Having me at this
disadvantage--for at first I made no resistance the landlord
began to belabour me with the first thing he snatched up, and
when I tried to defend myself, cursed me with each blow for a
treacherous rogue and a vagrant. Meanwhile the three merchants,
delighted with the turn things had taken, skipped round us
laughing, and now hounded him on, now bantered me with 'how is
that for the Duke of Orleans?' and 'How now, traitor?'
When I thought that this had lasted long enough--or, to speak
more plainly, when I could stand the innkeeper's drubbing no
longer--I threw him off, and struggled to my feet; but still,
though the blood was trickling down my face, I refrained from
drawing my sword. I caught up instead a leg of the stool which
lay handy, and, watching my opportunity, dealt the landlord a
shrewd blow under the ear, which laid him out in a moment on the
wreck of his own table.
'Now,' I cried, brandishing my new weapon, which fitted the hand
to a nicety, 'come on! Come on! if you dare to strike a blow,
you peddling, truckling, huckstering knaves! A fig for you and
your shaveling Cardinal!'
The red-faced wine merchant drew his sword in a one-two.
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