The foremost horseman drew rein in front of Lady Maud and her son, and the taller of them demanded:
"O Lady Neville of Wartmont, what is this? The prince rideth toward Warwick. I am Walter de Maunay."
"His highness is most welcome," she said, with calm dignity. "So art thou, Sir Walter. Around thee are the dead wolves of Devon. Some of our own people have fallen. Would thou wert here an hour the sooner. God save the king!"
Rapid were the questions and the answers, but the Black Prince himself, as he was called, left all the talking to Sir Walter, while he dismounted to study the meaning of the fray.
He had singularly keen, dark eyes, and they flashed swiftly hither and thither, as if they were seeking to know exactly how this small battle had been fought and won.
"And this is the famous Clod the Club?" he said. "By whose hand was this thrust?"
"'Twas young Lord Richard," answered Guy the Bow. "Both went down, but the Neville was little hurt. 'Twas bravely done!"
"Richard Neville," exclaimed the prince, "thou hast won honor in this! I would that I had slain him. Thou art a good sword. The king hath need of thee."
"He shall go with me," added Sir Walter admiringly, as he gazed down upon the massive form of the slain robber. "Madame, give the king thy son."