“Usage!” echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild tone of the silvan leader; “it were usage fit for no hound of good race⁠—much less for a Christian⁠—far less for a priest⁠—and least of all for the Prior of the holy community of Jorvaulx. Here is a profane and drunken minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale⁠— nebulo quidam ⁠—who has menaced me with corporal punishment⁠—nay, with death itself, an I pay not down four hundred crowns of ransom, to the boot of all the treasure he hath already robbed me of⁠—gold chains and gymmal rings to an unknown value; besides what is broken and spoiled among their rude hands, such as my pouncer-box and silver crisping-tongs.”

“It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus treated a man of your reverend bearing,” replied the Captain.

“It is true as the gospel of Saint Nicodemus,” said the Prior; “he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, that he would hang me up on the highest tree in the greenwood.”