It was at High Meadow House their men were encamped; the main body under Massey having just arrived, while Sir Richard, with his troopers in advance, had been there overnight. And that same morning the cadgers, hastily summoned from their home at Ruardean, had been despatched to Monmouth market: Jack, or rather the sister, with secret instructions, and Jinkum with full panniers.
“They ought to be back soon now,” added Sir Richard, again raising the glass to his eye, and turning it on the town, his object to see if the market people had all gone away.
When he last looked, they were streaming out through the gates, the commercial business of the market being over long ago. And now there were only some stragglers on the outgoing roads, men who had lingered by the ale-houses in gossip, or standing treat to the ever-thirsty soldiery.
Just then there came within his field of view a group composed of elements altogether different from the home-returning rustics.
“What do you see?” asked Massey, observing the telescope steadied, and the knight looking through it with fixed, earnest gaze.
“A party of horse, carrying the lance—most of them.”
“Where?”
“Just coming out of the northern gate.”
“A patrol, perhaps?”
“No; something more. There are too many of them for that. Over a hundred have passed out already. And—yes; prisoners with them?”