Yes, but how should he make the dead tell their tale loud enough to reach the ear of the Law?
In any case, he must leave Lud, and that quickly.
Why should he not visit the scene of this old drama, the widow Gibberty's farm? Perhaps he might there find witnesses who spoke a language understood by all.
The next morning he ordered a horse to be saddled, packed a few necessaries in a knapsack, and then he told Dame Marigold that, for the present, he could not stay in Lud. "As for you," he said, "you had better move to Polydore's. For the moment I'm the most unpopular man in town, and it would be just as well that they should think of you as Vigil's sister rather than as Chanticleer's wife."
Dame Marigold's face was very pale that morning and her eyes were very bright. "Nothing would induce me," she said in a low voice, "ever again to cross the threshold of Polydore's house. I shall never forgive him for the way he has treated you. No, I shall stay here—in your house. And," she added, with a little scornful laugh, "you needn't be anxious about me. I've never yet met a member of the lower classes that was a match for one of ourselves—they fall to heel as readily as a dog. I'm not a bit afraid of the mob, or anything they could do to me."
Master Nathaniel chuckled. "By the Sun, Moon and Stars!" he cried proudly, "you're a chip off the old block, Marigold!"
"Well, don't stay too long away, Nat," she said, "or else when you come back you'll find that I've gone mad like everybody else, and am dancing as wildly as Mother Tibbs, and singing songs about Duke Aubrey!" and she smiled her charming crooked smile.
Then he went up to say good-bye to old Hempie.
"Well, Hempie," he cried gaily. "Lud's getting too hot for me. So I'm off with a knapsack on my back to seek my fortune, like the youngest son in your old stories. Will you wish me luck?"