vobiscum.' You, Giles," he spoke to the one-armed soldier, "go with him,
and, do you hear, aim low, at the third man's horse. From the sound
there are not more than five or six of them. We can but fail, at worst,
and the wood is thick behind us, where none may pursue. You, Norman de
Pitcullo, have your whinger ready, and fasten this rope tightly to yonder
birch-tree stem, and then cross and give it a turn or two about that oak
sapling on the other side of the way. That trap will bring down a horse
or twain. Be quick, you Scotch wine-bag!"

I had seen many ill things done, and, to my shame, had held my peace. But
a Leslie of Pitcullo does not take purses on the high-road. Therefore my
heart rose in sudden anger, I having all day hated him more and more for
his bitter tongue, and I was opening my mouth to cry "A secours!"--a
warning to them who were approaching, when, quick as lightning, Brother
Thomas caught me behind the knee-joints, and I was on the ground with his
weight above me. One cry I had uttered, when his hand was on my mouth.

"Give him the steel in his guts!" whispered the blind man.

"Slit his weasand, the Scotch pig!" said the one-armed soldier.

They were all on me now.

"No, I keep him for better sport," snarled Brother Thomas. "He shall
learn the Scots for 'ecorcheurs' (flayers of men) "when we have filled
our pouches."

With that he crammed a great napkin in my mouth, so that I could not cry,
made it fast with a piece of cord, trussed me with the rope which he had
bidden me tie across the path to trip the horses, and with a kick sent me