“But you do speak it?” persisted Monk, in order to examine his accent once more.
“Eh! we men of the sea,” replied the fisherman, “speak a little of all languages.”
“Then you are a sea fisherman?”
“I am at present, my lord—a fisherman, and a famous fisherman too. I have taken a barbel that weighs at least thirty pounds, and more than fifty mullets; I have also some little whitings that will fry beautifully.”
“You appear to me to have fished more frequently in the Gulf of Gascony than in the Channel,” said Monk, smiling.
“Well, I am from the south; but does that prevent me from being a good fisherman, my lord?”
“Oh! not at all; I shall buy your fish. And now speak frankly; for whom did you destine them?”
“My lord, I will conceal nothing from you. I was going to Newcastle, following the coast, when a party of horsemen who were passing along in an opposite direction made a sign to my bark to turn back to your honor’s camp, under penalty of a discharge of musketry. As I was not armed for fighting,” added the fisherman, smiling, “I was forced to submit.”
“And why did you go to Lambert’s camp in preference to mine?”
“My lord, I will be frank; will your lordship permit me?”