"Ha, dare ye mock me, knave?" cried Sir Robert, and clenching iron hand he spurred upon Beltane, but checked as suddenly, and pointed where, midst the shrinking populace, strode one in knightly armour, whose embroidered surcoat bore the arms, and whose vizored helm the crest of Sir Gui of Allerdale. Now beholding this silent figure, a groan of fear went up, divers men sank crouching on their knees, the Reeve uttered a hoarse gasp and covered his face, while even Beltane, staring wide-eyed, felt his flesh a-creep. But now Sir Robert rode forward:
"Greeting, lord Seneschal!" said he, "you come betimes, messire, though not over hastily, methinks!"
"Forsooth," quoth the figure, his voice booming in his great war-helm, "forsooth and verily there be three things no man should leave in haste: videlicit and to wit: his prayers, his dinner and his lady. None the less came I hither to give thee greeting, good my lord."
"My lord Seneschal, what manner of men be these of thine?"
"O fair sir, they be ordinary men, rogues, see you, and fools—save one, a comely man this, an archer unequalled, hight Giles o' the Bow, a man of wit, very full of strategies and wiles."
"Aye, but what of yon tall knave, now," said Sir Robert, pointing at
Beltane, "who is he?"
"Forsooth, a knave, my lord, an arrant knave with long legs."
"He will look well on a gibbet, methinks, Sir Gui."
"Indeed, my lord he might grace the gallows as well as you or I."
"The rogue telleth me that you will hang men no more."