"But take your page with you, at least, sir," said the other; "we shall be quite safe, I doubt not."
Richard of Woodville would not consent, however; and giving the boy some directions, he waved his hand, and rode away. Once--just as he was going--he turned his head, hearing voices speaking, and thinking some one called him by name; but the younger novice, as she seemed, was talking with apparent eagerness to the clerk's man, and he caught the sounds--"As soon as he is gone."--"Take plenty with you--"
The young knight perceived that the words were not addressed to him, and spurred forward. Evening was coming on apace; and Blangy was still ten or twelve miles distant; but his horse was exhausted with long travelling and little food, and nothing would urge him into speed. At a slow walk he pursued his way, till at length, just as the sun touched the edge of the western sky, the animal stopped altogether, with his limbs trembling and evidently unable to proceed. Richard of Woodville dismounted; and taking the bit out of the horse's mouth, he relieved him from the saddle, and led him a little way from the road, saying, "There, poor beast, find food and rest if you can." He then left him, and walked on a-foot.
The red evening light at first glowed brightly in the sky; but soon it grew grey, and faint twilight was all that remained, when the road wound in to a deep forest, covering the sides of a high hill. Woodville had heard that Blangy was situated in the midst of woodlands, and his heart felt relieved as he approached; but the darkness increased as he went on, and at length the stars shone out above. Soon after a hum as of a distant multitude met his ear; but it was lost again as the road wound round the ascent amidst the tall trees; and all was silent and solemn. About a quarter of a mile onward, where the hill was steep, the path rose above the scrubby brushwood on his left, and he could see over the forest to a spot where a reddish glare rose up from the bottom of the valley. But somewhat farther in the forest itself, on a spot where the taller trees had fallen before the axe, and nothing but thin underwood remained, he caught a sight of three or four fires, the light of which shone upon some half dozen tents; and the figures of men moving about across the blaze were apparent, notwithstanding the darkness of the night.
The distance might be three or four hundred yards; and Richard of Woodville, wearied and exhausted, resolved to make his way thither, rather than take the longer and more tedious course of following the road to the bottom of the hill. Plunging in, then, sometimes through low copse, sometimes amongst tall trees, he hurried on, feeling faint and heavyhearted again; for the first joy of rejoining his countrymen had passed away, and from the rumours he had heard, he not a little doubted of his reception. He knew, indeed, that he had nothing to reproach himself with, and felt sure that he should easily prove the falsehood of any charge against him: but it was painful to think that, after long imprisonment, and the loss of many a bright day and fond hope, he should be met with coldness and frowns upon his first return. The body, too, weighed upon the spirit as it always does in every moment of lassitude and exhaustion, so that all things seemed darker to his eye than they would have done at another moment.
On he walked, however, his feet catching in the long briers, or striking against the stumps of felled trees, till at length a man started up before him, and exclaimed, "Who goes there?"
"A friend!" answered the young knight, in the same English tongue.
"What friend?" demanded the soldier, advancing.
"My name is Woodville. Lead me to your lord, whoever he is," replied Richard.
"Here, Mark!" cried the man to another, who was a little farther down, "take him to Sir Henry's tent;" and suffering the knight to pass on, he laid himself down again amongst the leaves.