By this I was off Black Lamoral and facing
my lord. The color had come back to his lip and cheek, and the
flash to his eye. His hand went to his sword hilt.
"I shall not draw mine, my lord," I told him. "I keep troth."
He stared at me with a frown that suddenly changed into a laugh,
forced and unnatural enough. "Then go thy ways, and let me go
mine!" he cried. "Be complaisant, worthy captain of trainbands and
Burgess from a dozen huts! The King and I will make it worth
your while."
"I will not draw my sword upon you," I replied, "but I will try a fall
with you," and I seized him by the wrist.
He was a good wrestler as he was a good swordsman, but, with
bitter anger in my heart and a vision of the haunted wood before
my eyes, I think I could have wrestled with Hercules and won.
Presently I threw him, and, pinning him down with my knee upon
his breast, cried to Sparrow to cut the bridle reins from Black
Lamoral and throw them to me. Though he had the Italian upon his
hands, he managed to obey. With my free hand and my teeth I
drew a thong about my lord's arms and bound them to his sides;
then took my knee from his chest and my hand from his throat, and
rose to my feet. He rose too with one spring. He was very white,
and there was foam on his lips.
"What next, captain?" he demanded thickly. "Your score is
mounting up rather rapidly.
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