"Why on this day?"
"Dost thou not know that he is childless?"
"I suppose that is the case every day in the year."
"Ah, thou art fresh from fair Brittany, so I will tell thee the tale, only breathe it not where our lord can hear of my words, or I shall make acquaintance with his dog-whip, if not with gyves and fetters. Well, it chanced that thirteen years agone he burnt an old manor-house over on the downs near Compton, inhabited by a family of English churls who would not pay him tribute; the greater part of the household, unable to escape, perished in the flames, and amongst them, the mother and eldest child. In a dire rage and fury the father, who escaped, being absent from home, plotted revenge. Our lord had a son then, a likely lad of some three summers, and soon afterwards, on this very day, the child was out with scanty attendance taking the air, for who, thought they, would dare to injure the heir of the mighty baron, when some marauders made a swoop from the woods on the little party, slew them all and carried off the child—at least the body was never found, while those of the attendants lay all around, male and female."
"And did not they make due search?"
"Thou mayst take thy corporal oath of that. They searched every thicket and fastness, but neither the child nor any concerned in the outrage were ever found. They hung two or three poor churls and vagrants on suspicion, but what good could that do; there was no proof, and the wretches denied all knowledge."
"Did not they try the 'question,' the 'peine forte et dure?'"
"Indeed they did, but although one poor vagrant died under it, he revealed nothing, because he had nothing to reveal, I suppose."
"What ho! warder! dost thou see nought on the roads?" cried a stern, loud voice which made both start.