"Very well, then," I said. "I will leave you security."
He looked more respectful at this, and made a quick examination of me with his eyes.
"Unless you have some jewelry about you," he said, "your sword is the only thing that I would accept."
"You clod," I exclaimed, in a rage. "I ought to give you my sword through the body."
"A gentleman ought not to demand, for nothing, that which a poor man makes his living by selling," answered the host, turning to go in.
I looked down at my horse, which had already shown an endurance beyond its stock, and which now turned its eyes, hungrily, towards the inn stable. At the same time I thought I heard the sound of hoofs, away northward. After all, the delivery of the letter depended more on the horse than on my sword, for one horse is more likely to beat seven horses than one sword to beat seven swords.
To try whether it were possible, I made one movement, as if to hand over the weapon. But my arm refused. As well try to pluck the heart out of my body, and give it to the dog's keeping. Rather kill the man on his own threshold and, like a brigand, help myself. But I chose to be merciful.
"Be quick, then," I said. "Bring me some wine, and feed my horse as it stands here. I could take, for nothing, what you ask such high security for."
"And I have three strong sons," said the innkeeper, impudently. But he brought the wine, and ordered one of his sons to bring oats for the horse. So we made our breakfast there, horse and man, standing before the inn door. When the animal had licked up the last grain, I suddenly hurled the heavy wine-mug at the innkeeper's head, wheeled my horse about, and galloped off, shouting back to the half-stunned rascal, "Your three sons must be swift, as well as strong, to take my sword." And I rode on, southward.
"Will the Guisards follow me over this river, also?" I asked myself, as
I crossed the Garonne.