Fulk saluted him.
“The grace of God to you, sir. I have seen nothing but brown villeins for the last ten days.”
The knight still stared and said nothing, sitting stiffly in the saddle.
Suddenly he opened his mouth as though his astonishment could hold back no longer.
“By the tail of the devil, my friend, who are you?”
Fulk was on the alert.
“The Duke of Lancaster’s Riding Forester, the son of Roger Ferrers.”
Fulk saw the knight’s eyebrows come together.
“Roger Ferrers’ son!”—and he spoke as though talking to prove to himself that he was awake—“Roger Ferrers’ son! Have I eyes in my head or not? Look you, my friend, have you heard the name of Sir Robert Knollys?”
“Surely.”