"You exercise your wit upon me, my lord," replied the landlord with some asperity, "but I have not the means wherewith to retort. I am a man of business, not a Court fool." Here he paused, astonished at his own trepidity, and also in fear lest his aristocratic customers should be offended. As he stopped his virtuous indignation passed away, and when he resumed again it was in a tone at once apologetic and placid.
"The water," he continued, "was offered by the good councillors, but
Gorboduc took the poison, and now he has drunk it off, so——"
"Look at your prisoner," interrupted Sir Nicholas, "or very soon you will not have one to look after."
Edmund had, in fact, been thrown down just over his knife, and very soon finding this out he had, by dint of considerable trouble, succeeded in cutting the cord which bound his wrists, and was busily engaged in freeing his legs by a similar process when he unfortunately attracted the attention of the Queen's Councillor.
No time was lost in securing him afresh. In spite of his strenuous efforts he was quickly overpowered, and after all his labour he only found himself more hopelessly a prisoner than he had been before.
"Why, the fellow must be bewitched," exclaimed Sir George, "I never saw his like before. Take him away before he does us any injury. Take him away, we don't want him here."
"He is safe enough now, my lord."
"Take him away, I say," repeated the baron. "We want him here no longer. Do you hear me, sirrah! Take him away I say, and lock him up in safety," and amid the oft-continued reiteration of the baron's order, Edmund Wynne was carried below and consigned to the care of the ostler until such time as the gaol officials could be conveniently communicated with.