"And who was his sire?"
"An oppressed Englishman."
"Doubtless: you all think yourselves oppressed, as my oxen may, because they are forced to draw the plough, but the boy has the face of men of better blood, and I should have said there was a cross in the breed: but hearken! Malebouche, cut their bonds, take a party of six, escort them to the castle, place them in the third story of the North Tower, give them food and drink, but let none have access to them till I return."
Further colloquy was useless; the Baron spoke like a man whose mind was made up, and his vassals had no choice but to obey.
Therefore the party broke up, the rest of the train to seek another stag, if they could find one, but Brian called the Sheriff of Gloucester aside.
They stood in a glade of the forest near a tree blown down by the wind, where they could see the downs beyond.
"Dost see that barrow, Sir Milo?"
"I do."
"It is called Cwichelm's Hlawe; there an old king of these English was buried; they say he walks by night."
"A likely place."