thank you, Sir Dinadan, for your good will," said Tristram, "but you
shall see that I am able to handle him."

He thereupon hastily armed himself, and, mounting his horse, rode to
meet Palamides. Then a challenge to joust passed between them, and they
rode together. But Tristram kept his seat and Palamides got a grievous
fall, and lay on the earth like one dead.

Leaving him there with a comrade, Tristram and Dinadan rode on, and
obtained lodging for that night at the castle of an old knight, who had
five sons at the tournament.

As for Palamides, when he recovered from his swoon, he well-nigh lost
his wits through sheer vexation. He rode headlong forward, wild with
rage, and meeting a deep stream sought to make his horse leap it. But
the horse fell in and was drowned, and the knight himself reached shore
only by the barest chance.

Now, mad with chagrin, he flung off his armor, and sat roaring and
crying like a man distracted. As he sat there, a damsel passed by, who
on seeing his distressful state sought to comfort him, but in vain. Then
she rode on till she came to the old knight's castle, where Tristram
was, and told how she had met a mad knight in the forest.

"What shield did he bear?" asked Tristram.

"It was indented with black and white," answered the damsel.

"That was Palamides. The poor fellow has lost his wits through his bad
luck. I beg that you bring him to your castle, Sir Darras."

This the old knight did, for the frenzy of the Saracen had now passed,
and he readily accompanied him. On reaching the castle he looked
curiously at Tristram, whom he felt sure he had seen before, but could
not place him in his mind. But his anger against his fortunate rival
continued, and he boasted proudly to Dinadan of what he would do when he
met that fellow Tristram.

"It seems to me," answered Dinadan, "that you met him not long since,
and got little good of him. Why did you not hold him when you had him in
your hands? You were too easy with the fellow not to pummel him when you
had so fine an opportunity."

This scornful reply silenced the boastful Saracen, who fell into an
angry moodiness.

Meanwhile King Arthur was sore at heart at the disappearance of
Tristram, and spoke in reproach to Lancelot as being the cause of his
loss.

"My liege Arthur," answered Lancelot, "you do me ill justice in this.
When men are hot in battle they may well hurt their friends as well as
their foes. As for Tristram, there i