The thing which really separates a noble from a villein is the former's
superiority in arms. True, God has made the average cavalier more
honorable, courteous, and sage than the peasant; but, after all, his
great advantage is material. The villeins, poor churls, spend their
days with shovel, mattock, or in mechanic toil. Doubtless, they can
grow wheat, raise pigs, weave cloth, or build houses better than their
masters, but in the use of arms how utterly are they inferior. How can
a plowman, though you give him weapons, hold his own against a man
of gentility who has been trained in arms from early boyhood. As for
the peasants with their ordinary weapons--flails, boar spears, great
knives, scythes set on poles, bows and arrows--suppose ten of them
meet one experienced cavalier in full panoply upon a reliable charger.
His armor will turn their puny blows. He will, perhaps, have brained
or pinked through four of them before the other six can run into the
woods. No wonder nobles give the law to villeins!
The noble is almost always a horseman. It is the great war steed that
gives him much of his advantage, and a large part of the remainder
comes from his magnificent armor, which enables him often to go
through desperate contests unscathed, and which is so expensive that
most non-nobles can never afford it. A good cavalier despises missile
weapons, he loves to come to grips. Bowmen are despised as being
always villeins. Says a poet, "Coward was he who was the first archer;
he was a weakling and dared not come close to his foe." And many armies
are reckoned by cavalry alone, even as sang another minstrel of a
legendary host, "there were in it sixty thousand knights, not counting
foot soldiers of whom no account is taken."
[Illustration: A KNIGHT AT THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
Restored by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque
nationale. He wears on his shoulders small metal plaques called
"ailettes."]
Old warriors dislike arbalists, those terrible crossbows, wound up
with a winch, which enable base-born infantrymen to send heavy bolts
clear through shirts of mail. They are most unknightly things. In
1139 a Lateran Council actually forbade their use against Christians.
Arbalists certainly are useful in sieges for clearing ramparts or
repelling attack; but they take so long to wind up after every shot
that their value in open battles is limited. Crossbowmen, unless
carefully protected, can be ridden down by cavalry. So for another
hundred years the mailed knight will hold his own. Then may come the
English long-bow (far more rapid in its fire than the arbalist), and
the day of the infantry will return.
[Sidenote: Training to Fight in Armor]
Knights are continually fighting, or at least are exercising most
violently in tourneys; yet the proportion of contestants slain is not
very great. This is because their armor makes them almost invulnerable.
After a battle, if you count the dead, you find they are usually all
from the poor villein infantry or the luckless camp followers. Yet
this harness has inconveniences. It is so heavy that the knight is the
prisoner of his own armor. He can hardly mount his horse unassisted.
Once flung from the saddle, he can scarcely rise without help. The
lightest suit of armor in common use weighs at least fifty-five pounds.
Powerful knights often wear much heavier. Yet to be able to move about
with reasonable freedom, to swing one's shield, to control one's horse,
and finally to handle lance or sword with great strength and precision,
doing it all in this ponderous clothing of metal, are what squires like
Aimery must learn to a nicety ere claiming knighthood. Wearing such
armor, it is not remarkable that noblemen always prefer horseback, and
fight on foot only in emergencies.
The prime unit in a suit of armor is the hauberk. He who has a fine
hauberk, light (considering the material), pliable, and of such finely
tempered steel as to be all but impenetrable, has something worth a
small manor land. On this hauberk will often depend his life.
In the olden days, before about A.D. 1000, the hauberk was a shirt of
leather or quilted cloth, covered by overlapping metal plates like
fishscales. Now, thanks to ideas probably gathered from the Saracens,
it is a shirt of ring mails, a beautiful network of fine chains and
links, in the manufacturing of which the armorers ("the worthiest folk
among all villeins," declares Conon) can put forth remarkable skill.
The double or triple links are all annealed. The metal is kept bright
and "white" by constant polishing (a regular task for the squires),
and Conon has one gala shirt of mail which has been silvered. These
garments form an almost complete protection, thanks to long sleeves,
a long skirt below the knees, and a hood coming right over the head
and partly covering the cheeks. A few brightly colored threads are
sometimes worked into the links for ornament, but the flashing sheen of
a good hauberk is its sufficient glory. The widowed Countess of Bernon
has sent to Aimery, as token of good will, a ring shirt belonging to
her husband. The knight-to-be swears that he will never dishonor its
former owner while he wears it.
[Illustration: GERMAN HELMETS OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY]
[Sidenote: Hauberks, Helmets and Shields]
The next great unit in the armor is the helmet. Helmets have been
steadily becoming more complicated, but most warriors still prefer
a plain conical steel cap encircled with a band of metal which may
be adorned with gilt enamel. It has also a "nasal," a metal bar to
protect the nose. Helmets are usually laced to the hood of the hauberk
by small leathern straps. Since even a light and well-tempered helmet
is an uncomfortable thing, you seldom wear it until just before going
into action. "Lace helmets!" is the order to get ready for a charge;
and after a knight is wounded the first friendly act is to unlace
his headpiece. By the early thirteenth century helmets are beginning
to have closed visors to keep out missiles. But these visors are
immovable without taking off the whole helm; and if they get displaced
and the small eyeholes are shifted, the wearer is practically blind.
The old-style open helm will therefore continue in vogue until the
coming of the elaborate plate armor and the more manageable jointed
helms of the fourteenth century.
[Illustration: A THIRTEENTH-CENTURY SHIELD]
The third great protection is the shield. These have been getting
smaller as hauberks and helmets have been improving; but one cannot
trust solely to the body armor. Besides, a shield is a kind of
offensive weapon. A sharp thrust with its edge or a push with its broad
surface may often knock your opponent over. Aimery's new shield is
semioval and slightly pointed at the bottom. It covers its possessor
from shoulder to knees while sitting on his horse. The stoutest kind
of hide is used in making it, with a backing of light, tough wood,
and a strong rim of metal. It curves inward slightly for the better
protection of the body. In the center is a metal knob, usually of
brilliant brass, and the name "buckler" comes from this strong "boss"
(_boucle_). There is a big leather strap by which the shield is
ordinarily carried about the neck; but when you go into action you run
your left arm through two strong handles.
A shield seems a simple object, but almost as much skill goes into
compacting the wood, leather, and metal into one strong mass, not
easily split or pierced, as into making the hauberk. The front, of
course, is highly colored, and, although the heraldic "coat armor"
has yet hardly developed, every cavalier will flaunt some design of
a lion, eagle, dragon, cross, or floral scroll. As for the handling
of the shield, it is nearly as great a science as the handling of the
sword; indeed, the trained warrior knows how to make shield and sword,
or shield and lance, strike or fend together almost as one weapon.
[Illustration: THIRTEENTH-CENTURY SWORDS]
Nevertheless, it is the strictly offensive weapons on which the noble
warrior sets greatest store, and the weapon _par excellence_ is the
sword. Barons often love their swords perhaps more than they love their
wives. They treat them almost as if they are persons. They try to keep
them through their entire lives. According to the epics, the hero
Roland liked to talk to his sword "Durendal," and Ogier to his "Brans."
Conon swears one of his fiercest oaths, "by my good sword 'Hautemise,'"
and Aimery has named his new sword "Joyeuse," after the great blade of
Charlemagne.
[Sidenote: Swords and Lances]
There are many fashions in swords. You can always revive a flagging
conversation by asking whether your companion likes a tapering blade
or one of uniform thickness and weight. But the average weapon is
about three inches wide at the hilt, and some thirty-two inches long
in blade, slightly tapering. The hilt should be adorned with gilt,
preferably set with pearls, and at the end have a knob containing some
small saints' relics placed behind a bit of crystal to reveal the holy
objects. Conon's Hautemise thus contains some dried blood of St. Basil,
several hairs of St. Maurice, and lint from the robe which St. Mary
Magdalene wore after she repented. These relics are convenient, for
whenever a promise must be authenticated, the oath taker merely claps
his hand on his hilt, and his vow is instantly registered in heaven.
The lance is the other great weapon of the cavalier. Normally you use
it in the first combats, and resort to your sword only after the lance
is broken. The average lance is not more than ten feet long.[60] It
has a lozenge-shape head of fine Poitou or Castile steel. Care must
be taken in selecting straight, tough, supple wood for the shaft and
in drying it properly, for the life of the warrior may depend on the
reliability of his lance shaft, and the amount of sudden strain which
it can stand in a horse-to-horse encounter. Ashwood is ordinarily
counted the best. As a rule there is no handle on the butt. The art
of grasping the round wood firmly, of holding the long weapon level
with the hip, and finally of making the sharp tip strike squarely on
the foeman's shield (however he may slant the latter) is a matter of
training for wrist and eye which possibly exceeds all skill in fencing.
The whole body works together in lance play. The horse must be guided
by the knees; the shield must be shifted with the left hand, the lance
with the right; the eye and nerves must be under perfect control--and
then, with man and horse fused into one flying weapon, away you
go--what keener sport can there be in the world?[61]
[Illustration: HORSE TRAPPINGS
Restored by Viollet-Le-Duc, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque
nationale.]
Yet there is something more important to the warrior than his panoply.
What is a cavalier without his horse? Few, indeed, are the humans whom
the best of barons will set above his favorite destrer. Your horses are
comrades in hunt, tourney, and battle. By their speed and intelligence
they save your life when squire or vassal avail not. When they fail,
commend your soul to the saints--you will soon be in purgatory. From
boyhood a cavalier has almost lived in the saddle. When in danger he
knows all the capacities of his charger, and trusts him accordingly.
Such a companion is to be treated with care. He is fed daintily; he
is combed and tricked out like a delicate woman, and when ill he is
physicked with more wisdom possibly than will be vouchsafed to most
Christian denizens of a castle. Stories abound of how horses have
succored their masters and stood watch over them while sleeping; and
even one tale of how, when a knight returned after seven years, he
was not recognized by his betrothed, but was by his faithful destrer.
Another anecdote is how a knight answered, on being asked, "What will
be your chief joy in paradise?" "To see Blanchart, my old horse."
Such being the case, the greatest pains are taken with horse breeding.
Rich seigneurs rejoice in valuable stallions, and even monasteries
keep breeding stables. A fine horse is an even more acceptable gift
to a potentate than a notable hawk. Many horses are called "Arabian,"
but probably these come from North Africa. In France are raised horses
equal to the best, especially those powerful steeds not quite so swift
as the Oriental, but better able to bear a knight in ponderous armor.
Gascon horses are in particular demand, and Conon takes peculiar
satisfaction in a brood mare from Bordeaux. To ride a mare, however,
is regarded as unknightly--"the women to the women"--probably an old
Teutonic prejudice.
Aimery, while squire, found the care of the count's horses a prime
duty. This was no trifle, for De Bernon, like every magnate, always
kept several palfreys, handsome steeds of comfortable pace for
peace-time riding, besides his special destrer--the great fierce
war horse for battle. "To mount the high horse"--the destrer--is to
show one's pride, not by vain boasting, but by displaying oneself in
terrible weapons.[62] Of course, however, the haughty young squire did
not have to bother about his lord's _roncins_, the ordinary steeds for
the servants, or the _sommiers_ for the baggage, humbler creatures
still.
The favorite color for horses is white; after that dappled gray; after
that bay or chestnut. Poets exhaust their skill in describing beautiful
steeds, as if they were beautiful women. Wrote one bard about a Gascon
horse: "His hair outshone the plumage of a peacock; his head was lean;
his eye gray like a falcon; his breast large and square; his crupper
broad; his thigh round; and rump tight. All beholding him exclaimed
'they had never seen a handsomer creature!'"
[Illustration: A KNIGHT OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
From a bas-relief in the church of Saint-Nazaire at Carcassonne
(Viollet-Le-Duc).]
[Sidenote: The Great War Horses]
Such precious beings have names of honor. Charlemagne's destrer was the
great Tencendur. Roland charged on Veilantif. Carbonel, Palantamur,
Grisart are familiar names; and Conon's dearly loved companion is
Regibet, whom, with all his fierceness, the baron could ride safely
without bit, bridle, or spurs. The harness of the war horse is still
very simple. The elaborate trappings and armor belong to a later
age, but the stirrups and high saddle can be gilded and even set
with pearls. More noticeable still are the dozens of little bells on
different parts of the harness, which jingle merrily like sleigh bells
of another age, as the great steeds pound along.
Aimery has lived where hauberks, helms, shields, swords, and lances
have been the small coin of conversation since he has been able to
talk. He has come to know horseflesh far better than he knows that
other important mortal thing called "woman." He has now reached the
age when he is extremely confident in his own abilities and equally
confident that a fame like Roland's or Godfrey of Bouillon's is waiting
him, provided the saints will assist. If he could have followed
daydreaming, he would have been dubbed knight by the king himself after
mighty deeds on the field of battle, while still covered with blood
and grime; but such fair fortune comes only in the romances. At least,
he is glad that he has a brother who is a brother indeed, and does not
keep him in the background nor withhold from him his inheritance, as is
the luck of so many younger sons.
[Illustration: A THIRTEENTH-CENTURY KNIGHT
From sculpture in the cathedral of Rheims.]
[Sidenote: Candidates for Knighthood]
It is a great grief that Aimery's father is not living to see his sons
"come to knighthood." A good father always looks forward to that happy
day; although in some disordered fiefs the seigneur will have to watch
jealously lest the moment his offspring become full-fledged warriors
they are not worked upon by disloyal vassals who will tell them, "Your
father is old, and cannot rule the barony; seize it for yourselves."
Even kings have to guard against this danger. Philip Augustus has
knighted his heir, Prince Louis, only after the latter has taken a
solemn oath not to enroll armed followers or perform other sovereign
acts, save with his father's specific consent.
Theoretically, any knight can grant adubbement to any person he thinks
worthy; but actually a knight who dubs a villein, save in very
exceptional circumstances, will jeopardize his own claim to nobility;
and if he thrusts the honor on young, untried petty nobles, he will
be laughed at, and their claims to the rank be promptly questioned.
Fathers have often dubbed their sons, but better still, a young noble
will seek the honor from his suzerain. Aimery learns with satisfaction
that the Duke of Quelqueparte has consented to give the buffet of
honor, for the higher the rank of the adubbing cavalier, the greater
the glory of the ex-squire.
[Illustration: A THIRTEENTH-CENTURY KNIGHT
From a bas-relief at the cathedral of Rheims (Viollet-Le-Duc).]
The adubbement of knights is still a decidedly secular ceremony.
Doubtless, the custom can be somewhat traced back to the crude rites
whereby Germanic youths were initiated into the ranks of first-class
warriors. Beyond the vigil in the church and the hearing of mass, there
is not much that is religious about it. Clerical customs are indeed
intruding. Young nobles like to visit Rome and be dubbed by the Pope.
Others now are beginning to kneel before bishops and crave knighthood
as a kind of lay consecration. Opinion, however, still frowns on
this. Adubbement is a military business and churchmen had better keep
their place. It will be more than a hundred years before religion and
sentimentality can intrude much into what has long been a distinctly
martial affair.
[Sidenote: Ceremonies Before Adubbement]
Easter, Ascension Day, Pentecost and St. John's day are acceptable
times for adubbements; but there are plenty of precedents for
combining the ceremony with an important wedding, as it might be with
the baptism of the heir to a barony. In the present case, moreover,
as happens very often, Aimery, although the chief candidate for
knighthood, is not alone. The duke will give the qualifying blow to
five other young men, sons of the St. Aliquis vassals; and, indeed,
twenty or more candidates are often knighted together at the king's
court.
[Illustration: A BEGGAR
End of the twelfth century (from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque
nationale).]
The night before the ceremony the whole castle is in as great a stir
as before the wedding. More guests, more feasting, more jongleurs,
perpetual singing, music, noise. Upon the table in the great hall
Adela and Alienor (as substitutes for Aimery's mother) have laid out
for public admiration the costume which he will assume the next day.
The articles are selected as carefully as for the bridal--especially
the spotless white shirt, the costly robe of ermine, and the spurs of
gold. A host of beggars swarm in the bailey, for this occasion calls
for an unusual recklessness of almsgiving. Even the invited guests are
throwing around coppers, thereby proving their nobility.
As for Aimery, when the evening falls he and his five companions take a
complete bath, not without considerable solemnity. This act has genuine
significance. "It is to efface all villainies of the past life, that
the bather may come out pure."[63] There are no boisterous splashing
and merrymaking as the youths sit in the long wooden bathtubs. While
they dress themselves, smiling sergeants appear with presents.
Relatives, the suzerain, noble friends, have sent them articles of
costly apparel, usually silken and fur-lined, to wear during their
"vigil at arms." These are very much like the gifts that are showered
upon a bride.
It is about half a mile from St. Aliquis castle to the parish church.
After their bath the six candidates go hither, attended by the youths
who are to become their squires. The company is joyous, but not noisy;
violent mirth were unbecoming. At the church the squires-to-be leave
the others. The candidates enter the great dark building. On the high
altar a lamp burns, and on the side altar of St. Martin, the warrior
saint, is a blaze of candles before a picture showing the holy man in
the costume of a knight giving half of his military cloak to a beggar.
The new weapons and armor of the candidates have been laid upon this
altar. Then the vigil begins. The six knights-elect must not converse.
They can only stand, or kneel at preference, for the whole ten hours--a
serious physical ordeal.
During the solemn silence they are expected to pray to all their patron
saints and make solemn vows to govern their whole life. It is a time
for serious meditation, and Aimery beseeches, "Give to me honor,"
loyally adding, "and to my brother long life!" He does not ask "honor"
for Conon also, for that would imply the mighty baron still needed it.
Then at last dawn creeps through the storied windows. An old priest
enters and says mass, which the candidates follow gravely. At six in
the morning, with the summer air bright and beautiful around them, they
are all going again to the castle, merry and talkative in reaction from
the long constraint.
[Sidenote: Dressing the Candidates]
Back in the castle Aimery is glad of an unusually hearty breakfast.
Not merely has the long vigil of standing wearied him, but he will
need all his strength for the ordeal of the day. Next he goes to his
chamber, where the stripling who is to be his squire, the son of a
friendly baron, puts on his new master's gala dress. White is the
predominant color--"whiter than the snow of the April flowers." Friends
of his brother come in to witness the process, and compliment the
candidate very openly upon his broad shoulders, healthy complexion, and
hardened sinews. These congratulations become more pronounced when a
bustling servitor announces that "all is ready." Aimery strides into
the courtyard. The place seems crammed with knights and dames, old and
young, all in their best. Everybody (partly from politeness, partly
from genuine enthusiasm) begins to call out: "How fine he is! A true
St. Aliquis! Right worthy of his brother!"
Immediately two loud trumpets announce the ceremony. A great orchestra
of jongleurs raises a clamor. The sight is magnificent. The castle
court seems alive with color. The women are in striking costumes,
with their long hair hanging braided on their shoulders. The knights
wear either bliauts, green, blue, or red, or hauberks of dazzling
brightness. The numerous priests present have on their finest robes.
Even the monks seem less somber in their habits. All is noise, music,
and animation.
The six candidates, followed by the whole rejoicing company, cross
the bailey and the lists and go forth to the exercise ground by the
garden. Here there is a platform covered with fine Saracen carpets.
The Duke of Quelqueparte stands thereon, a majestic elderly warrior in
gilded armor. The six candidates form a semicircle at the foot of the
platform; then Aimery, as the brother of the giver of the fête, is the
first to mount.
Immediately his "first sponsor" presents himself, a white-headed
knight, a maternal uncle. Deliberately he kisses the candidate; then,
kneeling, puts on his two golden spurs. As the uncle steps back, Conon
and Olivier present themselves. They are the second and third sponsors.
They pull a dazzling white steel hauberk over Aimery's head and adjust
its cape. Upon this last they set the equally brilliant helmet, adorned
with semiprecious stones. Then the fourth sponsor, the stately Count
of Perseigne, girds on the candidate's sword, adding a few words of
admonition how the younger man "must use it worthily"; to which the
other responds by lifting the weapon and piously kissing the relics set
in the hilt.
[Sidenote: The Buffet of Knighthood]
The four sponsors step back. The assembled jongleurs give a mighty
crash of music. The duke lifts his clenched hand. "Bow the head!" he
orders. "I will give you the blow." Aimery bows himself meekly to the
greater lord, but his meekness is tested by the terrific stroke of his
suzerain's fist, which sends him reeling. But the instant he recovers,
the duke seizes him in comradely embrace. "Be brave, Sire Aimery.
Recall that you are of a lineage famous both as seigneurs and as
vassals, and do nothing base. Honor all knights. Give to the poor. Love
God. Go!"
The happy cavalier replies: "I thank you, fair lord, and may God hear
you. Let me always serve and love him." Then he descends the platform,
and each of the other candidates mounts in turn to be knighted with
similar ceremonies, although the sponsors (drawn from relatives or
connections) will be different. The crowd standing round follows the
proceedings with the uttermost interest, joining in a mighty shout each
time the blow of honor is given. Then Conon, as master of ceremonies,
waves to his marshal. "Bring in the horses!"
Immediately the new squires to the new knights appear, leading six
steeds, faultlessly groomed and in beautiful harness--the gift of
the baron to the candidates. The instant the horses are in front of
the platform the new cavaliers break from their statuesque rigidity.
Clothed as they are now in heavy hauberk and helmet, they run, each
man to his horse, and try to leap to the saddle at one bound without
touching foot to the stirrups. An anxious moment for them; an equally
anxious moment for parents, brothers, or sisters. From the time a young
nobleman is in his cradle his mother will discuss with his father,
"Will he make the 'leap' when he is knighted?" It is one of the great
tests of a martial education, and one that must be taken with the
uttermost publicity. Truth to tell, Aimery and his friends have been
practicing the feat with desperate energy for the last month. Done!
All six have mounted fairly! Salvos of applause. His friends are
congratulating Conon: "Such a brother!" The kinsfolk of the other young
knights are similarly overwhelmed.
[Sidenote: Concluding Exercises]
Meantime the happy new cavaliers hold their horses motionless for
an instant while their squires run to them with their lances and
triangular shields. The lances have long bright pennons with three
tails which float down upon their riders' helmets. This act performed,
the riders put their steeds through all manner of gallops and
caracoles, and next, "singing high with clear voice," away they go,
flying toward a place on the exercise ground where the _quintain_--the
wooden manikin warrior--has been set up.[64] To smash its shield
and fling it to the ground with a single lance thrust is another
unescapable test. This ordeal also is met by Aimery and his peers with
tolerable glory for all. After this sport the new knights are expected
to _behourder_--that is, to indulge in mock duels with blunted weapons.
These were not counted serious contests, but often enough, if blood is
high and rivalry keen, they can take on the form of vigorous combats.
To-day, however, everybody is in too good humor for violent blows;
besides, the real tournament begins to-morrow, and it is best to keep
strength and weapons until then.
The morning is now spent. Seigneurial appetites have been nobly
whetted. The pavilions are again ready in the garden, and the cooks
have prepared pasties, joints of meat, and great quantities of roast
poultry, even as for the wedding feast. There is another round of
gorging and guzzling, only this time the six new knights occupy the
place of honor, and the master jongleur's story is not concerning sad
Tristan, but about how brave Godfrey of Bouillon stormed Jerusalem.
Everybody is commenting upon the admirable grace, modesty, and
proficiency in arms of Sire Aimery. A count has approached Conon
already before dinner. "Fair Baron, you have a brother who is a credit
to your name. Is it true he is to receive Petitmur? I have a daughter
in her fifteenth year; her dowry will be----"
But Conon tactfully shrugs his shoulders. "Fair Count, my brother will
indeed receive Petitmur; but to-day he is knighted and can speak for
himself. Make your marriage proposals to him. I have no longer the
right to control him."
FOOTNOTES:
[60] Lances grew longer and stouter in the later Middle Ages. In the
fourteenth century they were about fifteen feet long and were a kind of
battering rams designed to dash one's opponent out of the saddle, even
if his armor were not pierced.
[61] Another weapon not infrequently used was the mace, an iron-headed
war club with a fairly long handle. In powerful hands such a weapon
could fell the sturdiest opponent, however good his armor. The mace was
somewhat the favorite of martial bishops, abbots, and other churchmen,
who thus evaded the letter of the canon forbidding clerics to "smite
with the edge of the sword," or to "shed blood." The mace merely smote
your foe senseless or dashed out his brains, without piercing his lungs
or breast!
Another weapon especially common in the early Middle Ages was the
battle ax.
[62] The destrer was so called because it was supposed to be led at
the knight's right hand (_dexter_) and ready for instant use, as he
traveled on his less powerful palfrey.
[63] As chivalry took on its later and more religious cast, all the
acts of an adubbement became clothed with allegorical meaning--_e.g._
besides the bath, the candidate must lie down (at least for a moment)
upon a bed, because "it was an emblem of the rest which God grants to
His followers, the brave knights." The candidate's snow-white shirt is
to show that "he must keep his flesh from every stain if he would hope
to reach heaven." His scarlet robe shows that he "must be ready to pour
out his blood for Holy Church." His trunk hose of brown silk "remind
him by their somber hue he must die." His white girdle "warns him that
his soul should be stainless."
[64] See p. 185.