“You are perverse and stubborn, but the law is plain and must be obeyed. Call the King’s challenger.”
Sigurd, raising his voice, called loudly:
“In the King’s name I call on the King’s challenger to appear.” Rang out a great rattle of trumpets, voices hummed in expectation, and all heads turned in the direction of another archway in the amphitheatre, from which it was known that the challenger and the champion would appear.
Out of the darkness, into the bright light of the arena stepped a figure all in armor, with the visor of his helmet down, so that none could see his face. The armor was plain; the shield bore no device, but it was buzzed about in all directions that this was the Lord Hildebrand, and any doubts were answered by the assertion, patently true, that the Lord Hildebrand did not make one of the glittering group about the King. The archbishop addressed the new-comer.
“Proclaim your purpose,” he commanded.
The challenger, still with his visor lowered, said in a low voice:
“In the King’s name I accuse this woman of witchcraft, and will maintain that charge with my sword, if any be found bold to challenge it.”
The archbishop again rose and asked:
“Does any champion answer on the woman’s side?”
Out of the same archway came Theron in old and rusty armor, with the visor of his helmet up, so that all could behold his wrinkled, haggard face.