He approached eagerly. Yes, it was Louis; but he did not stir. Etienne dismounted and discovered the fact he had already anticipated: his young companion was dead: an arrow, evidently shot close at hand, had pierced his chest. The poor lad had but slight defensive armour--a light cuirass thrown on at the first alarm.
He had fallen and been left for dead, but had evidently afterwards dragged himself to the brook, in the agony of thirst, and had died while attempting to drink.
They placed the body reverently on the moss at the foot of the tree, and for a time were silent. The remembrance of his activity and gaiety on the previous day, and of his sweet minstrelsy on the very eve of his voice being hushed for ever, came sadly to their minds. At length Etienne broke the silence.
"Draw forth the arrow," he said.
They drew it forth and gave it him, bloodstained as it was: he looked closely upon it.
"This is an arrow from the same quiver as that which killed Gislebert; it is of English make, such as those clumsy louts use."
It was indeed a heavy, broad shaft, quite unlike the slender, tapering arrows of Norman workmanship, adapted for a long flight, in days when a furlong was considered a boy's distance.
"Our own serfs turn upon us. Well, they will rue it ere long; a short shrift and a long rope will be their portion."
"Ah! I remember noticing such in the quiver of the young thrall Eadwin," said Pierre--"he whose hand you sought to cut off for poaching."
They said no more on that occasion, but pursued in silence the train of thought suggested.