"My lord 'tis true our wars be ended I thank God, and we may sheathe our swords at last, but the woods be full of Black Ivo's scattered soldiery, with outlaws and other masterless men."
"Ha, verily, lords," quoth Roger, "there shall many turn outlaw, methinks—"
"Then must we end outlawry!" said Beltane, frowning.
"And how would'st do it, Beltane?"
"Make an end of the game laws, Benedict—throw wide the forests to all who will—"
"But master, thus shall every clapper-claw rogue be free to kill for his base sport thy goodly deer, or belike a hart of ten, fit for sport of kings—"
"Well, let them in this thing be kings. But I do hold a man's life dearer than a stag's. So henceforth in Pentavalon the woods are free—I pray you let this be proclaimed forthwith, my lord."
Quoth Sir Benedict, as with Roger's aid Beltane did on his armour:
"There is a postern beyond the pleasaunce yonder shall bring you forth of the city and no man the wiser."
"Why, then, bring ye the horses thither, Roger, and haste ye!"