off his balance by an ill-directed blow, Bayard struck him so sharply on
the gorget, that it gave way, and the sword entered his throat. Furious
with the agony of the wound, Sotomayor collected all his strength for the
last struggle, and, grasping his antagonist in his arms, they both rolled
in the dust together. Before either could extricate himself, the quick-
eyed Bayard, who had retained his poniard in his left hand during the
whole combat, while the Spaniard's had remained in his belt, drove the
steel with such convulsive strength under his enemy's eye, that it pierced
quite through the brain. After the judges had awarded the honors of the
day to Bayard, the minstrels as usual began to pour forth triumphant
strains in praise of the victor; but the good knight commanded them to
desist, and, having first prostrated himself on his knees in gratitude for
his victory, walked slowly out of the lists, expressing a wish that the
combat had had a different termination, so that his honor had been saved.
[2]

In these jousts and tourneys, described with sufficient prolixity, but in
a truly heart-stirring tone, by the chroniclers of the day, we may discern
the last gleam of the light of chivalry, which illumined the darkness of
the Middle Ages; and, although rough in comparison with the pastimes of
more polished times, they called forth such displays of magnificence,
courtesy, and knightly honor, as throw something like the grace of
civilization over the ferocious features of the age.

While the Spaniards, cooped up within the old town of Barleta, sought to
vary the monotony of their existence by these chivalrous exercises, or an
occasional foray into the neighboring country, they suffered greatly from
the want of military stores, food, clothing, and the most common
necessaries of life. It seemed as if their master had abandoned them to
their fate on this forlorn outpost, without a struggle in their behalf.