"What hath startled thee, Grey?"
"Methought I heard something fall from above."
"A fine conspirator thou art, to jump at the creaking of a bough," remarked Lord Scrope. "Didst thou hear aught, sirrah?" he continued, raising his voice and addressing his retainer, who stood barely within earshot.
"Nay, my lord."
"'Tis as I thought. Now to continue our discourse."
Meanwhile the two squires, perched upon one of the overhanging boughs, had heard almost every word of the diabolical plot, save when a clap of thunder interrupted their hearing. In his eagerness to follow the conversation Oswald had leant forward, and in so doing his dagger slipped from its sheath. Fortunately, its point stuck into a branch below, and though discovery was averted, the dull thud had reached the ears of the younger of the two conspirators.
"We have heard enough," whispered Geoffrey, touching his comrade on the shoulder. "Make thy way cautiously to the other side of the tree, creep along its lowermost branch, and when the next peal of thunder comes drop to earth and run for your life."
"And thou?"
"Art with thee, never fear."
Three hours later Sir Thomas Carberry, Constable of the Castle of Portchester, was supping in his tent in the camp at Bitterne. The non-arrival of his squire and his companion had caused him no little anxiety, yet, reflecting that the storm had compelled them to take shelter, he prepared to retire to rest.