I can only bear the doom they have brought upon me!'
It was not possible to remain and argue. A tent was a dangerous place for secret conferences, and Hob Longbow could only growl, 'As you will, Sir. Now nor you nor any one else can say I have not done my charge.'
'Alack, alack!' sighed Richard, 'would that, my honour once redeemed, Hamlyn might make an end of me! But for thee, my poor Leonillo, I have no comforter or friend!' and he flung his arms round the dog's neck.
CHAPTER X-THE COMBAT
'And now with sae sharp of steele They 'gan to lay on load.' Sir Cauline.
Heavy-hearted and pale-cheeked with his rigidly observed fast, Richard armed himself in early morning, and set forth to the chapel tent, where the previous solemnities had to be observed. He had made up his mind to make an earnest appeal to the Earl of Gloucester, for the sake of the old friendship with his father, to become his godfather in the combat, as one whose character stood too high to be injured by connection with him. Even this plan was frustrated, for Hamlyn de Valence entered, led by Earl Gilbert as his sponsor. Should he turn to his one other friend, the Prince himself? Nay, the Prince was umpire and judge. Never stood warrior so lonely. Little John of Dunster crept up to his side; and but for fear of injuring the child, he would almost have asked him to be his sponsor. At that moment, however, the tramp of horses' feet was heard, and Sir Reginald de Ferrieres, with his squires, galloped up to the tent.
The young Hospitalier held out his hand cordially. 'In time, I hope,' said he; 'I have ridden ever since Lauds at Castel San Giovanni, hoping to be with you, so as to stand by you in this matter.'
'It was kindly done of you,' said Richard, tears of gratitude swelling in his eyes, as he wrung Sir Raynald's hand. 'I have not even a godfather for the fight! How could you know of my need?'
'Some of our brethren came over from the camp, for our Ash Wednesday procession, and spoke of the stress you were in-that your Montfort lineage was out, and that you were thought to have writ a letter-but stay, there's no time for words; methinks here's the Prince and all his train.'
Sir Raynald went through the solemnity of presenting Richard de Montfort as about to fight in defence of his own innocence. The Prince coldly accepted the presentation. Richard knew that Sir Raynald was deemed anything but a satisfactory sponsor; but the young knight's hearty sympathy, a sort of radiance caught from good old Sir Robert, was too comforting not to be reposed on.
Each champion then confessed. Raynald heard Richard's shrift, and nearly wept over it-it was the first the young priestly knight had received, and he could scarcely clear his voice to speak the words of absolution. Even as they left the confessional, he grasped Richard's hand and said, 'Cast in thy lot with us! St. John will find thee father and home and brethren!'
And a gleam of joy and hope flashed on the youth's heart, and shone brighter as he participated in the solemn Mass in preparation for the combat. This over, each champion made oath of the justice of his quarrel in the hands of his godfather before the Prince: Hamlyn de Valence swearing that to the best of his belief, Richard de Montfort was a traitor, in league with his brothers, and art and part in the murder of Prince Henry of Almayne, and offering to prove it on his body; while on the other hand Richard swore that he was a true and faithful liegeman to the King, free from all intercourse with his brethren, and sackless of the death of Prince Henry.
Then each mounted on horseback, the trumpets sounded, the sponsors led them to their places, and the Prince's clear voice exclaimed, 'And so God show the right.' One glance of pitying sympathy would have filled Richard's arm with fresh vigour.
The two youths closed with shivered lances, and horses reeling from the shock. Backing their steeds, each received a fresh lance. Again they met; Richard felt the point of Hamlyn's lance glint against his breastplate, glide down, enter, make its way into his flesh; but at the same instant his lance was pushing, driving, bearing on Hamlyn before him; the sheer force in his Plantagenet shoulders was telling now, the very pain seemed as it were to add to the energy with which he pressed on-on, till the hostile spear dropped from his own side, and Hamlyn was borne backwards over the croup of the staggering horse, till he fell with crashing ringing armour upon the ground. Little John clapped his hands, and shouted for joy; but no one responded.
Richard leapt down in another second, and stood over him. 'Yield thee, Hamlyn de Valence. Confess that thou hast slandered me with an ungrounded accusation.'
Hamlyn had no choice. 'Let me rise,' he said sullenly; 'I will confess, so thou letst me open my visor.'
And Richard standing aside, Hamlyn spoke out in a dogged formal tone. 'I hereby own, that by the judgment of Heaven, Richard de Montfort hath cleared himself of all share in the foul murder of Lord Henry, whose soul Heaven assoilzie. Also that he hath disproven the charge of leaguing with his brethren.'
Richard was the victor, but where were the gratulations? Young John's hearty but slender hurrah was lost in the general silence.
The Prince reared his stately form, and said, 'The judgment of Heaven is final. Richard de Montfort is pronounced free of all penalty for treason in the matter of the death of our dear cousin, and is free to go where he will.'
Cold as ice was the Prince's face. That Richard meant murder to Henry, he had never believed; but that he had hankered after his brothers, and held dangerous communings with them, was evidently still credited and unforgiven. The very form of words was a dismissal-and the youth's heart was wrung.
He stood, looking earnestly up as the Prince moved from his place, without a glance towards him. The next moment Raynald's kind hand was on his shoulder, and his voice saying, 'Well fought, brother, a brave stroke! Come with me, thou art hurt.'
'Would it were to the death!' murmured Richard dreamily, as Raynald, throwing his arm round him, led him away; but before they had reached the tent there was a plunging rush and scampering behind them, and John of Dunster came dashing up. 'I knew it! I knew it!' he cried. 'I knew he would overset spiteful Hamlyn! Hurrah! They can't keep me away now, Richard-now the judgment of Heaven has gone for you!'
Richard smiled, and put his gauntleted hand caressingly on the boy's shoulder.
'I was afraid,' added John, 'that you would think me like the rest of them. Miscreants, all! Not one would shout for you-you, the victor! They don't heed the judgment of Heaven one jot. And that's what they call being warriors of the Cross! If the Prince were a true-born Englishman, he would be ashamed of himself. But never heed, Richard. Why don't you speak to me? Are you angered that I told of the letter? Indeed, I never guessed-'
'Hush, varlet,' said Sir Raynald, 'see you not that he has neither breath nor voice to speak? If you wish to do him a service, hie to our tents-down yonder, to the east, where you see the eight-pointed cross-'
'I know, Sir,' said John, perfectly civil on hearing accents as English as his own.
'And bring up Brother Bartlemy, he is a better infirmarer than I. Bid him from me bring his salves and bandages.'
Richard was barely conscious when he reached the tent, as much from rigid fasting and sleeplessness as from the actual loss of blood. His friend disarmed him tenderly, and revived him with bread and wine, silencing a half- murmured scruple about Lenten diet with the dispensation due to sickness. The wound was not likely to be serious or disabling, and the cares of the Hospitalier and his infirmarer had presently set their patient so much at ease that he dropped into a sound sleep, having scarcely said a word, beyond a few faintly uttered thanks, since he had fought the combat.
At first his sleep was profound, but by and by the associations of blows and wounds carried him back to the field of Evesham. The wild melee was renewed, he heard the voice of his father, but always in that strange distressing manner peculiar to dreams of the departed, always far away, and just beyond his reach, ever just about to give him the succour he needed, but ever withheld. The thunderstorm that broke over the contending armies roared again in his ears; and then again recurred the calm still night, when he had lain helpless on the battle-field; even the caress of Leonillo, and his low growl, were vividly repeated; but as the dog moved, it was to Richard as if the form of his father rose up in its armour from the dark field, and said in a deep hollow voice, 'Well fought, my son; I will give thee knighthood.' Then Richard thought he was kneeling before his father, and hearing that same voice saying, 'My son, be true and loyal. In the name of God and St. James. I dub thee knight of death!' and looking up, he beheld under the helmet, not Simon de Montfort's face but the Prince's. He awoke with a start of disappointment-and there stood Edward himself, leaning against the tent-pole, looking down at him!
He sprang on his feet, scarcely knowing whether he slept or woke; but Edward said, in that voice that at times
