This was bad news for Willie. As he turned his horse’s head to take up his place, that disconsolate youth murmured through the bars of his closed visor,-- "Bowerman, I say, there’s little need to tilt in earnest. I won’t hit you hard, if you’ll only rap on my breastpiece lightly." But Bowerman only laughed. He was delighted to have so easy an adversary. "Marry, ’Pig’s Eyes,’" he replied, "do thy best, there’s the Captain looking on." With a deep sigh of woe-begone anticipation, poor Willie, whose bones still ached from his last fall, wheeled his horse round at the word of command, and sat facing Bowerman. "At the word ’Ready,’" said Tom o’ Kingston, in a dry, monotonous voice, "you will lay your spears in rest, holding the point on a level with your own eye, and the hand pressed well into the side, keeping the guard well up to the rest. At the word ’Go,’ you will clap spurs to your horses, and ride straight for each other." There was a pause for the combatants to settle themselves well in their saddles, look to any part of their armour that might be amiss, and generally pull themselves together. "Ready!" called out the esquire. Down came the lances in a graceful sweep, and the two pages sat waiting for the next word. "Go!" shouted the instructor, and the previously motionless figures dug their spurs into their horses, and rode at each other. The two lances struck almost at the same moment, but Bowerman adroitly caught Newenhall’s lance on his polished shield, and thus caused it to glance over his left shoulder. His own spear struck his adversary under the rim of the breastplate, where it turned over to protect the gorget. Sliding along the smooth surface of the steel, it held under the roundel which protected the right shoulder, and the miserable Willie was lifted out of the saddle, and hurled once more over the crupper to the ground, while Bowerman, raising his lance aloft, after the proper fashion, trotted round to his own place again, saluting the Breton knight and Sir John Trenchard as he rode past. "Well and manfully done, Sir Page!" cried the latter warrior. "_Ma foi! oui! il a fait son devoir en bon soudard_," said the sire Alain de Kervignac. The hapless Newenhall lay still upon the ground; not that he was really hurt, beyond being considerably shaken, and bumped about the head; but he wisely thought if it were seen that he were hurt he might be sent indoors, and allowed to sit in Lady Trenchard’s room, and be made a fuss of, a state of affairs he dearly loved. "Is he hurt, think you?" said Sir John Trenchard. "I would be loth that he really got a hurt." "Nay, Sir John," said Tom o’ Kingston, winking at his chief in a knowing fashion, "he’ll be all right anon. I know the habits of the lad." Then he called out, "Master Newenhall, the others are going to begin; you’d best get out of the way."