"What knight is that?" he asked. "He looks like a strong and able one."
"He is one of the best in the world," said Persides. "I know him well."
"Is it Sir Lancelot?"
"No, no. It is Palamides, an unchristened Saracen, but a noble man."
"Palamides! I should know him too, but his arms deceived me."
As they continued to look they saw many of the country people salute the black knight. Some time afterwards a squire came to Pellounes, the lord of the castle, and told him that a fierce combat had taken place in the road some distance in advance, and that a knight with a black shield had smitten down thirteen others. He was still there, ready for any who might wish to meet him, and holding a tournament of his own in the highway.
"On my faith, that is Palamides!" said Tristram. "The worthy fellow must be brimful of fight. Fair brother, let us cast on our cloaks and see the play."
"Not I," said Persides. "Let us not go like courtiers there, but like men ready to withstand their enemies."
"As you will. To fight or to look on is all one to me."
Then they armed and rode to the spot where so many knights had tried their fortune before the tournament. When Palamides saw them approach, he said to his squire,—