One of the archers kicked off the faithful dogs. But there were
others of the household who were equally ready to show their teeth
in defense of the old house of Loring. From the door which led to
their quarters there emerged the pitiful muster of Nigel's
threadbare retainers. There was a time when ten knights, forty
men-at-arms and two hundred archers would march behind the scarlet
roses. Now at this last rally when the young head of the house
lay bound in his own hall, there mustered at his call the page
Charles with a cudgel, John the cook with his longest spit, Red
Swire the aged man-at-arms with a formidable ax swung over his
snowy head, and Weathercote the minstrel with a boar-spear. Yet
this motley array was fired with the spirit of the house, and
under the lead of the fierce old soldier they would certainly have
flung themselves upon the ready swords of the archers, had the
Lady Ermyntrude not swept between them:

"Stand back, Swire!" she cried. "Back, Weathercote Charles, put a
leash on Talbot, and hold Bayard back!" Her black eyes blazed
upon the invaders until they shrank from that baleful gaze. "Who
are you, you rascal robbers, who dare to misuse the King's name
and to lay hands upon one whose smallest drop of blood has more
worth than all your thrall and caitiff bodies?"

"Nay, not so fast, dame, not so fast, I pray you!" cried the stout
summoner, whose face had resumed its natural color, now that he
had a woman to deal with. "There is a law of England, mark you,
and there are those who serve and uphold it, who are the true men
and the King's own lieges. Such a one am I. Then again, there
are those who take such as me and transfer, carry or convey us
into a bog or morass. Such a one is this graceless old man with