the clash of arms and the sight of combat to any other pleasure.

The King of France, on the other hand, looked grave. He was a far wiser
and more politic king than Richard; and although he had consented to
the sudden proposal, yet he felt in his heart that the contest was a
foolish one, and that it might create bad feeling among the men of the
two nationalities whichever way it went. He had reserved to himself the
right of throwing down the baton when the combat was to cease, and he
determined to avail himself of this right to put a stop to the conflict
before either party was likely to sustain any deadly injury.

When the monarchs had taken their places the trumpeters sounded their
trumpets, and the two combatants advanced on foot from their ends of the
lists. A murmur of surprise and dissatisfaction broke from the crowd.
"My Lord of Evesham," the king said angrily to the earl, who with Count
Jacquelin was standing by the royal party, "thou shouldst have said that
the difference between the two was too great to allow the combat to be
possible. The Frenchman appears to be big enough to take your page under
his arm and walk off with him."

The difference was indeed very striking. The French champion was arrayed
in a full suit of knightly armor--of course without the gold spurs which
were the distinguishing mark of that rank--and with his helmet and lofty
plume of feathers he appeared to tower above Cuthbert, who, in his
close-fitting steel cap and link armor seemed a very dwarf by the side
of a giant.

"It is not size, sire, but muscle and pluck will win in a combat like
this. Your majesty need not be afraid that my page will disgrace me. He
is of my blood, though the kinship is not close. He is of mixed Saxon