Down at our end there were but two tents; one for me, and another
for my servants. At the appointed hour the king made a sign, and
the heralds, in their tabards, appeared and made proclamation,
naming the combatants and stating the cause of quarrel. There
was a pause, then a ringing bugle-blast, which was the signal for
us to come forth. All the multitude caught their breath, and
an eager curiosity flashed into every face.
Out from his tent rode great Sir Sagramor, an imposing tower
of iron, stately and rigid, his huge spear standing upright in its
socket and grasped in his strong hand, his grand horse's face and
breast cased in steel, his body clothed in rich trappings that
almost dragged the ground--oh, a most noble picture. A great
shout went up, of welcome and admiration.
And then out I came. But I didn't get any shout. There was
a wondering and eloquent silence for a moment, then a great wave
of laughter began to sweep along that human sea, but a warning
bugle-blast cut its career short. I was in the simplest and
comfortablest of gymnast costumes--flesh-colored tights from neck
to heel, with blue silk puffings about my loins, and bareheaded.
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