“What business have they here?” asked the cuirassiers of one another. “Giacomo, you are our sutler and shall serve no others.” As the tavernkeeper paid no heed to this, however, but prepared to supply the wants of the newcomers, one of the esquires, a Lombard of graceful but almost boyish figure sprang up from a table. “Hark you, Giacomo!” he shouted, “if you dare to serve these English curs we will run you through and afterwards burn your shop over your head!” This threat was approved by loud shouts and vigorous oaths from all sides. “All honor to my countrymen!” said the Italian, deprecatingly, “but the English must also live; nor do they lack good gold.” “Nay—they have far too much, the dogs, the slanderers!” The archers meanwhile, scarcely comprehending the import of this discourse, sat waiting patiently for the liquor they had ordered. “Ralph,” said one of them to his neighbor, “can you make out what that little devil yonder is saying?” “Never a word,” was the reply. “I only know I have a precious thirst and am kept waiting too long for my wine.” With some difficulty the host succeeded in making his way to the Englishmen’s table; but before he could set down the jugs two Lombards planted themselves before him and shouted threateningly: “The Devil take you, Giacomo! Give them nothing, or it shall be the worse for you, do you hear?” At this Giacomo lost his patience. “Nay, go to the Devil yourselves, dear countrymen,” he retorted, “or whither you please! As for me, the Englishmen’s gold is as good as your own. Give way!”