“I arrest you in the king’s name,” repeated the captain, sharply; but so angry was Simon that for a moment they grappled, and the officer’s assistants were forced to take part in disarming the furious nobleman.
“Of what avail is this resistance, my lord?” cried Ludlow. “I tell you, as your friend, you had best submit. I was ordered to take you and must, sorely against my will.”
“Upon what charge?” demanded Raby, fiercely; “’tis an evil time if an innocent man may not walk safe upon the streets of London.”
The captain shrugged his shoulders. He was a kindly, honest man, but he could only discharge his office.
“I have the warrant for your arrest, my lord,” he answered soberly, “from my lord privy seal; but the reason of it?” he raised his brows, “you must ask the man who set the trap, not him who merely springs it. Verily, Lord Raby, I trust it may be no great matter, for your own sake. Mayhap you know well what folly brought it.”
“Not I,” said Simon, angrily; “’tis an insult. Where are you taking me, Sir Captain?”
“To my lord privy seal,” he answered, glancing with some compassion at the prisoner’s indignant face; “belike he has some questions to ask. But come, here I linger talking like a featherpate, and Cromwell waits. I would have left you your sword, my lord, but that you were so thirsty for blood.”
“I will go quietly,” Raby said, in great perplexity and wrath; “it was foolish to fly at thy throat for nothing, but it makes my blood boil.”
“For that I do not blame thee,” the officer replied, “though it doth usually make a man’s blood run cold.”
“You speak for a guilty man,” said Raby, sharply; “no honest man would shiver at an insult.”