“Not so, 't is the King's!” persisted Nicholas. “'T is hers for a token only. Heh, peddler?”
“'T-'t is t-true, 't is the K-King's,” the peddler agreed.
Symme sighed as he were freed of a burden; the beggar moved more close to the peddler; Nicholas shook the peddler by the hand,—“A sober, sensible fellow, thou,” he said.
“The King would give her another token an she lost this one,” the beggar whined in his peevish way. “And though he 's King, he 's Earl o' Chester likewise; he 'd be kind to his own men, if they sold the horn for hunger.”
The soldier loosened his knife in his girdle with one hand, the other he laid on the peddler's shoulder.
“Wilt thou be one with us in this adventure, brother?” he asked.
Symme also drew his knife, and Haukyn laid his fingers up about the back of the peddler's throat.
“G-gladly, brothers,” said the peddler.
“Fifteen pound!” murmured Symme. “Fifteen pound!”
Then the young murderer began to moan and cry in his sleep, and, for a little, all were astir to soothe him; but when the place was quiet Symme said:—