“Too high, Wulf; too high,” said Godwin sadly.  “But oh! if those laces had but held!”

Soldiers caught the horse and turned it.

“Another helm!” cried Lozelle.

“Nay,” answered Sinan; “yonder knight has lost his shield.  New lances—­that is all.”

So they gave him a fresh lance, and, presently, at the blast of the trumpets again the horses were seen speeding together over the narrow way.  They met, and lo!  Lozelle, torn from his saddle, but still clinging to the reins, was flung backwards, far backwards, to fall on the stonework of the bridge.  Down, too, beneath the mighty shock went his black horse, a huddled heap, and lay there struggling.

“Wulf will fall over him!” cried Rosamund.  But Smoke did not fall; the stallion gathered itself together—­the moonlight shone so clear that every watcher saw it—­and since stop it could not, leapt straight over the fallen black horse—­ay, and over the rider beyond—­and sped on in its stride.  Then the black found its feet again and galloped forward to the further gate, and Lozelle also found his feet and turned to run.

“Stand!  Stand, coward!” yelled ten thousand voices, and, hearing them, he drew his sword and stood.

Within three great strides Wulf dragged his charger to its haunches, then wheeled it round.

“Charge him!” shouted the multitude; but Wulf remained seated, as though unwilling to attack a horseless man.  Next he sprang from his saddle, and accompanied by the horse Smoke, which followed him as a dog follows its master, walked slowly towards Lozelle, as he walked casting away his lance and drawing the great, cross-hilted sword.

Again the silence fell, and through it rang the cry of Godwin: 

“A D’Arcy!  A D’Arcy!”

“A D’Arcy!  A D’Arcy!” came back Wulf’s answer from the bridge, and his voice echoed thin and hollow in the spaces of the gulf.  Yet they rejoiced to hear it, for it told them that he was sound and strong.

Wulf had no shield and Lozelle had no helm—­the fight was even.  They crouched opposite each other, the swords flashed aloft in the moonlight; from far away came the distant clank of steel, a soft, continual clamour of iron on iron.  A blow fell on Wulf’s mail, who had nought wherewith to guard himself, and he staggered back.  Another blow, another, and another, and back, still back he reeled—­back to the edge of the bridge, back till he struck against the horse that stood behind him, and, resting there a moment, as it seemed, regained his balance.

Then there was a change.  Look, he rushed forward, wielding the great blade in both hands.  The stroke lit upon Lozelle’s shield and seemed to shear it in two, for in that stillness all could hear the clang of its upper half as it fell upon the stones.  Beneath the weight of it he staggered, sank to his knee, gained his feet again, and in his turn gave back.  Yes, now it was Lozelle who rocked and