The sun, though the morning was yet young, smote down upon him with relentless strength, and there was not the faintest zephyr to cool his heated frame, yet onwards he sped, though the strain of the pursuit was gradually yet surely telling upon him.
Through the almost deserted village of Twyford he ran, one or two of the earlier risers looking with open-mouthed astonishment at the fugitive, while a little way further a black-robed monk gazed amazedly at the approaching man, till, fearing violence, he gathered up his ragged gown and fled across a field at the roadside, his sandals clattering as he ran.
At length, worn out by his exertions, Revyngton reached a spot where a road branched off to his left, while between it and the highway he was following lay a large pond, surrounded by trees and fringed with clusters of reeds. Here he threw himself down on the spongy turf, thrust his head and arms in the limpid water, and lay panting on the grass, oblivious of his danger, till the regular thud of horses' hoofs roused his jaded energies.
Quickly he looked around, and to his joy he perceived the gnarled trunk of a tree that had fallen into a horizontal position over the pond, its branches forming a dark, shady shelter. Silently and swiftly as an eel he plunged into the water, and a few powerful strokes brought him to the friendly refuge. Secure from observation, he drew himself upon a branch and waited the arrival of the horsemen.
In a cloud of dust they appeared—five bronzed men-at-arms, with long, straight swords strapped against their thighs; four lay servants of the Bishop, with hard-set mouths and scowling faces that ill-matched their calling as members of an ecclesiastical house; and three of the city watch, more lightly armed than their companions, carrying crossbows across their backs. Revyngton realised that scant mercy could be expected at their hands.
At a word from their leader the party halted, there was a hurried consultation, and two of the men trotted their horses to the edge of the pond, while the rest resumed their headlong pursuit.
Then Revyngton felt that he stared death in the face, for less than five paces from him were the two soldiers, sitting motionless on their steeds and staring fixedly at the spot where he lay concealed, their reflections being clearly mirrored in the still water. To the fugitive it seemed as if his leafy bower were rent asunder, and that he lay exposed to his pursuers in utter helplessness; but at length, to his great relief, one of the men spoke.
"Why this fool's errand for the sake of a hot-blooded youth? Faith, I am not averse to earning the five marks reward, yet 'tis a useless quest. Far rather would I be in a snug inn, for my throat is as dry as a friar's sermon."
"There's drink for thee," replied the other, indicating the pond with a nod of his steel-capped head.
"Water!" exclaimed the first with an oath; "I like it not, neither inside nor out, to be plain-spoken. Art game to return to Twyford, where the ale is of the best?"