the champions rode forth one after the other, each meeting his opponent in the centre of the lists. Sir William Beauchamp went down before the practised lance of the Captal de Buch, Sir Thomas Percy won the vantage over the Lord of Mucident, and the Lord Audley struck Sir Perducas d'Albret from the saddle. The burly De Clisson, however, restored the hopes of the attackers by beating to the ground Sir Thomas Wake of Yorkshire. So far, there was little to choose betwixt challengers and challenged.
'By Saint James of Santiago!' cried Don Pedro, with a tinge of colour upon his pale cheeks, 'win who will, this has been a most noble contest.'
'Who comes next for England, John?' asked the prince, in a voice which quivered with excitement.
'Sir Nigel Loring of Hampshire, sire.'
'Ha! he is a man of good courage, and skilled in the use of all weapons.'
'He is indeed, sire. But his eyes, like my own, are the worse for the wars. Yet he can tilt or play his part at handstrokes as merrily as ever. It was he, sire, who won the golden crown which Queen Philippa, your royal mother, gave to be jousted for by all the knights of England after the harrying of Calais. I have heard that at Twynham Castle there is a buffet which groans beneath the weight of his prizes.'
'I pray that my vase may join them,' said the prince. 'But here is the cavalier of Germany, and, by my soul! he looks like a man of great valour and hardiness. Let them run their full three courses, for the issue is over-great to hang upon one.'
As the prince spoke, amid a loud flourish of trumpets and the shouting of the Gascon party, the last of the assailants rode gallantly into the lists. He was a man of great size, clad in black armour without blazonry or ornament of any kind, for all worldly display was forbidden by the rules of the military brotherhood to which he belonged. No plume or nobloy fluttered from his plain tilting salade, and even his
