By this I was off Black Lamoral and facing my lord.

The color had come back to his lip and cheek, and the flash to his eye.

His hand went to his sword hilt.
"I shall not draw mine, my lord," I told him.

"I keep troth." He stared at me with a frown that suddenly changed into a laugh, forced and unnatural enough.

"Then go thy ways, and let me go mine!" he cried.
"Be complaisant, worthy captain of trainbands and Burgess from a dozen huts! The King and I will make it worth your while." "I will not draw my sword upon you," I replied, "but I will try a fall with you," and I seized him by the wrist.
He was a good wrestler as he was a good swordsman, but, with bitter anger in my heart and a vision of the haunted wood before my eyes, I think I could have wrestled with Hercules and won.