Having carried out the Constable's instructions relating to the Prior of Southwick, Geoffrey and Oswald set out on their long ride to rejoin their comrades at Southampton.
Both lads were lightly accoutred, their armour having been sent on with the baggage train, and in high spirits they cantered their steeds along the stretch of grass that bordered the narrow highway.
Presently the open country gave place to dense masses of trees, the outlying confines of the Forest of Bere—the hunting-ground of kings, and the haunt of robbers and other evil-doers to boot. Yet there was little fear of wayfarers being molested in this part of the forest, the outlaws devoting their attentions to the more remote districts, where the power of the law, as exercised by the Constable of Portchester, lost somewhat of its terrors. Nevertheless, the two squires rode warily, keeping a bright look-out for a possible ambush.
"Methinks I hear men's voices," remarked Oswald, reining in his steed and listening intently.
"And what of it?" replied Geoffrey with a laugh. "Is not the road free to all, and may not a man talk if so he listeth?"
"Nay, but 'tis like the shout of a multitude."
"I can now hear it, though 'tis a long way off."
"We must needs ride yarely, for it seemeth as if the sound comes from the highway in front of us. Let us therefore turn aside through this thicket."
"Nay," replied Geoffrey stoutly. "That shall not turn us from the highway. Should there be a band of robbers, 'twill be better to keep to the road than be entangled in the thickets. Let us set spur, therefore, and put a brave face on't, though truly I doubt that there be danger."
Thus encouraged, Oswald increased his pace, and, keeping side by side, the two comrades drew near to the cause of the shouting.