A sudden shout from the vanward, a crashing in the underbrush beside the way, a shrill cry, and three or four of Eric's ragged rogues appeared dragging a woman betwixt them, at sight of whom the air was filled with fierce shouts and cries.
"The witch! Ha! 'Tis the witch of Hangstone Waste! To the water with the hag! Nay, burn her! Burn her!"
"Aye," cried Roger, pushing forward, "there's nought like the fire for your devils or demons!"
Quoth the archer:
"In nomen Dominum—Holy Saint Giles, 'tis a comely maid!"
"Foul daughter of an accursed dam!" quoth Roger, spitting and drawing a cross in the dust with his bow-stave.
"With the eyes of an angel!" said Giles, pushing nearer where stood a maid young and shapely, trembling in the close grasp of one Gurth, a ragged, red-haired giant, whose glowing eyes stared lustfully upon her ripe young beauty.
"'Tis Mellent!" cried the fellow. "'Tis the witch's daughter that hath escaped me thrice by deviltry and witchcraft—"
"Nay—nay," panted the maid 'twixt pallid lips, "nought am I but a poor maid gathering herbs and simples for my mother. Ah, show pity—"
"Witch!" roared a score of voices, "Witch!"