At the same time a grim, gray, old man dispatched a messenger from the outlaw’s camp; a swarthy fellow, disguised as a priest, whose orders were to proceed to London, and when he saw the party of Joan de Tany, with Roger de Conde, enter the city, he was to deliver the letter he bore to the captain of the gate.
The letter contained this brief message:
“The tall knight in gray with closed helm is Norman of Torn,” and was unsigned.
All went well and Joan was laughing merrily at the fears of those who had attempted to dissuade her when, at a cross road, they discovered two parties of armed men approaching from opposite directions. The leader of the nearer party spurred forward to intercept the little band, and, reining in before them, cried brusquely,
“Who be ye?”
“A party on a peaceful mission to the shops of London,” replied Norman of Torn.
“I asked not your mission,” cried the fellow. “I asked, who be ye? Answer, and be quick about it.”
“I be Roger de Conde, gentleman of France, and these be my sisters and servants,” lied the outlaw, “and were it not that the ladies be with me, your answer would be couched in steel, as you deserve for your boorish insolence.”
“There be plenty of room and time for that even now, you dog of a French coward,” cried the officer, couching his lance as he spoke.
Joan de Tany was sitting her horse where she could see the face of Roger de Conde, and it filled her heart with pride and courage as she saw and understood the little smile of satisfaction that touched his lips as he heard the man’s challenge and lowered the point of his own spear.