of him a something
foul and base, traitor to me and to his own sweet name, and 'tis for
this I will requite thee!' But the Duchess spake not, nor blenched even
when the dagger gleamed to strike--O sweet God of mercy, to strike!
But, in that moment, came Benedict of Bourne and leapt betwixt and took
the blow upon his cheek, and, stanching the blood within his tattered
war-cloak, cried: 'Lord Duke, because I love thee, ne'er shalt thou do
this thing until thou first slay me!' A while the Duke stood in amaze,
then turned and strode away down the great stair, and coming to the
courtyard, beheld his brother Johan armed at all points and mounted,
and with another horse equipped near by. So the Duke laughed and closed
his vizor and his laughter boomed hollow within his rusty casque, and,
leaping to the saddle, rode to the end of the great tilt-yard, and,
wheeling, couched his lance. So these brethren, who had loved each
other so well, spurred upon each other with levelled lances but, or
ever the shock came--O my son, my son!--Johan rose high in his stirrups
and cried aloud the battle-cry of his house 'Arise! Arise! I shall
arise!' and with the cry, tossed aside his lance lest he might harm the
Duke his brother--O sweet clemency of Christ!--and crashed to earth--
and lay there--very still and silent. Then the Duke dismounted and,
watched by pale-faced esquires and men-at-arms, came and knelt beside
his brother, and laid aside his brother's riven helm and, beholding his
comely features torn and marred and his golden hair all hatefully
bedabbled, felt his heart burst in sunder, and he groaned, and rising
to stumbling feet came to his horse and mounted and rode away 'neath
grim portcullis and over echoing drawbridge, yet, whithersoever he
looked, he saw only his brother's dead face, pale and bloody. And fain
he would have prayed but could not, and so he came into the forest. All
day long he rode beneath the trees careless of his going, conscious
only that Benedict of Bourne rode behind with his bloody war-cloak
wrapped about him. But on rode the Duke with hanging head and listless
hands for before his haggard eyes was ever the pale, dead face of Johan
his brother. Now, as the moon rose, they came to a brook that whispered
soft-voiced amid the shadows and here his war-horse stayed to drink.
Then came Sir Benedict of Bourne beside him, 'Lord Duke,' said he,
'what hast thou in thy mind to do?' 'I know not,' said the Duke,
'though met