“Knight,” exclaimed Jaufry, as he then arose, “'tis a great sin to trouble my repose, for I am wearied out; but since thou hast chosen to accept the fight, wilt thou allow me to sleep on in peace if I do thee unhorse?”
“By Heaven's faith, I swear't!” laughing, the other said.
Jaufry then hastened to his horse's side; replaced the bit, and tightly drew the girths. Mounted, he galloped at the seneschal; who, having drawn him back a space, on rushing drove his lance at Jaufry's shield, but never harmed the knight. He, on the contrary, with happy stroke unhorsed the seneschal; who, full of shame, with head bowed down, and slow and thoughtful step, regained the castle and his lady's room.
“What is't,” asked Brunissende, “that there doth lurk?”
“A knight all armed, whose peer the world not holds, sleeping so soundly he would scarce awake.”
“Why broughtst thou him not here? I wish him hither led; for, with God's help, no food shall pass these lips till that bold knight be hanged.”
“Lady,” replied the seneschal, “he would not come; nor could I wake him up.”
“Indeed,” quoth she; “then bid the tocsin sound, and rouse me up my knights.”
The seneschal obeyed; the sound was heard, and straightway flocking came five hundred knights. The hall they entered, where their lady stood with spite and anger pale.
“Barons,” she said, “a bold and wicked knight my grounds hath passed, and will not quit the walls; now if his head pay not this insolence, I never will hold land or honour more.”