“I do yield,” again murmured Bonthron, and Henry proclaimed aloud that his antagonist was defeated.
The Dukes of Rothsay and Albany, the High Constable, and the Dominican prior now entered the lists, and, addressing Bonthron, demanded if he acknowledged himself vanquished.
“I do,” answered the miscreant.
“And guilty of the murder of Oliver Proudfute?”
“I am; but I mistook him for another.”
“And whom didst thou intend to slay?” said the prior. “Confess, my son, and merit thy pardon in another world for with this thou hast little more to do.”
“I took the slain man,” answered the discomfited combatant, “for him whose hand has struck me down, whose foot now presses me.”
“Blessed be the saints!” said the prior; “now all those who doubt the virtue of the holy ordeal may have their eyes opened to their error. Lo, he is trapped in the snare which he laid for the guiltless.”
“I scarce ever saw the man,” said the smith. “I never did wrong to him or his. Ask him, an it please your reverence, why he should have thought of slaying me treacherously.”
“It is a fitting question,” answered the prior. “Give glory where it is due, my son, even though it is manifested by thy shame. For what reason wouldst thou have waylaid this armourer, who says he never wronged thee?”