Calli was facing the pavilion, and Yolanda's leap probably attracted his attention. However that may have been--perhaps it was because of Calli's haste, perhaps it was the will of G.o.d--the blow fell short, and Calli's battle-axe, glancing from Max's helmet, buried itself in the hard ground. While Calli was struggling to release his axe, Yolanda cleared the low barrier of the true lists, sped across the intervening s.p.a.ce like a flash of red avenging flame, and reached Max not one second too soon, for Calli's axe was again uplifted. She fell upon Max, and had the axe descended she would have received the blow. Calli stepped back in surprise, his heel caught on the toe of Max's iron boot, he fell p.r.o.ne upon his back, and the weight of his armor prevented him from rising quickly. The glancing blow on Max's helmet had roused him, and when he moved Yolanda rose to her knees beside him.

"Let me help you," she cried, lifting Max's mailed hand to her shoulder; Max did so, and by help of the frail girl he drew himself to his knees and then to his feet. Meantime, Calli was attempting to rise. I can still see the terrible picture. Calli's panting horse stood near by with drooping head. Max's charger lay quivering in the convulsions of death.

Calli, whose helmet had dropped from his head when he fell, lay resting on his elbow, half risen and bareheaded. Max stood deliberately taking his battle-axe from his girdle chain, while Yolanda still knelt at his feet. Battle-axe in hand, Max stepped toward Calli, who had risen to his knees. The expression on the Italian's face I shall never forget. With bared head and upturned face he awaited the death that he knew he deserved. Max lifted his battle-axe to give the blow. I wondered if he would give it. He lowered the axe, and a shout went up from the pavilion:--

"Kill him! Kill him!"

He lifted the axe again, and a silence like the hush of death fell upon the shouting audience. Again Max hesitated, and I distinctly heard Yolanda, who was still upon her knees, whisper:--

"Kill him! Kill him!"

Then came the shouts of a thousand voices, thrilling me to the marrow:--

"Kill him! Kill him!" and I knew that if I were standing in Max's shoes, Calli would die within a moment. I also remember wondering in a flash of thought if Max were great enough to spare him. Again the battle-axe came slowly down, and the din in the pavilion was deafening:--

"Kill him! Kill him!"

Again the battle-axe rose; but after a pause, Max let it fall to the ground behind him; and, turning toward the girl, lifted her with his mailed hands to her feet. When she had risen Max looked into her face, and, falling back a step, exclaimed in a voice hushed by wonder:--

"Yolanda!"

His words coming to the girl's ears, like a far-away sound, from the cavernous recesses of his helmet, frightened her.

"No, no, my name is not Yolanda. You are mistaken. You do not know me.

I--I am the princess. You do not know me."

Her words were prompted by two motives: she wished to remain unknown to Max, and she feared lest her father should come to know that a great part of her life was spent as a burgher girl. Her hands were clasped at her breast; her face was as pale as a gray dawn; her breath came in feeble gusts, and her words fell haltingly from her lips. She took two steps forward, her eyes closed, and she began to fall. Max caught her and lifted her in his strong arms. On great occasions persons often do trivial acts. With Yolanda held tightly in the embrace of his left arm, Max stooped to the ground and picked up his battle-axe with his right hand. Then he strode to the north end of the lists and placed the girl in my arms.

"Yolanda," he said, intending to tell me of his fair burden.

"No, Max," I whispered, as he unfastened his helmet. "Not Yolanda, but the princess. The two resemble each other greatly."

"Yolanda," returned Max, doggedly. "I know her as a mother knows her first-born."

Not one hundred seconds had elapsed between the report of the arquebuse and the placing of Yolanda in my arms; but hardly had Max finished speaking when a dozen ladies crowded about us and took possession of the unconscious princess.

After the duke had set on foot a search for the man who had fired the arquebuse, he came down to the false lists and stood with Hymbercourt and me, discussing the event. Campo-Ba.s.so said that his heart was "sore with grief," and the Italians jabbered like monkeys. One of them wanted to kiss Max for sparing his kinsman's life, but Max thrust him off with a fierce oath. The young fellow was in an ugly mood, and if I had been his enemy, I would sooner have crossed the path of a wounded lion than his. He was slow to anger, but the treachery he had encountered had raised all of Satan that was in him. Had he stood before Calli thirty seconds longer that treacherous heart would have ceased to beat.

While we were standing in the false lists, speaking with the duke, an Italian approached Max, bowed low, and said:--

"The n.o.ble Count Calli approaches to thank you for your mercy and to extol your bravery."

Max turned his head toward the centre of the course, and saw Calli surrounded by a crowd of jabbering friends who were leading him toward us. A black cloud--a very mist from h.e.l.l--came over Max's face. He stooped and took his battle-axe from the ground. I placed my hand on the boy's arm and warningly spoke his name:--

"Max!" After a pause I continued, "Leave murder to the Italians."

Max uttered a snort of disdain, but, as usual, he took my advice. He turned to Campo-Ba.s.so, still grasping his battle-axe:--

"Keep that fellow away from me," he said, pointing toward Calli. "My merciful mood was brief. By the good G.o.d who gave me the villain's life, I will kill him if he comes within reach of my axe."

An Italian ran to the men who had Calli in charge, and they turned at once and hurried toward the south gate of the lists. All this action was very rapid, consuming only a minute or two, and transpired in much less time than it requires to tell of it.

While our squires were removing Max's armor, I heard the duke say:--

"Arrest Calli. We will hold him until the shot is explained. If he was privy to it, he shall hang or boil." Then the duke, placing his hand on Max's shoulder, continued: "You are the best knight in Christendom, the bravest, the most generous, and the greatest fool. Think you Calli would have spared you, boy?"

"I am not Calli, my lord," said Max.

"You certainly are not," returned the duke.

Visions of trouble with France growing out of Yolanda's "t," and of a subsequent union between Max and the princess, floated before my mind, even amidst the din that surrounded me. Taking the situation by and large, I was in an ecstasy of joy. Max's victory was a thousand triumphs in one. It was a triumph over his enemy, a triumph over his friends, but, above all, a triumph over himself. He had proved himself brave and merciful, and I knew that in him the world had a man who would leave it better and happier than he found it.

Calli was arrested and brought to the duke's presence. Of course he denied all knowledge of the shot that had killed Max's horse. Others were questioned, including three Italian friars wearing ca.s.socks and cowls, who bore a most wondrous testimony.

"Your Grace," said one of the friars, "we three men of G.o.d can explain this matter that so nearly touches the honor of our fair countryman, the n.o.ble Count Calli."

"In G.o.d's name, do so," exclaimed the duke.

"This is the explanation, most gracious lord. When the third course was preparing, we three men of G.o.d prayed in concert to G.o.d the Father,"--all the friars crossed themselves,--"G.o.d the Son, and G.o.d the Holy Ghost, to save our countryman, and lo! our prayers were most graciously answered; for, n.o.ble lord, at the moment when this most valiant knight was about to kill our friend, we each heard a report marvellously like to the discharge of an arquebuse. At the same instant a fiery shaft descended from the palm of a mighty hand in the heavens, and the horse of this valiant and most generous knight, Sir Max, fell dead, stricken by the hand of G.o.d."

I had no doubt that this absurd explanation would be received with scorn and derision; but the friar knew his audience, and I did not. His statement was not really accepted as true, but it was not cast aside as utterly absurd. I saw that it might easily be believed.

"Why did not others see your wondrous shaft from the hand of G.o.d?" I asked.

"Because, n.o.ble lord," answered the friar, "our eyes were looking upward in prayer. All others were fixed on this worldly combat."

The explanation actually seemed to explain.

Just then the men who had been sent out to seek evidence concerning the shot returned, and reported that no arquebuse was to be found. The lists were surrounded by an open field, and a man endeavoring to escape would have been seen.

"Did you search all places of possible concealment for an arquebuse?"

asked the duke.

"All, my lord," answered the men, who were Burgundians and to be trusted.

Faith in the friars absurd story was rapidly gaining ground, and several of the Italian courtiers, emboldened by encouragement, affirmed upon their hope of salvation and their knightly honor that they, too, had witnessed the descent of the shaft from heaven. Touch a man on his superst.i.tions, and he will believe anything you tell him. If you a.s.sure him that an honest friend has told you so and so, he may doubt you, but tell him that G.o.d tells you, and he will swallow your hook. If you would have your lie believed, tell a great one.

Charles, more credulous and gullible than I should have believed, turned to Hymbercourt. He spoke reverentially, being, you understand, in the presence of a miracle:--

"This is a wondrous happening, my lord," said the duke.

"If it happened, Your Grace," returned Hymbercourt, "it certainly was marvellous."

"Don't you think it did happen? Do not you believe that this bolt came from the hand that was seen by these worthy friars?" asked the duke.

"The shaft surely did not come from a just G.o.d, my lord," returned Hymbercourt.

"Whence, then, did it come?" asked the duke. "No arquebuse has been found, and a careful scrutiny has been made."