without further scruple, the commands which he had received. The harebrained self-conceit which had emboldened Wamba to undertake this dangerous office, was scarce sufficient to support him when he found himself in the presence of a man so dreadful, and so much dreaded, as Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and he brought out his pax vobiscum, to which he, in a good measure, trusted for supporting his character, with more anxiety and hesitation than had hitherto accompanied it. But Front-de-Boeuf was accustomed to see men of all ranks tremble in his presence, so that the timidity of the supposed father did not give him any cause of suspicion.
“Who and whence art thou, priest?” said he.
“Pax vobiscum,” reiterated the Jester, “I am a poor servant of St. Francis, who, travelling through this wilderness, have fallen among thieves, (as Scripture hath it,) quidam viator incidit in latrones , which thieves have sent me unto this castle in order to do my ghostly office on two persons condemned by your honourable justice.”
“Ay, right,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “and canst thou tell me, holy father, the number of those banditti?”
“Gallant sir,” answered the Jester, “ nomen illis legio , their name is legion.”
“Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, priest, thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.”
“Alas!” said the supposed friar, “ cor meum eructavit , that is to say, I was like to burst with fear! but I conceive they may be—what of yeomen—what of commons, at least five hundred men.”
“What!” said the Templar, who came into the hall that moment, “muster the wasps so thick here? it is time to stifle such a mischievous brood.” Then taking Front-de-Boeuf aside “Knowest thou the priest?”