"I desire no advantage," rejoined the cuira.s.sier captain. "He may do as he likes; but I shall not lay aside my armour on any account."

"Then your antagonist must arm also," suggested one of the gentlemen, who had accompanied Walter. "The combat cannot go on, till that be arranged."

"No! no!" chimed in several voices, "both should be armed alike."

"Perhaps this gentleman," said one, pointing to the cornet, "will have no objection to lend his for the occasion? That would simplify matters.

It appears to be about the right size."

Stubbs looked towards his captain, as much as to say, "Shall I refuse?"

"Let him have it!" said Scarthe, seeing that the proposal could not well be declined.

"He's welcome to it!" said the cornet, who instantly commenced unbuckling.

There were hands enough to a.s.sist Henry Holtspur in putting on the defensive harness; and, in a few minutes' time, he was encased in the steel accoutrements of the cornet--cuira.s.s and gorget, pauldrons, cuisses, and braces--all of which fortunately fitted, as if they had been made for him.

The helmet still remained in the hand of one of the attendants--who made a motion towards placing it upon Holtspur's head.

"No!" said the latter, pushing it away. "I prefer wearing my beaver."

Then pointing to the trophy set above its brim, he added, "It carries that which will sufficiently protect my head. An English maiden has been insulted, and under the glove of an English maiden shall the insult be rebuked."

"Don't be so confident in the virtue of your pretty trophy," rejoined Scarthe with a sarcastic sneer. "Ere long I shall take that glove from your hat, and stick it on the crest of my helmet. No doubt I shall then have come by it more honestly than you have done."

"Time enough to talk of wearing, when you have won it," quietly retorted the cavalier. "Though, by my troth," added he, returning sneer for sneer, "you should strive hard to obtain it; you stand in need of a trophy to neutralise the loss of your spurs left behind you in the ford of Newburn."

The "ford of Newburn" was Scarthe's especial fiend. He was one of that five thousand hors.e.m.e.n, who under Conway had ignominiously retreated from the Tyne--spreading such a panic throughout the whole English army, as to carry it without stop or stay far into the heart of Yorkshire.

Once before had Holtspur flung the disgraceful souvenir in his teeth; and now to be a second time reproached with it, before a crowd of his countrymen, before his own followers--many of whom had by this time entered within the camp--but above all, in presence of that more distinguished circle of proud and resplendent spectators, standing within earshot, on the moat above--that was the direst insult to which he had ever been subjected. As his antagonist repeated the taunting allusion, his brow already dark, grew visibly darker; while his thin lips whitened, as if the blood had altogether forsaken them.

"Base demagogue!" cried he, hissing the words through his clenched teeth, "your false tongue shall be soon silenced. On the escutcheon of Captain Scarthe there is no stain, save the blood of his enemies, and the enemies of his king. Yours shall be mingled with the rest."

"Come!" cried Holtspur, with an impatient wave of his weapon. "I stand not here for a contest of tongues; in which no doubt the accomplished courtier Scarthe would prove my superior. Our swords are drawn! Are you ready, sir?"

"No," responded Scarthe.

"No?" interrogated his antagonist with a look of surprise. "What--"

"Captain Scarthe is a cuira.s.sier. He fights not a-foot."

"You are the challenged party!" put in Stubbs, "You have the right of choice, captain."

"Our combat then shall be on horseback."

"Thanks for the favour, gentlemen!" responded Holtspur, with a pleased look, "My own wish exactly; though I had scarce hoped to obtain it. You have said the word--we fight on horseback."

"My horse!" shouted Scarthe, turning to one of his troopers. "Bring him up; and let the ground he cleared of this rabble."

There was no necessity for the order last issued. As soon as it had become known, that the combat was to be fought on horseback, the people scattered on all sides--rushing towards the crest of the moat, and there taking their stand--most of them delighted at the prospect of witnessing a spectacle, which, even in those chivalrous times, was of uncommon occurrence.

Volume One, Chapter XIX.

From the commanding eminence, on which were cl.u.s.tered the "quality folks," the preparations had been watched with a vivid interest, and with emotions varying in kind.

"Splendid!" exclaimed Dorothy Dayrell, as the sword-blades were seen clashing together. "Beats the morris dancers all to bits! Just what I like! One of those little interludes not mentioned in the programme of the entertainment. Surely we're going to see a fight?"

Lora Lovelace trembled, as she listened to these speeches.

"Oh, Dorothy Dayrell!" said she, turning upon the latter an upbraiding look, "'Tis too serious for jesting. You do not mean it?"

"But I do mean it, Mistress Lovelace. I'm not jesting. Not a bit of it. I'm quite in earnest, I a.s.sure you."

"Surely you would not wish to see blood spilled?"

"And why not? What care I, so long as it isn't my own blood; or that of one of my friends. Ha! ha! ha! What are either of these fellows to you, or me? I know neither. If they're angry with each other, let them fight it out. Foh-poh! They may _kill_ one another, for aught I care."

"Wicked woman!" thought Lora, without making rejoinder.

Marion Wade overheard the unfeeling utterances; but she was too much occupied with what was pa.s.sing on the plain below, to give heed to them.

That incipient suspicion, though still unsatisfied, was not troubling her now. It had given place to a feeling of apprehension, for the safety of him who had been its object.

"My G.o.d!" she murmured in soliloquy, her hands clasped over her bosom-- the slender white fingers desperately entwining each other. "If he should be killed! Walter! dear Walter!" she cried, earnestly appealing to her brother, "Go down, and stop it! Tell him--tell them they must not fight. O father, _you_ will not permit it?"

"Perhaps I may not be able to hinder them," said Walter, springing out from among the circle of his acquaintances. "But I shall go down. You will not object, father? Mr Holtspur is alone, and may stand in need of a friend."

"Go, my son!" said Sir Marmaduke, pleased at the spirit his son was displaying. "It matters not who, or what, he be. He is our guest, and has been your protector. If they are determined on fighting, see that he be shown fair play."

"Never fear, father!" rejoined Walter, hurrying down the slope. "And if that drunken cornet dare to interfere," continued he, half speaking to himself--"I'll give _him_ a taste of _my_ temper, very different from what he had last night."

As he gave utterance to this threat, the ex-courtier pa.s.sed through the crowd, followed by several other gentlemen; who, from different motives, were also hastening towards the scene of contention.

"Come, Mistress Marion Wade!" whispered Dorothy, in a significant way.

"It is not your wont to be thus tender-hearted. What is it to us, whether they fight or no? It isn't _your_ quarrel. This elegant cavalier, who seems to set everybody beside themselves, is not _your_ champion, is he? If any one has reason to be interested in his fate, by my trow, I should say it was the Maid Marian--_alias_ Bet Dancey. And _certes_, she does seem to take interest in him. See! What's she doing now, the modest creature? By my word, I believe the wench is about to throw herself upon his breast, and embrace him!"

These words entered the ears of Marion Wade with stinging effect.

Suddenly turning she looked down upon the sea of faces, that had thickened, and was swerving around the two men; who were expected soon to become engaged in deadly strife. Many of the cuira.s.siers had arrived upon the ground, and their steel armour now glittered conspicuously among the more sombre vestments of the civilian spectators.

Marion took no note of these; nor of aught else, save the half score figures that occupied the centre of the ring. Scarthe and his cornet, Henry Holtspur, Robin Hood, Little John, and the Friar were there; and there, too, was Maid Marian! What was _she_ doing in the midst of the men? She had thrown herself in front of the cavalier--between him and his adversary. Her hands were upraised--one of them actually resting upon Holtspur's shoulder! She appeared to be speaking in earnest appeal--as if dissuading him from the combat!

"In what way could the daughter of d.i.c.k Dancey be interested in the actions of Henry Holtspur?"

The question came quickly before the mind of Marion Wade, though it rose not to her lips.

"Bravo!" cried Dorothy Dayrell, as she saw that the cavalier was being equipped. "It's going to go on! A combat in full armour! Won't that be fine? It reminds one of the good old times of the troubadours!"

"O Dorothy!" said Lora, "to be merry at such a moment!"

"Hush!" commanded Marion, frantically grasping the jester by the arm, and looking angrily into her eye. "Another word, Mistress Dayrell-- another trifling speech--and you and I shall cease to be friends."

"Indeed!" scornfully retorted the latter. "What a misfortune that would be for me!"