“This is Tilford,” said Chandos. “Yonder is the house of the Lorings.”
The King’s expectations had been aroused and his face showed his disappointment.
“Is this the sport that you have promised us, Sir John? How can you make good your words?”
“I will make them good, my liege.”
“Where, then, is the sport?”
On the high crown of the bridge a rider in armour was seated, lance in hand, upon a great yellow steed. Chandos touched the king’s arm and pointed. “That is the sport,” said he.
IX
How Nigel Held the Bridge at Tilford
The king looked at the motionless figure, at the little crowd of hushed expectant rustics beyond the bridge, and finally at the face of Chandos, which shone with amusement.
“What is this, John?” he asked.
“You remember Sir Eustace Loring, sire?”
“Indeed I could never forget him nor the manner of his death.”
“He was a knight-errant in his day.”
“That indeed he was—none better have I known.”
“So is his son Nigel, as fierce a young war-hawk as ever yearned to use beak and claw; but held fast in the mews up to now. This is his trial flight. There he stands at the bridgehead, as was the wont in our fathers’ time, ready to measure himself against all comers.”
Of all Englishmen there was no greater knight-errant than the king himself, and none so steeped in every quaint usage of chivalry; so that the situation was after his own heart.
“He is not yet a knight?”
“No, sire, only a squire.”
“Then he must bear himself bravely this day if he is to make good what he has done. Is it fitting that a young untried squire should venture to couch his lance against the best in England?”
“He hath given me his cartel and challenge,” said Chandos, drawing a paper from his tunic. “Have I your permission, sire, to issue it?”
“Surely, John, we have no cavalier more versed in the laws of chivalry than yourself. You know this young man, and you are aware how far he is worthy of the high honour which he asks. Let us hear his defiance.”
The knights and squires of the escort, most of whom were veterans of the French war, had been gazing with interest and some surprise at the steel-clad figure in front of them. Now at a call from Sir Walter Manny they assembled round the spot where the king and Chandos had halted. Chandos cleared his throat and read from his paper—
“ ‘A tous seigneurs, chevaliers et escuyers,’ so it is headed, gentlemen. It is a message from the good Squire Nigel Loring of Tilford, son of Sir Eustace Loring, of honourable memory. Squire Loring awaits you in arms, gentlemen, yonder upon the crown of the old bridge. Thus says he: ‘For the great desire that I, a most humble and unworthy squire, entertain, that I may come to the knowledge of the noble gentlemen who ride with my royal master, I now wait on the Bridge of the Way in the hope that some of them may condescend to do some small deed of arms upon me, or that I may deliver them from any vow which they may have taken. This I say out of no esteem for myself, but solely that I may witness the noble bearing of these famous cavaliers and admire their skill in the handling of arms. Therefore, with the help of Saint George, I will hold the bridge with sharpened lances against any or all who may deign to present themselves while daylight lasts.”
“What say you to this, gentlemen?” asked the king, looking round with laughing eyes.
“Truly it is issued in very good form,” said the prince. “Neither Claricieux nor Red Dragon nor any herald that ever wore tabard could better it. Did he draw it of his own hand?”
“He hath a grim old grandmother who is one of the ancient breed,” said Chandos. “I doubt not that the Dame Ermyntrude hath drawn a challenge or two before now. But hark ye, sire, I would have a word in your ear—and yours too, most noble prince.”
Leading them aside, Chandos whispered some explanations, which ended by them all three bursting into a shout of laughter.
“By the rood! no honourable gentleman should be reduced to such straits,” said the king. “It behoves me to look to it. But how now, gentlemen? This worthy cavalier still waits his answer.”
The soldiers had all been buzzing together; but now Walter Manny turned to the king with the result of their counsel.
“If it please your majesty,” said he, “we are of opinion that this squire hath exceeded all bounds in desiring to break a spear with a belted knight ere he has given his proofs. We do him sufficient honour if a squire ride against him, and with your consent I have chosen my own body-squire, John Widdicombe, to clear the path for us across the bridge.”
“What you say, Walter, is right and fair,” said the king. “Master Chandos, you will tell our champion yonder what hath been arranged. You will advise him also that it is our royal will that this contest be not fought upon the bridge, since it is very clear that it must end in one or both going over into the river, but that he advance to the end of the bridge and fight upon the plain. You will tell him also that a blunted lance is sufficient for such an encounter, but that a handstroke or two with sword or mace may well be exchanged, if both riders should keep their saddles. A blast upon Raoul’s horn shall be the signal to close.”
Such ventures as these where an aspirant for fame would wait for days at a crossroad, a ford, or a
