Swearing an oath that blenched the cheek of the innkeeper, and scowling with the ferocity that never failed to cow all of this kidney, Sir Richard Pendragon drew his sword with a flourish, made a magnificent pass at the air, and stuck it at one pace from him in the wooden floor.
I think I have never seen more amazement in the human countenance than this action excited in all who witnessed it. At first the onlookers seemed unwilling to believe their eyes. That any human being should enter their presence and thus bear himself was a thing they could not grasp. And then, when they came to realize that the Englishman regarded their presence no more than he did that of the innkeeper, a kind of pitying contempt came into their faces.
Nevertheless, some little time went by ere they addressed Sir Richard Pendragon. Conversing together in low tones, they appeared to wait upon the good pleasure of one among them. Then they called the landlord, who stood awaiting their commands, and gave him certain instructions.
Upon receipt of these the keeper of the auberge approached Sir Richard Pendragon, yet with a good deal of wariness, and said, “Monsieur, I am instructed by the gentlemen of the King’s Guard to inform you that, whoever you may be, your behaviour is intolerable. But as you and your companions are clearly of a foreign nation, they are loth to admonish you. Yet I am to inform you that if you do not immediately put up your sword and withdraw from this apartment, you will compel them to visit you according to your merit.”
Now, although the keeper of the auberge, having both right and might at his elbow, had spoken with a well-considered civility which is rare in his class, and the words that he had been instructed to use were those of an admirable moderation, which in the circumstances did honour to his patrons, they were not accepted by Sir Richard Pendragon in a spirit of forbearance.
“Do you presume to outface a Pendragon, you French dog?” he roared. “For a pint of sherris I would pull your neck.”
Speaking thus, the Englishman took up a cup half full of the wine that was near to him, and flung it full at the head of the innkeeper.
In spite, however, of this new affront to their ambassador, the gentlemen of the King’s Guard showed no disposition to hurry their measures. Again they conversed among themselves; and then a thin, tall man, with a visage exceeding melancholy, not, however, in the king’s livery, yet attired in a dress of sober richness, rose slowly from the table at which he had been playing at the cards. There was something of majesty in his movements, and as he approached the Count of Nullepart and myself with a cold air, his mien was worthy of a cardinal.
“I would speak with you, my friends,” he said in a deep and musical voice, yet the tone was such as he would have used to his lackeys.
The Count of Nullepart shook his head solemnly, as though he understood not a word, and said in a rude Spanish, “I have not your language, Señor Soldado.”