“I have come too late for that!” Hubert answered.
“Thou hast been to the bear-pit, then?”
“Oh, aye!”
“There’s big quarry there!” observed Geoffrey, tauntingly. “Quite a royal bird.”
“So royal the male hawk could not bring it down by himself, I hear,” Hubert replied. “Nay, there’s no use in waxing wroth, friend! My death now would clap thee in a tighter puzzle than thou art in already—and I should be able to laugh down at thee from a better world,” he added, mimicking the priestly cadence, and looking at Geoffrey half fierce and half laughing.
He was but an apprentice at robbery and violence, and in the bottom of his heart, where some honesty still was, he liked Geoffrey well. “Time presses,” he continued. “I must go. One thing thou must do. Let not that pit be opened till the monks of Oyster-le-Main come here. We shall come before noon.”
“I do not understand,” said Geoffrey.
“That’s unimportant,” answered Hubert. “Only play thy part. ’Tis a simple thing to keep a door shut. Fail, and the whole of us are undone. Farewell.”