step as if he were going to lead some fair lady
down the dance."

Bayard was the smaller man of the two, and still felt weakness from a
fever which had recently prostrated him. The Spaniard, taking advantage of
this, sought to crush him by the weight of his blows, or to close with him
and bring him to the ground by dint of his superior strength. But the
lightness and agility of the French knight enabled him to avoid the
Spaniard's grasp, while, by skill with the sword, he parried his enemy's
strokes, and dealt him an occasional one in return.

At length, the Spaniard having exposed himself to attack by an
ill-directed blow, Bayard got in so sharp a thrust on the gorget that it
gave way, and the point of the blade entered his throat. Maddened by the
pain of the wound, Sotomayor leaped furiously on his antagonist and
grasped him in his arms, both rolling on the ground together. While thus
clasped in fierce struggle Bayard, who had kept his poniard in his left
hand throughout the fight, while his enemy had left his in his belt, drove
the steel home under his eye with such force that it pierced through his
brain.

As the victor sprang to his feet, the judges awarded him the honors of the
day, and the minstrels began to pour forth triumphant strains in his
honor. The good knight, however, bade them desist, as it was no time for
gratulation when a good knight lay dead, and, first kneeling and returning
grateful thanks for his victory, he walked slowly from the lists, saying
that he was sorry for the result of the combat, and wished, since his
honor was saved, that his antagonist had lived.

In these passages at arms we discern the fading gleam of the spirit of
mediaeval chivalry, soon to vanish before the new art of war. Rough and
violent as were these displays as compared with the pastimes of later
days, the magnificence with which they were conducted, and the
manifestations of knightly honor and courtesy which attended them, threw
something of grace and softness over an age in which ferocity was the
ruling spirit.

Meanwhile, the position of the little garrison of Barleta grew daily
worse. No help came, the French gradually occupied the strongholds of the
neighboring country, and a French fleet in the Adriatic stood seriously in
the way of the arrival of stores and reinforcements. But the Great Captain
maintained his cheerfulness through all discouragement, and sought to
infuse his spirit into the hearts of his follow