The opposite party shouted in
answer--"Desdichado! Desdichado!"--which watch-word they took from the
motto upon their leader's shield.
The champions thus encountering each other with the utmost fury, and
with alternate success, the tide of battle seemed to flow now toward the
southern, now toward the northern extremity of the lists, as the one
or the other party prevailed. Meantime the clang of the blows, and
the shouts of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the sound of the
trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who fell, and lay rolling
defenceless beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid armour of the
combatants was now defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every
stroke of the sword and battle-axe. The gay plumage, shorn from the
crests, drifted upon the breeze like snow-flakes. All that was beautiful
and graceful in the martial array had disappeared, and what was now
visible was only calculated to awake terror or compassion.
Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar spectators,
who are naturally attracted by sights of horror, but even the ladies of
distinction who crowded the galleries, saw the conflict with a thrilling
interest certainly, but without a wish to withdraw their eyes from a
sight so terrible. Here and there, indeed, a fair cheek might turn pale,
or a faint scream might be heard, as a lover, a brother, or a husband,
was struck from his horse. But, in general, the ladies around encouraged
the combatants, not only by clapping their hands and waving their veils
and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming, "Brave lance! Good sword!" when
any successful thrust or blow took place under their observation.
Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this bloody game,
that of the men is the more easily understood. It showed itself in
loud acclamations upon every change of fortune, while all eyes were so
riveted on the lists, that the spectators seemed as if they themselves
had dealt and received the blows which were there so freely bestowed.
And between every pause was heard the voice of the heralds, exclaiming,
"Fight on, brave knights! Man dies, but glory lives!--Fight on--death
is better than defeat!--Fight on, brave knights!--for bright eyes behold
your deeds!"
Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of all endeavoured to
discover the leaders of each band, who, mingling in the thick of the
fight, encouraged their companions both by voice and example. Both
displayed great feats of gallantry, nor did either Bois-Guilbert or the
Disinherited Knight find in the ranks opposed to them a champion who
could be termed their unquestioned match. They repeatedly endeavoured to
single out each other, spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that the
fall of either leader might be considered as decisive of victory. Such,
however, was the crowd and confusion, that, during the earlier part
of the conflict, their efforts to meet were unavailing, and they were
repeatedly separated by the eagerness of their followers, each of whom
was anxious to win honour, by measuring his strength against the leader
of the opposite party.