These words appeased the choler of Rosader, for he was of a mild and courteous nature, so that he laid down his weapons, and upon the faith of a gentleman assured his brother he would offer him no prejudice:  whereupon Saladyne came down, and after a little parley they embraced each other and became friends; and Saladyne promising Rosader the restitution of all his lands, “and what favor else,” quoth he, “any ways my ability or the nature of a brother may perform.”  Upon these sugared reconciliations they went into the house arm in arm together, to the great content of all the old servants of Sir John of Bordeaux.

Thus continued the pad[1] hidden in the straw, till it chanced that Torismond, king of France, had appointed for his pleasure a day of wrastling and of tournament to busy his commons’ heads, lest, being idle, their thoughts should run upon more serious matters, and call to remembrance their old banished king; a champion there was to stand against all comers, a Norman, a man of tall stature and of great strength; so valiant, that in many such conflicts he always bare away the victory, not only overthrowing them which he encountered, but often with the weight of his body killing them outright.  Saladyne hearing of this, thinking now not to let the ball fall to the ground, but to take opportunity by the forehead, first by secret means convented[2] with the Norman, and procured him with rich rewards to swear that if Rosader came within his claws he should never more return to quarrel with Saladyne for his possessions.  The Norman desirous of pelf—­as Quis nisi mentis inops oblatum respuit aurum?—­taking great gifts for little gods, took the crowns of Saladyne to perform the stratagem.

[Footnote 1:  toad.]

[Footnote 2:  met.]

Having thus the champion tied to his villainous determination by oath, he prosecuted the intent of his purpose thus.  He went to young Rosader, who in all his thoughts reached at honor, and gazed no lower than virtue commanded him, and began to tell him of this tournament and wrastling, how the king should be there, and all the chief peers of France, with all the beautiful damosels of the country.

“Now, brother,” quoth he, “for the honor of Sir John of Bordeaux, our renowmed father, to famous that house that never hath been found without men approved in chivalry, show thy resolution to be peremptory.[1] For myself thou knowest, though I am eldest by birth, yet never having attempted any deeds of arms, I am youngest to perform any martial exploits, knowing better how to survey my lands than to charge my lance:  my brother Fernandyne he is at Paris poring on a few papers, having more insight into sophistry and principles of philosophy, than any warlike endeavors; but thou, Rosader, the youngest in years but the eldest in valor, art a man of strength, and darest do what honor allows thee.  Take thou my father’s lance, his sword, and his horse, and hie thee to the tournament, and either there valiantly crack a spear, or try with the Norman for the palm of activity.”