“Let me give a health, my masters!” cried a tall archer, whom no one had hitherto noticed, rising in one corner of the room. “It is—The headsman of Calais, and may he do his work featly tomorrow!”
“Ha! ha! ha! a good toast!” cried Hector Cutbeard.
“Seize him who has proposed it!” cried the king, rising; “it is Herne the Hunter!”
“I laugh at your threats here as elsewhere, Harry,” cried Herne. “We shall meet tomorrow.”
And flinging the horn cup in the face of the man nearest him, he sprang through an open window at the back, and disappeared.
Both Cutbeard and Shoreditch were much alarmed lest the freedom of their expressions should be taken in umbrage by the king; but he calmed their fears by bestowing a good humoured buffet on the cheek of the latter of them, and quitting the hostel, returned to the castle by the same way he had left it.
On the following morning, about ten o'clock, he rode into the great park, attended by a numerous train. His demeanour was moody and stern, and a general gloom pervaded the company. Keeping on the western side of the park, the party crossed Cranbourne chase; but though they encountered several fine herds of deer, the king gave no orders to uncouple the hounds.
At last they arrived at that part of the park where Sandpit Gate is now situated, and pursuing a path bordered by noble trees, a fine buck was suddenly unharboured, upon which Henry gave orders to the huntsmen and others to follow him, adding that he himself should proceed to Snow Hill, where they would find him an hour hence.
All understood why the king wished to be alone, and for what purpose he was about to repair to the eminence in question, and therefore, without a word, the whole company started off in the chase.
Meanwhile, the king rode slowly through the woods, often pausing to listen to the distant sounds of the hunters, and noticing the shadows on the greensward as they grew shorter, and proclaimed the approach of noon. At length he arrived at Snow Hill, and stationed himself beneath the trees on its summit.