“Execute the noble Cedric!” exclaimed Wamba; “by the rood, thou must be mistaken, Sir Knight.”
“Not I, my worthy friend,” replied the knight, “I have explained the words as they are here set down.”
“Then, by St. Thomas of Canterbury ,” replied Gurth, “we will have the castle, should we tear it down with our hands!”
“We have nothing else to tear it with,” replied Wamba; “but mine are scarce fit to make mammocks of freestone and mortar.”
“ ’Tis but a contrivance to gain time,” said Locksley; “they dare not do a deed for which I could exact a fearful penalty.”
“I would,” said the Black Knight, “there were someone among us who could obtain admission into the castle, and discover how the case stands with the besieged. Methinks, as they require a confessor to be sent, this holy hermit might at once exercise his pious vocation, and procure us the information we desire.”
“A plague on thee, and thy advice!” said the pious hermit; “I tell thee, Sir Slothful Knight, that when I doff my friar’s frock, my priesthood, my sanctity, my very Latin, are put off along with it; and when in my green jerkin, I can better kill twenty deer than confess one Christian.”
“I fear,” said the Black Knight, “I fear greatly, there is no one here that is qualified to take upon him, for the nonce, this same character of father confessor?”
All looked on each other, and were silent.