They were not kept waiting long, for the fierce look upon the boy’s countenance gave place to a pleasant smile which the Englishman did not read as meant mockingly. He stretched out and took the cup, and the bully returned the smile as he gave his companions a quick nod of the head.
“You see, boys,” he cried, in his loud bullying voice, “this is the way to teach French monkeys! Now, my mincing young skipjack, God save King Harry!—Malediction!” he roared, as he snatched up his sword, for with a quick motion the boy had emptied the wine-cup full in his face.
Chapter Twenty One.
Trapped.
At the English captain’s action his two companions sprang from their chairs and drew their weapons, for Denis had stepped back with his own blade leaping from its scabbard—a movement followed at once by his three companions, who stood on their defence.
“Now, boys,” raged out Sir Robert. “Hah! The window is open. Ready?”
“Yes,” came fiercely.
“No deep wounds; but prick and make them dance till they reach the window and leap out. I’ll tackle this boy.”