When the signal for the combat was given by the marshal, and Sir Giles, sword in hand, dashed into the arena, Mounchensey rode towards him, but, without drawing his sword, and raising himself in the saddle, commanded him in a thundering voice to retire.
The impetuosity of Sir Giles's career carried him past his antagonist, but he now wheeled round, and regarded Mounchensey fiercely from beneath the bars of his helmet.
"Retire, said you ?" he exclaimed; "not unless you acknowledge yourself defeated.

In my turn, I bid you go back to the point you started from, and commence the combat in due form, or I shall hold you vanquished, and compel you to abase your crest." "Hear me," cried Sir Jocelyn, "and let it be heard by all.

I challenged any _true_ knight to the combat, but you answer not to the description.
I proclaim you publicly in this place as a false and felon knight, and declare you utterly unworthy of my sword.

Back to your starting-place, and if the heralds do their duty, they will hack off your spurs, and drive you with shame from the lists." "And think you I will tamely brook this insult ?" roared Sir Giles; "draw your sword at once, and let it be a mortal combat between us." "Never," replied Sir Jocelyn, disdainfully.

"I will not stoop to the level of your infamy." "Then stoop to earth," cried Sir Giles, aiming a terrible blow at him with his sword.
If the stroke had taken effect as intended, it would probably have made good Mompesson's threat, but Sir Jocelyn was too wary and too agile even for his powerful assailant.