Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high reputation; and had not the girths of his saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed.

As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man, rolled on the ground under a cloud of dust.
To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed, was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment; and, stung with madness, both at his disgrace and at the acclamations with which it was hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword and waved it in defiance of his conqueror.
The Disinherited Knight sprung from his steed, and also unsheathed his sword.

The marshals of the field, however, spurred their horses between them, and reminded them, that the laws of the tournament did not, on the present occasion, permit this species of encounter.
"We shall meet again, I trust," said the Templar, casting a resentful glance at his antagonist; "and where there are none to separate us." "If we do not," said the Disinherited Knight, "the fault shall not be mine.

On foot or horseback, with spear, with axe, or with sword, I am alike ready to encounter thee." More and angrier words would have been exchanged, but the marshals, crossing their lances betwixt them, compelled them to separate.

The Disinherited Knight returned to his first station, and Bois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained for the rest of the day in an agony of despair.
Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver, or lower part of his helmet, announced that he quaffed it, "To all true English hearts, and to the confusion of foreign tyrants." He then commanded his trumpet to sound a defiance to the challengers, and desired a herald to announce to them, that he should make no election, but was willing to encounter them in the order in which they pleased to advance against him.
The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armour, was the first who took the field.