CHAPTER VII. THE RENOWNED COMBAT BETWEEN SIR ANTHONY WOODVILLE AND THEBASTARD OF BURGUNDY.
And now the day came for the memorable joust between the queen's brotherand the Count de la Roche. By a chapter solemnly convoked at St. Paul's,the preliminaries were settled; upon the very timber used in decking thelists King Edward expended half the yearly revenue derived from all theforests of his duchy of York. In the wide space of Smithfield, destinedat a later day to blaze with the fires of intolerant bigotry, crowdedLondon's holiday population: and yet, though all the form and paradeof chivalry were there; though in the open balconies never presideda braver king or a comelier queen; though never a more accomplishedchevalier than Sir Anthony Lord of Scales, nor a more redoubted knightthan the brother of Charles the Bold, met lance to lance,--it wasobvious to the elder and more observant spectators, that the true spiritof the lists was already fast wearing out from the influences of theage; that the gentleman was succeeding to the knight, that a more silkenand scheming race had become the heirs of the iron men, who, underEdward III., had realized the fabled Paladins of Charlemagne and Arthur.But the actors were less changed than the spectators,--the Well-bornthan the People. Instead of that hearty sympathy in the contest, thatawful respect for the champions, that eager anxiety for the honour ofthe national lance, which, a century or more ago, would have moved thethrong as one breast, the comments of the bystanders evinced rather thecynicism of ridicule, the feeling that the contest was unreal, and thatchivalry was out of place in the practical temper of the times. On thegreat chessboard the pawns were now so marshalled, that the knight'smoves were no longer able to scour the board and hold in check bothcastle and king.
"Gramercy," said Master Stokton, who sat in high state as sheriff,[Fabyan] "this is a sad waste of moneys; and where, after all, is theglory in two tall fellows, walled a yard thick in armor, poking at eachother with poles of painted wood?"
"Give me a good bull-bait!" said a sturdy butcher, in the crowd below;"that's more English, I take it, than these fooleries."
Amongst the ring, the bold 'prentices of London, up and away betimes,had pushed their path into a foremost place, much to the discontent ofthe gentry, and with their flat caps, long hair, thick bludgeons, loudexclamations, and turbulent demeanour, greatly scandalized the formalheralds. That, too, was a sign of the times. Nor less did it showthe growth of commerce, that, on seats very little below the regalbalconies, and far more conspicuous than the places of earls and barons,sat in state the mayor (that mayor a grocer!) [Sir John Yonge.--Fabyan]and aldermen of the city.
A murmur, rising gradually into a general shout, evinced the admirationinto which the spectators were surprised, when Anthony Woodville LordScales--his head bare--appeared at the entrance of the lists,--so boldand so fair was his countenance, so radiant his armour, and so richlycaparisoned his gray steed, in the gorgeous housings that almost sweptthe ground; and around him grouped such an attendance of knights andpeers as seldom graced the train of any subject, with the Duke ofClarence at his right hand, bearing his bassinet.
But Anthony's pages, supporting his banner, shared at least the popularadmiration with their gallant lord: they were, according to the oldcustom, which probably fell into disuse under the Tudors, disguised inimitation of the heraldic beasts that typified his armourial cognizance;[Hence the origin of Supporters] and horrible and laidly looked they inthe guise of griffins, with artful scales of thin steel painted green,red forked tongues, and griping the banner in one huge claw, while, muchto the marvel of the bystanders, they contrived to walk very statelilyon the other. "Oh, the brave monsters!" exclaimed the butcher. "Cogsbones, this beats all the rest!"
But when the trumpets of the heralds had ceased, when the words "Laissezaller!" were pronounced, when the lances were set and the charge began,this momentary admiration was converted into a cry of derision, by thesudden restiveness of the Burgundian's horse. This animal, of the purerace of Flanders, of a bulk approaching to clumsiness, of a rich bay,where, indeed, amidst the barding and the housings, its colour could bediscerned, had borne the valiant Bastard through many a sanguine field,and in the last had received a wound which had greatly impaired itssight. And now, whether scared by the shouting, or terrified by itsobscure vision, and the recollection of its wound when last bestrode byits lord, it halted midway, reared on end, and, fairly turning round,despite spur and bit, carried back the Bastard, swearing strange oaths,that grumbled hoarsely through his vizor, to the very place whence hehad started.
The uncourteous mob yelled and shouted and laughed, and whollydisregarding the lifted wands and drowning the solemn rebukes of theheralds, they heaped upon the furious Burgundian all the expressions ofridicule in which the wit of Cockaigne is so immemorially rich. But thecourteous Anthony of England, seeing the strange and involuntary flightof his redoubted foe, incontinently reined in, lowered his lance, andmade his horse, without turning round, back to the end of the lists ina series of graceful gambadas and caracoles. Again the signal wasgiven, and this time the gallant bay did not fail his rider; ashamed,doubtless, of its late misdemeanour, arching its head till it almosttouched the breast, laying its ears level on the neck, and with a snortof anger and disdain, the steed of Flanders rushed to the encounter.The Bastard's lance shivered fairly against the small shield of theEnglishman; but the Woodville's weapon, more deftly aimed, struck fullon the count's bassinet, and at the same time the pike projecting fromthe gray charger's chaffron pierced the nostrils of the unhappy bay,which rage and shame had blinded more than ever. The noble animal, stungby the unexpected pain, and bitted sharply by the rider, whose seatwas sorely shaken by the stroke on his helmet, reared again, stood aninstant perfectly erect, and then fell backwards, rolling over and overthe illustrious burden it had borne. Then the debonair Sir Anthony ofEngland, casting down his lance, drew his sword, and dexterously causedhis destrier to curvet in a close circle round the fallen Bastard,courteously shaking at him the brandished weapon, but without attempt tostrike.
"Ho, marshal!" cried King Edward, "assist to his legs the brave count."
The marshal hastened to obey. "Ventrebleu!" quoth the Bastard, whenextricated from the weight of his steed, "I cannot hold by the clouds,but though my horse failed me, surely I will not fail my companions;"and as he spoke, he placed himself in so gallant and superb a posture,that he silenced the inhospitable yell which had rejoiced in theforeigner's discomfiture. Then, observing that the gentle Anthonyhad dismounted, and was leaning gracefully against his destrier, theBurgundian called forth,--
"Sir Knight, thou hast conquered the steed, not the rider. We are nowfoot to foot. The pole-axe, or the sword,--which? Speak!"
"I pray thee, noble sieur," quoth the Woodville, mildly, "to let thestrife close for this day, and when rest bath--"
"Talk of rest to striplings,--I demand my rights!"
"Heaven forefend," said Anthony Woodville, lifting his hand on high,"that I, favoured so highly by the fair dames of England, should demandrepose on their behalf. But bear witness," he said (with the generosityof the last true chevalier of his age, and lifting his vizor, so asto be heard by the king, and even through the foremost ranks of thecrowd)--"bear witness, that in this encounter, my cause hath befriendedme, not mine arm. The Count de la Roche speaketh truly; and his steedalone be blamed for his mischance."
"It is but a blind beast!" muttered the Burgundian.
"And," added Anthony, bowing towards the tiers rich with the beauty ofthe court--"and the count himself assureth me that the blaze of yondereyes blinded his goodly steed." Having delivered himself of thisgallant conceit, so much in accordance with the taste of the day, theEnglishman, approaching the king's balcony, craved permission to finishthe encounter with the axe or brand.
"The former, rather please you, my liege; for the warriors of Burgundyhave ever been deemed unconquered in that martial weapon."
Edward, whose brave blood was up and warm at the clash of steel, bowedhis gracious assent, and two pole-axes were broug
ht into the ring.
The crowd now evinced a more earnest and respectful attention than theyhad hitherto shown, for the pole-axe, in such stalwart hands, was nochild's toy. "Hum," quoth Master Stokton, "there may be some merrimentnow,--not like those silly poles! Your axe lops off a limb mightycleanly." The knights themselves seemed aware of the greater gravity ofthe present encounter. Each looked well to the bracing of his vizor;and poising their weapons with method and care, they stood apart somemoments, eying each other steadfastly,--as adroit fencers with the smallsword do in our schools at this day.
At length the Burgundian, darting forward, launched a mighty stroke atthe Lord Scales, which, though rapidly parried, broke down the guard,and descended with such weight on the shoulder that but for thethrice-proven steel of Milan, the benevolent expectation of MasterStokton had been happily fulfilled. Even as it was, the Lord Scalesuttered a slight cry,--which might be either of anger or of pain,--andlifting his axe with both hands, levelled a blow on the Burgundian'shelmet that well nigh brought him to his knee. And now for the spaceof some ten minutes, the crowd with charmed suspense beheld the almostbreathless rapidity with which stroke on stroke was given and parried;the axe shifted to and fro, wielded now with both hands, now the left,now the right, and the combat reeling, as it were, to and fro,--so thatone moment it raged at one extreme of the lists, the next at the other;and so well inured, from their very infancy, to the weight of mail werethese redoubted champions, that the very wrestlers on the village green,nay, the naked gladiators of old, might have envied their lithe agilityand supple quickness.
At last, by a most dexterous stroke, Anthony Woodville forced the pointof his axe into the vizor of the Burgundian, and there so firmly didit stick, that he was enabled to pull his antagonist to and fro at hiswill, while the Bastard, rendered as blind as his horse by the stoppageof the eye-hole, dealt his own blows about at random, and was placedcompletely at the mercy of the Englishman. And gracious as the gentleSir Anthony was, he was still so smarting under many a bruise feltthrough his dinted mail, that small mercy, perchance, would the Bastardhave found, for the gripe of the Woodville's left hand was on his foe'sthroat, and the right seemed about to force the point deliberatelyforward into the brain, when Edward, roused from his delight at thatpleasing spectacle by a loud shriek from his sister Margaret, echoed bythe Duchess of Bedford, who was by no means anxious that her son's axeshould be laid at the root of all her schemes, rose, and crying, "Hold!"with that loud voice which had so often thrilled a mightier field, castdown his warderer.
Instantly the lists opened; the marshals advanced, severed thechampions, and unbraced the count's helmet. But the Bastard's martialspirit, exceedingly dissatisfied at the unfriendly interruption,rewarded the attention of the marshals by an oath worthy hisrelationship to Charles the Bold; and hurrying straight to the king, hisface flushed with wrath and his eyes sparkling with fire,--
"Noble sire and king," he cried, "do me not this wrong! I am notoverthrown nor scathed nor subdued,--I yield not. By every knightly lawtill one champion yields he can call upon the other to lay on and do hisworst."
Edward paused, much perplexed and surprised at finding his intercessionso displeasing. He glanced first at the Lord Rivers, who sat a littlebelow him, and whose cheek grew pale at the prospect of his son'srenewed encounter with one so determined, then at the immovable aspectof the gentle and apathetic Elizabeth, then at the agitated countenanceof the duchess, then at the imploring eyes of Margaret, who, with aneffort, preserved herself from swooning; and finally beckoning to himthe Duke of Clarence, as high constable, and the Duke of Norfolk, asearl marshal, he said, "Tarry a moment, Sir Count, till we takecounsel in this grave affair." The count bowed sullenly; the spectatorsmaintained an anxious silence; the curtain before the king's gallery wasclosed while the council conferred. At the end of some three minutes,however, the drapery was drawn aside by the Duke of Norfolk; and Edward,fixing his bright blue eye upon the fiery Burgundian, said gravely,"Count de la Roche, your demand is just. According to the laws of thelist, you may fairly claim that the encounter go on."
"Oh, knightly prince, well said! My thanks. We lose time.--Squires, mybassinet!"
"Yea," renewed Edward, "bring hither the count's bassinet. By the laws,the combat may go on at thine asking,--I retract my warderer. But, Countde la Roche, by those laws you appeal to, the said combat must go onprecisely at the point at which it was broken off. Wherefore brace onthy bassinet, Count de la Roche; and thou, Anthony Lord Scales, fix thepike of thine axe, which I now perceive was inserted exactly where theright eye giveth easy access to the brain, precisely in the same place.So renew the contest, and the Lord have mercy on thy soul, Count de laRoche!"
At this startling sentence, wholly unexpected, and yet wholly accordingto those laws of which Edward was so learned a judge, the Bastard'svisage fell. With open mouth and astounded eyes, he stood gazing at theking, who, majestically reseating himself, motioned to the heralds.
"Is that the law, sire?" at length faltered forth the Bastard.
"Can you dispute it? Can any knight or gentleman gainsay it?"
"Then," quoth the Bastard, gruffly, and throwing his axe to the ground,"by all the saints in the calendar, I have had enough! I came hither todare all that beseems a chevalier, but to stand still while Sir AnthonyWoodville deliberately pokes out my right eye were a feat to show thatvery few brains would follow. And so, my Lord Scales, I give thee myright hand, and wish thee joy of thy triumph, and the golden collar."[The prize was a collar of gold, enamelled with the flower of thesouvenance.]
"No triumph," replied the Woodville, modestly, "for thou art only, asbrave knights should be, subdued by the charms of the ladies, which nobreast, however valiant, can with impunity dispute."
So saying, the Lord Scales led the count to a seat of honour nearthe Lord Rivers; and the actor was contented, perforce, to become aspectator of the ensuing contests. These were carried on till late atnoon between the Burgundians and the English, the last maintaining thesuperiority of their principal champion; and among those in themelee, to which squires were admitted, not the least distinguished andconspicuous was our youthful friend, Master Marmaduke Nevile.
The Last of the Barons — Complete Page 31
