"Yes; thou hast seized a Crusader. Dost not see my red cross?"
"It is easy to bind a bit of red rag crossways upon one's shoulder. Who took thy vows?"
"The Abbot of Reading; he is now at Lollingdune."
"Ah, ah! Brian Fitz-Count shall settle that little matter; he may not approve of Crusaders who break open his castle. Take him to Wallingford, my friends. I shall go back and get that deer we slew just before we caught the boy; our larder is short."
So Malebouche rode back into the forest alone.
Let us follow him.
It was drawing near nightfall. The light fleecy clouds which floated above were fast losing the hues of the departing sun, which had tinted their western edges with crimson; the woods were getting dim and dark; but Malebouche persisted in his course. He had brought down a fine young buck with his bow, and had intended to send for it, being at that moment eager in pursuit of his human prey; but now he had leisure, and might throw it across his horse, and bring it home in triumph.
Before reaching the place the road became very ill-defined, and speedily ceased to be a road at all; but Malebouche could still see the broken branches and trampled ground along which they had pursued their prey earlier in the day.
At last he reached the deer, and tying the horse to a branch of a tree, proceeded to disembowel it ere he placed it across the steed, as was the fashion; but as he was doing this, the horse made a violent plunge, and uttered a scream of terror. Malebouche turned—a pair of vivid eyes were glaring in the darkness.
It was a wolf, attracted by the scent of the butchery.