"Then make a good meal, Master Revyngton," said Hobbes, setting a loaf of brown bread, some cheese, and a jack of ale, "for if not thou'lt feel the want of it ere long. Now set to like a good trencherman, though, being but plain men, our fare is likewise plain. Thou knowest the road?"
"Passably well, save the latter part."
"Then keep close, but not on it if perchance thou art pursued, for it is to Southampton that they'll think thou art bound. Take the by-road to Botley, whence the abbey lies but a league or so away."
While the fletcher and the bowyer were giving advice the younger man did justice to the food; then, at a sign from Ford, his companion stole softly down the rough ladder that did duty as a staircase, and peered cautiously up and down the street. Another moment, and the three men had darted across the narrow road to a small barn, the mutual property of several of the inhabitants of that quarter, and shortly afterwards a rough cart, laden with bundles of newly-feathered arrows, was jolting over the rough stones towards Kingsgate, Nicholas Hobbes leading the sorry nag and whistling a lively air as well as the anticipation of being floored would permit.
"Thou art early abroad, Nick," quoth one of the guards, as he made ready to throw open the heavy door. "There's naught but arrows in thy wain, I take it?"
"What meanest thou?"
"Why, hast heard naught of the slaying of Master Scarsdale, that tall youth belonging to the Bishop's household? Surely thou hast him in mind?"
"Ay, I knew him; is he dead?"
"Where hath been thine eyes and thine ears since yesternoon?"
"I have but small time for gossip, Tom, above all towards the end of the week, when my stock hath to be renewed. But I'll hear the story anon, for time is precious."