“Ay, truly, Father Nicodemus.”
“Then how canst thou say I beat thee? Should I have carried my staff to thy house, did I not know thee to be a churl, and an enemy to the good brotherhood of this house? Was I to go into the lion's den without my defence? Should I have demeaned myself to phlebotomize thee with my cudgel, (and doubtless the operation was salubrious,) hadst thou not aspersed me? Was it for me to stand by, tamely, with three feet of blackthorn at my belt, and hear a brother of this religious order betwitted, as I was by thee, with petty larceny? Was it not thine own breath, then, that brought the cudgel upon thy caput? Answer me, my son.”
“Lead forth John of the Hough, and call in the miller of Homford,” said the Abbot, before John of the Hough could reply. “Now, miller,” continued he, as soon as the miller entered, “what hast thou to allege against this our good brother, Nicodemus?”
“I allege,” replied the miller, “that he is naught.”
“Oh! thou especial rogue!” exclaimed Father Nicodemus; “dost thou come here to bear witness against me? I will impeach thy testimony by one assertion, which thou canst not gainsay; for the evidence of it is written on thy brow, thou brawny villain! Thou bearest malice against me, because I, some six years ago, inflicted a cracked crown on thee, for robbing this holy house of its lawful meal. I deemed the punishment adequate to the offence, and spoke not of it to the Abbot, in consideration of thy promising to mend thy ways. Hadst thou not well merited that mark of my attention to the interests of my brethren, the whole lordship would have heard of it. And didst thou ever say I made the wound? Never:—thy tale was that some of thy mill-gear had done it. But I will be judged by any here, if the scar be not of my blackthorn's making. I will summon three score, at least, who shall prove it to be my mark. Let it be viewed with that on the head of thy foster-brother, John of the Hongh:—I will abide by the comparison. Thou hast hoarded malice in thy heart from that day; and now thou comest here to vomit it forth, as thou deemest, to my undoing. But, be sure, caitiff, that I shall testify upon thy sconce hereafter: for I know thou art rogue enough to rob if thou canst, and fool enough to rob with so little discretion as to be easily detected; and even if my present staff be worn out, there be others in the woods:—ergo—”
“Peace, Brother Nicodemus!” exclaimed the Abbot; “approach not a single pace nearer to the miller; neither do thou threaten nor browbeat him, I enjoin thee.”
“Were it not for the reverence I owe to those who are round me, and my unwillingness to commit even so trifling a sin,” said Nicodemus, “I would take this slanderous and ungrateful knave betwixt my finger and thumb, and drop him among the hungry eels of his own mill-stream. I chafe apace:—lay hands on me, brethren!—for I wax wroth, and am sure, in these moods,—so weak is man—to do mischief ere my humour subside.”
“Speak on, miller,” said the Abbot; “and thou, Brother Nicodemus, give way to thine inward enemy, at thy peril.”
“I will tell him,—an' you will hold him back and seize his staff,” said the miller,—“how he and the roystering boatman of Frampton Ferry—”
“My time is coming,” exclaimed Nicodemus, interrupting the miller: “bid him withdraw, or he will have a sore head at his supper.”