CHAPTER XXI. OF THE COMBAT à OUTRANCE.

After the Captain of the Wight and the stranger knight had gravely saluted each other, there was a pause. The silence was broken by Lord Woodville.

"Sir Knight," he said, "you have challenged me to mortal combat. You have flung charges in my teeth that are false and foul. You have aspersed the name which you, of all men, ought most to reverence, and yet, rebel as you are, you have put yourself in my hands as Captain for the King. I come here as plain Edward Woodville, knight and simple gentleman. The Captain of the Wight has laid aside his authority to give the lie to your words, and to prove on your body the truth of his. But before we try the judgment of battle, for the sake of one who is utterly free from the vile taunts you have flung forth, I would fain tell you that as that moon floats pure and serene in yonder azure sky, so that name is as unsullied, and that life as chaste. If you are still fain to try the hazard of battle, maugre my solemn statement, here am I ready to meet you, as man to man, and may Heaven defend the right. Thou well knowest thou hast done to me the cruellest wrong one man can do to another on this earth. Thou hast blighted two lives, and thou wouldst defame them as well. If any man longed for vengeance, 'twere certes I who ought to pray for it. Yet, Heaven knoweth, I harbour no thoughts of revenge, and I would be well content that thou and I should never meet. Thou hast taken a bold step, and one that doeth credit to my knightly honour more than all thy base aspersions have done to assail it, by coming to my government, and putting thyself in my power, well knowing that for a private wrong no belted knight who deserved the name would use the power of his office to wreak vengeance on a personal foe by means of the authority given him by the King. But in sparing a fugitive from Stoke field, and in not handing him up to the royal power, I may be tried for my life, and lose all worldly renown in a traitor's death. Knowing this, thou hast put it to the hazard, and to wreak vengeance on me hast cared naught that in sparing thee I am running the chance of dying on the block. Trusting to my chivalry, and safe from my authority, because thou knewest I would use no power over thee but such as my own arm and stout lance could give me, thou hast yet dared to jeopardise my life and fame, only to meet me in mortal fight. Sir Knight, thou hast done ill, but no worse than thou hast done in all thy life."

The strange knight listened silently to the Lord Woodville. He waited to hear if he were going to say more; but after a little pause, seeing that the Captain of the Wight had finished his speech, he replied, briefly and bitterly,--

"Sir Edward Woodville--commonly called Lord Woodville,--I am here to fight, not to bandy words. I believe thou art a full worshipful knight, and therefore I did thee the honour of trusting to thy courtesy, and I was not mistaken; but as for what thou sayest, I believe not one word. Well know I that the trained and pretty merlin will return to the hand of him who trained her--while even the lanner will go back at the call of the lure. Say no more. That thou hast left me unmolested, I thank thee; for the ill thou hast done, I hate thee, and mean on thy body to take full vengeance for mine own dishonour. Let us waste no more words, but begin; I scorn thee, hate thee, and thirst to be revenged on thee."

No more words were spoken. The two knights wheeled round their horses, and paced back a sufficient distance. Then turning about, they faced each other.

The scene looked strange and spectral. The moon, blurred by a flitting mist, which flickered over its face, shone down on the ghostly figures of the gleaming horsemen. The two esquires, encased, like their lords, in complete harness, sat motionless on their horses a little behind the chief actors in the coming duel. The dark forms of the two foot men were dimly to be seen to the left of the horsemen; while beyond the silent group, the grey sea stretched away and away until it seemed to rise to the leaden clouds which hung like a livid pall beneath the silvery moon. On either side rose the dim downs, and over all a light mist clung to the shimmering landscape, making the weird figures seem more phantomlike in their faint and misty vagueness. There was nothing human in the scene. The grim forms, the strange-shaped helmets, the utter absence of all external signs of life in those steel-cased horsemen, their powerful chargers weirdly hidden in polished steel, all combined to make them look like huge monsters of a far-gone age returned to visit by the pale moonlight the haunts of their prehistoric life. Only the steam from the nostrils of the warhorses gave the least sign of actual existence to the scene. Around were the everlasting hills; beyond, the ever restless sea; above, the infinite vault of space, with the scarred and blighted face of the vapourless moon looking down on the puny strife of men whose little lives and passions are to the universe but as the indistinguishable pulses of the tiniest of microbes or as the froth of a bubble floating in infinity.

Without waiting for any word, the two knights, as if by a common impulse, clapped spurs to their chargers, and with lance in rest, and bodies well down under their shields, rode fiercely for each other. This was no gentle tilt with blunted lances, but each knight knew his existence was at stake, and that in the keen thrust of the gleaming spear-point lay life or death. They met in a hurtling crash, and the noise of splintering wood and clanging metal rang through the silence of the night. For a moment no one knew what had happened; but as the two horses broke away, it was seen that they trotted off without their riders.

Scarcely waiting to see what had happened, Ralph caught his lord's war-horse, and returned to his place. Eagerly he looked to see what had been the result. One knight had risen from the ground; the other was attempting to do so, but only feebly moved. Ralph rode nearer, and the other three figures advanced also. The excitement in Ralph's heart was intense: what should he do if his dearly loved lord were slain? A fierce thought rose. He would hurl himself on the others, and either avenge his master, or die in the attempt.

But as he drew nearer, his bitter anxiety was changed to joy. It was Lord Woodville who was on his feet, and standing over the writhing body of his antagonist.

"Yield thee, Sir George Lisle!" said the Captain of the Wight, in a stern, but feeble voice.

"I yield to no man!" came back the fierce answer, still more faintly hissed through the closed helm. "Do thy worst!"

For a moment Lord Woodville seemed uncertain what to do. He held his keen poignard in his left hand, and his drawn sword in the other, and held the point of it to the narrow opening in the close-shut helm.

But before he could form a decided resolve, a fierce voice called out,--

"Upon him, and revenge your lord."

And with lowered lance the man-at-arms charged the Captain of the Wight, while the two sturdy varlets sprang at Ralph. But the young esquire, hearing the words and seeing the movement, with a touch of the spur leaped his horse in front of his lord, and received the lance-thrust of the man-at-arms on his shield, dealing his assailant a fierce buffet in return.

"Ah, caitiff!" cried Ralph. "Vile traitor that thou art, thou shall rue thy villainy!"

"Shall I, in sooth, sir upstart?" sneered a well-known voice. "Thou hast escaped me once, but now I have thee. See, thy lord is falling to the ground."

Ralph turned instinctively to look, and at the same moment received a stunning blow on the side of his helmet which nearly knocked him out of the saddle; but he quickly recovered himself, and flinging down his lance, he seized his martel de fer, or mace, and reining his horse backwards, he dealt the varlet who was attacking Lord Woodville a terrific blow on the head, instantly felling the man to the ground. But it was true, Lord Woodville had fallen to the ground, and the other footman was upon him. Ralph, without a moment's hesitation, sprang from his horse and struck wildly at the man, who was just wrenching off Lord Woodville's helmet. The blow took only partial effect, but it drew the attention of the man to him, and with an oath he turned savagely upon the young esquire.

The odds were terribly against him.

"Have at the coxcomb, Dan; he's only good for tilting before ladies, and only then when they bribe their lovers to spare his dainty youth," called out the man-at-arms, as he prepared to strike Ralph again with his uplifted sword. But Ralph did not yet lose hope. The love of life was strong in him. He closed with the half-armed varlet, and dealt him a blow with his poignard, which he had now drawn. The man uttered a fearful imprecation, and cut at Ralph with his axe; but the harness of the young esquire was good, and the weapon only glanced aside. Seeing how little use was his axe, the man dropped it, and drew his dagger also, closing with Ralph, and trying to drive the point through the bars of his visor. But the boy had been well taught, and he parried the thrust on his steel gauntlet, dealing his foe a deep stab with his right hand.

"Strike him, youngster, strike him!" shouted the man, in fierce rage. "What art standing there for seeing him murdering me?"

"How can I strike him without doing thee a mischief, old stockfish? Get thyself away, and I'll soon do for him."

But Ralph fully understood his advantage, and wrestled with the man until they both fell to the ground over the prostrate body of Lord Woodville.

The man-at-arms now got off his horse and came to the assistance of the varlet who had fallen upon Ralph, but was severely wounded.

"Drive thy sword through his visor," gasped the man, whose arms were held by Ralph, who was struggling to regain his feet.

The keen point played around the helmet of the esquire, who by twisting and turning his head prevented the thrust from taking effect, but, held as he was by the weight of the varlet above him, he could not hope to avoid the blow much longer.

"Wrench off his helm, man!" cried the impatient man-at-arms.

"How can I? Don't you see he's got hold of my arms?" said the other, in a gruff voice, which was growing fainter. "Stab him! why don't ye? Stab him!"
"HE DROVE HIS DAGGER INTO THE CAITIFF ABOVE HIM."
"HE DROVE HIS DAGGER INTO THE CAITIFF ABOVE HIM."

Ralph made one more desperate effort; he drove his dagger into the caitiff above him, who with a deep groan ceased struggling and rolled over, thus freeing Ralph, who sprang to his feet and turned upon the man-at-arms.

The young esquire still had his mace hanging from the chain slung round his right arm. Seizing it in his gauntleted hand, and transferring his dagger to his left, he struck furiously at the steel-clad figure before him, parrying at the same time with his dagger a dangerous thrust aimed at his visor. The mace crashed on the helmet of his foe, and a smothered exclamation of pain and rage came from out the barred morion.

Cutting wildly at the gorget of the young esquire, the man-at-arms turned and made a dash for his horse.

"Stay, man-at-arms! Turn, caitiff that thou art!" called Ralph after him. "Ah, recreant esquire, get thee gone, then, coward that thou art!" and Ralph, who was thinking more of his lord than of the pursuit of his cowardly assailant, turned back from following him to attend to his prostrate chief.

As he bent over Lord Woodville, he noticed a dark patch on his shining armour. There was a deep dent in the globular breast-plate, and the broken end of a lance head was sticking in it.

Ralph was in despair; the Captain of the Wight lay motionless in his harness; the silence was broken only by the cry of a sea-fowl as it circled over head, and the distant thud of the sea as it rolled on the shore below. Was Ralph the only living thing in that lonely valley among the solemn hills?

He undid the buckle of his lord's helmet, and reverently removed the cumbrous tilting-helm. As he did so he heard a faint sigh from the stricken knight, and as the moonlight fell on his noble features he opened his eyes.

"My lord, my lord, thou art not dead!" cried Ralph in joy. But no answer came back, the eyes had closed again, and despair once more seized on the young esquire.

What could he do? He looked round. What was it that flickered against his face? The air was piercingly cold, and the moon had become obscured by a thickening of the air. Ralph had opened his visor, that he might attend his lord more easily. Again something flickered in his face, cold and feathery. It was snowing.

Here was a fresh cause for anxiety. Alone in that sequestered valley, who could bring them help? And he did not dare to leave his lord alone, for fear that caitiff should return to finish the murderous work. As Ralph looked round in despair at the dreary scene, his heart sank within him. The landscape was fast becoming one grey indistinguishable blot, and the feeble light of the hidden moon was turning to a sickly livid hue. In a short time, too, he knew the moon would set.

A faint noise on the left caused Ralph to look round. The four bodies lay still and stark; but there was something moving out of the grey obscurity of the distance. Ralph closed his visor and handled his sword. The dark object drew nearer, and a yellow spark seemed to be coming with it. Ralph called out,--

"Whoever thou art, hasten thy steps; if foe, that I may handle thee, or if friend, that thou mayest help my lord."

"'Tis a friend, my son, and I come apace as fast as my stiffening joints will let me," cried a deep voice.

"Thank Heaven!" murmured the esquire. "Then my lord will not die."

By this time the dim shadow had come nearer, and Ralph saw that there were two figures--one tall and burly, the other short and slight. Both were draped in long cloaks, partially covered with the fast-falling snow. The taller of the new comers carried a lantern.

Dim and ghostly the figures looked in their peaked hoods and long mantles, entirely concealing face and form.

"Ah! we have come in time: no, no, too late!" and the slighter figure uttered a shrill and bitter cry of pain, as it bent over the lifeless mass of armour which held the unknown knight.

"Look to my lord first," said Ralph shortly.

"My son, 'tis the young child's father; my lord will wait," answered the elder stranger mildly, as he went to help his childish companion.

But Ralph barred the way.

"Whoever thou art, thou shall see to my lord first," he cried, in a resolute tone.

Seeing the fierceness of the youth, the old man quietly answered,--

"As thou wilt, my son; but thou shouldest respect youth, old age, and filial grief. But go thou and help the child, while I attend to thy lord."

Ralph, rebuked, did as he was told, there was such dignity, gentleness, and authority in the voice and manner of the tall stranger.

It was now very difficult to see. The moon had set, and the snow was falling fast, while the wind sighed mournfully through the withered boughs and twigs of the lonely thorn tree.

"May God have mercy on all dying souls!" murmured the dim shadow as it bent over the pale face of Lord Woodville; and Ralph could have sobbed aloud in anguish of heart as he felt his lord was dead.

"Oh, help me! help me! Master Lisle!" cried the agonised voice of the other stranger, shivering with cold and pain of heart. "Undo his helm or he will die, an he be not gone already," and a piteous sob of utter woe broke from the crouching figure.

Ralph, thinking only of his sorrow, did not notice the keen grief of the other, but he hastened up nevertheless, and speedily undid the helm.

"Oh, father! father!" sobbed the shivering voice; "speak, father!"

But no sound came from the set mouth, and the child broke out into piteous distress, sobbing and choking as though her heart would break.

Ralph was touched. Even in his own stony sorrow he felt for the poor child.

"Nay, nay, he may not be dead," he said, trying to comfort her. "See, he moves!" he cried, noticing a quiver of the gauntleted hand.

"Let me look, my son," said the gentle voice of the other stranger. "Go thou, catch yonder horse; thy lord lives, and will recover."

"Will he?" cried Ralph joyously, springing up and going in search of the horses, which, well trained as they were, were standing under the shelter of the thorn-bush out of the fast-driving snow.

When he returned leading the two horses, he was delighted to find Lord Woodville sitting up.

"My fair boy," said the Captain of the Wight, in a faint voice, "thou must help me on to my charger and lead me home. I have been hard stricken, albeit the wound is not mortal. But before thou aidest me, see to the state of Sir George Lisle: I would be loth he should die."

Lord Woodville spoke with difficulty, and paused between his words.

Ralph did as he was told, and found the two shrouded figures still bending over the inanimate knight.

"The Lord Woodville hath sent me to make inquiry of the knight--how fareth he?"

"Make answer that he is sore stricken, and in parlous case; but an we may get him to a place of shelter, he may do well."

Ralph returned and reported the message.

"Is there no other horse but mine? If not, take mine and leave me here," said Lord Woodville simply.

He had drawn his sword, and was holding it by the blade before him. The sword thus held had all the proportions of a Latin cross.

"'Thou shalt love thine enemies. Do good to those who hate thee,'" murmured the wounded Captain of the Wight.

"My lord, there is the knight's own horse, or he can have mine."

"Haste thee, then! gentle youth, for his wounds and mine are growing stiff, and there is need of shelter," faintly gasped the wounded Captain.

With rather more difficulty Ralph caught the other horse, and led it up to the little group in the snow. Then, by dint of hard exertion, the Hermit of St Catherine's--for it was he who had come to their aid--and Ralph lifted the wounded knight on to his horse, and the old man holding him in his high-peaked saddle, with the slight figure leading the horse by its bridle, they disappeared in the grey obscurity.

Ralph now returned to his lord. To his surprise and joy he found the Captain of the Wight had risen to his feet. The Hermit had removed the corslet, extracted the spear-head, and staunched the wound with some balsam and simples for healing sword or lance wounds. With effort he was able to mount his horse, and with Ralph holding the bridle, and ready to steady his lord in his saddle should he feel faint or giddy, the two figures wended their way over the snow towards Carisbrooke Castle.

It was a weary journey, and Ralph never felt so relieved in his life as when he descried the noble pile standing up black and grand in the midst of the white landscape.

With wonderful courage and resolution Lord Woodville sat erect in his saddle as they entered by the little postern gate, at which only one archer was on guard. He so carried himself until they reached the door of his own apartments, then, dismounting with Ralph's aid, he staggered to a settle in the hall and fainted away.

Ralph had presence of mind enough not to disturb the house. He went to Lady Trenchard's apartments and called her. That prudent lady soon came, and with her husband's assistance they managed to get the Lord Woodville to his room. Seeing his lord in safe hands, Ralph left to look after the horses. But Humphrey had already led them away, and in a few moments more Ralph, with the aid of his trusty varlet, had taken off his harness, and was soon fast asleep.

When he awoke next morning, the chapel bell was tolling, and he could hear the merry voices of the other pages as they lounged round the hall door before going into chapel. All things seemed as usual, but one more strange adventure had added its experience to the life of Ralph. He could scarcely believe it was little more than half a year since he had left his home.