“Bavarian brawlers, are they?” said Don Nicholas. “By Our Lady, they shall be taken to the King’s dungeon. At them and seize them and take them away!” At this command the soldiers made as if they would lay hands upon us; and as the Count of Nullepart seemed little inclined to deny them, and Sir Richard Pendragon appeared to have grown so sleepy that he could hardly keep awake, I took upon myself to declare our true quality. As became a Spanish gentleman, I rose from my seat and offered it to Don Nicholas. Also I uncloaked myself as I said, “You err in this, most worshipful. I am a hidalgo of Spain, the Count of Nullepart is a member of the French nobility, and Sir Richard Pendragon, although the fruit of a barbarous nation, is spoken of as one of its chief ornaments.” “So I am, good Don,” said the English giant, opening his eyes somnolently as I mentioned his name; “they think of me well in London.” Yet here it was that our passages took a turn which was both unexpected and to be regretted. For no sooner had Don Nicholas heard the name of Sir Richard Pendragon, and had learned the barbarous sound of his voice, then he gave back a pace and cried out joyfully, “Body of Jesus! this is the captain of the English thieves who robbed the church of San Maria, and who broke out of his Majesty’s prison the night before his execution.” “Surely it is!” cried the grey-bearded soldier. “It is that infamous foreign robber.” Sir Richard Pendragon rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and into them there entered a kind of furtive humour. “Rob a church!” he said, with that softness that was so surprising. “English Richard rob a church! Why, you poor, good souls, I was bred in a monastery; I have a kinsman a bishop; ’a was the brother of my sainted mother.” “Yes, it is the English robber,” said Don Nicholas grimly. “The sight of him will be very pleasant to the King’s majesty. He hath placed a thousand crowns on his head.” “Yon fellow might well want to cut it off,” said Sir Richard Pendragon. “But rob a church--I with my integrity! Oh, these poor Spaniards! I fear their minds are as disorderly as those of the poor Dutch.” Yet now our situation was undoubtedly grave. The odds were ten against three. I cannot answer for the Count of Nullepart, but to judge by his air, his feelings in this pass must have been similar to my own. Whatever were the crimes of our companion, for the time being at least our fortunes were his. The King of Castile was our common enemy. We must defend our mistress’s good servant, even if it cost us our lives. Howbeit, he, confronted with such grave peril, still seemed not to heed the instancy of his case. “Rob a church!” he said in that soft voice that was so sinister. “I, with the blood of kings under my coat; I, the veritable son of a prince of a true propinquity--I despoil the good clergy! Why, you poor souls, you must have been drinking sherris.”