Humphrey squares his jaw and surveys the tournament field. The stands are vacated. The lists are dismantled. Three flags have blown away; a fourth is being eaten by a pigeon. There is, however, one figure still present with something approaching official standing. The Goat occupies the centre of the field in its large red hat with gold trim — the official designation of the tournament judge. It radiates the tranquillity of a creature that considers the day's business entirely concluded and is now eating the programme. Humphrey dismounts with considerable purpose and approximately average grace. "You," he announces. "I am Sir Humphrey Bumfrey, Knight of the Realm, Defender of the Somewhat Defensible. I issue a formal challenge." The Goat chews. It neither accepts nor declines, which in certain interpretations of tournament law may constitute a binding agreement. From behind a collapsed tent, Reginald the herald emerges, clutching his satchel with the expression of a man who had nearly made it home.