When they came up the king looked at Dinadan, who, through sport, had put on Tristram's helmet. This he recognized as one he had seen before with the queen of Northgalis, whom he loved. She had given it to La Belle Isolde, and she to Tristram.
"Sir knight," asked Berrant, "whence had you that helm?"
"Not from you, I fancy. What have you to say to it?"
"That I will have a tilt with you, for the love of her who once owned it. Therefore, defend yourself."
So they drew asunder, and rode at each other with all the speed of their horses. But Dinadan, good knight as he was, was no match for the tough and hardy warrior before him, and was sent, horse and all, to the ground.
"I fancy I have something to say about the helmet now," said Berrant, grimly. "Go take it off him, and keep it," he ordered his servant.
"What will you do?" cried Tristram. "Hands off, fellow. Touch not that helm."
"To what intent do you meddle, sir knight?" demanded Berrant.
"To this intent, that the helm is mine. Nor will you get it from me till you buy it at a dearer price."
"Do you mean that as a challenge?" asked Berrant. "Be it so, then; make ready."