Max sat his charger, lance in rest; Calli waited in the south, and these
two faced each other with death between them.
When all was ready the heralds raised their banners, and the duke gave
the word of battle. There was a moment of deep silence, broken by the
thunder of tramping hoofs, as horses and men rushed upon each other.
Calli and Max met in mid-course, and the din of their contact was like
the report of a cannon. Each horse fell back upon its haunches; each
rider bent back upon his horse. Two tough yule lances burst into a
hundred splinters. Then silence ensued, broken after a moment by a storm
of applause from the pavilion.
The second course was like the first, save that Max nearly unhorsed
Calli by a marvellous helmet stroke. The stroke loosened Calli's helmet
by breaking a throat-strap, but neither he nor his friends seemed to
notice the mishap, and the third course was begun without remedying it.
When the champions were within ten yards of each other, a report like
the discharge of an arquebuse was heard, coming apparently from beneath
the pavilion. I could not say whence the report came--I was too intent
upon the scene in the lists to be thoroughly conscious of happenings
elsewhere--but come it did from somewhere, and Max's fine charger
plunged forward on the lists, dead. Max fell over his horse's head and
lay half-stunned upon the ground.
Above the din rose a cry, a frantic scream, that fairly pierced my
heart. Well I knew the voice that uttered it.
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