"What shall he have who killed the deer?"
The return of Brian Fitz-Count and his companion from their stroll in the woods probably saved our aged friend Sexwulf and his grandson from much rough treatment, for although in the presence of express orders from their dread lord, the men-at-arms would not attempt aught against the life of their prisoners, yet they might have offered any violence and rudeness short of that last extremity, in their desire to possess proof of the slaughter of the deer.
Poor beast, the cause of so much strife: it had behoved him to die amongst the fangs of the hounds, and he had been foully murdered by arrow and knife! It was not to be endured.
But no sooner did the Baron return, than the scene was changed.
"What means this clamour? Shut your mouths, ye hounds! and bring the deer-slayers before me; one would think Hell had broken loose amongst you."
He sat deliberately down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and called Milo to be his assessor (amicus curiæ), as one might have said.
A circle was immediately formed, and the old man and boy, their arms tied behind them, were placed before their judge.
He looked them sternly in the face, as if he would read their hearts.
"Whose serfs are ye?"