“All comes of his gaining an Archer's place at such early years,” said Le Balafre; “I never was so much talked of, fair nephew, because I was five and twenty years old before I was hors de page [passed out of the rank of the page].”
“And an ill looking mountainous monster of a page thou wert, Ludovic,” said the old commander, “with a beard like a baker's shool, and a back like old Wallace Wight [so called because of his vigour and activity].”
“I fear,” said Quentin, with downcast eyes, “I shall enjoy that title to distinction but a short time—since it is my purpose to resign the service of the Archer Guard.”
Le Balafre was struck almost mute with astonishment, and Crawford's ancient features gleamed with displeasure. The former at length mustered words enough to say, “Resign!—leave your place in the Scottish Archers!—such a thing was never dreamed of. I would not give up my situation to be made Constable of France.”
“Hush! Ludovic,” said Crawford; “this youngster knows better how to shape his course with the wind than we of the old world do. His journey hath given him some pretty tales to tell about King Louis; and he is turning Burgundian, that he may make his own little profit by telling them to Duke Charles.”
“If I thought so,” said Le Balafre, “I would cut his throat with my own hand, were he fifty times my sister's son.”
“But you would first inquire whether I deserved to be so treated, fair kinsman?” answered Quentin; “and you, my lord, know that I am no tale bearer; nor shall either question or torture draw out of me a word to King Louis's prejudice, which may have come to my knowledge while I was in his service.—So far my oath of duty keeps me silent. But I will not remain in that services in which, besides the perils of fair battle with mine enemies, I am to be exposed to the dangers of ambuscade on the part of my friends.”
“Nay, if he objects to lying in ambuscade,” said the slow witted Le Balafre, looking sorrowfully at the Lord Crawford, “I am afraid, my lord, that all is over with him! I myself have had thirty bushments break upon me, and truly I think I have laid in ambuscade twice as often myself, it being a favourite practice in our King's mode of making war.”
“It is so indeed, Ludovic,” answered Lord Crawford; “nevertheless, hold your peace, for I believe I understand this gear better than you do.”
“I wish to Our Lady you may, my lord,” answered Ludovic; “but it wounds me to the very midriff, to think my sister's son should fear an ambushment.”