“Ask nothing of me, villain.”
“Ay, he is a villain,” chorused several voices.
“Mynher,” I began again, astonished at this reception from a perfect stranger.
“Not a word, wretch, not a word to me. I have no dealings with vagabonds, scum of the streets. If you have anything to say, go talk to my dogs. Zounds! Away! Out of my sight!”
I was about to expostulate, having no idea whatever how to account for this sudden burst of anger, but he raised his cane to strike me. Then I noticed a narrow band of red cloth about his left arm just beyond the elbow.
“Hush, Kilian,” said the companion who had entered with him. “Do not anger yourself.”
“Pish! May I not strike a dog?”
“’Tis not for him but for yourself. Beware, Kilian.”
The patroon was visibly affected by this rejoinder and made an effort to control himself.
“You say you don’t understand what I mean?” he continued in disdain, for he had given me a chance to profess myself ignorant of offense. “Have you not stood against my men? Have you not drawn your sword against the Red Band? Bah, dog! You shall know what it is to kill the men of the Red Band. You shall hang for this if there is a law left in the province.”