“My faith, sir, I’ve no intent to knock you down and steal the horse,” the other answered, with a short laugh.
His cool tone allayed the heat of Hugh’s anger sufficiently for him to note the man more closely now, and he perceived he was not above three or four and twenty, of a tall strong build, with sharp eyes. Hugh caught his breath and stared frankly, while his mind jumped back to his first day at Oxford, when he and Allestree, standing upon the steps, had watched the king and his retinue ride by. The stranger had turned his back upon him now, and drawn over to the centre of the court, but his voice was loud, and Hugh could hear him bidding the hostler run out and procure him a farm-horse or aught that went upon four legs. With a sudden desperate impulse Hugh thrust forward and spoke boldly, “If it like you, sir, you may have my horse now.”
“Your price?”
“No price. I’ll lend him unto you.”
“You’ve changed your tune quickly, sir,” said the man, coming back to Bayard’s side.
“I’m thinking ’tis likely your business is of more weight than mine, your Highness,” Hugh answered, in a tone that sank to a whisper.
“So you know me?” asked the stranger, with his foot already in the stirrup.
“I can guess, sir.”
“Spare guessing, then, for taxing the brain,” retorted the other, as he settled himself in the saddle. “Give me your name, though, sir; I’ll not forget your service.”
Hugh hesitated an instant, then replied, “Hugh Gwyeth.”