"No farther?" enquired his rescuer.
"It is not safe," answered Hugh. "These woodland men carry bows, and if they should undertake to loose shafts at us all our armour might not withstand them."
"So? Then why did they not slay you out of hand?"
"That is what I would find out," returned Hugh grimly.
He sought the roadside where lay one of his assailants, bleeding freely from a deep wound in the groin.
"Make haste," advised the stranger. "The rascal will be sped an you tarry."
Hugh nodded and knelt at the man's side.
"Hark to me," he commanded. "I am the Lord of Chesby. Dost know that, fellow?"
"Yes," groaned the man.
"Why would you have slain me? Tell me true and a Mass shall be said for your soul's rest."