"Stingless!" replied Front-de-Boeuf; "fork-headed shafts of a cloth-yard
in length, and these shot within the breadth of a French crown, are
sting enough."
"For shame, Sir Knight!" said the Templar. "Let us summon our people,
and sally forth upon them. One knight--ay, one man-at-arms, were enough
for twenty such peasants."
"Enough, and too much," said De Bracy; "I should only be ashamed to
couch lance against them."
"True," answered Front-de-Boeuf; "were they black Turks or Moors, Sir
Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most valiant De Bracy; but
these are English yeomen, over whom we shall have no advantage, save
what we may derive from our arms and horses, which will avail us little
in the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? we have scarce men
enough to defend the castle. The best of mine are at York; so is all
your band, De Bracy; and we have scarcely twenty, besides the handful
that were engaged in this mad business."
"Thou dost not fear," said the Templar, "that they can assemble in force
sufficient to attempt the castle?"
"Not so, Sir Brian," answered Front-de-Boeuf. "These outlaws have indeed
a daring captain; but without machines, scaling ladders, and experienced
leaders, my castle may defy them."
"Send to thy neighbours," said the Templar, "let them assemble their
people, and come to the rescue of three knights, besieged by a jester
and a swineherd in the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf!"
"You jest, Sir Knight," answered the baron; "but to whom should I
send?--Malvoisin is by this time at York with his retainers, and so
are my other allies; and so should I have been, but for this infernal
enterprise."
"Then send to York, and recall our people," said De Bracy. "If they
abide the shaking of my standard, or the sight of my Free Companions,
I will give them credit for the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in
green-wood."
"And who shall bear such a message?" said Front-de-Boeuf; "they will
beset every path, and rip the errand out of his bosom.--I have it," he
added, after pausing for a moment--"Sir Templar, thou canst write
as well as read, and if we can but find the writing materials of my
chaplain, who died a twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christmas
carousals--"
"So please ye," said the squire, who was still in attendance, "I think
old Urfried has them somewhere in keeping, for love of the confessor.
He was the last man, I have heard her tell, who ever said aught to her,
which man ought in courtesy to address to maid or matron."