IF he might not return to Beaulieu within the year, and if hisbrother's dogs were to be set upon him if he showed face uponMinstead land, then indeed he was adrift upon earth. North,south, east, and west--he might turn where he would, but all wasequally chill and cheerless. The Abbot had rolled ten silvercrowns in a lettuce-leaf and hid them away in the bottom of hisscrip, but that would be a sorry support for twelve long months.In all the darkness there was but the one bright spot of thesturdy comrades whom he had left that morning; if he could findthem again all would be well. The afternoon was not veryadvanced, for all that had befallen him. When a man is afoot atcock-crow much may be done in the day. If he walked fast hemight yet overtake his friends ere they reached theirdestination. He pushed on therefore, now walking and nowrunning. As he journeyed he bit into a crust which remained fromhis Beaulieu bread, and he washed it down by a draught from awoodland stream.

It was no easy or light thing to journey through this greatforest, which was some twenty miles from east to west and a goodsixteen from Bramshaw Woods in the north to Lymington in thesouth. Alleyne, however, had the good fortune to fall in with awoodman, axe upon shoulder, trudging along in the very directionthat he wished to go. With his guidance he passed the fringe ofBolderwood Walk, famous for old ash and yew, through Mark Ashwith its giant beech-trees, and on through the Knightwood groves,where the giant oak was already a great tree, but only one ofmany comely brothers. They plodded along together, the woodmanand Alleyne, with little talk on either side, for their thoughtswere as far asunder as the poles. The peasant's gossip had beenof the hunt, of the brocken, of the grayheaded kites that hadnested in Wood Fidley, and of the great catch of herring broughtback by the boats of Pitt's Deep. The clerk's mind was on hisbrother, on his future--above all on this strange, fierce,melting, beautiful woman who had broken so suddenly into hislife, and as suddenly passed out of it again. So distrait was heand so random his answers, that the wood man took to whistling,and soon branched off upon the track to Burley, leaving Alleyneupon the main Christchurch road.

Down this he pushed as fast as he might, hoping at every turn andrise to catch sight of his companions of the morning. FromVinney Ridge to Rhinefield Walk the woods grow thick and dense upto the very edges of the track, but beyond the country opens upinto broad dun-colored moors, flecked with clumps of trees, andtopping each other in long, low curves up to the dark lines offorest in the furthest distance. Clouds of insects danced andbuzzed in the golden autumn light, and the air was full of thepiping of the song-birds. Long, glinting dragonflies shot acrossthe path, or hung tremulous with gauzy wings and gleaming bodies.Once a white-necked sea eagle soared screaming high over thetraveller's head, and again a flock of brown bustards popped upfrom among the bracken, and blundered away in their clumsyfashion, half running, half flying, with strident cry and whirrof wings.

There were folk, too, to be met upon the road--beggars andcouriers, chapmen and tinkers--cheery fellows for the most part,with a rough jest and homely greeting for each other and forAlleyne. Near Shotwood he came upon five seamen, on their wayfrom Poole to Southampton--rude red-faced men, who shouted at himin a jargon which he could scarce understand, and held out to hima great pot from which they had been drinking--nor would they lethim pass until he had dipped pannikin in and taken a mouthful,which set him coughing and choking, with the tears running downhis cheeks. Further on he met a sturdy black-bearded man,mounted on a brown horse, with a rosary in his right hand and along two-handed sword jangling against his stirrup-iron. By hisblack robe and the eight-pointed cross upon his sleeve, Alleynerecognized him as one of the Knights Hospitallers of St. John ofJerusalem, whose presbytery was at Baddesley. He held up twofingers as he passed, with a "Benedice, filie meus!" whereatAlleyne doffed hat and bent knee, looking with much reverence atone who had devoted his life to the overthrow of the infidel.Poor simple lad! he had not learned yet that what men are andwhat men profess to be are very wide asunder, and that theKnights of St. John, having come into large part of the riches ofthe ill-fated Templars, were very much too comfortable to thinkof exchanging their palace for a tent, or the cellars of Englandfor the thirsty deserts of Syria.

Yet ignorance may be more precious than wisdom, for Alleyne as hewalked on braced himself to a higher life by the thought of thisother's sacrifice, and strengthened himself by his example whichhe could scarce have done had he known that the Hospitaller'smind ran more upon malmsey than on mamalukes, and on venisonrather than victories.

As he pressed on the plain turned to woods once more in theregion of Wilverley Walk, and a cloud swept up from the southwith the sun shining through the chinks of it. A few great dropscame pattering loudly down, and then in a moment the steady swishof a brisk shower, with the dripping and dropping of the leaves.Alleyne, glancing round for shelter, saw a thick and lofty holly-bush, so hollowed out beneath that no house could have beendrier. Under this canopy of green two men were already squatted,who waved their hands to Alleyne that he should join them. As heapproached he saw that they had five dried herrings laid out infront of them, with a great hunch of wheaten bread and a leathernflask full of milk, but instead of setting to at their food theyappeared to have forgot all about it, and were disputing togetherwith flushed faces and angry gestures. It was easy to see bytheir dress and manner that they were two of those wanderingstudents who formed about this time so enormous a multitude inevery country in Europe. The one was long and thin, withmelancholy features, while the other was fat and sleek, with aloud voice and the air of a man who is not to be gainsaid.

"Come hither, good youth," he cried, "come hither! Vultusingenui puer. Heed not the face of my good coz here. Foenumhabet in cornu, as Dan Horace has it; but I warrant him harmlessfor all that."

"Stint your bull's bellowing!" exclaimed the other. "If it cometo Horace, I have a line in my mind: Loquaces si sapiat---- Howdoth it run? The English o't being that a man of sense shouldever avoid a great talker. That being so, if all were men ofsense then thou wouldst be a lonesome man, coz."

"Alas! Dicon, I fear that your logic is as bad as yourphilosophy or your divinity--and God wot it would be hard to saya worse word than that for it. For, hark ye: granting, propterargumentum, that I am a talker, then the true reasoning runs thatsince all men of sense should avoid me, and thou hast not avoidedme, but art at the present moment eating herrings with me under aholly-bush, ergo you are no man of sense, which is exactly what Ihave been dinning into your long ears ever since I first clappedeyes on your sunken chops."

"Tut, tut!" cried the other. "Your tongue goes like the clapperof a mill-wheel. Sit down here, friend, and partake of thisherring. Understand first, however, that there are certainconditions attached to it."

"I had hoped," said Alleyne, falling into the humor of the twain,"that a tranchoir of bread and a draught of milk might beattached to it."

"Hark to him, hark to him!" cried the little fat man. "It iseven thus, Dicon! Wit, lad, is a catching thing, like the itchor the sweating sickness. I exude it round me; it is an aura. Itell you, coz, that no man can come within seventeen feet of mewithout catching a spark. Look at your own case. A duller mannever stepped, and yet within the week you have said three thingswhich might pass, and one thing the day we left Fordingbridgewhich I should not have been ashamed of myself."

"Enough, rattle-pate, enough!" said the other. "The milk youshall have and the bread also, friend, together with the herring,but you must hold the scales between us."

"If he hold the herring he holds the scales, my sapient brother,"cried the fat man. "But I pray you, good youth, to tell uswhether you are a learned clerk, and, if so, whether you havestudied at Oxenford or at Paris."

"I have some small stock of learning," Alleyne answered, pickingat his herring, "but I have been at neither of these places. Iwas bred amongst the Cistercian monks at Beaulieu Abbey."

"Pooh, pooh!" they cried both together. "What sort of anupbringing is that?"

"Non cuivis contingit adire Corinthum," quoth Alleyne.

"Come, brother Stephen, he hath some tincture of letters," saidthe melancholy man more hopefully. "He may be the better judge,since he hath no call to side with either of us. Now, attention,friend, and let your ears work as well as your nether jaw. Judexdamnatur--you know the old saw. Here am I upholding the goodfame of the learned Duns Scotus against the foolish quibblingsand poor silly reasonings of Willie Ockham."

"While I," quoth the other loudly, "do maintain the good senseand extraordinary wisdom of that most learned William against thecrack-brained fantasies of the muddy Scotchman, who hath hid suchlittle wit as he has under so vast a pile of words, that it islike one drop of Gascony in a firkin of ditch-water. Solomon hiswisdom would not suffice to say what the rogue means."

"Certes, Stephen Hapgood, his wisdom doth not suffice," cried theother. "It is as though a mole cried out against the morningstar, because he could not see it. But our dispute, friend, isconcerning the nature of that subtle essence which we callthought. For I hold with the learned Scotus that thought is invery truth a thing, even as vapor or fumes, or many othersubstances which our gross bodily eyes are blind to. For, lookyou, that which produces a thing must be itself a thing, and if aman's thought may produce a written book, then must thoughtitself be a material thing, even as the book is. Have Iexpressed it? Do I make it plain?"

"Whereas I hold," shouted the other, "with my revered preceptor,doctor, preclarus et excellentissimus, that all things are butthought; for when thought is gone I prythee where are the thingsthen? Here are trees about us, and I see them because I think Isee them, but if I have swooned, or sleep, or am in wine, then,my thought having gone forth from me, lo the trees go forth also.How now, coz, have I touched thee on the raw?"

Alleyne sat between them munching his bread, while the twaindisputed across his knees, leaning forward with flushed faces anddarting hands, in all the heat of argument. Never had he heardsuch jargon of scholastic philosophy, such fine-drawndistinctions, such cross-fire of major and minor, proposition,syllogism, attack and refutation. Question clattered upon answerlike a sword on a buckler. The ancients, the fathers of theChurch, the moderns, the Scriptures, the Arabians, were each senthurtling against the other, while the rain still dripped and thedark holly-leaves glistened with the moisture. At last the fatman seemed to weary of it, for he set to work quietly upon hismeal, while his opponent, as proud as the rooster who is leftunchallenged upon the midden, crowed away in a last long burst ofquotation and deduction. Suddenly, however, his eyes droppedupon his food, and he gave a howl of dismay.

"You double thief!" he cried, "you have eaten my herrings, and Iwithout bite or sup since morning."

"That," quoth the other complacently, "was my final argument, mycrowning effort, or peroratio, as the orators have it. For, coz,since all thoughts are things, you have but to think a pair ofherrings, and then conjure up a pottle of milk wherewith to washthem down."

"A brave piece of reasoning," cried the other, "and I know of butone reply to it." On which, leaning forward, he caught hiscomrade a rousing smack across his rosy cheek. "Nay, take it notamiss," he said, "since all things are but thoughts, then thatalso is but a thought and may be disregarded."

This last argument, however, by no means commended itself to thepupil of Ockham, who plucked a great stick from the ground andsignified his dissent by smiting the realist over the pate withit. By good fortune, the wood was so light and rotten that itwent to a thousand splinters, but Alleyne thought it best toleave the twain to settle the matter at their leisure, the moreso as the sun was shining brightly once more. Looking back downthe pool-strewn road, he saw the two excited philosophers wavingtheir hands and shouting at each other, but their babble soonbecame a mere drone in the distance, and a turn in the road hidthem from his sight.

And now after passing Holmesley Walk and the Wooton Heath, theforest began to shred out into scattered belts of trees, withgleam of corn-field and stretch of pasture-land between. Hereand there by the wayside stood little knots of wattle-and-daubhuts with shock-haired laborers lounging by the doors and red-cheeked children sprawling in the roadway. Back among the groveshe could see the high gable ends and thatched roofs of thefranklin's houses, on whose fields these men found employment, ormore often a thick dark column of smoke marked their position andhinted at the coarse plenty within. By these signs Alleyne knewthat he was on the very fringe of the forest, and therefore nogreat way from Christchurch. The sun was lying low in the westand shooting its level rays across the long sweep of rich greencountry, glinting on the white-fleeced sheep and throwing longshadows from the red kine who waded knee-deep in the juicyclover. Right glad was the traveller to see the high tower ofChristchurch Priory gleaming in the mellow evening light, andgladder still when, on rounding a corner, he came upon hiscomrades of the morning seated astraddle upon a fallen tree.They had a flat space before them, on which they alternatelythrew little square pieces of bone, and were so intent upontheir occupation that they never raised eye as he approachedthem. He observed with astonishment, as he drew near, that thearcher's bow was on John's back, the archer's sword by John'sside, and the steel cap laid upon the tree-trunk between them.

"Mort de ma vie!" Aylward shouted, looking down at the dice."Never had I such cursed luck. A murrain on the bones! I havenot thrown a good main since I left Navarre. A one and a three!En avant, camarade!"

"Four and three," cried Hordle John, counting on his greatfingers, "that makes seven. Ho, archer, I have thy cap! Nowhave at thee for thy jerkin!"

"Mon Dieu!" he growled, "I am like to reach Christchurch in myshirt." Then suddenly glancing up, "Hola, by the splendor ofheaven, here is our cher petit! Now, by my ten finger bones!this is a rare sight to mine eyes." He sprang up and threw hisarms round Alleyne's neck, while John, no less pleased, but morebackward and Saxon in his habits, stood grinning and bobbing bythe wayside, with his newly won steel cap stuck wrong sideforemost upon his tangle of red hair.

"Hast come to stop?" cried the bowman, patting Alleyne all overin his delight. "Shall not get away from us again!"

"I wish no better," said he, with a pringling in the eyes at thishearty greeting.

"Well said, lad!" cried big John. "We three shall to the warstogether, and the devil may fly away with the Abbot of Beaulieu!But your feet and hosen are all besmudged. Hast been in thewater, or I am the more mistaken."

"I have in good sooth," Alleyne answered, and then as theyjourneyed on their way he told them the many things that hadbefallen him, his meeting with the villein, his sight of theking, his coming upon his brother, with all the tale of the blackwelcome and of the fair damsel. They strode on either side, eachwith an ear slanting towards him, but ere he had come to the endof his story the bowman had spun round upon his heel, and washastening back the way they had come, breathing loudly throughhis nose.

"What then?" asked Alleyne, trotting after him and gripping athis jerkin.

"I am back for Minstead, lad."

"And why, in the name of sense?"

"To thrust a handful of steel into the Socman. What! hale ademoiselle against her will, and then loose dogs at his ownbrother! Let me go!"

"Nenny, nenny!" cried Alleyne, laughing. "There was no scathdone. Come back, friend"--and so, by mingled pushing andentreaties, they got his head round for Christchurch once more.Yet he walked with his chin upon his shoulder, until, catchingsight of a maiden by a wayside well, the smiles came back to hisface and peace to his heart.

"But you," said Alleyne, "there have been changes with you also.Why should not the workman carry his tools? Where are bow andsword and cap--and why so warlike, John?"

"It is a game which friend Aylward hath been a-teaching of me."

"And I found him an over-apt pupil," grumbled the bowman. "Hehath stripped me as though I had fallen into the hands of thetardvenus. But, by my hilt! you must render them back to me,camarade, lest you bring discredit upon my mission, and I willpay you for them at armorers' prices."

"Take them back, man, and never heed the pay," said John. "I didbut wish to learn the feel of them, since I am like to have suchtrinkets hung to my own girdle for some years to come."

"Ma foi, he was born for a fr companion!" cried Aylward, "He haththe very trick of speech and turn of thought. I take them backthen, and indeed it gives me unease not to feel my yew-stavetapping against my leg bone. But see, mes garcons, on this sideof the church rises the square and darkling tower of EarlSalisbury's castle, and even from here I seem to see on yonderbanner the red roebuck of the Montacutes."

"Red upon white," said Alleyne, shading his eyes; "but whetherroebuck or no is more than I could vouch. How black is the greattower, and how bright the gleam of arms upon the wall! See belowthe flag, how it twinkles like a star!"

"Aye, it is the steel head-piece of the watchman," remarked thearcher. "But we must on, if we are to be there before thedrawbridge rises at the vespers bugle; for it is likely that sirNigel, being so renowned a soldier, may keep hard disciplinewithin the walls, and let no man enter after sundown." Sosaying, he quickened his pace, and the three comrades were soonclose to the straggling and broad-spread town which centeredround the noble church and the frowning castle.

It chanced on that very evening that Sir Nigel Loring, havingsupped before sunset, as was his custom, and having himself seenthat Pommers and Cadsand, his two war-horses, with the thirteenhacks, the five jennets, my lady's three palfreys, and the greatdapple-gray roussin, had all their needs supplied, had taken hisdogs for an evening breather. Sixty or seventy of them, largeand small, smooth and shaggy--deer-hound, boar-hound, blood-hound, wolf-hound, mastiff, alaun, talbot, lurcher, terrier,spaniel--snapping, yelling and whining, with score of lollingtongues and waving tails, came surging down the narrow lane whichleads from the Twynham kennels to the bank of Avon. Two russet-clad varlets, with loud halloo and cracking whips, walked thigh-deep amid the swarm, guiding, controlling, and urging. Behindcame Sir Nigel himself, with Lady Loring upon his arm, the pairwalking slowly and sedately, as befitted both their age and theircondition, while they watched with a smile in their eyes thescrambling crowd in front of them. They paused, however, at thebridge, and, leaning their elbows upon the stonework, they stoodlooking down at their own faces in the glassy stream, and at theswift flash of speckled trout against the tawny gravel.

Sir Nigel was a slight man of poor stature, with soft lispingvoice and gentle ways. So short was he that his wife, who was novery tall woman, had the better of him by the breadth of threefingers. His sight having been injured in his early wars by abasketful of lime which had been emptied over him when he led theEarl of Derby's stormers up the breach at Bergerac, he hadcontracted something of a stoop, with a blinking, peeringexpression of face. His age was six and forty, but the constantpractice of arms. together with a cleanly life, had preservedhis activity and endurance unimpaired, so that from a distance heseemed to have the slight limbs and swift grace of a boy. Hisface, however, was tanned of a dull yellow tint, with a leathery,poreless look, which spoke of rough outdoor doings, and thelittle pointed beard which he wore, in deference to theprevailing fashion, was streaked and shot with gray. Hisfeatures were small, delicate, and regular, with clear-cut,curving nose, and eyes which jutted forward from the lids. Hisdress was simple and yet spruce. A Flandrish hat of beevor,bearing in the band the token of Our Lady of Embrun, was drawnlow upon the left side to hide that ear which had been partlyshorn from his head by a Flemish man-at-arms in a camp broilbefore Tournay. His cote-hardie, or tunic, and trunk-hosen wereof a purple plum color, with long weepers which hung from eithersleeve to below his knees. His shoes were of red leather,daintily pointed at the toes, but not yet prolonged to theextravagant lengths which the succeeding reign was to bring intofashion. A gold-embroidered belt of knighthood encircled hisloins, with his arms, five roses gules on a field argent,cunningly worked upon the clasp. So stood Sir Nigel Loring uponthe bridge of Avon, and talked lightly with his lady.

And, certes, had the two visages alone been seen, and thestranger been asked which were the more likely to belong to thebold warrior whose name was loved by the roughest soldiery ofEurope, he had assuredly selected the lady's. Her face was largeand square and red, with fierce, thick brows, and the eyes of onewho was accustomed to rule. Taller and broader than her husband,her flowing gown of sendall, and fur-lined tippet, could notconceal the gaunt and ungraceful outlines of her figure. It wasthe age of martial women. The deeds of black Agnes of Dunbar, ofLady Salisbury and of the Countess of Montfort, were still freshin the public minds. With such examples before them the wives ofthe English captains had become as warlike as their mates, andordered their castles in their absence with the prudence anddiscipline of veteran seneschals. Right easy were the Montacutesof their Castle of Twynham, and little had they to dread fromroving galley or French squadron, while Lady Mary Loring had theordering of it. Yet even in that age it was thought that, thougha lady might have a soldier's heart, it was scarce as well thatshe should have a soldier's face. There were men who said thatof all the stern passages and daring deeds by which Sir NigelLoring had proved the true temper of his courage, not the leastwas his wooing and winning of so forbidding a dame.

"I tell you, my fair lord," she was saying, "that it is no fittraining for a demoiselle: hawks and hounds, rotes and citolessinging a French rondel, or reading the Gestes de Doon deMayence, as I found her yesternight, pretending sleep, theartful, with the corner of the scroll thrusting forth from underher pillow. Lent her by Father Christopher of the priory,forsooth --that is ever her answer. How shall all this help herwhen she has castle of her own to keep, with a hundred mouths allagape for beef and beer?"

"True, my sweet bird, true," answered the knight, picking acomfit from his gold drageoir. "The maid is like the youngfilly, which kicks heels and plunges for very lust of life. Giveher time, dame, give her time."

"Well, I know that my father would have given me, not time, but agood hazel-stick across my shoulders. Ma foi! I know not whatthe world is coming to, when young maids may flout their elders.I wonder that you do not correct her, my fair lord."

"Nay, my heart's comfort, I never raised hand to woman yet, andit would be a passing strange thing if I began on my own fleshand blood. It was a woman's hand which cast this lime into mineeyes, and though I saw her stoop, and might well have stopped herere she threw, I deemed it unworthy of my knighthood to hinder orbalk one of her sex."

"The hussy!" cried Lady Loring clenching her broad right hand."I would I had been at the side of her!"

"And so would I, since you would have been the nearer me my own.But I doubt not that you are right, and that Maude's wings needclipping, which I may leave in your hands when I am gone, for, insooth, this peaceful life is not for me, and were it not for yourgracious kindness and loving care I could not abide it a week. Ihear that there is talk of warlike muster at Bordeaux once more,and by St. Paul! it would be a new thing if the lions of Englandand the red pile of Chandos were to be seen in the field, and theroses of Loring were not waving by their side."

"Now wo worth me but I feared it!" cried she, with the color allstruck from her face. "I have noted your absent mind, yourkindling eye, your trying and rivetting of old harness. Considermy sweet lord, that you have already won much honor, that we haveseen but little of each other, that you bear upon your body thescar of over twenty wounds received in I know not how many bloodyencounters. Have you not done enough for honor and the publiccause?"

"My lady, when our liege lord, the king, at three score years,and my Lord Chandos at three-score and ten, are blithe and readyto lay lance in rest for England's cause, it would ill be-seem meto prate of service done. It is sooth that I have received sevenand twenty wounds. There is the more reason that I should bethankful that I am still long of breath and sound in limb. Ihave also seen some bickering and scuffling. Six great landbattles I count, with four upon sea, and seven and fifty onfalls,skirmishes and bushments. I have held two and twenty towns, andI have been at the intaking of thirty-one. Surely then it wouldbe bitter shame to me, and also to you, since my fame is yours,that I should now hold back if a man's work is to be done.Besides, bethink you how low is our purse, with bailiff and reeveever croaking of empty farms and wasting lands. Were it not forthis constableship which the Earl of Salisbury hath bestowedupon us we could scarce uphold the state which is fitting to ourdegree. Therefore, my sweeting, there is the more need that Ishould turn to where there is good pay to be earned and braveransoms to be won."

"Ah, my dear lord," quoth she, with sad, weary eyes. "I thoughtthat at last I had you to mine own self, even though your youthhad been spent afar from my side. Yet my voice, as I know well,should speed you on to glory and renown, not hold you back whenfame is to be won. Yet what can I say, for all men know thatyour valor needs the curb and not the spur. It goes to my heartthat you should ride forth now a mere knight bachelor, when thereis no noble in the land who hath so good a claim to the squarepennon, save only that you have not the money to uphold it."

"And whose fault that, my sweet bird?" said he.

"No fault, my fair lord, but a virtue: for how many rich ransomshave you won, and yet have scattered the crowns among page andarcher and varlet, until in a week you had not as much as wouldbuy food and forage. It is a most knightly largesse, and yetwithouten money how can man rise?"

"Dirt and dross!" cried he.

"What matter rise or fall, so that duty be done and honor gained.Banneret or bachelor, square pennon or forked, I would not give adenier for the difference, and the less since Sir John Chandos,chosen flower of English chivalry, is himself but a humbleknight. But meanwhile fret not thyself, my heart's dove, for itis like that there may be no war waged, and we must await thenews. But here are three strangers, and one, as I take it, asoldier fresh from service. It is likely that he may give usword of what is stirring over the water."

Lady Loring, glancing up, saw in the fading light threecompanions walking abreast down the road, all gray with dust, andstained with travel, yet chattering merrily between themselves.He in the midst was young and comely, with boyish open face andbright gray eyes, which glanced from right to left as though hefound the world around him both new and pleasing. To his rightwalked a huge red-headed man, with broad smile and merry twinkle,whose clothes seemed to be bursting and splitting at every seam,as though he were some lusty chick who was breaking bravely fromhis shell. On the other side, with his knotted hand upon theyoung man's shoulder, came a stout and burly archer, brown andfierce eyed, with sword at belt and long yellow yew-stavepeeping over his shoulder. Hard face, battered head piece,dinted brigandine, with faded red lion of St. George ramping on adiscolored ground, all proclaimed as plainly as words that he wasindeed from the land of war. He looked keenly at Sir Nigel as heapproached, and then, plunging his hand under his breastplate, hestepped up to him with a rough, uncouth bow to the lady.

"Your pardon, fair sir," said he, "but I know you the moment Iclap eyes on you, though in sooth I have seen you oftener insteel than in velvet. I have drawn string besides you at LaRoche-d'Errien, Romorantin, Maupertuis, Nogent, Auray, and otherplaces."

"Then, good archer, I am right glad to welcome you to TwynhamCastle, and in the steward s room you will find provant foryourself and comrades. To me also your face is known, thoughmine eyes play such tricks with me that I can scarce be sure ofmy own squire. Rest awhile, and you shall come to the hall anonand tell us what is passing in France, for I have heard that itis likely that our pennons may flutter to the south of the greatSpanish mountains ere another year be passed."

"There was talk of it in Bordeaux," answered the archer, "and Isaw myself that the armorers and smiths were as busy as rats in awheat-rick. But I bring you this letter from the valiant Gasconknight, Sir Claude Latour. And to you, Lady," he added after apause, "I bring from him this box of red sugar of Narbonne, withevery courteous and knightly greeting which a gallant cavaliermay make to a fair and noble dame."

This little speech had cost the blunt bowman much pains andplanning; but he might have spared his breath, for the lady wasquite as much absorbed as her lord in the letter, which they heldbetween them, a hand on either corner, spelling it out veryslowly, with drawn brows and muttering lips. As they read it,Alleyne, who stood with Hordle John a few paces back from theircomrade, saw the lady catch her breath, while the knight laughedsoftly to himself.

"You see, dear heart," said he, "that they will not leave the olddog in his kennel when the game is afoot. And what of this WhiteCompany, archer?"

"Ah, sir, you speak of dogs," cried Aylward; "but there are apack of lusty hounds who are ready for any quarry, if they havebut a good huntsman to halloo them on. Sir, we have been in thewars together, and I have seen many a brave following but neversuch a set of woodland boys as this. They do but want you attheir head, and who will bar the way to them!"

"Pardieu!" said Sir Nigel, "if they are all like their messenger,they are indeed men of whom a leader may be proud. Your name,good archer?"

"Sam Aylward, sir, of the Hundred of Easebourne and the Rape ofChichester."

"And this giant behind you?"

"He is big John, of Hordle, a forest man, who hath now takenservice in the Company."

"A proper figure of a man at-arms," said the little knight."Why, man, you are no chicken, yet I warrant him the strongerman. See to that great stone from the coping which hath fallenupon the bridge. Four of my lazy varlets strove this day tocarry it hence. I would that you two could put them to shame bybudging it, though I fear that I overtask you, for it is of agrievous weight."

He pointed as he spoke to a huge rough-hewn block which lay bythe roadside, deep sunken from its own weight in the reddishearth. The archer approached it, rolling back the sleeves of hisjerkin, but with no very hopeful countenance, for indeed it was amighty rock. John, however, put him aside with his left hand,and, stooping over the stone, he plucked it single-handed fromits soft bed and swung it far into the stream. There it fellwith mighty splash, one jagged end peaking out above the surface,while the waters bubbled and foamed with far-circling eddy.

"Good lack!" cried Sir Nigel, and "Good lack!" cried his lady,while John stood laughing and wiping the caked dirt from hisfingers.

"I have felt his arms round my ribs," said the bowman, "and theycrackle yet at the thought of it. This other comrade of mine isa right learned clerk, for all that he is so young, hightAlleyne, the son of Edric, brother to the Socman of Minstead."

"Young man," quoth Sir Nigel, sternly, "if you are of the sameway of thought as your brother, you may not pass under portcullisof mine."

"Nay, fair sir," cried Aylward hastily, "I will be pledge for itthat they have no thought in common; for this very day hisbrother hath set his dogs upon him, and driven him from hislands."

"And are you, too, of the White Company?" asked Sir Nigel. "Hasthad small experience of war, if I may judge by your looks andbearing."

"I would fain to France with my friends here," Alleyne answered;"but I am a man of peace--a reader, exorcist, acolyte, andclerk."

"That need not hinder," quoth Sir Nigel.

"No, fair sir," cried the bowman joyously. "Why, I myself haveserved two terms with Arnold de Cervolles, he whom they calledthe archpriest. By my hilt! I have seen him ere now, with monk'sgown trussed to his knees, over his sandals in blood in the fore-front of the battle. Yet, ere the last string had twanged, hewould be down on his four bones among the stricken, and have themall houseled and shriven, as quick as shelling peas. Ma foi!there were those who wished that he would have less care fortheir souls and a little more for their bodies!"

"It is well to have a learned clerk in every troop," said SirNigel. "By St. Paul, there are men so caitiff that they thinkmore of a scrivener's pen than of their lady's smile, and dotheir devoir in hopes that they may fill a line in a chronicle ormake a tag to a jongleur's romance. I remember well that, at thesiege of Retters, there was a little, sleek, fat clerk of thename of Chaucer, who was so apt at rondel, sirvente, or tonson,that no man dare give back a foot from the walls, lest he find itall set down in his rhymes and sung by every underling and varletin the camp. But, my soul's bird, you hear me prate as thoughall were decided, when I have not yet taken counsel either withyou or with my lady mother. Let us to the chamber, while thesestrangers find such fare as pantry and cellar may furnish."

"The night air strikes chill," said the lady, and turned down theroad with her hand upon her lord's arm. The three comradesdropped behind and followed: Aylward much the lighter for havingaccomplished his mission, Alleyne full of wonderment at thehumble bearing of so renowned a captain, and John loud withsnorts and sneers, which spoke his disappointment and contempt.

"What ails the man?" asked Aylward in surprise.

"I have been cozened and bejaped," quoth he gruffly.

"By whom, Sir Samson the strong?"

"By thee, Sir Balaam the false prophet."

"By my hilt!" cried the archer, I though I be not Balaam, yet Ihold converse with the very creature that spake to him. What isamiss, then, and how have I played you false?"

"Why, marry, did you not say, and Alleyne here will be mywitness, that, if I would hie to the wars with you, you wouldplace me under a leader who was second to none in all England forvalor? Yet here you bring me to a shred of a man, peaky and ill-nourished, with eyes like a moulting owl, who must needs,forsooth, take counsel with his mother ere he buckle sword togirdle."

"Is that where the shoe galls?" cried the bowman, and laughedaloud. "I will ask you what you think of him three months hence,if we be all alive; for sure I am that----"

Aylward's words were interrupted by an extraordinary hubbub whichbroke out that instant some little way down the street in thedirection of the Priory. There was deep-mouthed shouting of men,frightened shrieks of women, howling and barking of curs, andover all a sullen, thunderous rumble, indescribably menacing andterrible. Round the corner of the narrow street there camerushing a brace of whining dogs with tails tucked under theirlegs, and after them a white-faced burgher, with outstretchedhands and wide-spread fingers, his hair all abristle and his eyesglinting back from one shoulder to the other, as though somegreat terror were at his very heels. "Fly, my lady, fly!" hescreeched, and whizzed past them like bolt from bow; while closebehind came lumbering a huge black bear, with red tongue lollingfrom his mouth, and a broken chain jangling behind him. To rightand left the folk flew for arch and doorway. Hordle John caughtup the Lady Loring as though she had been a feather, and sprangwith her into an open porch; while Aylward, with a whirl ofFrench oaths, plucked at his quiver and tried to unsling his bow.Alleyne, all unnerved at so strange and unwonted a sight, shrunkup against the wall with his eyes fixed upon the frenziedcreature, which came bounding along with ungainly speed, lookingthe larger in the uncertain light, its huge jaws agape, withblood and slaver trickling to the ground. Sir Nigel alone,unconscious to all appearance of the universal panic, walkedwith unfaltering step up the centre of the road, a silkenhandkerchief in one hand and his gold comfit-box in the other.It sent the blood cold through Alleyne's veins to see that asthey came together--the man and the beast--the creature rearedup, with eyes ablaze with fear and hate, and whirled its greatpaws above the knight to smite him to the earth. He, however,blinking with puckered eyes, reached up his kerchief, and flickedthe beast twice across the snout with it. "Ah, saucy! saucy,"quoth he, with gentle chiding; on which the bear, uncertain andpuzzled, dropped its four legs to earth again, and, waddlingback, was soon swathed in ropes by the bear-ward and a crowd ofpeasants who had been in close pursuit.

A scared man was the keeper; for, having chained the brute to astake while he drank a stoup of ale at the inn, it had beenbaited by stray curs, until, in wrath and madness, it had pluckedloose the chain, and smitten or bitten all who came in its path.Most scared of all was he to find that the creature had come nighto harm the Lord and Lady of the castle, who had power to placehim in the stretch-neck or to have the skin scourged from hisshoulders. Yet, when he came with bowed head and humble entreatyfor forgiveness, he was met with a handful of small silver fromSir Nigel, whose dame, however, was less charitably disposed,being much ruffled in her dignity by the manner in which she hadbeen hustled from her lord's side.

As they passed through the castle gate, John plucked at Aylward'ssleeve, and the two fell behind.

"I must crave your pardon, comrade," said he, bluntly. "I was afool not to know that a little rooster may be the gamest. Ibelieve that this man is indeed a leader whom we may follow."