The French champion was arrayed in a full suit of knightly armor--of course without the gold spurs which were the distinguishing mark of that rank--and with his helmet and lofty plume of feathers he appeared to tower above Cuthbert, who, in his close-fitting steel cap and link armor seemed a very dwarf by the side of a giant.
"It is not size, sire, but muscle and pluck will win in a combat like this.

Your majesty need not be afraid that my page will disgrace me.

He is of my blood, though the kinship is not close.

He is of mixed Saxon and Norman strain, and will, believe me, do no discredit to either." The king's brow cleared, for in truth he was very proud of his English nationality, and would have been sorely vexed to see the discomfiture of an English champion, even though that champion were a boy.
"Brother Philip," he said, turning to the king, "I will wager my gold chain against yours on yonder stripling." "Methinks that it were robbery to take your wager," the King of France said.

"The difference between their bulk is disproportionate.