The man who was not in rags was standing up, the centre of attraction. He appeared to be a visitor.
"Stay with us the night," said the leader, a big man of ferocious brows and keen black eyes. "Our friend, his Majesty, has sent us some of his venison."
"The Big Hog?" said the stranger.
A round of laughter echoed through the cavern. The stoutness of the King had given rise to this nickname among the people.
"When his head is ours it will be better than his venison," he added.
About this man's face there was something strikingly horrible and subtle. His countenance was the image of a grinning death's-head. Its intelligent, stealthy, and sinister sunken eyes, its depressed nose and heartless fixed grin aroused repulsion. Its bearing of distinct courage alone somewhat reclaimed it. His cloak was thrown back, showing a gold lace belt stuck with knives and pistols, while on his head was a green cap, which Grancey recognised as the cap of the galley felons.
"What news of the Galley-on-land, Admiral?" asked the robber leader.
"All goes well."
"How many at our oars?"
"Two hundred and forty-eight."