“As I am a true knight, my liege, I shall never lift my head again,” said Courtenay. “I have lost the most precious ornaments of my face, two pearls from my upper jaw—see here they are,” said he, holding them out, “fresh, oriental, and shaped by nature with an elegance so surprisingly and scrupulously [[504]]accurate, that they were the admiration of all who saw them. What shall I do without them?”
“Nay, in truth, thou must even make war on thy food with the wings of thine army, instead of nibbling at it with the centre, as I did remark thou were wont to do,” said Sir William Dalzel, looking over his shoulder.
“Dost thou sit there, my liege, to see one of thy native knights made a mock of? Had not the traitor’s helmet been left unclosed, by the holy shrine of St. Erkenwold, but he should have bit the dust ere now. I demand justice.”
“Nay, of a truth I did greatly err, most valiant sir,” said Sir William Dalzel, with mock penitence. “It was that hawk-shaped nese of thine that my pie would have pyked at.”
“Give me but one course all fair, and thou mayest pick as it may please thee,” replied Courtenay.
“Nay, I am willing to pleasure thee with six courses, if thou wouldst have them, good Sir Knight of the Howlet,” replied Dalzel; “but then, mark me, it must be on equal terms. Hitherto thou hast fought me with a secret vantage on thy side.”
“Vantage!” cried Courtenay with indignation; “nay, methinks the vantage hath been all thine own, Sir Scot.”
“In truth, it must be owned I have had the best of it, Sir Englishman,” said Dalzel with a sarcastic leer; “natheless, ’tis thou who hast had the secret vantage.”
“Let us be judged then by the Royal Richard,” said Courtenay.
“Agreed,” said Dalzel. “But let each of us first pledge in the Royal hands two hundred pieces of gold, to be incontinently forfaulted by him who shall be found to have borne the secret vantage.”