“Hear how he revileth,” said the finisher of the law. “Alas! how soon our best resolutions pass away!—he was in a blessed frame for departure but now, and in two minutes he has become a contemner of authorities.”
“Tell me at once,” said the Archer, “what has this young man done.”
“Interfered,” answered Trois Eschelles, with some earnestness, “to take down the dead body of a criminal, when the fleur de lys was marked on the tree where he was hung with my own proper hand.”
“How is this, young man?” said the Archer; “how came you to have committed such an offence?”
“As I desire your protection,” answered Durward, “I will tell you the truth as if I were at confession. I saw a man struggling on the tree, and I went to cut him down out of mere humanity. I thought neither of fleur de lys nor of clove gilliflower, and had no more idea of offending the King of France than our Father the Pope.”
“What a murrain had you to do with the dead body, then?” said the Archer. “You 'll see them hanging, in the rear of this gentleman, like grapes on every tree, and you will have enough to do in this country if you go a-gleaning after the hangman. However, I will not quit a countryman's cause if I can help it.—Hark ye, Master Marshals man, you see this is entirely a mistake. You should have some compassion on so young a traveller. In our country at home he has not been accustomed to see such active proceedings as yours and your master's.”
“Not for want of need of them, Signior Archer,” said Petit Andre, who returned at this moment. “Stand fast, Trois Eschelles, for here comes the Provost Marshal; we shall presently see how he will relish having his work taken out of his hand before it is finished.”
“And in good time,” said the Archer, “here come some of my comrades.”
Accordingly, as the Provost Tristan rode up with his patrol on one side of the little bill which was the scene of the altercation, four or five Scottish Archers came as hastily up on the other, and at their head the Balafre himself.
Upon this urgency, Lesly showed none of that indifference towards his nephew of which Quentin had in his heart accused him; for he no sooner saw his comrade and Durward standing upon their defence, than he exclaimed, “Cunningham, I thank thee.—Gentlemen—comrades, lend me your aid.—It is a young Scottish gentleman—my nephew—Lindesay—Guthrie—Tyrie, draw, and strike in!”