"What!" he muttered, while he hastened forward, "three engaged. A strange duel this, or, by the Lord, two against one." Then in a moment his own great sword was out, and Andrew Vause was in his element.
At the same time he recognized one of the combatants--the fair-haired youth who had sat dozing in the tavern over his wine, now hard beset by two others--brawny, common ruffians who, Andrew made no manner of doubt, had fallen upon the well-dressed young fellow with the idea of robbery, helped at first, if necessary, by assassination. The lad was making a good fight of it, however, with his back against the wall of an empty house, and seemed to be holding his own well, although the accustomed eye of the trained soldier showed him that danger menaced the young fellow in a manner unsuspected by him.
"A higher guard," he called out as he approached, "higher, my lad. That fellow with the loose cloak on his left arm will throw it on your point else, and so disarm you. Higher--so--that's better!"
Then he reached the trio, and, for a moment, there was a cessation of hostilities.
"Ha!" said Andrew grimly, as he ran his eye over the spadassins who had attacked the other, "I do perceive. A little duel in which Monsieur the second is so carried away by his love of swordplay that, unwittingly, he joins in the fray. Well, we can better that. Messieurs doubtless know the gracious laws of the duello. While the principals engage, the seconds may also amuse themselves. Monsieur," to the lad, "attack your man--I will be your second and engage his friend," and the long rapier was raised to the salute in irony.
"Thanks," the young man said, feeling all the better for this breathing space, "this ruffian is my man," and in an instant he had fallen on one of the others with such fury that he had to defend himself or be trussed like a woodcock on the spit.
"Now, Monsieur," exclaimed Andrew, "À vous."
But whether it was the terrible appearance of the brawny Englishman who towered over him with swart complexion and fierce piercing eye, or whether it was the equally terrible appearance of that rapier with its long smooth blade and enormous quilloned hilt, there was now no fight in the fellow--not, at least, when it was man to man and even chances!
"I am no fighter," he muttered. "I did but think my friend got the worst of it--and so came to his assistance."
"No fighter," said Andrew quietly, yet appalling the man by his look, "no fighter! Yet you wear a sword, and use it--when the odds are two to one! Give it to me."