"A strong and handsome stripling, and one likely to acquit himself with honour, here and elsewhere."
"A likely lad is Arthur," muttered Thomelin of Winchester to my grandsire; "and, in the prince's presence, will do credit to his bringing up."
Nor did mine host of the Falcon speak without prescience. Managing my steed with perfect facility, and displaying with my weapon a familiarity that had not characterised the Londoners who had preceded me, I spurred towards the quintain, struck the shield fairly, and, ere the spindle could revolve, retreated with seeming ease amid shouts of applause. Three times I repeated the attempt, and on each occasion performed the feat with such success, that the crowd shouted louder and louder in compliment to my skill.
"Gallantly and dexterously done," said the prince, as, flushed with exertion and excitement, I was brought to the presence of the mayor, and uncovered my head.
I bowed low to the compliment so sincerely expressed.
"Thy name, youth?" said the prince.
"My lord," I answered, "my name is Arthur."
"And your surname?" continued the prince.
"I have no surname, my lord," replied I; "but since I won the ram at the wrestling match at Windsor, on May Day, men have called me Arthur Winram."