Everything fell out even as Knolles had planned. As Nigel rounded
the oak forest, there upon the farther side of it, with only good
greensward between, was the rider upon the white horse. Already
he was so near that Nigel could see him clearly, a young cavalier,
proud in his bearing, clad in purple silk tunic with a red curling
feather in his low black cap. He wore no armor, but his sword
gleamed at his side. He rode easily and carelessly, as one who
cares for no man, and his eyes were forever fixed upon the English
soldiers on the road. So intent was he upon them that he gave no
thought to his own safety, and it was only when the low thunder of
the great horse's hoofs broke upon his ears that he turned in his
saddle, looked very coolly and steadily at Nigel, then gave his
own bridle a shake and darted off, swift as a hawk, toward the
hills upon the left.
Pommers had met his match that day. The white horse, two parts
Arab, bore the lighter weight, since Nigel was clad in full armor.
For five miles over the open neither gained a hundred yards upon
the other. They had topped the hill and flew down the farther
side, the stranger continually turning in his saddle to have a
look at his pursuer. There was no panic in his flight, but rather
the amused rivalry with which a good horseman who is proud of his
mount contends with one who has challenged him.
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