There was now every prospect of a desperate scuffle between the parties, who were not so disproportioned in numbers but that the better arms of the Scottish cavaliers gave them an equal chance of victory. But the Provost Marshal, either doubting the issue of the conflict, or aware that it would be disagreeable to the King, made a sign to his followers to forbear from violence, while he demanded of Balafre, who now put himself forward as the head of the other party, what he, a cavalier of the King's Bodyguard, purposed by opposing the execution of a criminal.
“I deny that I do so,” answered the Balafre. “Saint Martin! [patron saint of Tours, Lucca, and of penitent drunkards. He was greatly honoured in the Middle Ages.] there is, I think, some difference between the execution of a criminal and a slaughter of my own nephew!”
“Your nephew may be a criminal as well as another,” said the Provost Marshal; “and every stranger in France is amenable to the laws of France.”
“Yes, but we have privileges, we Scottish Archers,” said Balafre, “have we not, comrades?”
“Yes, yes,” they all exclaimed together. “Privileges—privileges! Long live King Louis—long live the bold Balafre—long live the Scottish Guard—and death to all who would infringe our privileges!”
“Take reason with you, gentlemen cavaliers,” said the Provost Marshal; “consider my commission.”
“We will have no reason at your hand,” said Cunningham; “our own officers shall do us reason. We will be judged by the King's grace, or by our own Captain, now that the Lord High Constable is not in presence.”
“And we will be hanged by none,” said Lindesay, “but Sandie Wilson, the auld Marshals man of our ain body.”
“It would be a positive cheating of Sandie, who is as honest a man as ever tied noose upon hemp, did we give way to any other proceeding,” said the Balafre. “Were I to be hanged myself, no other should tie tippet about my craig.”
“But hear ye,” said the Provost Marshal, “this young fellow belongs not to you, and cannot share what you call your privileges.”