The Welshmen, a Fair French Girl, Afraid of Misadventure

In the midst of that lawless gang of ruffian soldiers, their bronzed and grinning faces, hedging a space in with a leering, compassionless wall. The poor maid was standing upon an overturned box as was used to carry crossbow bolts in her hands tied hard together in front, her captor by her side. As we came near unnoticed, he put her up for sale. And while the laughter and jest went round those rude islanders bid, point by point for the unhappy girl who writhed and crouched before them. What could i do? Well, i knew the vows my golden spurs put upon me and the policy my borrowed knighthood warranted