"For my Princess!" he whispered as Sir Wildred loomed large before him.
Lance smote on shield as the two knights crashed together with terrific force and Blake felt himself lifted clear of his saddle and hurled heavily to the ground. He was neither stunned nor badly hurt and as he sat up a sudden grin wreathed his face, for there, scarce a lance length from him, sat Sir Wildred. But Sir Wildred did not smile.
"'Sdeath!" he cried. "Thou laughest at me, sirrah?"
"If I look as funny as you do," Blake assured him, "you've got a laugh coming too."
Sir Wildred knit his brows. "Ods blud!" he exclaimed. "An thou beest a knight of Nimmr I be a Saracen! Who beest thou? Thy speech savoreth not of the Valley."
Blake had arisen. "Hurt much?" he asked stepping forward. "Here, I'll give you a hand up."
"Thou art, of a certainty, a strange sir knight," said Wildred. "I recall now that thou didst offer succor to Sir Guy when thou hadst fairly vanquished him."
"Well, what's wrong with that?" asked Blake. "I haven't anything against you. We've had a bully good scrap and are out of it. Why should we sit here and make faces at one another?"
Sir Wildred shook his head. "Thou are beyond my comprehension," he admitted.
By this time their squires and a couple of serving men had arrived, but neither of the fallen knights was so badly injured that he could not walk without assistance. As they started for their respective tilts Blake turned and smiled at Wildred.