At length the day fixed for the tournament arrived, and a distinguished
noble, appointed by the German emperor, arranged all things in the most
magnificent and sumptuous guise for the solemn festival. The field of
combat opened wide, and fair, and level, thickly strewn with the finest
sand, so that, both man and horse might find sure footing; and, like a
pure field of snow, it shone forth from the midst of the flowery plain.
Rich hangings of silk from Arabia, curiously embroidered with Indian
gold, adorned with their various colours the lists enclosing the space,
and hung from the lofty galleries which had been erected for the ladies
and the nobles who were to behold the combat. At the upper end, under a
canopy of majestic arches richly wrought in gold, was the place of the
Lady Hildegardis. Green wreaths and garlands waved gracefully between
the glittering pillars in the soft breezes of July. And with impatient
eyes the multitude, who crowded beyond the lists, gazed upwards,
expecting the appearance of the fairest maiden of Germany, and were
only at times drawn to another part by the stately approach of the
combatants. Oh, how many a bright suit of armour, many a silken
richly-embroidered mantle, how many a lofty waving plume was here to be
seen! The splendid troop of knights moved within the lists, greeting and
conversing with each other, as a bed of flowers stirred by a breath
of wind; but the flower-stems had grown to lofty trees, the yellow and
white flower-leaves had changed to gold and silver, and the dew-drops to
pearls and diamonds. For whatever was most fair and costly, most varied
and full of meaning, had these noble knights collected in honour of
this day. Many an eye was turned on Froda, who, without scarf, plume,
or mantle, with his shining silver breastplate, on which appeared the
golden image of Aslauga, and with his well-wrought helmet of golden
locks, shone, in the midst of the crowd, like polished brass. Others,
again, there were, who took pleasure in looking at the young Edwald; his
whole armour was covered by a mantle of white silk, embroidered in azure
and silver, as his whole helmet was concealed by a waving plume of white
feathers. He was arrayed with almost feminine elegance, and yet the
conscious power with which he controlled his fiery, snow-white steed
made known the victorious strength and manliness of the warlike
stripling.
In strange contrast appeared the tall and almost gigantic figure of
a knight clothed in a mantle of black glossy bearskin, bordered with
costly fur, but without any ornament of shining metal. His very helmet
was covered with dark bearskin, and, instead of plumes, a mass of
blood-red horsehair hung like a flowing mane profusely on every side.
Well did Froda and Edwald remember that dark knight, for he was the
uncourteous guest of the hostelry. He also seemed to remark the two
knights, for he turned his unruly steed suddenly round, forced his
way through the crowd of warriors, and, after he had spoken over the
enclosure to a hideous bronze-coloured woman, sprang with a wild leap
across the lists, and, with the speed of an arrow, vanished out of
sight. The old woman looked after him with a friendly nod. The assembled
people laughed as at a strange masquing device; but Edwald and Froda
had their own almost shuddering thoughts concerning it, which, however,
neither imparted to the other.
The kettle-drums rolled, the trumpets sounded, and led by the aged duke,
Hildegardis advanced, richly apparelled, but more dazzling through the
brightness of her own beauty. She stepped forward beneath the arches of
the golden bower, and bowed to the assembly. The knights bent low, and
the feeling rushed into many a heart, “There is no man on earth who can
deserve a bride so queenly.” When Froda bowed his head, it seemed to him
as if the golden radiance of Aslauga’a tresses floated before his sight;
and his spirit rose in joy and pride that his lady held him worthy to be
so often reminded of her.
And now the tournament began. At first the knights strove with blunted
swords and battle-axes; then they ran their course with lances man to
man; but at last they divided into two equal parties, and a general
assault began, in which every one was allowed to use at his own
will either sword or lance. Froda and Edwald equally surpassed their
antagonists, as (measuring each his own strength and that of his friend)
they had foreseen. And now it must be decided by a single combat with
lances to whom the highest prize of victory should belong. Before this
trial began, they rode slowly together into the middle of the course,
and consulted where each should take his place. “Keep you your
guiding-star still before your sight,” said Froda, with a smile; “the
like gracious help will not be wanting to me.” Edwald looked round
astonished for the lady of whom his friend seemed to speak, but Froda
went on, “I have done wrong in hiding aught from you, but after the
tournament you shall know all. Now lay aside all needless thoughts of
wonder, dear Edchen, and sit firm in your saddle, for I warn you that
I shall run this course with all my might. Not my honour alone is at
stake, but the far higher honour of my lady.”
“So also do I purpose to demean myself,” said Edwald, with a friendly
smile. They shook each other by the hand, and rode to their places.
Amidst the sound of trumpets they met again, running their course with
lightning speed; the lances shivered with a crash, the horses staggered,
the knights, firm in their saddles, pulled them up, and rode back to
their places. But as they prepared for another course, Edwald’s white
steed snorted in wild affright, and Froda’s powerful chestnut reared up
foaming.
It was plain that the two noble animals shrunk from a second hard
encounter, but their riders held them fast with spur and bit, and,
firm and obedient, they again dashed forward at the second call of
the trumpet. Edwald, who by one deep, ardent gaze on the beauty of his
mistress had stamped it afresh on his soul, cried aloud at the moment
of encounter, “Hildegardis!” and so mightily did his lance strike
his valiant adversary, that Froda sank backwards on his steed, with
difficulty keeping his seat in his saddle, or holding firm in his
stirrups, whilst Edwald flew by unshaken, lowered his spear to salute
Hildegardis as he passed her bower, and then, amidst the loud applause
of the multitude, rushed to his place, ready for the third course. And,
ah! Hildegardis herself, overcome by surprise, had greeted him with a
blush and a look of kindness; it seemed to him as if the overwhelming
joy of victory were already gained. But it was not so, for the valiant
Froda, burning with noble shame, had again tamed his affrighted
steed, and, chastising him sharply with the spur for his share in
this mischance, said in a low voice, “Beautiful and beloved lady, show
thyself to me--the honour of thy name is at stake.” To every other eye
it seemed as if a golden rosy-tinted summer’s cloud was passing over the
deep-blue sky, but Froda beheld the heavenly countenance of his lady,
felt the waving of her golden tresses, and cried, “Aslauga!” The two
rushed together, and Edwald was hurled from his saddle far upon the
dusty plain.
Froda remained for a time motionless, according to the laws of chivalry,
as though waiting to see whether any one would dispute his victory,
and appearing on his mailed steed like some lofty statue of brass. All
around stood the multitude in silent wonderment. When at length they
burst forth into shouts of triumph, he beckoned earnestly with his hand,
and all were again silent. He then sprang lightly from his saddle, and
hastened to the spot where the fallen Edwald was striving to rise. He
pressed him closely to his breast, led his snow-white steed towards
him, and would not be denied holding the stirrups of the youth whilst
he mounted. Then he bestrode his own steed, and rode by Edwald’s side
towards the golden bower of Hildegardis, where, with lowered spear and
open vizor, he thus spoke: “Fairest of all living ladies, I bring you
here Edwald, your knightly bridegroom, before whose lance and sword all
the knights of this tournament have fallen away, I only excepted, who
can make no claim to the choicest prize of victory, since I, as the
image on my breastplate may show, already serve another mistress.”
The duke was even now advancing towards the two warriors, to lead them
into the golden bower, but Hildegardis restrained him with a look of
displeasure, saying immediately, while her cheeks glowed with anger,
“Then you seem, Sir Froda, the Danish knight, to serve your lady ill;
for even now you openly styled me the fairest of living ladies.”
“That did I,” answered Froda, bending courteously, “because my fair
mistress belongs to the dead.”
A slight shudder passed at these words through the assembly, and through
the heart of Hildegardis; but soon the anger of the maiden blazed forth
again, and the more because the most wonderful and excellent knight she
knew had scorned her for the sake of a dead mistress.
“I make known to all,” she said, with solemn earnestness, “that
according to the just decree of my imperial uncle, this hand can never
belong to a vanquished knight, however noble and honourable he may
otherwise have proved himself. As the conqueror of this tournament,
therefore, is bound to another service, this combat concerns me not; and
I depart hence as I came, a free and unbetrothed maiden.”
The duke seemed about to reply, but she turned haughtily away, and left
the bower. Suddenly a gust of wind shook the green wreaths and garlands,
and they fell untwined and rustling behind her. In this the people,
displeased with the pride of Hildegardis, thought they beheld an omen of
punishment, and with jeering words noticed it as they departed.