As the man stood before him, dressed in the rough shift of a serf, Flor smiled grimly.
"And now," he said, "none will worry too much about a mere serf, or look too closely into his fate. Here."
He slashed out with the sword, awkwardly, but effectively.
"I shall have to find a new name," he told himself as he dressed in the garments of his victim. "No free swordsman would have a name like Flor. They all have two names."
He thought of the names he had heard used by the guards of the Earl. Flor, he thought, could be part of a name. But one of the swordsmen would make it Floran, or possibly Florel. They would be hunters, or slayers of elk—not simply elk. He looked at the steel cap in his hands. An iron hat—deri kuna.
"So," he told himself, "I shall be Florel Derikuna."
He inspected his new garments, being sure they hid the belt, and yet left the bosses available to easy reach. At last, he put on the iron cap. It covered the coronet, effectively hiding it.
Taking up the sword, he replaced it in its scabbard and swaggered through the forest, imitating the man-at-arms' song.
At one stroke, he had improved his status infinitely. Now, he could roam the land unquestioned, so long as he had money. He smiled to himself. There was money in his scrip, and there would be but slight problems involved in getting more. Tonight, he would sleep in a forest house, instead of huddling in a thicket.