A short distance from where the lads stood a ruined outbuilding reared itself by the roadside. Its thatched roof had almost totally disappeared, the gaunt rafters standing out clearly against the red glow in the sky.
"This must needs serve," exclaimed Geoffrey, as they arrived at the barn. "I' faith, if we have no worse company than rats I am content."
The building consisted of only one storey, but on the horizontal beams beneath the roof a few planks had been left. Geoffrey contrived with little difficulty to gain the lofty perch, whence he assisted his comrade, who still felt the effects of his wound, to reach the scanty planking of the loft. Here they found that the remnant of the thatch afforded tolerable shelter, and wrapping themselves in their cloaks they were soon fast asleep.
When they awoke it was broad daylight. Although their slumber had been sound, it was the babel of men's voices that aroused the youths.
"I tell thee 'tis the fault of old Néron le Boeuf," exclaimed a Norman voice. "He hath deceived us."
"If so, he'll pay dearly for it," replied another. "Yet why should he play us false? With promise of a liberal reward—which of a surety his greed would forbid him from refusing—'tis unlikely that he would have sent us on a false errand."
"He said that the English lads were to be at the Sign of the Lion in yonder village?"
"Ay, that he did. Yet those of our men who were in the village swear that no stranger passed that way."
"Perchance the rascals themselves have cheated us."
"In any case Le Boeuf will pay for it. But we shall rue it too. No prisoners, no reward, and three of the horses completely foundered. What a greeting we shall have when we return to the castle!"