ofty waving plume was here to be
seen! The splendid troop of knights moved within the lists, greeting and
conversing with each other, as a bed of flowers stirred by a breath
of wind; but the flower-stems had grown to lofty trees, the yellow and
white flower-leaves had changed to gold and silver, and the dew-drops to
pearls and diamonds. For whatever was most fair and costly, most varied
and full of meaning, had these noble knights collected in honour of
this day. Many an eye was turned on Froda, who, without scarf, plume,
or mantle, with his shining silver breastplate, on which appeared the
golden image of Aslauga, and with his well-wrought helmet of golden
locks, shone, in the midst of the crowd, like polished brass. Others,
again, there were, who took pleasure in looking at the young Edwald; his
whole armour was covered by a mantle of white silk, embroidered in azure
and silver, as his whole helmet was concealed by a waving plume of white
feathers. He was arrayed with almost feminine elegance, and yet the
conscious power with which he controlled his fiery, snow-white steed
made known the victorious strength and manliness of the warlike
stripling.

In strange contrast appeared the tall and almost gigantic figure of
a knight clothed in a mantle of black glossy bearskin, bordered with
costly fur, but without any ornament of shining metal. His very helmet
was covered with dark bearskin, and, instead of plumes, a mass of
blood-red horsehair hung like a flowing mane profusely on every side.
Well did Froda and Edwald remember that dark knight, for he was the
uncourteous guest of the hostelry. He also seemed to remark the two
knights, for he turned his unruly steed suddenly round, forced his
way through the crowd of warriors, and, after he had spoken over the
enclosure to a hideous bronze-coloured woman, sprang with a wild leap
across the lists, and, with the speed of an arrow, vanished out of
sight. The old woman looked after him with a friendly nod. The assembled
people laughed as at a strange masquing device; but Edwald and Froda
had their own almost shuddering thoughts concerning it, which, however,
neither imparted to the other.

The kettle-drums rolled, the trumpets sounded, and led by the aged duke,
Hildegardis advanced, richly apparelled, but more dazzling through the
brightness of her own beauty. She stepped forward beneath the arches of
the golden bower, and bowed to the assembly. The knights bent low, and
the fee