Thus Sir Gui, Lord of Ells and Seneschal of Raddemore, wounded and utterly discomfited, was borne raging to his pavilion while the air rang with the blare of trumpet and clarion in honour of the victor. Thereafter, since no other knight thought it prudent to challenge him, Sir Palamon of Tong was declared champion of the tournament, and was summoned by the Chief Herald to receive the victor's crown. But even as he rode towards the silk-curtained balcony, a distant trumpet shrilled defiance, and into the lists galloped a solitary knight.
Well-armed was he in proud and war-like trim, Of stature tall and wondrous long of limb; 'Neath red surcoat black was the mail he wore; His glitt'ring shield a rampant leopard bore, Beholding which the crowd cried in acclaim, "Ho for Sir Agramore of Biename!"
But from rosy-red to pale, from pale to rosy-red flushed the Duchess Benedicta, and clenching white teeth, she frowned upon Sir Agramore's fierce and warlike figure. Quoth she:
"Oh, sure there is no man so vile or so unworthy in all Christendom as this vile Lord of Biename!"
"Unless," said Yolande, frowning also, "unless it be my Lord Gui of Ells!"
"True, my Yolanda! Now, as thou dost hate Sir Gui so hate I Sir Agramore, therefore pray we sweet maid, petition we the good Saints our valiant singer shall serve my hated Sir Agramore as he did thy hated Sir Gui--may he be bruised, may he be battered, may--"
"Oho, 'tis done, my sweeting! A-hee--a-hi, 'tis done!" croaked a voice, and starting about, the Duchess beheld a bent and hag-like creature,
With long, sharp nose that showed beneath her hood, A nose that curved as every witch's should, And glittering eye, before whose baleful light, The fair Yolande shrank back in sudden fright.
"Nay, my Yolande," cried the Duchess, "hast forgot old Mopsa, my foster-mother, that, being a wise-woman, fools decry as witch, and my ten grave and learned guardians have banished therefor? Hast forgot my loved and faithful Mopsa that is truly the dearest, gentlest, wisest witch that e'er witched rogue or fool? But O Mopsa, wise mother--would'st thou might plague and bewitch in very truth yon base caitiff knight, Sir Agramore of Biename!"
"'Tis done, loved daughter, 'tis done!" chuckled the Witch.