At length he heard that the Christian army had again taken the field; that the day was fixed for a great and final effort; and that a plain at an inconsiderable distance from his shop was appointed for the scene of action. Sir Isumbras rose before day, buckled on his armour, and mounting a horse which had hitherto been employed in carrying coals, proceeded to the field and took a careful view of the disposition of both armies. When the trumpets gave the signal to charge, he dismounted, fell on his knees, and after a short but fervent prayer to Heaven, again sprang into his saddle and rode into the thickest ranks of the enemy. His uncouth war-horse and awkward armour had scarcely less effect than his wonderful address and courage in attracting the attention of both parties; and when after three desperate charges, his sorry steed was slain under him, one of the Christian chiefs made a powerful effort for his rescue, bore him to a neighbouring eminence, and presented to him a more suitable coat of armour, and a horse more worthy of the heroic rider. When he was armed on that stead, It is seen where his horse yede,[585] And shall be evermore. As sparkle glides off the glede,[586] In that stour he made many bleed, And wrought hem wonder sore. He rode up into the mountain, The soudan soon hath he slain, And many that with him were. All that day lasted the fight; Sir Isumbras, that noble knight, Wan the battle there. Knights and squires have him sought, And before the king him brought; Full sore wounded was he. They asked what was his name; He said, “Sire, a smith’s man; What will ye do with me?” The Christian king said, than, “I trow never smith’s man In war was half so wight.” “I bid[587] you, give me meat and drink And what that I will after think, Till I have kevered[588] my might.” The king a great oath sware, As soon as he whole were, That he would dub him knight. In a nunnery they him leaved, To heal the wound in his heved,[589] That he took in that fight. The nuns of him were full fain, For he had the soudan slain, And many heathen hounds; For his sorrow they gan sore rue; Every day they salved him new, And stoppèd well his wounds.