Читать книгу Sir Knight of the Splendid Way - William Edward Cule - Страница 10

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But an escape from the Palace of the false Sir Joyous was not so easy a thing. The alarm was already given, perchance by some watchman who had seen him go to the hall with his silver lamp, or by some who had found the torn book and had afterwards heard his armour ring as he donned it: so he entered the great corridor again to find it alight with torches, and the sons of Sir Joyous and the servitors of the Black Knight coming to meet him. Some had pikes and halberds, some swords and battle-axes; and there was a great stir in the palace, so that the awakened guests began to come from their chambers. Then cried the false Sir Joyous behind—“Hold the way! Never let him pass!” and the Black Knight shouted that they should bring his armour. So Sir Constant, seeing his peril, braced his shield and lifted his good sword, and with a shout, “In the King’s Name!” drove at the rabble mightily. So great was the shock of his attack that they were at first astonished, and gave back before him to the head of the stairs; and it was seen in that moment that the Emblem upon his shield glowed as with a heavenly fire.

Hard was the fight that he fought down the wide staircase to the cold hall, where the evil book lay still upon the floor and the emblazoned curtain still hung with the golden lie upon it. For every moment the press grew thicker as the men-at-arms came from their quarters, and had it not been for the advantage of the stairs it had been ill indeed for him. The clang of weighty blows, the crash of arms, echoed and rang about the marble pillars, and ruddy shone the red torches on the fierce faces and the motley dress of those who had had no time to don their mail. There our knight had the advantage, and, moreover, his fierce joy in the battle gave him added power; so he drove them before him strongly and parted them to right and left, giving them no time to recover or to make ready, and heeding not their cries and threats.

Least of all did he heed the voices of some who stood by, wearing the Emblem of the King’s Service but putting out no hand to aid him. Nay, they called upon him to cease, for that Sir Joyous was a friend and not a foe; but his wrath rose at that base counsel, for he remembered the picture and the plot, and the enchanted book: and once more swinging his bright blade aloft, he struck with all his heart. So it was that he won his way to the staircase, and down to the hall; then to the door, where night loomed dark and still. There he fought so stoutly that the serving men dared not withstand him, and in a while he had the cool breath of night upon his brows and above him the heaven of stars.

But the struggle was yet to come. When the alarm had first been given they had brought the Black Knight his shield and sword and battle mail, so that he was fully armed. Now he came out, driving the press aside and bidding the sons of Sir Joyous make way for him. So they stood aloof, and the champion strode out upon the steps, wrathful and arrogant.

“The fight is mine,” he cried. “Let me deal with him alone. And guard thee well, Sir Knight, for now there is only one way out.”

So the servants and men-at-arms made a ring, ruddy with torches and grey with eager faces. Sir Constant braced his shield anew, and gripped his hilt with a firmer grip. There was much to do before the end, and that end he could not see. And the marble walls of the Palace looked down upon the fight, with Sir Joyous himself upon the balcony above the pillared door. He was no warrior, yet loved to see a battle to the death.

Then cried Sir Constant his battle cry, “In the King’s Name!” and dashed forward, swinging high his sword. The Black Knight countered sternly, and then the dread fight swayed to and fro with the clang of steel on steel, and the ceaseless tread of mail-clad feet, and fierce, hard breathing through stifling helmet bars. And so fierce and equal was the struggle that Sir Joyous held his breath and the watchers fell silent in their watching.

Sir Constant gained some ground at first, so fierce was his attack; but the Black Knight was a master of arms, skilled in defence and patient to wait his time. When the first onset had spent itself he won back his lost ground steadily, his mighty shield and his threatening blade ever at the point of danger. And ever when Sir Constant slackened he pressed forward, the more ominous and terrible for his black armour and his cruel shield. So he became the attacker, forcing our good knight back and back, seeking with steady and relentless eye the opening for a deadly stroke. And Sir Constant, for all his dauntless courage, was oppressed by the knowledge that in the great throng of the Palace there was not one that wished him well.

Nor was the end long delayed, for presently he missed his stroke and for an instant left his head unguarded. Then the Black Knight struck hard, beating the sword out of his grip, so that it clanged loudly upon the paving of the courtyard: and though the fallen sword had saved a little, the weight of the blow was still so great that it brought the young knight to his knees, dazed and helpless. And the foe towered triumphantly above him, blade upraised once more.

“Now I have thee,” he cried. “Yield thee to my pleasure.”

But Sir Constant had no thought of craving mercy, though he knew that he was down.

“Not I,” he cried bravely. “I will not yield even though I be slain.”

“Oh, fool,” said the Black Knight, “I seek a living slave, not a dead foe. Swear to serve me faithfully all thy days and I will surely spare thy life.”

Sir Constant heard, but only faintly at first, so heavy had been his hurt: but kneeling there with his head bowed, spent and almost hopeless, he took the meaning of those foul words, and shuddered: for with them came the memory of Another whose Service he had taken and whose arms he bore. With that thought he raised his head to look up: and it seemed that a torch that danced before him ceased to move, and became a Star shining steadily and gloriously in a tall, narrow casement in a grey stone chapel. Then the Star was a Face, overflowing with pity, yearning in love, magnificent in courage; and as he saw it his tired heart leaped and swelled, and there came back to him in full flood the unspeakable Joy of the Vision of the Face. It passed into his veins like fire, and it was both fire and power. He put out his hand, and to his wonder it touched the hilt of his sword, fallen beside him. He seized it and sprang up, giving a great cry.

That cry was echoed in amaze by the watchers, the Black Knight stood back suddenly and lo! the fight was raging once more. But now our young knight had a power which none might withstand, the power of the Vision of the Face. It nerved heart and hand together, and his blows had the strong ring of triumph. Warily the Black Knight gave ground, waiting the chance that never came: for this time the onslaught did not slacken, but grew in fury, so that no blade could counter it, no shield withstand it, no helm be other than a vain defence. At last he was forced against the pillars of the door, beneath the balcony of Sir Joyous: and there Sir Constant, with another cry “In the King’s Name!” beat down his guard, and shore through his shield, and brought him crashing to earth. There he lay, groaning grievously, and a great cry rose—“He is down! He is down!”

Then came Sir Joyous, pleading for his life. “Spare him, good knight,” he cried. “He is my kinsman, and I gave thee welcome.”

“Who art thou that I should hear thee?” cried Sir Constant. “And who is he that I should spare him? Unlace his helm and let me see his face.”

So they unlaced the helmet and removed it, for they dared not gainsay the conqueror. Sir Constant stepped forward, his sword ready, and looked into the face of the foe who had so sorely tried him. But when he had looked he gave a cry of amazement and horror and fear, for the face upon which he gazed was his own face, though now hideous with pain and rage and the heat of battle. It was his own face shown in a mirror of mockery and evil, but none the less his own!

Then said they that stood by: “It is his brother.”

“Nay,” said Sir Joyous, in a hush of wonder. “It is his own face.”

But the Black Knight lay, a mocking smile upon his lips and defiance in his eyes. “I am down indeed,” he said. “But canst thou slay me, Sir Constant? Strike, then, and make an end!”

But Sir Constant shuddered and shrank back, chilled to the heart and dumb: for he saw that here he had no foe to be easily destroyed, but a Sorcerer Knight of deadly power and guile. And as he stood confused, his heart heavy with the shadow of this unconquered peril, the henchmen of Sir Joyous pressed forward, and came between him and his foe, and raised the Black Knight, and bore him within the doorway. Then with many hands they thrust the doors together, and fastened them with clanging bars to the sound of mocking laughter.