“How far from here are the enemy?”
“About five-and-twenty miles, sir, I should say.”
“In what direction?”
“Towards Exeter, sir. I did hear say that the king was with them.”
“Hah! And how strong are they, do you suppose?”
“’Bout four hundred horsemen, I heard say, sir; but it was only what my comrade told me.”
“Go into the guard-room and get some refreshment,” said the general, after reading his despatch carefully again.
The man turned to go, and just then his horse fell heavily, the blood gushed from its nostrils as it gave a few convulsive struggles, and then lay dead.
The messenger went to its head, sank upon one knee, as Roy joined the group around, bent lower, kissed the poor animal’s brow. Then he drew his sword, cut off a piece of its forelock, thrust it into his wallet, and amidst perfect silence, followed one of the men to the guard-room, hanging his head, while Roy longed to go and shake him by the hand.
The next moment the silence was broken by the loud blare of a trumpet, and a gun was fired from the gate tower.