"
"What wish you then?" asked the Prince, turning angrily upon the
noisy swarm of his followers.
"We took him, fair lord. He is ours!" cried a score of voices.
They closed in, all yelping together like a pack of wolves. "It
was I, fair lord!"--"Nay, it was I!"--"You lie, you rascal, it
was I!" Again their fierce eyes glared and their blood-stained
hands sought the hilts of their weapons.
"Nay, this must be settled here and now!" said the Prince. "I
crave your patience, fair and honored sir, for a few brief
minutes, since indeed much ill-will may spring from this if it be
not set at rest. Who is this tall knight who can scarce keep his
hands from the King's shoulder?"
"It is Denis de Morbecque, my lord, a knight of St. Omer, who is
in our service, being an outlaw from France."
"I call him to mind. How then, Sir Denis? What say you in this
matter?"
"He gave himself to me, fair lord. He had fallen in the press,
and I came upon him and seized him. I told him that I was a
knight from Artois, and he gave me his glove. See here, I bear it
in my hand."
"It is true, fair lord! It is true!" cried a dozen French voices.
"Nay, sir, judge not too soon!" shouted an English squire, pushing
his way to the front. "It was I who had him at my mercy, and he
is my prisoner, for he spoke to this man only because he could
tell by his tongue that he was his own countryman.
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