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seized the king’s wrist with one hand, snatched up her bundle with the other, and began to pour out a tirade of abuse upon the boy while he struggled, without success, to free himself from her grip. Hugo had seen enough-his enemy was captured and the law would get him now-so he slipped away, jubilant and chuckling and wended campward, framing a judicious version of the matter to give to the Ruffler’s crew as he strode along. The king continued to struggle in the woman’s grasp, and now and then cried out, in vexation: ‘Unhand me, thou foolish creature; it was not I that bereaved thee of thy paltry goods.’ The crowd closed around, threatening the king and calling him names; a brawny blacksmith in leather apron, and sleeves rolled to his elbows, made a reach for him, saying he would trounce him well, for a lesson; but just then a long sword flashed in the air and fell with convincing force upon the man’s arm, flatside down, the fantastic owner of it remarking, pleasantly at the same time: ‘Marry, good souls, let us proceed gently, not with ill blood and uncharitable words. This is matter for the law’s consideration, not private and unofficial handling. Loose thy hold from the boy, goodwife.’ The blacksmith averaged the stalwart soldier with a glance, then went muttering away, rubbing his arm; the woman released the boy’s wrist reluctantly; the crowd eyed the stranger unlovingly, but prudently closed their mouths. The king sprang to his deliverer’s side, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes exclaiming: ‘Thou hast lagged sorely, but thou comest in good season now, Sir Miles; carve me this rabble to rags!’ |