The young Count de Jarnac, second in command, gave the order, and the men dismounted to execute it.
“Strip him naked,” said the bastard, in the cold tone of military business, “and put his arms and accoutrements on the spare mule We'll maybe find some clown worthier to wear them.”
Denys groaned aloud, “Am I to be shamed as well as slain?”
“Oh, nay! nay! nay!” cried Gerard, awaking from the stupor into which this thunderbolt of tyranny had thrown him. “He shall go with you on the instant. I'd liever part with him for ever than see a hair of his dear head harmed Oh, sir, oh, my lord, give a poor boy but a minute to bid his only friend farewell! he will go with you. I swear he shall go with you.”
The stern leader nodded a cold contemptuous assent. “Thou, Jarnac, stay with them, and bring him on alive or dead. Forward!” And he resumed his march, followed by all the band but the young count and six archers, one of whom held the spare mule.
Denys and Gerard gazed at one another haggardly. Oh, what a look!
And after this mute interchange of anguish, they spoke hurriedly, for the moments were flying by.
“Thou goest to Holland: thou knowest where she bides. Tell her all. She will be kind to thee for my sake.”
“Oh, sorry tale that I shall carry her! For God's sake, go back to the 'Tete d'Or.' I am mad!”
“Hush! Let me think: have I nought to say to thee, Denys? my head! my head!”