looks
ready for a joust."

"On my life, it is the same dull-plate knave I saw lying by the well,
neither sleeping nor waking," said Dinadan.

"This is not the first time I have seen that covered shield of azure,"
said Tristram. "This knight is Sir Epinegris, the son of the king of
Northumberland, than whom the land holds no more ardent lover, for his
heart is gone utterly out to the fair daughter of the king of Wales.
Now, if you care to find whether a lover or a non-lover is the better
knight, here is your opportunity."

"I shall teach him to grin to more purpose," said Dinadan. "Stand by and
you shall see."

Then, as the lover approached, he cried,--

"Halt, sir knight, and make ready to joust, as is the custom with errant
knights."

"Let it be so, if you will," answered Epinegris. "Since it is the custom
of you knight-errant to make a man joust whether he will or no, I am
your man."

"Make ready, then, for here is for you."

Then they spurred their horses and rode together at full speed, Dinadan
breaking his spear, while Epinegris struck him so shrewd a blow that he
rolled upon the earth.

"How now?" cried Tristram. "It seems to me that the lover has best
sped."

"Will you play the coward?" queried Dinadan. "Or will you, like a good
knight, revenge me?"

"I am not in the mood," answered Tristram. "Take your horse, Sir
Dinadan, and let us get away from here, where hard blows are more
plentiful than soft beds."

"Defend me from such fellowship as yours!" roared Dinadan. "Take your
way and I will take mine. We fit not well together."

"I might give you news of Sir Tristram."

"Sir Tristram, if he be wise, will seek better company. I can do without
your news, as I have had to do without your help," and he rode on in
high dudgeon.

"Farewell, then," cried Tristram, laughing. "It may happen we shall soon
meet again."

Tristram rode back in much amusement to Joyous Gard, but on coming near
he heard in the neighboring town a great outcry.

"What means this noise?" he asked.

"Sir," he was told, "a knight of the castle has just been slain by two
strangers, and for no other cause than saying that Sir Lancelot was a
better knight than Sir Gawaine."

"Who would dispute that?" said Tristram. "It is a small cause for the
death of a good man, that he stands for his lord's fame."

"But what remedy have we?" said the towns-men. "If Lancelot had been
here, these fellows would soon have been called to a re