“What we call our privileges, all shall admit to be such,” said Cunningham.
“We will not hear them questioned!” was the universal cry of the Archers.
“Ye are mad, my masters,” said Tristan l'Hermite. “No one disputes your privileges; but this youth is not one of you.”
“He is my nephew,” said the Balafre, with a triumphant air.
“But no Archer of the Guard, I think,” retorted Tristan l'Hermite.
The Archers looked on each other in some uncertainty.
“Stand to it yet, comrade,” whispered Cunningham to Balafre. “Say he is engaged with us.”
“Saint Martin! you say well, fair countryman,” answered Lesly; and raising his voice, swore that he had that day enrolled his kinsman as one of his own retinue. This declaration was a decisive argument.
“It is well, gentlemen,” said the Provost Tristan, who was aware of the King's nervous apprehension of disaffection creeping in among his Guards. “You know, as you say, your privileges, and it is not my duty to have brawls with the King's Guards, if it is to be avoided. But I will report this matter for the King's own decision; and I would have you to be aware, that, in doing so, I act more mildly than perhaps my duty warrants.”
So saying, he put his troop into motion, while the Archers, remaining on the spot, held a hasty consultation what was next to be done. “We must report the matter to Lord Crawford, our Captain, in the first place, and have the young fellow's name put on the roll.”