“Big words break no bones!” said he jeeringly, as he stretched his hand to seize the cowering jester.
Not a word said Bertrand in reply; but he caught up a stout pole that lay near, and brought it down like a thunderbolt full on the ruffian’s head. But that his cap was a thick one, and the skull beneath it thicker still, the cowardly rascal would never have struck a helpless man again; even as it was, he fell like a log, and lay senseless on the pavement, with the blood gushing from his mouth and nose.
Alain, now fairly beside himself with fury, sputtered out a curse too frightful to be written down, and flew at his cousin, sword in hand.
Down came the pole once more, breaking off the sword-blade close to the hilt, and snapping like a reed with the force of the blow. In another moment, Bertrand found himself in the grasp of all three brothers at once.
And then began such a struggle as the oldest soldier there had never seen. Roused to the utmost by his cousin’s insolent cruelty, and by that noble impulse to protect the helpless which was the mainspring of his whole life, Bertrand dragged the three stalwart youths hither and thither like children, and more than once well-nigh mastered all three together. Huon’s arm was crushed against a sharp corner, and bruised from wrist to elbow; Raoul got a black eye from a projecting spout; and Alain himself, with his gay clothes almost torn from his back, and his throat purple from the clutch of Bertrand’s iron fingers, had good cause to repent of his bullying. At last all four came down in a confused heap, young Du Guesclin undermost.
The three young men scrambled slowly to their feet again, torn, bruised, and aching from top to toe; but their ill-starred cousin remained lying where he had fallen, with the blood streaming over his face.
“What means this?” roared a tremendous voice amid the terrified silence that followed. “Is my castle a village tavern, that men should brawl in it?”
The turbulent youths shrank from the eye of their enraged uncle, who was bending over his prostrate son, with a look of such anxiety as he rarely showed for him, when a trumpet-blast was heard outside the gate.
“Here be guests,” said the old knight, rising hastily. “Look forth quickly, Petit-Jean, and see who they be. Some of ye bear this boy to his chamber, and let his hurt be well looked to. And as for you, ye malapert lads, go make ye fit to be seen in the hall, for, by St. Yves, ye seem in your present guise more like drunken beggars at a village fair!”
The abashed brawlers slunk away, glad to escape so easily; and the porter, having reconnoitred from the window of the gate-tower those who stood without, and exchanged a few words with them, announced to his master that two English knights, on their way to visit the Duke of Brittany, craved lodging for themselves and their train.