Instantly he cried out a strange Breton word, unintelligible to all
present, and, leaping from the floor, he flung himself across the body
of his master, dashing aside the astonished apothecary, who had only
time to discern on the marshal's shoulder the scar of a recent
cautery before Poitou had restored the leathern under-doublet to its
place.

"Hands off! Do not touch my master. I alone can bring him to. Leave
the room, all of you."

"Sirrah!" cried the Earl, sternly, striding towards him, "I will teach
you to speak humbly to more honourable men."

"My lord," cried Poitou, instantly recalled to himself, "believe me, I
meant no ill. But true it is that I only can recover him. I have often
seen him taken thus. But I must be left alone. My master hath a
blemish upon him, and one great gentleman does not humiliate another
in the presence of underlings. My Lord Douglas, as you love honour,
bid all to leave me alone for a brief space."

"Much cared he for honour, when he threw the lance at my master!"
growled Sholto. "Had I known, I would have driven my bill-point six
inches lower, and then would there have been a most satisfactory
blemish in the joining of his neck-bone."




CHAPTER XXIII