After the sand had been renewed in the lists to cover the unsightly stains, a light and joyous rondalen was sounded, and the commingled challengers and challenged were seen issuing from their tents in the wooded bosque, and mounting fresh roaches, newly caparisoned with gay trappings, they again entered the lists. When the roachavalcade reached the barrier vestibule, the heralds proclaimed: “Count San Pietro Marceroni, the elected king champion of the lists, in whom is vested absolute authority, and honors that will remain inviolate, until in an approved tourney a worthy successor can be found. Salute your champion king!” The trumpets then sounded the crowning tan-tarra, while the count, assisted by twelve knights-of-honor, dismounted and was invested with the kingly robes of love and honor, then kneeling upon a richly wrought carpet he was crowned by the master of ceremonies with the consecrated chaplet of Mars. As he rose the vast assemblage saluted him with the exclamations: “Long live the noble Count San Pietro Marceroni, king champion of the lists!” the mouthed concussions of boisterous adulation causing the canopies to vibrate with the echoing sound of noisy and noisome breath. Again the braying of trumpets and clash of cymbals overpowered the tumultuous shouts of the multitude, and when sufficiently hushed for a single voice to be heard, the grand master gave utterance in proclamation to the maxim: “It is not good for man to rule alone! And, in obedience to well approved custom, and the chivalric gallantry of brave hearts, it hath been adjudged that after his own installation the king champion shall, from his own choice, elect a queen of love and beauty to preside in public at feast and festival during the term of his regality. In accordance with this imperative decree our salutations await his choice!”