Desperately Nigel strove to gain his sword which lay
upon the iron coffer. With the convulsive strength which comes
from the spirit rather than from the body, he bore them all in
that direction, but the sacrist snatched the weapon from its
place, and the rest dragged the writhing Squire to the ground and
swathed him in a cord.
"Hold him fast, good archers! Keep a stout grip on him!" cried
the summoner. "I pray you, one of you, prick off these great dogs
which snarl at my heels. Stand off, I say, in the name of the
King! Watkin, come betwixt me and these creatures who have as
little regard for the law as their master."
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.
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