Quentin Durward. Вальтер Скотт

this urgency, Lesly showed none of that indifference towards his nephew of which Quentin had in his heart accused him; for he no sooner saw his comrade and Durward standing upon their defence, than he exclaimed, “Cunningham, I thank thee. – Gentlemen – comrades, lend me your aid. – It is a young Scottish gentleman – my nephew – Lindesay – Guthrie – Tyrie, draw, and strike in!”

      There was now every prospect of a desperate scuffle between the parties, who were not so disproportioned in numbers but that the better arms of the Scottish cavaliers gave them an equal chance of victory. But the Provost Marshal, either doubting the issue of the conflict, or aware that it would be disagreeable to the King, made a sign to his followers to forbear from violence, while he demanded of Balafre, who now put himself forward as the head of the other party, what he, a cavalier of the King’s Bodyguard, purposed by opposing the execution of a criminal.

      “I deny that I do so,” answered the Balafre. “Saint Martin! [patron saint of Tours, Lucca, and of penitent drunkards. He was greatly honoured in the Middle Ages.] there is, I think, some difference between the execution of a criminal and a slaughter of my own nephew!”

      “Your nephew may be a criminal as well as another,” said the Provost Marshal; “and every stranger in France is amenable to the laws of France.”

      “Yes, but we have privileges, we Scottish Archers,” said Balafre, “have we not, comrades?”

      “Yes, yes,” they all exclaimed together. “Privileges – privileges! Long live King Louis – long live the bold Balafre – long live the Scottish Guard – and death to all who would infringe our privileges!”

      “Take reason with you, gentlemen cavaliers,” said the Provost Marshal; “consider my commission.”

      “We will have no reason at your hand,” said Cunningham; “our own officers shall do us reason. We will be judged by the King’s grace, or by our own Captain, now that the Lord High Constable is not in presence.”

      “And we will be hanged by none,” said Lindesay, “but Sandie Wilson, the auld Marshals man of our ain body.”

      “It would be a positive cheating of Sandie, who is as honest a man as ever tied noose upon hemp, did we give way to any other proceeding,” said the Balafre. “Were I to be hanged myself, no other should tie tippet about my craig.”

      “But hear ye,” said the Provost Marshal, “this young fellow belongs not to you, and cannot share what you call your privileges.”

      “What we call our privileges, all shall admit to be such,” said Cunningham.

      “We will not hear them questioned!” was the universal cry of the Archers.

      “Ye are mad, my masters,” said Tristan l’Hermite. “No one disputes your privileges; but this youth is not one of you.”

      “He is my nephew,” said the Balafre, with a triumphant air.

      “But no Archer of the Guard, I think,” retorted Tristan l’Hermite.

      The Archers looked on each other in some uncertainty.

      “Stand to it yet, comrade,” whispered Cunningham to Balafre. “Say he is engaged with us.”

      “Saint Martin! you say well, fair countryman,” answered Lesly; and raising his voice, swore that he had that day enrolled his kinsman as one of his own retinue. This declaration was a decisive argument.

      “It is well, gentlemen,” said the Provost Tristan, who was aware of the King’s nervous apprehension of disaffection creeping in among his Guards. “You know, as you say, your privileges, and it is not my duty to have brawls with the King’s Guards, if it is to be avoided. But I will report this matter for the King’s own decision; and I would have you to be aware, that, in doing so, I act more mildly than perhaps my duty warrants.”

      So saying, he put his troop into motion, while the Archers, remaining on the spot, held a hasty consultation what was next to be done. “We must report the matter to Lord Crawford, our Captain, in the first place, and have the young fellow’s name put on the roll.”

      “But, gentlemen, and my worthy friends and preservers,” said Quentin, with some hesitation, “I have not yet determined whether to take service with you or no.”

      “Then settle in your own mind,” said his uncle, “whether you choose to do so, or be hanged – for I promise you, that, nephew of mine as you are, I see no other chance of your ‘scaping the gallows.”

      This was an unanswerable argument, and reduced Quentin at once to acquiesce in what he might have otherwise considered as no very agreeable proposal; but the recent escape from the halter, which had been actually around his neck, would probably have reconciled him to a worse alternative than was proposed.

      “He must go home with us to our caserne,” said Cunningham; “there is no safety for him out of our bounds, whilst these man hunters are prowling.”

      “May I not then abide for this night at the hostelry where I breakfasted, fair uncle?” said the youth – thinking, perhaps, like many a new recruit, that even a single night of freedom was something gained.

      “Yes, fair nephew,” answered his uncle, ironically, “that we may have the pleasure of fishing you out of some canal or moat, or perhaps out of a loop of the Loire, knit up in a sack for the greater convenience of swimming – for that is like to be the end on’t. The Provost Marshal smiled on us when we parted,” continued he, addressing Cunningham, “and that is a sign his thoughts were dangerous.”

      “I care not for his danger,” said Cunningham; “such game as we are beyond his bird bolts. But I would have thee tell the whole to the Devil’s Oliver [Oliver Dain: Oliver’s name, or nickname, was Le Diable, which was bestowed on him by public hatred, in exchange for Le Daim, or Le Dain. He was originally the King’s barber, but afterwards a favourite counsellor. S.], who is always a good friend to the Scottish Guard, and will see Father Louis before the Provost can, for he is to shave him tomorrow.”

      “But hark you,” said Balafre, “it is ill going to Oliver empty handed, and I am as bare as the birch in December.”

      “So are we all,” said Cunningham. “Oliver must not scruple to take our Scottish words for once. We will make up something handsome among us against the next payday; and if he expects to share, let me tell you, the payday will come about all the sooner.”

      “And now for the Chateau,” said Balafre; “and my nephew shall tell us by the way how he brought the Provost Marshal on his shoulders, that we may know how to frame our report both to Crawford and Oliver.”

      CHAPTER VII: THE ENROLMENT

      Justice of Peace. —

      Here, hand me down the statute – read the articles —

      Swear, kiss the book – subscribe, and be a hero;

      Drawing a portion from the public stock

      For deeds of valour to be done hereafter —

      Sixpence per day, subsistence and arrears.

THE RECRUITING OFFICER

      An attendant upon the Archers having been dismounted, Quentin Durward was accommodated with his horse, and, in company of his martial countrymen, rode at a round pace towards the Castle of Plessis, about to become, although on his own part involuntarily, an inhabitant of that gloomy fortress, the outside of which had, that morning, struck him with so much surprise.

      In the meanwhile, in answer to his uncle’s repeated interrogations, he gave him an exact account of the accident which had that morning brought him into so much danger. Although he himself saw nothing in his narrative save what was affecting, he found it was received with much laughter by his escort.

      “And yet it is no good jest either,” said his uncle, “for what, in the devil’s name, could lead the senseless boy to meddle with the body of a cursed misbelieving Jewish Moorish pagan?”

      “Had he quarrelled with the Marshals