The friar spurred most furiously, but the mule only dashed his head downward and his heels in a contrary direction, and kept his position. All the rest were like to burst with laughter, which still increasing the bard's insolence, he fumed about enchantments and the black art, and dared the friar to turn and look him in the face. What with one provocation, what with another, the friar's angry passions were roused; and, not being able to make his mule turn round, he drew out his sword, saying at the same time in a voice of great vehemence, "God do so to me and more also, if I make not--" He got no farther with his speech, for the mule interrupted him. Obstinate as the brute was, the sight of the sword, and the sound of his master's angry voice operated on him like magic. Perhaps he understood that all further opposition was vain,--for in one moment he wheeled around, his eyes gleaming with rage; and pricking up his ears to see where the storm of his and his master's wrath was to alight, he perceived the poet on his tall steed, brandishing his dazzling sword, and forthwith darted at them with the swiftness of an arrow, and a fury not to be checked. There were no more words nor threatenings passed between the enraged combatants; for more space of time there was none before the mule had his shoulder to that of the poet's steed, his teeth fixed in his flank, and was pushing with the fury of an enraged bull. On the closing of the two steeds the riders likewise engaged, the poet coming on with a downward stroke, which the friar received with great indifference on his sword crossed above his cowl. But knowing well the nature of his beast, he kept up the poet's sword and arm both, until the sides of the two animals were jammed together, as the rider of the mule well knew they would be. By that time the poet's arm was pressed up straight by his ear, and his sword pointed to heaven; and in endeavouring to free his elbow from the hilt of the friar's sword, he lost his balance. At the same instant their feet encountering in the stirrups, and the friar's being below that of his opponent, he gave him such a ketch with his right foot and sword-arm together, that he made him fly from his horse to a great distance, in a sort of arching direction; and the unfortunate poet, falling on his shoulder and head, was wofully bruised, and utterly discomfited.