Unable to control his feelings during the inevitable pause, Geoffrey started to his feet.
"St. George for England, father!" he cried out, oblivious to all else besides the two combatants.
Men turned in astonishment to gaze at the daring youth. Sir Denis marked the lad with a ferocious glare. Sir Yves, engaged in conversation, heard but the first portion of the exclamation, while Sir Oliver caught everything but the last word.
"Ay, young sir, St. George for England and God's benison on my task," he replied.
The next instant the warder of the Lord of Malevereux clattered on the floor of the daïs.
Both antagonists started at the signal. Sir Denis urged his charger down the lists at its utmost speed, while with sharpened lance held firmly in rest he sought to transfix his adversary, or at least to sweep him from the saddle. On his part Sir Oliver rode more cautiously, keeping a firmer hold upon the bridle than on his lance.
The spectators held their breath. Surely the ill-armed Englishman must go down before the impetuous rush of the burly, powerful Frenchman? But ere their lance-points crossed Sir Oliver pulled in his steed, dropped swiftly forward across the animal's mane, and raised his shield obliquely above his head, his lance falling from his grasp as he did so.
Ere Sir Denis could lower his lance-point the steel glided from the oblique surface of his antagonist's shield. The next instant the Englishman's sinewy arm was around the Frenchman's waist, and, throwing all the power of his half-starved frame into one mighty heave, Sir Oliver lifted his steel-clad opponent clean out of his tilting saddle. With a dull clang the brother of the Tyrant fell upon the turf, helpless and beaten by one whom he had regarded as an easy victim to his prowess.
Already some of the squires and pages of Sir Denis were running to their master's aid, while others attempted to seize the bridle of his riderless horse. But urging his steed into a gallop, Sir Oliver ranged alongside the masterless animal, and before the astonished crowd could realize his action he was in the saddle but recently occupied by Sir Denis, while his borrowed charger was trotting back to its lawful owner.
"Seize me yon English knight," shouted Sir Yves with an oath. "What! Why tarry? Dost think 'tis the Prince of Darkness?" For feelings either of surprise or repugnance towards the man who had already shown his intention of breaking his plighted promise restrained the servants of the Lord of Malevereux. Not a hand was raised to apprehend the knight who had held his own against such fearful odds.