It was not an answer that helped the captain. He pulled at his pipe a moment.
“I was bidden,” said he presently, “to carry you to Barbary and sell you there into the service of the Moors. That I might serve you, I made believe to accept this task.”
“God’s death!” swore Sir Oliver. “You carry make-believe to an odd length.”
“The weather has been against me. It were no intention o’ mine to ha’ come so far south with you. But we’ve been driven by the gale. That is overpast, and so that ye’ll promise to bear no plaint against me, and to make good some of the loss I’ll make by going out of my course, and missing a cargo that I wot of, I’ll put about and fetch you home again within a week.”
Sir Oliver looked at him and smiled grimly. “Now what a rogue are you that can keep faith with none!” he cried. “First you take money to carry me off; and then you bid me pay you to carry me back again.”
“Ye wrong me, sir, I vow ye do! I can keep faith when honest men employ me, and ye should know it, Sir Oliver. But who keeps faith with rogues is a fool—and that I am not, as ye should also know. I ha’ done this thing that a rogue might be revealed to you and thwarted, as well as that I might make some little profit out of this ship o’ mine. I am frank with ye, Sir Oliver. I ha’ had some two hundred pounds in money and trinkets from your brother. Give me the like and....”
But now of a sudden Sir Oliver’s listlessness was all dispelled. It fell from him like a cloak, and he sat forward, wide awake and with some show of anger even.
“How do you say?” he cried, on a sharp, high note.
The captain stared at him, his pipe neglected. “I say that if so be as ye’ll pay me the same sum which your brother paid me to carry you off....”
“My brother?” roared the knight. “Do you say my brother?”