Part 6

No one besides the ladies, Matthew, and Peter knew that Sir John was missing, and all these he swore to silence. They were ready enough to agree, for none could think that so experienced a warrior as Sir John could have been overcome so easily as to disappear and leave no trace. In fact, Matthew roundly declared that an hour or so before the contest with Sir Gervaise was timed to commence would see him back, and the others fervently hoped that he might prove to be right.

*CHAPTER VIII*

*The Lists of Bordeaux*

Completely forgetting that he was one of the seven chosen to do battle for the English esquires against the best of their Gascon allies, Edgar spent the little time left of the morning in making enquiries of all who might have seen Sir John at any point during his afternoon's ride--countrymen coming in with carts laden with farm produce, the men who had kept watch during the afternoon and evening along the outer side of the camp, and any others who might possibly have some news to tell, however meagre. His enquiries were quite fruitless, however, and his fears that there might have been foul play gradually returned to him as the morning wore on. At last he returned to the camp and sent for Peter.

"Peter," he said, "I want thee now to keep close watch to see who doth visit Sir Gervaise de Maupas. I begin to feel once more that he is at the bottom of the mischief; and it hath occurred to me that if his emissaries have waylaid Sir John they will, if they have not done so already, come to him to report the result of their vile plot. Keep watch, then, and see who the men are, and if thou canst do so quietly, call Matthew and scruple not to seize them on some pretext or another. Pick a quarrel with them--anything, so long as ye lay hands on them and keep them till I come."

Peter nodded, as though in entire approval, and limped off upon his errand, and Edgar turned to find Arthur Pomeroy, mounted and armed, waiting for him with every sign of impatience a pace or two away.

"So this is the way thou dost spend the precious moments--gibbering with stableboys and camp followers, Edgar Wintour," he cried in a voice of disgust. "'Tis but twenty minutes short of noon, and thou not in the saddle and not a piece of thine armour girded on. Hast gone daft, man, or forgotten that the onset sounds at noon?"

"I have been busy, Arthur, and could wish that thou wouldst find some other to take my place. Let the best of those who were tried and passed over take the lance in my stead--each of them was well worthy to represent our squirehood to-day."

"Tush, Edgar, talk not such nonsense! Rather would I hold back our whole band until thou wert ready, though 'twere an hour. Get on thine armour without more ado. Where is thy boy?"

"I have sent him upon an errand of great import to me. Give me a hand and I will soon be ready."

With an angry snort Arthur set spurs to his horse and galloped away through the camp like a whirlwind. In half a minute he was back, and two lads following at top speed proclaimed that he had not been idle.

"Come hither, varlets, and gird on this armour. Quickly, now, unless ye wish the Frenchmen to get the better of us."

Rapidly the pieces of armour were strapped and buckled on until Edgar stood complete, a wall of shining steel.

"Where is thy gage?"

"I have none."

"What? Hast thou no damsel to watch for thine entry into the lists?"

"Nay."

Arthur shrugged his shoulders in perplexity. "Well, every man to his taste. Where is now thy horse? Where dost stable it?"

"Straight along the lines a furlong. Let the youths bring the gear, and for the nonce I will walk to it."

It was still five minutes short of noon when Edgar mounted and, closely shepherded by Arthur Pomeroy, who seemed to fear he might yet escape, rode off to the competitors' enclosure adjoining the lists.

"Thou must know," said Arthur, "that I have agreed with the leader of the Gascon esquires that our men shall be placed facing opponents of the same relative powers. 'Twould be a poor spectacle if our best were pitted against their weakest and their strongest against our tail end; so we have, for the first onset only, arranged that best shall meet best, and so forth. Thou art matched against Gaston Dugarde."

"I know nothing of him," replied Edgar. "Is he weak?"

"Weak! Thou wilt see. We have not thrown thee away."

Exactly how to take the reply Edgar hardly knew, but he was too full of his great trouble and too anxious to be through with the present encounter to care to enquire further. The intense eagerness with which he had looked forward to so thrilling a melee had gone, and he now only wished it over, that he might continue his enquiries respecting Sir John.

As they cantered into the enclosure, however, he felt his enthusiasm revive. No one could view the glittering scene unmoved, and to Edgar, who had never been to a tournament before, the scene was full of meaning and interest. The wide sweep of the lists, the towering stands at the middle, the dense masses of spectators--a large proportion of whom were soldiers--the glitter of armour, and the tramp of spirited chargers, all struck the fullest note of chivalry and warriorhood.

"Come, Arthur," cried one of the English esquires impatiently, "thou art behindhand. Guy de Parfrey hath marshalled his men, and awaits us."

"No matter, Stephen, since we are now seven. Now, comrades all, wheel into line in the order agreed upon. Forget not the rules--I would not that we scored by transgressing them. Strike home, and remember 'tis St. George for England!"

The English esquires wheeled into their places and, headed by their captain, Arthur Pomeroy, cantered gaily into the lists in single file simultaneously with their adversaries. Amidst a gay fanfare of trumpets, the two lines of steel-clad horsemen filed, saluting, before the Earl of Derby. Then, without a pause, they diverged to their own ends of the lists, each man halting his steed and turning as the line passed his own position. In a very few seconds the files of prancing horsemen became two lines of motionless figures with lances couched, facing one another watchfully.

There was but a slight pause, and then the marshals gave the signal for the onset. And loud the trumpets blared!

With a thunder of hoofs, the two walls of steel dashed swiftly inwards, as though drawn by a gigantic magnet, and met in the centre of the lists with a crash that could be heard for miles. Indeed, men passing to and fro in the city streets and alleys heard the noise, and stopped to question one another as to what it portended.

Five men--two English and three Gascons--bit the dust in that first terrific onset, and the survivors, with few thoughts for the vanquished, rode at one another fiercely, and with sword, lance, or axe, whichever was most to their user's liking, hewed and thrust at one another with heartiest goodwill.

Edgar struck his opponent full on the shield with the point of his lance, and, to his surprise, the impact lifted his opponent out of the saddle and sent him crashing backwards to the ground. The shock must have been great, for the unfortunate esquire lay just where he had fallen, motionless, and apparently senseless. Fearing lest he might be trampled upon in the melee, for the dust was rising and the combatants could scarce see what was under their horses' feet, Edgar slipped quickly from his saddle, raised the fallen man, and bore him away out of the press.

His temporary withdrawal made the two forces again equal, but this equality was of very short duration, for one of the Gascons, who was known as Guilbert "Strongarm", was an esquire of great bulk and tremendous strength, and with two successive swings of his huge battleaxe smote two of the English esquires so strongly that they dropped half-fainting from their saddles.

Arthur Pomeroy, who, as captain, kept watch over what was happening to others of his force while fighting his own battle, saw that his side was in immediate peril of being vanquished offhand, and called loudly to Edgar to resume the combat.

"Mount, Edgar! Mount and aid us!"

Though he had not seen the deadly strokes that had so altered the complexion of affairs, Edgar guessed that things were going ill, and hastily handed the stricken man to pages who hovered on the outskirts of the fight. His horse had followed him, and, vaulting into the saddle, he spurred once more into the conflict.

His re-entry was somewhat unexpected to the Gascons, and, still possessing the lance that had already done such good service, he could easily have unhorsed Guilbert from the rear. But disdaining to defeat a foe so ingloriously, Edgar smartly tapped his lance upon his backplate and waited. Guilbert and one of his comrades were busily hacking at Arthur Pomeroy, who was fighting desperately and wheeling his steed continuously in his efforts to keep the twain at bay. Astounded at the buffet from the rear, Guilbert hastily turned and rode at Edgar, leaning over in his saddle and swinging his great battleaxe in readiness for a telling blow.

Dropping his lance, Edgar drew his sword and, as Guilbert came within reach and aimed a blow at him, turned his horse and avoided the stroke by a hairbreadth. The axe, meeting no resistance, swung down nearly to the ground, drawing Guilbert downward with it. Simultaneously Edgar turned in his saddle, and, reaching out, smote his adversary so shrewdly on the wrist that he was compelled to drop his axe. Ere he could draw his sword with his left hand--for his right was bruised and almost useless--Edgar had twice gently smitten him upon headpiece and breastplate, and, acknowledging defeat, Guilbert rode sullenly out of the conflict.

Another man on either side had by this time fallen, and of the fourteen men who had entered upon the melee only two English and two Gascons remained.

Arthur Pomeroy was the second survivor of the English esquires, and in spite of the exertions he had made, was still in good fighting trim. Edgar had not received a scratch, and was virtually as fresh as when he started. The two Gascons, on the other hand, were both bleeding, and one appeared to be scarce fit to continue the combat.

"Come now, Edgar," cried Arthur exultingly, "one more charge and the battle is ours. St. George for England! On! on!"

Side by side the two esquires rode down upon their adversaries, who, wounded as they were, made ready to meet them right gallantly.

Suddenly the earl raised his hand.

"Desist, desist!" he cried.

At a signal from the marshals the trumpets again blared, and all knew that the conflict was at an end.

Cheering and counter-cheering had been well-nigh continuous all the time the stirring encounter had been proceeding, but at the signal for the cessation of hostilities the burst of sound threatened to rend the skies. For some minutes it continued unabated, and it was not until the earl stood up as though about to speak that the volume of sound died gradually away.

"Ye have all done right well," cried the earl warmly, "and I have no wish that ye should push matters to extremities in your friendly rivalries. Ye started equal and ye have finished equal; right nobly doth the result speak for the valour of both wings of our army. I hail it as the happiest augury for the campaign that lies before us."

Loud and hearty cheers greeted his words. His politic intervention had relaxed the tension between the English and Gascon spectators, and, with the honour of both well saved, they could cheer the well-fought fight without bitterness and without stint.

"Let the victors approach," commanded the earl, and the four esquires cantered to the stand and dismounted.

Pages assisted them to unhelm, and they were led forward by the marshal up the steps to the platform where the earl stood. It was remarked by all those near enough to observe that while the faces of the two Gascon esquires were pale and blood-streaked, and Pomeroy's was flushed with exertion, Edgar's showed no sign of the conflict whatever.

With a few words of hearty commendation, the earl presented each esquire with a jewelled dagger and a purse of gold as tokens of the esteem in which their victorious emergence from the conflict had caused them to be held. Then they again mounted and, with heads still uncovered, made a full circuit of the lists before withdrawing to their own enclosure. Loud cheers and shouts of approval followed them, and Edgar, preoccupied as he had again become at the uncertainty of his master's fate now that the combat was over, could not help feeling a thrill of pleasure at having borne his part in upholding his country's fair renown in the domains of chivalry.

"Grammercy, my fair Edgar, thou didst almost lose us the fight," cried Arthur Pomeroy, as the two filed across to their comrades' side of the greensward. "I thought our friend the 'strong-arm' had me of a surety when thou didst call him off just in time. 'Twas a near thing betwixt victory and defeat."

"Not victory, Arthur. 'Tis an honourable draw."

"We held the winning position--that is enough for me. Come now, where art bound? Let us first go and congratulate our comrades the Gascons on the stout fight they provided us withal. Then, if they agree, perchance we may retire to the esquires' pavilion and celebrate the melee in a manner fitting to the occasion."

"Right willingly will I join in thy congratulations of our friends the enemy," cried Edgar; "but I must beg thee to excuse me from taking part in any celebrations. I have not time, even had I the inclination, to join thee there. I have matters on foot that claim attention without delay, and I must be off the instant I have added my meed of praise to thine."

In a few minutes the esquires of both bands were clustered together, eagerly discussing the many exciting incidents of the encounter, and Edgar was presently able to make good his exit without attracting special attention.

*CHAPTER IX*

*The Encounter with Sir Gervaise*

When Edgar reached his tent, he found that Peter had not yet returned since he had sent him off to keep watch upon all who came and went at Sir Gervaise's quarters. A meal had, however, been laid for him, probably by Matthew, so, hardly knowing what was to be his next move and feeling that he might soon need all his strength, Edgar sat down and ate a hearty dinner. Then, as Peter had still not put in an appearance, he returned to the scene of the tournament and made his way to the stand where seats had been allotted to Sir John and his party. Somewhat to his surprise, he found both Gertrude and Beatrice in their places.

"Hath any news good or ill reached you?" he asked, as he took his place by their side.

"None," replied Beatrice quickly. "We came hither because we could not rest at the inn, and, besides, we thought that news might be most plentiful where so many people were gathered together. We feel little like enjoying the tourney, brilliant though it is, but we both were glad to see thee gain the day in thine encounters."

"I had not intended to take part," replied Edgar, "but our captain, Arthur Pomeroy, sought me out and dragged me with him to the lists. Nevertheless, while it lasted, I enjoyed it right well."

"Thy part was well done, but best of all, to my mind, was thy succouring of poor Gaston Dugarde and the chance thou didst give to the mighty Guilbert to meet thee face to face. Those deeds have been the talk of the stand--far more so than thy powers with lance and sword. The one rings of true chivalry, the other is known by a lesser name."

"Mayhap," replied Edgar, "but, even so, skill is not to be despised, for often 'tis that that makes the other possible. But 'twas not of the fight I wished to speak. I have forebodings that Sir Gervaise de Maupas knoweth something of Sir John's disappearance. I have set Peter to watch his tent and to let me know who hath called upon him this morning. He hath not yet returned, and, feeling impatient, I came to tell you and to learn if perchance you had aught of news for me."

"If thou thinkest 'tis De Maupas, wilt thou not denounce him to the earl?" cried both Gertrude and Beatrice with one voice. "Surely so dastardly a deed----"

"Nay, nay, ladies, there is no evidence upon which I could cast such an aspersion upon the name of a knight of fair fame. 'Twould be useless, and would but put him upon his guard. Nay, I must proceed much more cautiously."

"But why should Sir Gervaise seek to do him harm in secret when he hath full chance to defeat him in the lists?" objected Beatrice.

"But could he defeat him? And even if he did, would Sir John's honour have received so foul a blow as when he fails to answer to Sir Gervaise's challenge? No, the thing is planned to ruin Sir John's honour, and right well do I fear it will do so."

"He will come," cried Gertrude in desperation. "He will strain every nerve to be in his place at the appointed time. Still will I look for him."

"I too hope--but surely, Edgar Wintour, there is something to be done!" cried Beatrice impetuously. "Thou canst act well and strongly in the lists--art lost when the real need comes outside? Thou art Sir John's esquire--appointed in the face of all thy comrades--and he looks to thee for aid. Prove thy title. Once thou didst boast that when a time of stress came upon us thou wouldst show thy worth."

"I have done all that man could do," cried Edgar, flushing deeply at the bitter rebuke.

"Sir John must be found," cried Beatrice, giving a reckless stamp of her little foot.

Deeply mortified and not a little angry, Edgar bowed low, retired from the stand, and strode wrathfully back to his tent. His way took him not far from Sir Gervaise's quarters, and as he went it occurred to him that he might pass by and see what he could of Peter. As he drew near he saw that Sir Gervaise stood at the door already half-armed, for the hour of his encounter approached apace; and Edgar looked steadily at him to discern, if possible, some sign of consciousness of villainy in his strongly-marked features. Their eyes met, and Sir Gervaise beckoned him to approach.

"See that thy master is ready and well equipped," he said, with a smile that maddened Edgar, "for I will humble his proud spirit this day--mark well my words."

Gulping back the torrent of speech that rushed to his lips, Edgar turned and hurried on his way. In the second that he had met Sir Gervaise eye to eye, a half-formed idea had hardened and tempered into a firm resolve. Sir John's life should be saved and Sir John's honour should not be lost.

Peter was awaiting him at his tent, his face aflame with eagerness and excitement.

"Sir," he cried breathlessly, "one of the men we suspected rode in from the country but a half-hour agone and had speech with Sir Gervaise. I lay down at the tent door as though sleeping in the sun, but could hear naught. When the man came out, however, he was clinking money in his hand and smiling."

"Didst follow him?"

"I did; and I have learned both his name and his haunts."

"Good! Say no more now, Peter, but call Matthew, for other and starker work lieth before us."

In a moment Matthew appeared.

"Saddle Sir John's best charger, 'Furore', and fetch it hither," cried Edgar. "Then bring out its armour and trappings, and make it ready for the lists."

"Ha," cried Matthew joyously, "then thou hast news of Sir John!" and he hurried off to do the esquire's bidding.

"Now, Peter," cried Edgar, flinging off his outer garments, "aid me to don Sir John's armour--quickly, lad, on thy life!"

"But Sir John----"

"_I_ am Sir John this day. See thou sayest no more to anyone save Matthew. Sir John's honour must be saved, and saved it shall be if my utmost efforts can compass it. With vizor down, who shall know that the well-known horse and coat-armour hold not the knight, and that the shield that beareth his blazonings is borne by another?"

Speechless with amazement, Peter strapped and buckled with might and main, and Edgar was almost ready when Matthew entered for the horse's trappings.

When he saw who it was that was donning Sir John's armour, he gave a gasp of astonishment. Then gathering from Edgar's set face the full significance of the proceeding, his own took on a grim smile as, without a word, he seized the horse's gear and hurried from the tent.

"Wilt take thine own weapons?" enquired Peter presently.

"Nay. I will take Sir John's and give no loophole to suspicion. Their weight is little more than mine, and I feel strung to a pitch that would make them feel light were they twice the weight."

"And for gage? Wilt wear the lady Gertrude's colours?"

"Nay. I fear I cannot do that, or she will be sure 'tis Sir John. I will wear none, as in the melee. See now if 'Furore' be ready."

The horse was ready, and, carefully closing his vizor, Edgar stepped outside and vaulted into the saddle. Shield and lance were handed up to him, and after testing his charger's gear to see that all was fast, he prepared to start. Sir John's armour was somewhat heavier than his own, but he was so accustomed to wearing armour in his practices and so tense with excitement and determination that he scarcely noticed it.

Edgar was now nineteen, and well grown and well developed. Though Sir John was a man of more weighty build, he was no broader and but a fraction taller. The armour, therefore, fitted the esquire well, and, mounted upon "Furore" and with vizor closed, scarce his most intimate friend would have known him from his master. The horse was a splendid animal, far better than Edgar's, and bore the weight of armour and rider with ease and spirit.

It was now the hour for the encounter with Sir Gervaise, and in the distance Edgar could hear the trumpets of the heralds announcing the combat. He could picture De Maupas riding majestically into the lists, confident of adding to his prestige by a victory by default against so well-known an antagonist as Sir John Chartris. How he would make his steed curvet and prance before the populace, as he rode round the lists waiting in vain for his foe to answer to the challenge!

A second time the trumpets of the heralds rang out, and, setting spurs to his horse, Edgar rode straight for the enclosure. "Furore" seemed to enter fully into the spirit of the enterprise, and it was at a swinging gallop that Edgar dashed suddenly into the lists.

A roar of applause arose from the whole circle of the spectators, who were just beginning to wonder where Sir John Chartris might be. Without a pause, Edgar rode to the earl's stand and saluted. Then he paced on down to his own end of the lists, saluting the Wolsingham ladies as he passed them by.

"He hath come!" cried Gertrude, tense with excitement, the instant horse and man appeared in the lists.

Beatrice followed her gaze, and for one instant joyfully agreed. Then she began to doubt.

"Nay, nay, Gertrude, this cannot be Sir John. Where are thy colours?"

"He hath had no time----"

"But Sir John is waxing on in years, and rideth heavily in his saddle. This man rideth with an ease and spring as though younger and of a lighter make. Hush--cry not out--'tis Edgar Wintour, of a certainty! 'Tis to this that I have goaded him on!"

"But why should----?"

"To save Sir John's honour. Didst not feel as though even death were better than his dishonour a moment agone when the heralds cried his name in vain? Hurrah--I could cry aloud to think that that vile Sir Gervaise will not gain a bloodless victory! But yet--after all--surely he cannot fail to conquer one who is but an esquire?"

Gertrude answered not, and both maidens sat still and held their breaths as the stirring scenes passed before their gaze.