"Bide a wee yet," whispered the Lord James; "we will try the soft answer once more, and if that fail, why then, old Samson, you may clout your fill."
"His fill!" corrected Malise, grimly.
"Your pardon, good gentlemen," said James of Douglas aloud to the spokesman, "we are poor men and travel with nothing but the merest necessities—of which surely you would not rob us."
"Nay, holy St. Luke," mocked the swarthy one, "not rob. That is an evil word—rather we would relieve you of temptation for your own souls' good. You are come for your sins to Paris. You know that the love of money is the root of all evil. So in giving to us who are clerks of Paris you will not lose your ducats, but only contribute of your abundance to Holy Mother Church. I am a clerk, see—I do not deceive you! I will both shrive and absolve you in return for the filthy lucre!"
And, commanding one of his rabble to hold a torch close to his head, he uncovered and showed a tonsured crown.
"And if we refuse?" said Lord James, quietly.
"Then, good Doctor Luke," answered the youth, "we are ten to four—and it would be our sad duty to send you all to heaven and then ease your pockets, lest, being dead, some unsanctified passer-by might be tempted to steal your money."
"Surely I may clout him now?" came again like the nearer growl of a lion from Malise the smith.
Seeing the four men apparently intimidated and without means of defence, the ten youths advanced boldly, some with swords in their right hands and torches in their left, the rest with swords and daggers both. The Scots stood silent and firm. Not a weapon showed from beneath a cloak.
"Down on your knees!" cried the leader of the young roisterers, and with his left hand he thrust a blazing torch into the grey beard of Malise.