“Who valueth not his life a whit,
    Let him this magic basin hit.”

This so enraged Sir Lancelot that he drove at the vessel violently with his spear, piercing it through and through, so vigorous was the assault.  The clangour was loud, and anxiously did the knight await for some reply to his summons.  Yet there was no answer, nor was there any stir about the walls or outworks.  It seemed as though Sir Tarquin was his own castellan, skulking here alone, like the cunning spider watching for his prey.

Silence, with her vast and unmoving wings, appeared to brood over the place; and echo, that gave back their summons from the walls, seemed to labour for utterance through the void by which they were encompassed.  A stillness so appalling might needs discourage the hot and fiery purpose of Sir Lancelot, who, unused but to the rude clash of arms, and the melee of the battle, did marvel exceedingly at this forbearance of the enemy.  But he still rode round about the fortress, expecting that some one should come forth to inquire his business, and this did he, to and fro, for a long space.  As he was just minded to return from so fruitless an adventure, he saw a cloud of dust at some distance, and presently he beheld a knight galloping furiously towards him.  Coming nigh, Sir Lancelot was aware that a captive knight lay before him, bound hand and foot, bleeding and sore wounded.

“Villain!” cried Sir Lancelot, “and unworthy the name of a true and loyal knight, how darest thou do this insult and contumely to an enemy, who, though fallen, is yet thine equal?  I will make thee rue this foul despite, and avenge the wrongs of my brethren of the Round Table.”

“If thou be for so brave a meal,” said Tarquin, “thou shalt have thy fill, and that speedily.  I will first cut off thy head, and then serve up thy carcase to the Round Table; for both that and thee I do utterly defy!”

“This is over-dainty food for thy sending,” replied Sir Lancelot hastily, and with that they couched their spears.  The first rush was over, but man and horse had withstood the shock.  Again they fell back, measuring the distance with an eager and impetuous glance, and again they rushed on, as if to overwhelm each other by main strength, when, as fortune would have it, their lances shivered, both of them at once, in the rebound.  The end of Sir Lancelot’s spear, as it broke, struck his adversary’s steed on the shoulder, and caused him to fall suddenly, as if sore wounded.  Sir Tarquin leaped nimbly from off his back; which Sir Lancelot espying, he cried out—­

“Now will I show thee the like courtesy; for, by mine honour and the faith of a true knight, I will not slay thee at this foul advantage.”  Alighting with haste, they betook themselves to their swords, each guarding the opposite attack warily with his shield.  That of Sir Tarquin was framed of a bull’s hide, stoutly held together with thongs, and, in truth, seemed well-nigh impenetrable; whilst