So saying, he flung on the floor the bloody head, easily known as that of De la Marck by the singular conformation of the jaws, which in reality had a certain resemblance to those of the animal whose name he bore, and which was instantly recognized by all who had seen him.
[We have already noticed the anachronism respecting the crimes of this atrocious baron; and it is scarce necessary to repeat, that if he in reality murdered the Bishop of Liege in 1482, the Count of La Marck could not be slain in the defence of Liege four years earlier. In fact, the Wild Boar of Ardennes, as he was usually termed, was of high birth, being the third son of John I, Count of La Marck and Aremberg, and ancestor of the branch called Barons of Lumain. He did not escape the punishment due to his atrocity, though it did not take place at the time, or in the manner, narrated in the text. Maximilian, Emperor of Austria, caused him to be arrested at Utrecht, where he was beheaded in the year 1485, three years after the Bishop of Liege's death. S.]
“Crawford,” said Louis, while Charles sat silent in gloomy and displeased surprise, “I trust it is one of my faithful Scots who has won this prize?”
“It is Ludovic Lesly, Sire, whom we call Le Balafre,” replied the old soldier.
“But is he noble?” said the Duke; “is he of gentle blood?—Otherwise our promise is void.”
“He is a cross, ungainly piece of wood enough,” said Crawford, looking at the tall, awkward, embarrassed figure of the Archer; “but I will warrant him a branch of the tree of Rothes for all that—and they have been as noble as any house in France or Burgundy ever since it is told of their founder that—
“'Between the less-lee and the mair,
He slew the Knight, and left him there.'”
[An old rhyme by which the Leslies vindicate their descent from an ancient knight, who is said to have slain a gigantic Hungarian champion, and to have formed a proper name for himself by a play of words upon the place where he fought his adversary. S.]
“There is then no help for it,” said the Duke, “and the fairest and richest heiress in Burgundy must be the wife of a rude mercenary soldier like this, or die secluded in a convent—and she the only child of our faithful Reginald de Croye!—I have been too rash.”
And a cloud settled on his brow, to the surprise of his peers, who seldom saw him evince the slightest token of regret for the necessary consequences of an adopted resolution.