignified
rejection of Montreal’s proffer, and recollecting with much pique
the disparaging manner in which the Provencal had spoken of the Roman
chivalry, as well as a certain tone of superiority, which in all warlike
matters Montreal had assumed over him,--he now felt his cheek burn, and
his lip quiver. Highly skilled in the martial accomplishments of his
time, he had a natural and excusable desire to prove that he was at
least no unworthy antagonist even of the best lance in Italy: and, added
to this, the gallantry of the age made him feel it a sort of treason to
his mistress to forego any means of asserting her perfections.
It was, therefore, with considerable irritation that Adrian, as the
pavilion of Montreal became visible, perceived the squire returning
to him. And the reader will judge how much this was increased when the
latter, once more dismounting, accosted him thus:
“My master, the Knight of St. John, on hearing the courteous answer of
the Lord Adrian di Castello, bids me say, that lest the graver converse
the Lord Adrian refers to should mar gentle and friendly sport, he
ventures respectfully to suggest, that the tilt should preface the
converse. The sod before the tent is so soft and smooth, that even a
fall could be attended with no danger to knight or steed.”
“By our Lady!” cried Adrian and Annibaldi in a breath, “but thy last
words are discourteous; and” (proceeded Adrian, recovering himself)
“since thy master will have it so, let him look to his horse’s girths. I
will not gainsay his fancy.”
Montreal, who had thus insisted upon the exhibition, partly, it may
be, from the gay and ruffling bravado, common still amongst his brave
countrymen; partly because he was curious of exhibiting before those who
might soon be his open foes his singular and unrivalled address in arms,
was yet more moved to it on learning the name of the leader of the
Roman Company; for his vain and haughty spirit, however it had
disguised resentment at the time, had by no means forgiven certain
warm expressions of Adrian in the palace of Stephen Colonna, and in the
unfortunate journey to Corneto. While Adrian, halting at the entrance of
the defile, aided by his squires, indignantly, but carefully, indued the
rest of his armour, and saw, himself, to the girths, stirrup-leathers,
and various buckles in the caparison of his noble charger, Montreal in
great glee kissed his lady, who, though too soft to be angry, was deeply
vexed, (and yet her vexation half forgotten in fear for his safety,)
snatched up her scarf of blue, which he threw over his breastplate, and
completed his array with the indifference of a man certain of victory.
He was destined, however, to one disadvantage, and that the greatest;
his armour and lance had been brought from the castle--not his warhorse.
His palfrey was too slight to bear the great weight of his armour, nor
amongst his troop was there one horse that for power and bone could
match with Adrian’s. He chose, however, the strongest that was at hand,
and a loud shout from his wild followers testified their admiration when
he sprung unaided from the ground into the saddle--a rare and difficult
feat of agility in a man completely arrayed in the ponderous armour
which issued at that day from the forges of Milan, and was worn far more
weighty in Italy than any other part of Europe. While both companies
grouped slowly, and mingled in a kind of circle round the green turf,
and the Roman heralds, with bustling importance, attempted to marshal
the spectators into order, Montreal rode his charger round the sward,
forcing it into various caracoles, and exhibiting, with the vanity that
belonged to him, his exquisite and practised horsemanship.
At length, Adrian, his visor down, rode slowly into the green space,
amidst the cheers of his party. The two Knights, at either end, gravely
fronted each other; they made the courtesies with their lances, which,
in friendly and sportive encounters, were customary; and, as they thus
paused for the signal of encounter, the Italians trembled for the honour
of their chief: Montreal’s stately height and girth of chest forming a
strong contrast, even in armour, to the form of his opponent, which was
rather under the middle standard, and though firmly knit, slightly and
slenderly built. But to that perfection was skill in arms brought in
those times, that great strength and size were far from being either
the absolute requisites, or even the usual attributes, of the more
celebrated knights; in fact, so much was effected by the power and the
management of the steed, that a light weight in the rider was often
rather to his advantage than his prejudice: and, even at a later period,
the most accomplished victors in the tourney, the French Bayard and the
English Sydney, were far from remarkable either for bulk or stature.
Whatever the superiority of Montreal in physical power, was, in much,
counterbalanced by the inferiority of his horse, which, though a
thick-built and strong Calabrian, had neither the blood, bone, nor
practised discipline of the northern charger of the Roman. The shining
coat of the latter, coal black, was set off by a scarlet cloth wrought
in gold; the neck and shoulders were clad in scales of mail; and from
the forehead projected a long point, like the horn of an unicorn, while
on its crest waved a tall plume of scarlet and white feathers. As the
mission of Adrian to Naples was that of pomp and ceremony to a court of
great splendour, so his array and retinue were befitting the occasion
and the passion for show that belonged to the time; and the very bridle
of his horse, which was three inches broad, was decorated with gold, and
even jewels. The Knight himself was clad in mail, which had tested the
finest art of the celebrated Ludovico of Milan; and, altogether, his
appearance was unusually gallant and splendid, and seemed still more so
beside the plain but brightly polished and artfully flexile armour of
Montreal, (adorned only with his lady’s scarf,) and the common and rude
mail of his charger. This contrast, however, was not welcome to the
Provencal, whose vanity was especially indulged in warlike equipments;
and who, had he foreseen the “pastime” that awaited him, would have
outshone even the Colonna.
The trumpeters of either party gave a short blast--the Knights remained
erect as statues of iron; a second, and each slightly bent over his
saddle-bow; a third, and with spears couched, slackened reins, and
at full speed, on they rushed, and fiercely they met midway. With the
reckless arrogance which belonged to him, Montreal had imagined, that at
the first touch of his lance Adrian would have been unhorsed; but to his
great surprise the young Roman remained firm, and amidst the shouts of
his party, passed on to the other end of the lists. Montreal himself was
rudely shaken, but lost neither seat nor stirrup.
“This can be no carpet knight,” muttered Montreal between his teeth,
as, this time, he summoned all his skill for a second encounter; while
Adrian, aware of the great superiority of his charger, resolved to bring
it to bear against his opponent. Accordingly, when the Knights again
rushed forward, Adrian, covering himself well with his buckler, directed
his care less against the combatant, whom he felt no lance wielded by
mortal hand was likely to dislodge, than against the less noble animal
he bestrode. The shock of Montreal’s charge was like an avalanche--his
lance shivered into a thousand pieces, Adrian lost both stirrups, and
but for the strong iron bows which guarded the saddle in front and rear,
would have been fairly unhorsed; as it was, he was almost doubled back
by the encounter, and his ears rung and his eyes reeled, so that for a
moment or two he almost lost all consciousness. But his steed had well
repaid its nurture and discipline. Just as the combatants closed, the
animal, rearing on high, pressed forward with its mighty crest against
its opponent with a force so irresistible as to drive back Montreal’s
horse several paces: while Adrian’s lance, poised with exquisite skill,
striking against the Provencal’s helmet, somewhat rudely diverted the
Knight’s attention for the moment from his rein. Montreal, drawing the
curb too tightly in the suddenness of his recovery, the horse reared
on end; and, receiving at that instant, full upon his breastplate, the
sharp horn and mailed crest of Adrian’s charger--fell back over its
rider upon the sward. Montreal disencumbered himself in great rage and
shame, as a faint cry from his pavilion reached his ear, and redoubled
his mortification. He rose with a lightness which astonished the
beholders; for so heavy was the armour worn at that day, that few
knights once stretched upon the ground could rise without assistance;
and drawing his sword, cried out fiercely--“On foot, on foot!--the fall
was not mine, but this accursed beast’s, that I must needs for my sins
raise to the rank of a charger. Come on--”
“Nay, Sir Knight,” said Adrian, drawing off his gauntlets and unbuckling
his helmet, which he threw on the ground, “I come to thee a guest and
a friend; but to fight on foot is the encounter of mortal foes. Did I
accept thy offer, my defeat would but stain thy knighthood.”
Montreal, whose passion had beguiled him for the moment, sullenly
acquiesced in this reasoning. Adrian hastened to soothe his antagonist.
“For the rest,” said he, “I cannot pretend to the prize. Your lance lost
me my stirrups--mine left you unshaken. You say right; the defeat, if
any, was that of your steed.”
“We may meet again when I am more equally horsed,” said Montreal, still
chafing.
“Now, our Lady forbid!” exclaimed Adrian, with so devout an earnestness
that the bystanders could not refrain from laughing; and even Montreal
grimly and half-reluctantly, joined in the merriment. The courtesy of
his foe, however, conciliated and touched the more frank and soldierly
qualities of his nature, and composing himself, he replied:--
“Signor di Castello, I rest your debtor for a courtesy that I have but
little imitated. Howbeit, if thou wouldst bind me to thee for ever, thou
wilt suffer me to send for my own charger, and afford me a chance to
retrieve mine honour. With that steed, or with one equal to thine, which
seems to me of the English breed, I will gage all I possess, lands,
castle, and gold, sword and spurs, to maintain this pass, one by one,
against all thy train.”
Fortunately, perhaps, for Adrian, ere he could reply, Riccardo Annibaldi
cried, with great warmth, “Sir Knight, I have with me two steeds well
practised in the tourney; take thy choice, and accept in me a champion
of the Roman against the French chivalry;--there is my gage.”
“Signor,” replied Montreal, with ill-suppressed delight, “thy proffer
shows so gallant and free a spirit, that it were foul sin in me to balk
it. I accept thy gage, and whichever of thy steeds thou rejectest, in
God’s name bring it hither, and let us waste no words before action.”
Adrian, who felt that hitherto the Romans had been more favoured by
fortune than merit, vainly endeavoured to prevent this second hazard.
But Annibaldi was greatly chafed, and his high rank rendered it
impolitic in Adrian to offend him by peremptory prohibition; the
Colonna reluctantly, therefore, yielded his assent to the engagement.
Annibaldi’s steeds were led to the spot, the one a noble roan, the other
a bay, of somewhat less breeding and bone, but still of great strength
and price. Montreal finding the choice pressed upon him, gallantly
selected the latter and less excellent.
Annibaldi was soon arrayed for the encounter, and Adrian gave the word
to the trumpeters. The Roman was of a stature almost equal to that of
Montreal, and though some years younger, seemed, in his armour, nearly
of the same thews and girth, so that the present antagonists appeared
at the first glance more evenly matched than the last. But this time
Montreal, well horsed, inspired to the utmost by shame and pride,
felt himself a match for an army; and he met the young Baron with
such prowess, that while the very plume on his casque seemed scarcely
stirred, the Italian was thrown several paces from his steed, and it was
not till some moments after his visor was removed by his squires that
he recovered his senses. This event restored Montreal to all his natural
gaiety of humour, and effectually raised the spirits of his followers,
who had felt much humbled by the previous encounter.
He himself assisted Annibaldi to rise with great courtesy, and a
profusion of compliments, which the proud Roman took in stern silence,
and then led the way to the pavilion, loudly ordering the banquet to be
spread. Annibaldi, however, loitered behind, and Adrian, who penetrated
his thoughts, and who saw that over their cups a quarrel between
the Provencal and his friend was likely to ensue, drawing him aside,
said:--“Methinks, dear Annibaldi, it would be better if you, with the
chief of our following, were to proceed onward to Fondi, where I will
join you at sunset. My squires, and some eight lances, will suffice for
my safeguard here; and, to say truth, I desire a few private words
with our strange host, in the hope that he may be peaceably induced
to withdraw from hence without the help of our Roman troops, who have
enough elsewhere to feed their valour.”
Annibaldi pressed his companion’s hand: “I understand thee,” he replied
with a slight blush, “and, indeed, I could but ill brook the complacent
triumph of the barbarian. I accept thy offer.”