One was of Barcelona make, the other an old
suit which we judged had come from Damascus. I tried the latter with my
sword, and spoiled a good blade. Although the Damascus armor was too
heavy by a stone, we chose it, and employed an armorer to tighten a few
nuts, and to adjust new straps to the shoulder plates and arm pieces.
We caused lists to be built outside the walls, and Max worked eight
hours a day to harden himself. He ran against me, against our squires,
who were lusty big fellows, and now and then against Hymbercourt, who
was a most accomplished knight.
Yolanda was prone to coax Max not to fight, and her fear showed itself
in every look and gesture. Her words, of course, could not have turned
him, but her fears might have undermined his self-confidence. So I
pointed out to her the help he would get from encouragement, and the
possible hurt he would take were her fears to infect him. After my
admonition, her efforts to be cheerful and confident almost brought
tears to my eyes. She would sing, but her song was joyless. She would
banter Max and would run imaginary courses with him, taking the part of
Calli, and always falling dead at Max's feet; but the moment of
relaxation brought a haunting, terrified expression to her eyes. The
corners of her sweet mouth would droop, effacing the cluster of dimples
that played about her lips, and the fair, childish face, usually so
joyful, wore the mask of grief. For the first time in her life real
happiness had come, not within her grasp, but within sight; and this
combat might snatch it from her.
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