"Thank you, Beowulf, for your compliments, but if I am permitted to witness your feat of arms, I'll endeavour not to 'simper and whimper about' if it annoys you. But you men folk can find nothing better to do than play at war, I know, and therefore I rule it shall be with both the broadsword and lance," said Ethel.
"Agreed!" cried Oswald; "and our fair cousin Ethel shall be queen of beauty à la joute."
"Mind you don't make a fool or a dolt of yourself, neighbour Oswald, with your Norman fooleries. But I'll humour you in your folly for the sake of a bout with the broadsword, in honest Saxon fashion," growled Beowulf.
When they reached the hall the two young men retired to the armoury, and presently reappeared clad in complete armour, several lances being borne by the housecarles. The pair then sprang into their saddles, and Oswald, partly to joke his opponent, careened round in a circle, mimicking the gallantry of the Normans, displaying the paces of his charger and his skill in horsemanship. As he passed Ethel, in mock seriousness he dipped the point of his lance in salutation of her as queen of beauty. Ethel endeavoured to disguise it, but the crimson blushes suffused her countenance for an instant; but there was a quick revolt of maidenly dignity; her eye flashed, and her foot beat the ground impatiently, as she exclaimed under her breath,—"I presume he thinks I am but a child to tease and joke."
Presently the pair took up a position some twenty paces apart, and prepared to charge. Ethel, fearful of her brother's temper, which was most uncertain, cried to them, "Will you remember this is but play, and see you two don't come to blows in good earnest? for I know by experience that brother Beowulf flies into a rage with me if I poke fun at him, and what he will do if you poke him in the ribs with that ugly weapon, Master Oswald, I know not."
"Go to, wench, your tongue is too ready! You would be better seen superintending the wenches who are roasting hogsflesh, than wagging your tongue in the presence of men." Then, turning to his friend and comrade Oswald, he said, "Now, sir, are you ready? Let us be done with this Norman folly as soon as maybe."
So they laid their lances in rest, and prepared to tilt. Oswald was much more tall and lithe than his opponent, and much more skilful in the handling of his charger. Indeed, it seemed almost as though one mind animated the pair. Beowulf was rather older, bulkier in build, and better set up, being twenty-three. But he cherished a deep-rooted aversion and contempt of the Norman leaven which had been stealing over the land during the late reign of Edward the Confessor, and his pet aversion was the mode of warfare current amongst Norman gentlemen; and so he never practised it, except on occasions like the present.
"Now, sirs," iterated Ethel, still fearful, "and especially you, Beowulf, don't get mad and knock each other's heads off, I tell you again!"
"Hold your tongue, chattering magpie, and go inside as I bid you! That is where petticoated jades like you should be when weapons are about," said Beowulf. "Now, come on, sir. If we listen to her she'll prate like a half-fed fowl by the hour together."
So the tilt commenced, and continued for some time, more in play than in dead earnest, Oswald showing his superior skill by striking Beowulf how and where he pleased, at the same time handling his horse so perfectly that Beowulf found no opportunity of striking him squarely. The rough knocks which he receives, and his want of skill, are most exasperating to Beowulf, especially so when at last by a skilful manœuvre Oswald flings his charger's flank round, bringing his head broadside on of his opponent, and then ignominiously tilts him out of his saddle to the ground. Beowulf sprang to his feet, mad with rage, and shouted,—