CHAPTER X. HOW THE COCKEREL VAUNTED HIMSELF.

"Let the varlets tilt according to size, Master Tom," said Sir John Trenchard. "Master Bowerman, do you and Master Newenhall begin: close your visors."

This was bad news for Willie. As he turned his horse's head to take up his place, that disconsolate youth murmured through the bars of his closed visor,--

"Bowerman, I say, there's little need to tilt in earnest. I won't hit you hard, if you'll only rap on my breastpiece lightly."

But Bowerman only laughed. He was delighted to have so easy an adversary.

"Marry, 'Pig's Eyes,'" he replied, "do thy best, there's the Captain looking on."

With a deep sigh of woe-begone anticipation, poor Willie, whose bones still ached from his last fall, wheeled his horse round at the word of command, and sat facing Bowerman.

"At the word 'Ready,'" said Tom o' Kingston, in a dry, monotonous voice, "you will lay your spears in rest, holding the point on a level with your own eye, and the hand pressed well into the side, keeping the guard well up to the rest. At the word 'Go,' you will clap spurs to your horses, and ride straight for each other."

There was a pause for the combatants to settle themselves well in their saddles, look to any part of their armour that might be amiss, and generally pull themselves together.

"Ready!" called out the esquire.

Down came the lances in a graceful sweep, and the two pages sat waiting for the next word.

"Go!" shouted the instructor, and the previously motionless figures dug their spurs into their horses, and rode at each other.

The two lances struck almost at the same moment, but Bowerman adroitly caught Newenhall's lance on his polished shield, and thus caused it to glance over his left shoulder. His own spear struck his adversary under the rim of the breastplate, where it turned over to protect the gorget. Sliding along the smooth surface of the steel, it held under the roundel which protected the right shoulder, and the miserable Willie was lifted out of the saddle, and hurled once more over the crupper to the ground, while Bowerman, raising his lance aloft, after the proper fashion, trotted round to his own place again, saluting the Breton knight and Sir John Trenchard as he rode past.

"Well and manfully done, Sir Page!" cried the latter warrior.

"Ma foi! oui! il a fait son devoir en bon soudard," said the sire Alain de Kervignac.

The hapless Newenhall lay still upon the ground; not that he was really hurt, beyond being considerably shaken, and bumped about the head; but he wisely thought if it were seen that he were hurt he might be sent indoors, and allowed to sit in Lady Trenchard's room, and be made a fuss of, a state of affairs he dearly loved.

"Is he hurt, think you?" said Sir John Trenchard. "I would be loth that he really got a hurt."

"Nay, Sir John," said Tom o' Kingston, winking at his chief in a knowing fashion, "he'll be all right anon. I know the habits of the lad." Then he called out, "Master Newenhall, the others are going to begin; you'd best get out of the way."

But that astute youth determined not to move. "They'll never be such caitiffs as to ride over me," he thought. However, it looked very much like it, for without any concern the esquire called out,--

"Now, Master Cheke and Master Woodville, 'tis your turn. Lower your beavers."

"You'd best take care, Maurice," said Dicky, as they rode off. "I mean to do my best, and I'm sorry for thee."

"None of thy peppercorn wit, Dicky. I'll topple thee out of thy saddle like a pint pot off a brown jack."

And so the two boys took up their positions, waiting for the word. It was soon given. Down came the lances.

"Go," called the esquire, and the two boys rode at each other manfully enough. They were very equally matched, and struck each other full on their breastplates; but in Dicky's case the lance of his adversary glanced off the sharp edge of the convex corslet, and slipped under his arm, doing him no injury, while his own lance also glanced aside, and the two boys were nearly unseated by their horses' impetus. Had they not both held on tightly by the reins, and been prevented from going backwards by the high-peaked saddle, they must have fallen to the ground. As it was, they remained with their horses stationary, each spear locked under the other's arm.

"Maurice, I shall do thee a mischief," cried Dicky Cheke, through his visor. "Thou hadst best give up, and fall off thy horse. I won't hurt thee then."

"Grammercy for thy gentleness, Master Dicky, but I'll soon have thee down," and the two boys pushed at each other, with the guards of their spears pressing against their breastplates.

"Maurice, I say, don't be such an obstinate pig! I'll give thee all my share of the marchpane of strawberries when we have it again, if thou wilt only fall off this once. I'll promise I'll do it for thee another time."

"That is gammon! Marry come up, my pipkin!" said Maurice ironically, and, pushing and wriggling his lance harder than ever, to the great aggravation of Dicky Cheke, he almost lifted him out of the saddle.

"Maurice, I shall get mad soon," said Dicky, "and then I shall hurt thee. Ah! would'st thou?" and Dicky, dropping his reins, and gripping the saddle with his knees, grasped Maurice's lance with his left hand, and tried to force it back out of his hold.

The two horses were pushing against each other. Suddenly Maurice grasped Dicky's lance, and at the same time backing his horse, he pulled that young gentleman out of the saddle forward, who, however held on all the time to the lance, and thus broke his fall. The moment he was on the ground, he rose to his feet, holding the spear all the time, and fiercely tried to push Maurice out of the saddle. But Sir John Trenchard called out that all was fairly done, and that both had done their devoir as right hardy varlets, but that natheless Woodville had gotten most honour, for he kept his seat while the other was dismounted.

"That's as may be," said the unquenchable Dicky, "albeit, had it been in real lists, I should have driven thee against the barrier, and so I should have won the prize."

Willie Newenhall, when he saw that the boys really were to tilt across the very place where he was lying, with no more concern for him than if he had been a log of wood, vowing vengeance on the two youngsters, rolled out of the way, and got up sulkily enough, limping back to the place where his well-trained horse was standing, and appearing in great distress. But as no one took any notice of him, with a growl of disgust at their heartlessness, he gave up the game, and stood watching the others.

"Now, Master Bowerman, an thou art in good wind again, here's Master Lisle ready for a course with thee."

"Right willing I am," answered Bowerman, who felt highly elated at the success of his first essay, and the praises he had received. In addition to this, he had long hoped to have an opportunity of effectually quenching Ralph, to whom he had taken a dislike the moment he saw him, and which had been increased by many circumstances since.

The two took up their respective positions and awaited the word of command. There was a certain swagger of easy self-assurance in Bowerman as he trotted his horse to his post, saluting the Captain of the Wight, who was standing at his window.

By this time there was a considerable concourse of spectators, for it was drawing near chapel time, and the garrison was assembling to fall in.

Tom o' Kingston glancing at the two figures, who looked very equally matched, called out "Ready," quickly followed by the command to go.

The well-trained horses hardly needed the spur, so perfectly accustomed were they to the words of command. They broke at once into a canter, and with levelled lances the two combatants met exactly in the middle of the ground. Bowerman's lance struck Ralph full and fair under the gorget, and flew into a thousand splinters. The blow was a rude one, and Ralph staggered under it; but his own lance had been aimed at his antagonist's visor, and took far more severe effect than he intended. The visor was forced violently up, and a splinter from Bowerman's own lance, struck him full under the eye at the same moment, inflicting a severe wound. The shock of Ralph's well-aimed blow, together with the pain of the splinter cut, caused Bowerman to reel in his seat, and as the spear had caught in the bars of the visor, he was borne backwards out of the saddle, and hurled to the ground.

"My faith,'twas well done!" cried Sir John Trenchard, while all the bystanders raised a shout of congratulation, for Ralph was already a great favourite with them all.

But Ralph, directly he saw what had happened, thought no more of the tilt, and how he ought to have ridden round and saluted the judges and spectators. He only saw Bowerman on the ground, bleeding from the severe wound under the eye, which looked worse than it really was. He instantly reined in his horse, threw down his spear, and leaped to the ground.

"Oh, Bowerman, I am so sorry!" he cried, as he stooped down to help to raise him.

"Get up, you fool!" answered Bowerman, in furious wrath. "Do you think I am a girl, that I want your whinings and whimperings? Get away, you viper you, had my lance not gone all to pieces, you'd have been lying on your back instead of me. Tom ought to have given me a new one. He should have known it was sprung in the first course."

So saying, and fiercely wrathful, Bowerman spurned all offer of assistance from Ralph, and rose from the ground. The others had now come forward, seeing the blood flowing from the wound, and Bowerman was taken to Lady Trenchard to have the cut attended to.

The bell was now tolling, and the other pages had no time to doff their armour. Hastily walking their horses over to the stables, they hurried into chapel.

When the service was over they withdrew to their common room, in the north-west side of the Captain's apartments, and talked over the events of their first trial at real tilting in armour, while they ate their meal.

Newenhall was very sulky. He complained of severe pains in his head, and said it was a great shame he was not allowed to go to the sick-room,--that Bowerman was no worse than he was, and he was always treated unfairly.

Dicky and Maurice nearly had their harmony spoilt by bickering over their contest; and Ralph was very much distressed at the accident that had happened to Bowerman, and of which he was the unwilling cause, while he was still more grieved at the evident animosity with which Bowerman regarded him.

"I tell thee what, Lisle," said Dicky, who was in a very rasping mood, "it was lucky for thee that Bowerman's spear went all to pieces, or he would have had thee out of the saddle as roughly as he knocked over 'Pig's Eyes.'"

"No he wouldn't," said Maurice. "I saw it all, and it would have gone just the same had Bowerman's spear kept sound. Lisle had got him neatly in the beaver--nothing could have kept him in his seat."

"That's all you know about it! Why, couldn't he have held on to the reins?"

"And what'd be the use of that, when he was being knocked over sideways?"

And so the boys wrangled until they were set to work by the chaplain.

After they had been working rather less steadily than usual, and Dicky had drawn down upon his head some very severe rebukes from Sir Simon Halberd, while "Pig's Eyes" was so very much more stupid than ordinary that even the gentle Sir Simon's commonly placid spirit was ruffled, and he complained loudly of his dulness, a message came that Ralph Lisle was wanted in the Captain's room.

Wondering what was the matter, Ralph hastily complied with the summons. On opening the Captain's door, he found Lord Woodville pacing up and down the room. Seeing Ralph enter, he stopped, and greeted him with a kindly smile.

"My child," he said, "thou bearedst thyself right gallantly this morning, and I liked thy courtesy and gentleness even more than thy prowess. Go on like that and thou wilt make a full, gentle, perfect knight; for gentleness, courtesy, and thought for others become a good knight quite as much as hardihood and masterfulness."

Ralph's face glowed with joy at these commendations from his lord, and he rejoiced to hear this renowned and skilful warrior using very nearly the same words as his father had done on the eve of his quitting home.

"I have sent for thee, my page, to tell thee I have heard no news of thy lost missive. Thinkest thou now that the whole matter was but a dream?"

Ralph had by this time forgotten all about the last night's adventure. It all came before him in its startling reality. It could not have been a dream.

"My lord," he answered, "I think it was no dream; how could my clothes have been all soiled with grass and earth if it were a dream?"

Lord Woodville smiled at the earnestness of the boy, and said,--

"Well, we will go a-hawking that way this afternoon, and thou shalt come with us to show us this terrible scene--perchance we may find trace of thy strange caitiffs. Thou must even don thy best, for thy fair kinswoman, the Mistress Yolande, is to be of our company."

Ralph would have given worlds not to have coloured up as he did, but he was never master of himself when that fair lady's name was mentioned.

"We shall be a large band; I would that Bowerman could be of it, but I hear his hurt needs care; it is parlous near his eye, and was a marvellous narrow chance."

As Ralph left the room he could have danced with joy at the delightful prospect before him. He went out to direct Humphrey to get his horse well groomed, and have his smartest attire put out for him, and, brimful of happiness, was returning to the room where the studies were still going on. As he passed the chapel door he found a concourse of men standing round it. Pushing in among them, he saw a parchment affixed to the door, and two shields of arms hanging up. His heart leaped within him. It was the public announcement of the tilt or joust.

Not many of the bystanders could read, and the two or three who were laboriously spelling out the words for the benefit of the rest, were bidden to stand aside to let Ralph read it aloud. Pleased to be able to make use of his superior advantages, Ralph read out, in a loud voice, the long and wordy cartel or general challenge, which was the formal way of announcing a tilt, joust, or tourney. After reciting the names and degree of the challengers, or appellants, which took up several lines, the proclamation went on to say that "they were prepared to meet all comers at a joust, to run in jousting harness along a tilt, and that they do this, not out of presumption, but only for the laud and honour of the feast"--it was to take place on St Michael and All Angels' Day--"for the pleasure of the ladies, and their own learning and exercise of deeds of arms, and to enserve the ancient laudable customs." It further went on to declare that "the said worshipful knights, Sir Alain de Kervignac and Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené, would be at the tilt-yard of Carisbrooke Castle by eleven of the clock before noon, to run six courses with any comer ensuing, the comers to choose their own spears; and if the said six courses be finished before sundown, then they may be at liberty to begin other six courses. And if any man's horse faileth before he be disarmed, then his fellow may go on and finish the course for his companion."

The prizes were a ruby ring and a diamond ring. The cartel was signed by the Breton knights, and scaled with their signets, and it was countersigned by "Edward Wydevil, knight, commonly called the Lord Woodville, Lord and Captain of the Isle of Wight," and sealed with his coat of arms. It also further set forth that on the second day there would be a tourney with sword strokes. There were to be eighteen hand strokes, but no knight was to "foine" or thrust with the sword point, on pain of instant dismissal from the lists. The strokes were to be given on foot, and with sword and axes at barriers.

There was a general hum of applause after Ralph had finished.

"Marry, these Frenchman have done full knightly," said one.

"Ay, you may say so! but I would we had more knights," said another. "There's none now in the island who are skilled in the joust."

"There'll have to be some overrunners[*] asked over," said a third.

[*] The local name for newcomers or "foreigners" from the mainland to the Isle of Wight.

"If only that right hardy knight Sir George Lisle of Briddlesford, old Sir William's son, were in these parts now," said the first speaker.

"I never heard tell of him," replied the other.

"Why should you, comrade? 'Tis many years since he's been heard of. There's some as said he were lately come over with the Lord Lincoln to Stoke field, and died there in harness, fighting with his face to the foe, by the side of the Lord Geraldine, Captain Martin Swartz, Sir Thomas Broughton, and all those lusty Allemaynes who gave us such hard knocks ere we made them give in. But I were with the Herald when we searched the field, and never saw him there; and I should have known him alive or dead anywhere. We were boys together down Briddlesford way."

"Now you've named Sir George Lisle, that minds me," said the second soldier, "that when King Edward was alive, he was in rare favour with the king, who gave him in marriage a right lovely lady. But there was some talk of his lady, how, when he was away in France with old Bear and Ragged Staff, she went off with some one, I don't rightly remember who."

"Silence, man, an you value your tongue!" said his comrade. "That's a tale you'd best not call to mind hereabouts," he added significantly.

Ralph, full of the news, was going off to the pages' room, when he noticed the shields.

"What are they for?" he asked of the old man-at-arms who had just spoken so pointedly to his more garrulous comrade.

"I' faith, when a knight wants to take up their challenge, he smiteth on these shields, and his name and lineage are taken down by the clerk or herald appointed to put in the roll of the tilt the names of those who come to take their challenge."

Ralph longed to be able to hit that shield.

"Are any who are not knights admitted to the joust?" he asked..

"Sometimes, but very rarely. Howbeit, the judges have the right to let in whomsoever they choose, provided he be of noble or gentle birth."

This was enough for Ralph. He would leave no stone unturned to obtain leave to splinter a lance in the approaching jousts. As he thought of it, the colour came into his face; he pictured himself riding in the lists, armed cap-à-pié, winning the prize under the lovely blue eyes of the fair Yolande. As he crossed the yard, deep in this delightful thought, he ran against a man in a monastic dress, who had just entered by the main gate.

"Certes, my son, thou shouldest give heed to thy steps," said the monk, as he staggered under the unprovoked assault.