Not a weapon showed from beneath a cloak.
"Down on your knees!" cried the leader of the young roisterers, and with his left hand he thrust a blazing torch into the grey beard of Malise.
There was a quick snort of anger.

Then, with a burst of relief and pleasure, came the words, "By God, I'll clout him now!" The sound of a mighty buffet succeeded, something cracked like a broken egg, and the clever-tongued young clerk went down on the paving-stones with a clatter, as his torch extinguished itself in the gutter and his sword flew ringing across the street.
"Come on, lads--they have struck the first blow.

We are safe from the law.

Kill them every one!" cried his companions, advancing to the attack with a confidence born of numbers and the consciousness of fighting on their own ground.
But ere they reached the four men who had waited so quietly, the Scots had gathered their cloaks about their left arms in the fashion of shields, and a blade, long and stout, gleamed in every right hand.
Still no armour was to be seen, and, though somewhat disconcerted, the assailants were by no means dismayed.
"Come on--let us revenge De Sille!" they cried.
"Lord, Lord, this is gaun to be a sair waste o' guid steel," grumbled Malise; "would that I had in my fist a stieve oaken staff out of Halmyre wood.

Then I could crack their puir bit windlestaes o' swords, without doing them muckle hurt! Laddies, laddies, be warned and gang decently hame to your mithers before a worse thing befall.