"Surely they are mad," said Hugh.
"Mad or no, I like not the looks of them," answered Dick. "Have a care,
they are drawing their knives," and as he spoke one of the rogues struck
him in the face; while another strove to snatch away the pouch that hung
at his side.
Now Grey Dick awoke, as it were. To the man who had tried to take his
pouch he dealt such a buffet that he plunged into the canal. But him who
had struck him he seized by the arm and twisted it till the knife fell
from his hand. Then gripping his neck in an iron grasp he forced him
downward and rubbed his nose backward and forward upon the rough edge of
the boat, for the Italian was but as a child to him when he put out his
strength.
In vain did his victim yell for mercy. He showed him none, till at
length wearying of the game, he dealt him such a kick that he also flew
over the thwarts to join his fellow-bully in the water.
Then seeing how it had gone with his companions who, sorely damaged,
swam to the farther side of the canal and vanished, the third man, he
whom they had first met, sheathed his knife. With many bows and cringes
he pulled up the pole and pushed the punt to the steps of the house over
which the flag hung, where people were gathering, drawn by the clamour.
"Does Sir Geoffrey Carleon dwell here?" asked Hugh in a loud voice,
whereon a gentleman with a pale face and a grizzled beard who appeared
to be sick, for he was leaning on a staff, hobbled from out the porch,
saying:
"Ay, ay, that is my name.
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