SERIAL STORY.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 6316, 17 September 1907, Page 2

SERIAL STORY.

FAIR MARGARET. (By H. Eider Haggard.) CHARTER XXlV.—(Continued). Two hours had gone by. The Plaza de Toros, for the great square where tournaments were wont to bo held was in the hands of those who prepared it for the auto da fo of'the morrow, was crowded as it had seldom been before. This place was a huge amphitheatre—perchance the Romans built it—where all sorts of games were celebrated, among them the baiting of bulls .as it was practised in those days, and other semisavage sports. Twelve thousand people could sit upon the benches that losetier upon tier around the vast theatre, and scarce a seat was empty. The arena itself, thrxt was long enough for horses starting at either end of it to come to their full speed, was strewn with white sand, as it may have been in the days when gladiators fought there. Over the main entrance and opposite to the centre of the ring wore placed the king and queen with their lords and ladles, and between them, but a little behind, her face hid by her bridal veil, sat Margaret, upright and silent as a statue. Exactly in front of them, on the further side of the ring, in a pavilion, and attended by her household, appeared Betty, glittering with gold and jewels, since she was the lady in whoso cause, at least in name, this combat was to be fought a I'outranee. Quite unmoved she sat, and her presence seemed to draw every eye in that vast assembly, that talked of her while they waited, with a sound like the sound of the sea as it murmurs on a beach at night. Now trumpets blew, and silence fell, and then, preceded by heralds in golden tabards, Carlos, Marquis of Morelia, followed by his squires, rode into the ring through the great entrance. He* bestrode a splendid black horse, and was arrayed in coal-black armour, while from his casque rose black ostrich plumes. On his shield, however, painted in scarlet, appeared the eagle, crowned with the coronet of his rank, and beneath the x-U’oud motto, “What I seize I tear." A splendid Jigure> he pressed his horse into the centre of the arena, then, causing it to wheel round, pawing the air with its forelegs, saluted their Majesties by raising his long, steoltipped lance,* while the multitude greeted him with a siicut. This done, lie and his company rode away to their station as the north end of the ring. Again the trumpets sounded, and a herald appeared, while after him, mounted 031 a white horse, and clad in his white armour, that glistened in the sun, with white plumes rising from his casque, and on his shield the stooping falcon, blazoned in gold with the mo J of “Eor love and honour" beneath it, appeared the tall, grim shape of Sir Peter Drome. He, too, rode out into the centre of the arena, and, turning his horse quite soberly, as though it wore on a road, lifted his lance in salute. Now there was no cheering, for this knight was a foreigner, yet soldiers who were there said to each other that ho looked like one who would not easily be overthrown. A third time the trumpets sounded, and the two champions, advancing from their respective stations, drew rein side by side in front of their Majesties, where the conditions of the combat were read aloud to them by the chief herald. They were short. That the fray should b> to the death unless the king and queen willed otherwise and the victor consented; that it should be on horse or foot, with lance or sword or dagger, but that no broken weapon might be replaced and no horse or armour changed; tiiat the victor should be escorted from the place of combat with all honour, and allowed to depart whither he would, in the kingdom or'out of it, 1 and no suit or blood-feud raised against

him, and tlxat the body of the fallen be 1 handed to , his friends for burial, also with all honour. That the issue of this fray should in no way affect any cause pleaded in Courts ecclesiastical or civil, by the lady who asserted herself to bo the Marchioness of Morelia, or by the most noble Marquis of Morelia, whom she- claimed as her husband. These conditions having been read, the champions were asked it* they assented to them, whereon each of them answered, ■‘Aye!” in a clear voice. Then the herald, speaking on behalf of Sir Peter Promo, by creation a knight of St. lago and a Don- of Spain, solemnly challenged the noble Marquis of Morelia to combat to the death, in that he, the* said marquis, had aspersed the name of liis relative, the English lady, Elizabeth Dene, who claimed to be his wife, inly united to him' in holy wedlock, and for sundry* other causes - and injuries worked towards him, the said Sir Peter Brome, and his wife. Dame Margaret J Bicme, and, in token thereof, threw down ' a gauntlet, which gauntlet the Marquis of Morelia lifted upon the point of .his lance, and east over his shoulder, thus ; accepting the challenge. | Now the combatants dropped their I visors, which heretofore had been raised,' and their squires, coming forward, ; examined the fastenings of their armour, their weapons, and the girths and, bridles of their horses. Those being pronounced sound and good, pursuivants took the steeds by the bridles, and led i them to the far ends of the lists. At I a signal from the king, a single clarion I blow, whereon the pursuivants loosened their hold of the bridles -and sprang back.* Another clarion blew, and the knights gathered up their reins, settled their shield, and set their lances In rest, bending forward over their norses necks. An intense silence fell upon all the watching, multitude as that of night upon the sea, and in the midst of it the third clarion blew —to Margaret it sounded like the trump of doom. From twelve thousand throats one great sigh went t up, like the sigh of wind upon the sea, i and, ere it died away from either end | of the arena, like arrows from the bow, like Icvens from the cloud, the champions started forth, their stallions gathering speed at every stride. Look;: they met! Fair on each shield struck a lance, and backward reeled their j holders. The keen points glanced aside o.’ up, and the knights, recovering themselves, rushed past each other, shaken, but unhurt. At the ends of the course the squires caught the horses by the' bridles, and turned them, for the first course was run. } Again the and again they j started forward,/and presently again r they met in mid career. As before, the t lances struck upon the shields; ( but, so fearful was the impact, that Peter’s shivered, while that of Morelia, sliding from the topmost rim of his foe’s buckler, got hold of his visor bars. Back bent Peter beneath the blow, back and still back, till almost he lay upon his horse’s crupper. Then, when it seemed that he must fall, the lacings of his helm burst. It was torn from bis head, and Morelia passed on, bearing it transfixed upon his spear-point. "The Falcon falls,” screamed the spectators; “he is unhorsed/*

But Peter« was not unhorsed. Freed from that awful pressure, he let drop the shattered shaft, and, grasping at his saddle strap, dragged himself back into the seile. Morelia tried to stay bis charger, that ho might come about and fall upon the Englishman before he could recover himself; but the brute was heady, and would not be turned till he saw the wall of faces at the end of the lists. Now they were round, both of them, but Peter had no spear' and no helm, while the lance of Morelia was cumbered with his adversary’s casque that he strove to shake free from it, but in vain. “Draw your swords,” shouted voices to Peter—the English voices of Smith and his sailors—and he put his hand down to do so, then bethought him of some other counsel, for ho let it lie within its scabbard, and, spurring the white horse, came at Morelia like a stem. “The Falcon will be spiked,” they screamed. “The Eagle wins:—the Eagie wins!” And indeed it seemed that it must be so. Straight at Peter’s undefended face drove Morelia’s lance, but lo! as it came he let fall his reins and with his shield he struck at the < white plumes abdut its point, the plumes torn from his own head. Ho had judged well, for up flow those plumes, a little, a very little, yet far enough to give him space, crouching on his saddle-bow, to pass beneath the deadly spear. Then, as they swept past each other, out shot that long,, right arm of his and, gripping Morelia like a hook of steel, tore him from his saddle, so that the black horse rushed forward riderless, and the while sped on bearing a double burden. Grasping desperately, Morelia threw his arms about his .neck, and intertwined, black armour mixed with white, they swayed to and fro, while the frightened horse beneath rushed this way and. that till, swerving suddenly, together they fell upon the sand, and for a moment lay there stunned, “Who conquers?” gasped the crowd; while others answered, “Both are sped!” And, leaning forward in-her chair, Margaret tore off her veil and watched with a face like the face of death. See! Aa they had fallen together, v' together they stirred and rose—rose unharmed. Now they sprang back, out flashed the long swords, and, while the squires caught the horses and, running in, seized the broken spears, they faced each other. Having no helm, Peter hold hi? buckler above his head to shelter and, ever calm, awaited the onslaught. At him cam© Morelia, and with a light, grating sound his sword fell upon the steel. Before he could recover himself Peter struck back; but Morelia bent his knifes, and the stroke only shore the black plumes from his casque. Quick as light he drove at Peter’s face with his point; but the Englishman leapt to one side, and the thrust went past him. Again Morelia came at him, and sttuck so mighty a blow that, although Peter caught it on his buckler, it sliced through the edge of it and fell upon his unprotected neck and shoulder, wounding him, for now red blood showed on the white .armour, and Peter reeled back beneath the stroke. “The Eagle wins!—the Eagle wins! Spain and the Eagle,” shouted ten thousand throats. In the momentary silence that followed, a single voice, a woman’s voice, which oven then Margaret knew for that of Inez, cried from among the crowd; “Nay, the Falcon stoops!” Before the sound of her words died away, maddened, it would seem, by the pain of his wound, or the fear of defeat, Peter shouted out his war-cry of “A Brome! A Brome!” and, gathering himself together, sprang straight at Morelia as springs a starving wolf. The blue steel flickered in the sunlight, then down it fell, and lo! half the Spaniard’s helm lay on the sand, while it was Morelia’s burn to reel backward—and more, as lie did so, he let fall his shield. “A stroke! —a good stroke!” roared the 3rowd. “The Falcon! —the Falcon 1” (To be continued, in to-morrow’s issue.)