‘Fly!’ proudly said Britomart. ‘Words only frighten babies. I will not fly. I will fight you!’
Then they fought, and with her spear Britomart gave the knight a terrible wound, and rode away, leaving him lying senseless on the shore.
Many other fights had Britomart as she sought Artegall, and always her magic spear made her the winner.
One day she came to a place where a great many knights were having a tournament.
A beautiful golden girdle, sparkling with jewels, was to be the prize for the knight that fought the best.
For three days they had fought and fought, until the ground was strewed with broken spears and swords.
On the last day of the tournament a stranger knight had appeared. His armour did not shine with silver and gold like those of the other knights, but looked like an old tree all overgrown with moss. His horse was decked with oak-leaves, and he carried a battered old shield.
‘The Savage Knight,’ the others called him, and they would have laughed at him and his shabby armour, had he not fought so well. All day long he fought, and one knight after another he threw wounded or dead on the ground. At sunset they feared him as they might have feared a fierce lion, and none dared stand against him.
Just then Britomart rode up with her golden armour gleaming against the sunset sky.
She couched her spear and rode at the Savage Knight, and threw him to the ground.