"De Claverlok, you lie in your bewhiskered throat," returned Sir Richard in a menacing undertone.
"Never before hath man said that word to me and lived," declared the grizzled warrior gloomily. "But I forgive you, Sir Dick. Aye, I forgive you. An you'll but consent to wait an hour, I'll hear you asking my forgiveness. You can do it, my boy,—you can wait. Say to Douglas that thou art an emissary of Henry, who hath but journeyed here to yield to him thy sovereign's good wishes. Tell him that I am your companion and squire. Mayhap 'twill answer for my present safety."
"First dive within the moat and fetch me your dripping lance. 'Twould be a most befitting badge of your loyalty to me to lay before him, de Claverlok."
"You would be at this moment in a far better case," observed the grizzled warrior bitterly, "an it had taken you in the small of the back, where I intended it should land. You know damned well 'twas hurled butt foremost, ... eh? By the Rood, boy, answer me."
Sir Richard hesitated; then, measuring his companion's earnest look, nodded in the affirmative.
"I'll do it," said he, "though a plague take me, an I think you deserve it. But whereof be the good, an your act were seen from barbacan or shot-hole?"
"I'll take my solemn oath 'twas driven at the door," observed de Claverlok, smiling in open gratification at having achieved his point. "You'll delay the blessed paper, too, ... eh?"
"Nay—that I dare not do," whispered Sir Richard decisively. "Even now unmeasured harm may have resulted from my egregious blunder in permitting the original to be stolen. An ill messenger have I been, de Claverlok—an ill messenger."
"You'll persist in delivering the paper, ... eh?"
"Upon my soul. Yea."