The weapon of his noble ally had pierced a fleshy part of his opponent as he had turned to run away.
“Spare my life, good Sir Walter Stewart!” cried Torfefan, in an agony of fear. “Most noble Knight, spare the life of a fellow-courtier!”
“Get up, sir; I have no intention of taking it,” replied Sir Walter. “’Tis enow for me that I have thus exorcised the spirit of the pottle-pot out of thee. ’Twas that which made thine otherwise peaceful sword leap from its scabbard against thy betters. Get thee up, I say, and go home.”
“Thou art right, Sir Knight,” replied Torfefan, rising humbly upon his knees, and gradually gaining his legs. “I am at all times mild and peaceful, as so brave a man, and so perfect a master of fence ought to be, save when the flask hath somewhat inflamed my brain, and then, indeed, I am as dangerous as a devil. ’Twas well that thou camest, else my Lord of Huntly, whom otherwise I so highly respect, had certainly died by my murderous hand.”
“’Twas well, indeed, that thy bloody Bacchanalian rage was staid in time,” said Sir Walter Stewart, ironically. “In this bout, thou hast so well proved thy title to bravery, as well as to science in fence, that who shall dare henceforth to deny these thy perfections? So take the advice of a friend, Signor Torfefan, and get thee straightway to bed, lest the dregs of that same pottle-pot, working in thee still, should draw down upon thee some more serious fracture than that of thy bilboa-blade.”
“Ha! true,” said Torfefan; “that was a loss indeed! But murderers will suffer at last; and if thou didst but know the blood which that same lethal weapon hath shed in my hands, and the lives which it hath sacrificed, thou would’st say, Sir Knight——”
“I would say that thou should’st forthwith hasten to thy bed,” interrupted Sir Walter. “If the King should hear of this brawl——”
“Gad so, that’s true, Sir Walter!” cried Torfefan; “thank thee for the hint. Were those reptiles, Cochran, Rogers, and the rest, to hear of this, they might work mine absolute destruction. Ah, that’s the worst feature of our King’s court, Sir Walter! The worst misfortune that has happened, I say, to us gentlemen of the court, is the admission to it of such vile scum as these Cochrans, and Rogers, and Leonards, and such like base mechanics. My very broil this blessed night, may be said to be owing to my permitting that lily-livered hog in armour, Hommil, to company with me. But while I am prating, these villains may get sight of me, and make their own story out of me. So I’ll tarry here no longer. Good night, Sir Walter Stewart; you are a brave gentleman, well fitted to company with the King.”
“What a cowardly boasting knave!” said Sir Walter, after he was gone.
“Yet, to such vermin are all the crumbs of royal favour thrown, to the utter starvation of those who are of noble breed!” cried Huntly, with bitterness. “I would fain drink one flask of wine with thee, Stewart, at thy hostel, ere I go home, to wash down the indignation and loathing, which the very sight of these scoundrel caitiffs hath brought into my throat. Let me go thither with thee straightway.”