“This wounded gentleman.  I was fetched to attend him.  I am a medicus.”

“A doctor — you?” Scorn of that lie — as he conceived it — rang in the heavy, hectoring voice.

“Medicinae baccalaureus,” said Mr. Blood.

“Don’t fling your French at me, man,” snapped Hobart.  “Speak English!”

Mr. Blood’s smile annoyed him.

“I am a physician practising my calling in the town of Bridgewater.”

The Captain sneered.  “Which you reached by way of Lyme Regis in the following of your bastard Duke.”

It was Mr. Blood’s turn to sneer.  “If your wit were as big as your voice, my dear, it’s the great man you’d be by this.”

For a moment the dragoon was speechless.  The colour deepened in his face.

“You may find me great enough to hang you.”

“Faith, yes.  Ye’ve the look and the manners of a hangman.  But if you practise your trade on my patient here, you may be putting a rope round your own neck.  He’s not the kind you may string up and no questions asked.  He has the right to trial, and the right to trial by his peers.”

“By his peers?”

The Captain was taken aback by these three words, which Mr. Blood had stressed.

“Sure, now, any but a fool or a savage would have asked his name before ordering him to the gallows.  The gentleman is my Lord Gildoy.”

And then his lordship spoke for himself, in a weak voice.

“I make no concealment of my association with the Duke of Monmouth.  I’ll take the consequences.  But, if you please, I’ll take them after trial — by my peers, as the doctor has said.”

The feeble voice ceased, and was followed by a moment’s silence.  As is common in many blustering men, there was a deal of timidity deep down in Hobart.  The announcement of his lordship’s rank had touched those depths.  A servile upstart, he stood in awe of titles.  And he stood in awe of his colonel.  Percy Kirke was not lenient with blunderers.

By a gesture he checked his men.  He must consider.  Mr. Blood, observing his pause, added further matter for his consideration.

“Ye’ll be remembering, Captain, that Lord Gildoy will have friends and relatives on the Tory side, who’ll have something to say to Colonel Kirke if his lordship should be handled like a common felon.  You’ll go warily, Captain, or, as I’ve said, it’s a halter for your neck ye’ll be weaving this morning.”

Captain Hobart swept the warning aside with a bluster of contempt, but he acted upon it none the less.  “Take up the day-bed,” said he, “and convey him on that to Bridgewater.  Lodge him in the gaol until I take order about him.”

“He may not survive the journey,” Blood remonstrated.  “He’s in no case to be moved.”

“So much the worse for him.  My affair is to round up rebels.”  He confirmed his order by a gesture.  Two of his men took up the day-bed, and swung to depart with it.