While the tears of the two were yet mingling, the scene underwent a
change corresponding with my anxiety for the _dénouement_. A vast area
opened before me, surrounded by the seats and scaffolding as for a
tourney, and the space was filling fast with spectators. I will not
attempt to describe the splendor of the scene. Lords and ladies, in
their most gorgeous attire, occupied the high places; princes were
conspicuous; the people were assembled in thousands. At the sound of
trumpets the king made his appearance. A grand burst of music announced
that he was on his throne. Among the knights and nobles by whom he was
attended, I readily distinguished “the Favorite.” He was in armor, but
it was of an exceedingly simple pattern, and seemed designed for service
rather than display. He looked grave and apprehensive, and his eyes were
frequently turned upon the barriers, as if in anxious waiting for the
champions.
The accused was the first to appear. He was soon followed, however, by
the accuser, and both made their way through the crowd to the foot of
the throne. As the old man approached, the favorite drew nigh, and
addressed him in subdued, but earnest accents.
“It is not yet too late! Call upon me as thy champion. The king dare not
refuse thee, and as I live, I will avenge mine own and thy wrongs
together.”
“It cannot be, my lord,” was the reply, with a sad shake of the head.
“Besides,” he continued, “I have no wrongs to avenge. I seek for safety
only. It is only as my life is pledged equally to the living and the
dead, that I care to struggle for it, and to save.”
The face of the favorite was clouded with chagrin. He led the way in
silence to the foot of the throne, followed by the venerable man. There,
the latter made obeisance, and encountered the hostile and fierce glance
of his enemy, whom he regarded only with looks of sorrow and
commisseration. A breathless silence pervaded the vast assembly as they
beheld the white locks, the simple majesty of his face and air, and the
costume—singular for such an occasion—which he wore. This did not in
any degree differ from that in which he had always appeared habited
before. It consisted of a loose, flowing robe of the purest white, most
like, but more copious than the priestly cassock. His opponent, in
complete steel, shining like the sun, with helmeted head and gauntleted
hand, afforded to the spectators a most astonishing difference between
the combatants. The wonder increased with their speculations. The
surprise extended itself to the king, who proffered, as Saul had done to
David, the proper armor of a warrior to the defenseless man. But this he
steadily refused. The king, himself, condescended to remonstrate.
“This is sheer madness, old man. Would’st thou run upon thy death with
uncovered head and bosom?”
“Oh! Sire, I fear not death, and feel that I am not now to die. Yet
would I still implore that I may be spared this trial. Once more, I lay
myself at the foot of the throne, to supplicate its mercy.”
“For thyself!” cried his enemy, with a scornful taunt.
“For myself and for thee!”—was the firm reply—“that I may be spared
the pang of sending thee before the Eternal Judge, with all thy unatoned
crimes upon thy head.”
The voice and words of the venerable speaker, deep and solemn, thrilled,
with a sensible effect, throughout the assembly. Whence should he derive
this confidence? From heaven or from hell. The conclusion to which they
came, more than ever confirmed their belief in his reputed sorceries;
and his words inspired a deep and silent terror among the crowd. But the
accused, strong in his skill, courage and panoply of steel, if not in
the justice of his cause, mocked scornfully, and defied the doom which
was threatened. Some of his friends, however, shared strongly in the
apprehensions of the vulgar.
“He hath no visible armor,” was their cry; “with what would he defend
himself? How know we that he hath not magic arts, and devices of hell,
with which he secretly arms himself?”
“Thou hast weapons—visible weapons, as I hear”—remarked the King.
“They are at hand, Sire;—they are here.”
“Thou hast dealt in no forbidden practice?”
“None, Sire, as I stand uncovered in the sight of heaven. The reverend
father in God, to whom thou did’st give in charge this inquiry, is here,
and will answer to your majesty. He hath heard and seen the secret of my
strength—that strength which I know and declare is powerful to destroy
my foe. He knows it to be a secret of mortal wisdom only, as patiently
wrought out by human art and labor, as were the sword and axe of him who
now seeks my destruction. I have warned him already of the fearful power
which they impart. I would still have him live, unharmed by me.”
“Peace, insolent!” cried the accused; “I am here, your majesty, to
fight, not to prate!—to chastise, not to hearken to the speeches of
this pagan sorcerer. Let his power be what he esteems it: I trust to my
good sword, and to the favor of the Mother of God,—and I doubt not of
this good steel, which hath been crowned with a three-fold conquest, on
the plains of Saracem. I entreat that your majesty will give command for
the combat.”