"Nay, my son; word of mouth will suffice. Now, get thee gone, and the saints preserve thee."
Swinging easily into the saddle, the lads applied spur; and at a steady trot they crossed the drawbridge and gained the open country.
It was but a distance of some seven miles 'twixt the Castles of Warblington and Portchester, while, being part of the great southern highway between the populous borough of Southampton and the coast towns of Sussex, there was generally a small number of travellers to be met.
For a while the two lads chatted eagerly, Geoffrey questioning his companion concerning his adventures beyond the seas, and of the events that led up to Sir Oliver's captivity. And as they talked Geoffrey's resolution was rapidly becoming stronger. Gaining confidence from Oswald's unassuming self-reliance, he realized that with a good heart youth is capable of overcoming many obstacles.
At length, hard by the hamlet of Bedhampton, the road began to ascend a spur of chalk down. From the summit a splendid view greeted the lads. As far as the eye could see was a flat plain, intersected by two large harbours, while away on the left, beyond a silver streak of sea, rose the rolling down of the Isle of Wight. Ahead, at a distance of over four miles, a massive square tower proudly reared itself hard by the head of the furthermost harbour. It was the Castle of Portchester.
Barely had the two riders gained the foot of the ridge when they suddenly came upon a grey-cloaked figure bending over a heap of rubbish by the wayside. Evidently it had been thrown there from a neighbouring smithy, for scraps of old iron horseshoes predominated.
"'Tis a friar," exclaimed Oswald, as the man, hearing the sound of horses' hoofs, drew himself up and began to amble along the chalky road.
Doffing reverentially as they passed, the two lads cast a furtive glance at the cloaked and hooded friar, as he fumbled beneath his garments as if to conceal something. The man's face was far from pleasant. Shifty eyes, sharp pointed nose, loose lip, and flabby jowl gave him a crafty, foxlike appearance, yet to the two unworldly lads a friar could be nought else but a holy member of the Church.
Ere they had ridden another quarter of a mile something prompted the lads to look over their shoulders, and to their surprise they perceived that the friar had returned to the rubbish heap.
"'Tis a strange occupation for a holy man," observed Oswald. "To what purpose doth he tarry at yonder spot?"