tell thee to thy ugly face thou art a rogue and villain!"
In the silence that ensued, the moving of a foot among the stinking rushes rustled like a gale among the oaks, and the swiftly indrawn breath of slut and squire and man at arms was like a wind among the crags, for never within memory had any man dared twit ill-favored Otto with his ugliness.
"Now, by the mass, you mew a right brave song for such a little cat, my malkin!" Otto's thick lips bared strong white teeth beneath his unkempt mustache, but there was no trace of smile in his hard eyes, even though a roar of gusty laughter swept the hail in applause of his sally.
"Yea, and the cat hath claws to back his mew," de Grandin answered as the laughter quieted. "Do but unloose my hands and give me back my weapons, and I'll engage to write his title as a churl on any of ye; on thee, von Wolfberg, or on that one-eyed oaf who sits upon thy right, or on the pox-marked boor upon thy left, or on yon tangle-headed lout——" Straight down the table swept his cold, contemptuous, glance, pausing on the captains and lieutenants one by one, and for each he had some stinging word of insult as he challenged him to combat. At last, when he had called the roll of those at the high table, he cast a scornful glance across the men at arms and shouted: "If any of ye louse-bit underlings dare take the gage your betters fear to lift, step forward boldly and declare yourselves." Only sullen murmurs answered him, and: "What, lack ye guts to fight?" he mocked. "Fie on ye for the dastard cravens that ye be!"
Otto's fang-like teeth flashed in a savage grin. "Had thought to have thy head struck oft", but since thou'rt such a strutting little cockerel thou'lt have a cockerel's fate. Conrad Miller's Son"—he turned to the gigantic one-eyed captain seated at his left — "get thee down and wring me yonder chicken's neck."
"While I be bound?" de Grandin asked sarcastically. "Surely such a bulk of bone and brawn cannot fear of me—or does he tremble lest I strangle him bare-handed?"
"Unloose him," bade the count, "and stand between him and the door to catch him as he flees."
But de Grandin made no move to run. As his great antagonist advanced he fell into a stooping crouch and, blue eyes blazing, circled slowly around until his back was to the table and his opponent facing it.
With a bellow Conrad rushed and aimed a blow with his great fist sufficient to have felled an ox. But the blow went wild as the small Provencal dodged nimbly and Conrad cannoned on, unable to regain his balance. As he neared the table his opponent thrust his foot out, tripping him so that he fell head foremost up against the heavy oaken bancal and sprawled full length, face downward on the floor, unconscious as a pole-axed beef.
"One!" cried de Grandin. "Hast other champions to send against me, Otto Wolfberg, or wilt thou fight for thine own honor, if so be thou hast such?"
The gleeful shouts with which the rabble had watched Conrad Miller's Son set on his small antagonist were hushed, and through the hall there was no murmur of applause for the small Provencal's agility.
"A compact, Otto," came the prisoner's challenge. "Do thou appoint three others—choose them as thou wilt—and send them to do battle with me with such weapons as they may select. I will undertake to overcast them all. Should they prevail thou'lt have revenge for this humiliation"—he stirred the still unconscious Conrad with his boot—"and some
