“But not of gentle blood.”
“Nay, it matters not, if they will only fight.”
“Of that there can be no doubt, for the castle is full of archers and men-at-arms who would gladly play a part in the matter.”
“Then choose ten,” said Beaumanoir.
But for the first time the wolf-like squire opened his thin lips.
“Surely, my lord, you will not allow archers,” said he.
“I fear not any man.”
“Nay, fair sir, consider that this is a trial of weapons betwixt us, where man faces man. You have seen these English archers, and you know how fast and how strong are their shafts. Bethink you that if ten of them were against us, it is likely that half of us would be down before ever we came to handstrokes.”
“By Saint Cadoc, William, I think that you are right,” cried the Breton. “If we are to have such a fight as will remain in the memories of men, you will bring no archers and we no crossbows. Let it be steel upon steel. How say you, then?”
“Surely we can bring ten men-at-arms to make up the thirty that you desire, Robert. It is agreed, then, that we fight on no quarrel of England and France, but over this matter of the ladies in which you and Squire Loring have fallen out. And now the time?”
“At once.”
“Surely at once, or perchance a second messenger may come and this also be forbidden. We will be ready with tomorrow’s sunrise.”
“Nay, a day later,” cried the Breton squire. “Bethink you, my lord, that the three lances of Radenac would take time to come over.”
“They are not of our garrison, and they shall not have a place.”
“But, fair sir, of all the lances of Brittany—”
“Nay, William, I will not have it an hour later. Tomorrow it shall be, Richard.”
“And where?”
“I marked a fitting place even as I rode here this evening. If you cross the river and take the bridle-path through the fields which leads to Josselin you come midway upon a mighty oak standing at the corner of a fair and level meadow. There let us meet at midday tomorrow.”
“Agreed!” cried Bambro’. “But I pray you not to rise, Robert! The night is still young, and the spices and hippocras will soon be served. Bide with us, I pray you, for if you would fain hear the latest songs from England, these gentlemen have doubtless brought them. To some of us perchance it is the last night, so we would make it a full one.”
But the gallant Breton shook his head. “It may indeed be the last night for many,” said he, “and it is but right that my comrades should know it. I have no need of monk or friar, for I cannot think that harm will ever come beyond the grave to one who has borne himself as a knight should, but others have other thoughts upon these matters, and would fain have time for prayer and penitence. Adieu, fair sirs, and I drink a last glass to a happy meeting at the midway oak.”
XXIII
How Thirty of Josselin Encountered Thirty of Ploermel
All night the Castle of Ploermel rang with warlike preparations, for the smiths were hammering and filing and riveting, preparing the armour for the champions. In the stable yard hostlers were testing and grooming the great warhorses, whilst in the chapel knights and squires were easing their souls at the knees of old Father Benedict.
Down in the courtyard, meanwhile, the men-at-arms had been assembled, and the volunteers weeded out until the best men had been selected. Black Simon had obtained a place, and great was the joy which shone upon his grim visage. With him were chosen young Nicholas Dagsworth, a gentleman adventurer who was nephew to the famous Sir Thomas, Walter the German, Hulbitée—a huge peasant whose massive frame gave promise which his sluggish spirit failed to fulfil—John Alcock, Robin Adey and Raoul Provost. These with three others made up the required thirty. Great was the grumbling and evil the talk among the archers when it was learned that none of them were to be included, but the bow had been forbidden on either side. It is true that many of them were expert fighters both with axe and with sword, but they were unused to carry heavy armour, and a half-armed man would have short shrift in such a hand-to-hand struggle as lay before them.
It was two hours after tierce, or one hour before noon, on the fourth Wednesday of Lent, in the year of Christ 1351, that the men of Ploermel rode forth from their castle-gate and crossed the bridge of the Duc. In front was Bambro’ with his squire, Croquart, the latter on a great roan horse bearing the banner of Ploermel, which was a black rampant lion holding a blue flag upon a field of ermine. Behind him came Robert Knolles and Nigel Loring, with an attendant at their side, who carried the pennon of the black raven. Then rode Sir Thomas Percy with his blue lion flaunting above him, and Sir Hugh Calverly, whose banner bore a silver owl, followed by the massive Belford, who carried a huge iron club, weighing sixty pounds, upon his saddlebow, and Sir Thomas Walton, the knight of Surrey. Behind them were four brave Anglo-Bretons, Perrot de Commelain, Le Gaillart, d’Aspremont and d’Ardaine, who fought against their own countrymen because they were partisans of the Countess of Montfort. Her engrailed silver cross upon a blue field was carried at their head. In the rear were five German or Hainault mercenaries, the tall Hulbitée, and the men-at-arms. Altogether of these combatants twenty were of English birth, four were Breton, and six were of German blood.
So, with glitter of armour and flaunting of pennons, their warhorses tossing and pawing, the champions rode down to the midway oak. Behind them streamed hundreds of archers and men-at-arms, whose weapons
