he wing, keeping his enemies as far separate as he could, and rushing
now against the one, now against the other, dealing sweeping blows with
his sword, without waiting to receive those which were aimed at him in
return.

But although the lists rang with the applauses of his dexterity, it was
evident that he must at last be overpowered; and the nobles around
Prince John implored him with one voice to throw down his warder, and to
save so brave a knight from the disgrace of being overcome by odds.

"Not I, by the light of Heaven!" answered Prince John: "this same
springal,[83-15] who conceals his name and despises our proffered
hospitality, hath already gained one prize, and may now afford to let
others have their turn." As he spoke thus, an unexpected incident
changed the fortune of the day.

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight a champion in black
armor, mounted on a black horse, large of size, tall, and to all
appearance powerful and strong, like the rider by whom he was mounted.
This knight, who bore on his shield no device of any kind, had hitherto
evinced very little interest in the event of the fight, beating off with
seeming ease those combatants who attacked him, but neither pursuing his
advantages nor himself assailing any one. In short, he had hitherto
acted the part rather of a spectator than of a party in the tournament,
a circumstance which procured him among the spectators the name of _Le
Noir Faineant_, or the Black Sluggard.

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, when he discovered
the leader of his party so hard bested; for, setting spurs to his horse,
which was quite fresh, he came to his assistance like a thunderbolt,
exclaiming, in a voice like a trumpet-call, "_Desdichado_, to the
rescue!" It was high time; for, while the Disinherited Knight was
pressing upon the Templar, Front-de-Boeuf had got nigh to him with his
uplifted sword; but ere the blow could descend, the Sable Knight dealt a
stroke on his head, which, glancing from the polished helmet, lighted
with violence scarcely abated on the chamfron[84-16] of the steed, and
Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground, both horse and man equally
stunned by the fury of the blow. _Le Noir Faineant_ then turned his
horse upon Athelstane of Coningsburgh; and his own sword having been
broken in his encounter with Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched from the hand
of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he wielded, and, like one
familia