“Agreed,” cried Courtenay confidently.
A murmur of highly-excited curiosity now ran along the lists, and the knights despatched their esquires for the money. Dalzel gave a private hint to his as he went. In a short time the two esquires returned, each carrying a purse on a pole, both of which were put up in the balcony where the King sat. But what surprised every one was the appearance of a farrier, who followed Dalzel’s squire, bearing a burning brand in his hand.
“And now,” said Dalzel aloud, “I do boldly accuse Sir Piers Courtenay, the knight of the How——, nay, he of the Falcon, I mean, of having fought against me with two eyes, whilst one of mine was scooped out at Otterbourne, doubtless by one of the hot-spurring sons of Northumberland’s Earl. I do therefore [[505]]claim his forfaulted purse. But as I do fully admit the bravery of the said Sir Piers, the goodness of whose metal is sufficiently apparent, though it be besprent with so much vain tinsel, I am willing to do further battle with him, yea, for as many as six courses, or sixty times six, if he be so inclined, but this on condition that he doth resign that unfair vantage the which he hath hitherto had of me, and cheerfully submit to have one of his eyes extinguished by the brand of this sooty operator.”
“Sir Piers Courtenay,” said Richard, laughing heartily at a joke so well suited to the times, and which had renewed the convulsions of laughter so severely felt by Dalzel’s antagonist, “art thou prepared to agree to this so reasonable proposal?”
But Sir Piers Courtenay was so chagrined that he wanted words. He hung his head, and was silent.
“Then must we of needscost forbid all further duel, and forthwith decide incontinently against thee. The purses are thine, Sir William de Dalzel, for, sooth to say, thou hast well earned them by thy merry wit.”
“Nay, then, Sir Piers Courtenay,” said Dalzel, riding up to his opponent, “let not this waggery of mine cause me to tyne thy good will. Trust me, I will have none of thy money; but if thou art disposed to confess that thou hast no longer that contempt for Scottish knights the which thou hast been hitherto so much inclined to manifest, let it be laid out in some merry masquing party of entertainment, the which shall be thine only penance. When all else, from the Royal Richard downwards, have been so hospitable, why should we have to complain of the despisal of one English knight? Let us shake hands, then, I pray thee.”
“Sir William de Dalzel, though thou hast worked me a grievous loss, the which can never be made good,” replied Courtenay, laying his hand on his mouth, “verily I do bear thee no unchristian ill-will; and sith that his Majesty hath absolved us of our duel, I do hereby cheerfully give thee the right hand of good fellowship.”
“’Tis well,” said Dalzel. “Instead of fighting thee, I will strive with thee in that for the which neither eyes nor teeth may be much needed. I will dance a bargaret with thee, yea, or a fandango, if that may please thee better, and there I shall ask for no favour.” [[506]]