“Yea, but on one condition I have firmly fixed; which is, that never in his life he cross a horse; ne'er cut his hair or pare his nails; ne'er eat of wheaten bread, or taste of wine; and never on his back wear other dress than what his hands have woven. Should he such terms accept before the fight, he may perchance find grace; but naught can save the man who once hath fought.”
“And if he know not how to weave such dress?” asked Jaufry.
“The art to weave, to shape the doth, and sew, must then be learned,” the knight replied. “Say, then, if thou consent; or if thou choose this hour to be thy last.”
“I'll not do so,” quoth Jaufry; “for too hard the labour seems.”
“Thou'lt do it well before five years are fled; for thou art tall and strong.”
“No, by my troth, I'd rather chance the fight, since 'twould appear I've no alternative.”
“Take my defiance, then!” cried out the knight; “and bear in mind, the combat 's to the death.”
“So be it!” said Sir Jaufry; “I'll defend myself.”
They drew apart some space with such-like words, each thinking on his side a victim soon would fall. Then the knight came and thundered at his foe. In shivers flew the lance; but Jaufry bore the shock unmoved. Not so the knight; for Jaufry, his weapon planting at his shield, broke it right through; the hauberk too beside, and wood and iron, for a cubit's length, pierced through the shoulder.