"My name is Sir Philebert de Shaunde and my escutcheon quite as ancient as your own," with another bow.
"It is a pity, then, it has fallen upon one who needs more than his own word to sustain the claim."
De Shaunde's face went red again and his voice trembled and was very soft. "His Grace of Buckingham will be my voucher, though it will misdemean him much as against one who has a tymbestere for mistress and is a coward, as well."
De Lacy glanced quickly around the room:
"She is no longer here to feel your insults," he said, "but it is her due that I refute them. I never saw the maid until I saved her from your foul caress. As for my cowardice, good sir, I but protect my knighthood against a caitiff whose very touch is dark pollution."
"I shall proclaim your refusal to accept my defiance before King and Court and let them judge of the quarrel."
"So be it—you will find me known there," Aymer replied curtly; and sauntering back to his table he called for another bottle of wine.
De Shaunde, however, stayed only long enough to give some order to the landlord, who received it with rather scant courtesy; then with showy indifference, slapping his gauntlets against his leg as he walked, he left the room by the street door just as Giles Dauvrey entered. The squire stood aside to let him pass, then crossed to his master.
"Did you recognize that fellow?" De Lacy queried.
"No, my lord."