But the monk lay where he fell and made no reply.
“Take him away,” commanded the Baron impatiently, whereupon several of the menials laid hands on the fallen monk and dragged him into the scullery he had left.
Turning to his men-at-arms, the Baron roared: “Well, my gentle wolves, have a few words in Latin on a bit of sheep-skin turned you all to sheep?”
“I have always said,” spoke up the knight Segfried, “that no good came of captured monks, or meddling with the Church. Besides, we are noble all, and do not hold with the raising of a mailed hand against an unarmed man.”
There was a low murmur of approval among the knights at Segfried’s boldness.
“Close the gates,” shouted the maddened Baron. Every one flew at the word of command, and the great oaken hinges studded with iron, slowly came together, shutting out the bit of landscape their opening had discovered. The Baron flung the reins on his charger’s neck, and smote the animal on the flank, causing it to trot at once to its stable.
“There will be no riding to-day,” he said, his voice ominously lowering. The stablemen of the castle came forward and led away the horses. The sixteen knights stood in a group together with Segfried at their head, waiting with some anxiety on their brows for the next move in the game. The Baron, his sword drawn in his hand, strode up and down before them, his brow bent on the ground, evidently struggling to get the master hand over his own anger. If it came to blows the odds were against him and he was too shrewd a man to engage himself single-handed in such a contest.
At length the Baron stopped in his walk and looked at the group. He said, after a pause, in a quiet tone of voice: “Segfried, if you doubt my courage because I strike to the ground a rascally monk, step forth, draw thine own good sword, our comrades will see that all is fair betwixt us, and in this manner you may learn that I fear neither mailed nor unmailed hand.”
But the knight made no motion to lay his hand upon his sword, nor did he move from his place. “No one doubts your courage, my Lord,” he said, “neither is it any reflection on mine that in answer to your challenge my sword remains in its scabbard. You are our overlord and it is not meet that our weapons should be raised against you.”
“I am glad that point is firmly fixed in your minds. I thought a moment since that I would be compelled to uphold the feudal law at the peril of my own body. But if that comes not in question, no more need be said. Touching the unarmed, Segfried, if I remember aright you showed no such squeamishness at our sacking of the Convent of St. Agnes.”