“Master Richard Coope,” says Fairfax, looking at me.
“The same, sir,” says I.
“You seem to be in some distress,” says he, not unkindly.
“Sir,” I says, “I have hurt my foot, and the pain is exceeding sore at this moment.”
“Give Master Coope a chair,” says he.
“I thank you, sir,” says I, very polite. “Faith!” thinks I, “he is surely going to shoot me, or he would not be so attentive.” And I sat down and tried not to groan at the agony which every movement gave me.
“Now, Master Coope,” says he, “we have had you brought here after much trouble and annoyance to question you of your late doings.”
He paused and looked at me.
“Sir,” I says, regarding him steadily, “I am prepared to answer any question you are pleased to put to me.”
“Are you so?” says he. “Be assured, Master Coope, that we shall deal justly with you. And since we are sitting in court-martial upon you, you shall know what it is that you are charged with.” He took up a paper from the table. “You are charged,” he says, looking at it, “with a grave offence, namely, that you, being duly entrusted with the conveyance of a despatch from General Cromwell to me, Sir Thomas Fairfax, did desert your commission, and, attaching yourself to the enemies of the Parliament, did do, and cause to be done, many things hurtful to the cause which you had sworn to further. What say you to that, Master Coope?” he says, regarding me keenly.