(the most emphatic term for abject worth-lessness), “who should, in his own hall, and while his own wine-cup passed, have treated, or suffered to be treated, an unoffending guest, as your Highness has this day beheld me used; and whatever was the misfortune of our fathers on the field of Hastings, those may at least be silent”—here he looked at Front-de-Bœuf and the Templar—“who have within these few hours once and again lost saddle and stirrup before the lance of a Saxon.”

“By my faith, a biting jest!” said Prince John. “How like you it, sirs? Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and courage; become shrewd in wit, and bold in bearing, in these unsettled times. What say ye, my lords? By this good light, I hold it best to take our galleys, and return to Normandy in time.”

“For fear of the Saxons?” said De Bracy, laughing; “we should need no weapon but our hunting-spears to bring these boars to bay.”

“A truce with your raillery, Sir Knights,” said Fitzurse; “and it were well,” he added, addressing the Prince, “that your Highness should assure the worthy Cedric there is no insult intended him by jests, which must sound but harshly in the ear of a stranger.”

“Insult!” answered Prince John, resuming his courtesy of demeanour; “I trust it will not be thought that I could mean or permit any to be offered in my presence. Here! I fill my cup to Cedric himself, since he refuses to pledge his son’s health.”

The cup went round amid the well-dissembled applause of the courtiers, which, however, failed to make the impression on the mind of the Saxon that had been designed. He was not naturally acute of perception, but those too much undervalued his understanding who deemed that this flattering compliment would obliterate the sense of the prior insult. He was silent, however, when the royal pledge again passed around, “To Sir Athelstane of Coningsburgh.”

The knight made his obeisance, and showed his sense of the honour by draining a huge goblet in answer to it.

“And now, sirs,” said Prince John, who began to be warmed with the wine which he had drunk, “having done justice to our Saxon guests, we will pray of them some requital to our courtesy.—Worthy thane,” he continued, addressing Cedric, “may we pray you to name to us some Norman whose mention may least sully your mouth, and to wash down with a goblet of wine all bitterness which the sound may leave behind it?”

Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and gliding behind the seat of the Saxon, whispered to him not to omit the opportunity of putting an end to unkindness betwixt the two races, by naming Prince John. The Saxon replied not to this politic insinuation, but, rising up, and filling his cup to the brim, he addressed Prince John in these words: “Your Highness has required that I should name a Norman deserving to be remembered at our banquet. This, perchance, is a hard task, since it calls on the slave to sing the praises of the master—upon the vanquished, while pressed by all the evils of conquest, to sing the praises of the conqueror. Yet I will name a Norman—the first in arms and in place—the best and the noblest of his race. And the lips that shall refuse to pledge me to his well-earned fame, I term false and dishonoured, and will so maintain them with my life.—I quaff this goblet to the health of Richard the Lion-hearted!”

Prince John, who had expected that his own name would have closed the Saxon’s speech, started when that of his injured brother was so unexpectedly introduced. He raised mechanically the wine-cup to his lips, then instantly set it down to view the demeanour of the company at this unexpected proposal, which many of them felt it as unsafe to oppose as to comply with. Some of them, ancient and experienced courtiers, closely imitated the example of the Prince himself, raising the goblet to their lips, and again replacing it before them. There were many who, with a more generous feeling, exclaimed, “Long live