The burden of his duties had made Lord Lisle's officer somewhat testy.
"But perchance, with your good leave, I may sing to my lords the justices' serving-men a song of fair France; or a love chansonnette will I teach them, wherewith to tingle the ears of their Saxon gills?"
"As you will, man," answered the seneschal with a shrug, turning away, "an you find fools to listen to such trash!"
"Thanks for your leave, good sir," the stranger called after him, with a queer twinkle in his dark eye. Then he turned to one of De Braybrooke's men, staring open-mouthed and stolid at the strange dialect and stranger countenance. "Wilt list to a song, friend? It hath a refrain will ring in thy ears and cheer thee on thy long journey."
"A long journey! Gramercy, a mole might see as how thou art a stranger in these parts. A long journey to Dunstable, forsooth!"
"And is it not far?"
"Nine miles as the crow flies, I trows, and but eke some ten the way we ride, through the woodland, by way of Eversholt," replied the varlet, with a snigger of contempt.
"Aver--aver--sole," repeated the dark stranger, mispronouncing the name. "This English tongue cracks the jaw!"
"Marry, he stammereth like a cuckoo at hay-harvest," jeered the other. "Say it plain, man--Eversholt."
"Gather your fellows together while I go fetch my rebec I left at the gate-house, and, pardie, you shall see what you shall see, and hear what you shall hear," retorted the stranger imperturbably. But as he strode across the yard, the serving-man, had he not been so busily engaged mimicking the Frenchman's accent to his companions, might have noticed an armed heel glitter beneath the folds of his cloak.