rolled on his shoulder, and there was foam on his grey lips. Two men-at-arms were flogging him with their stirrup-leathers, while another stood by holding a dishevelled woman by her arms. She seemed half demented; her dress was torn across her shoulders, and her hair, escaped from the close cap, streamed about her in wispy strands. Just as Raoul came crashing down into the middle of the group she shrieked out for God’s sake not to kill her good man, for she would fetch her daughter, even as the noble seigneur commanded.
She was allowed to go, and a man who sat astride a great roan destrier, cold-bloodedly observing all that was going on, shouted to his servants that they need not finish their victim off yet awhile if the woman kept to her word.
Raoul reined in Verceray so hard that the big horse was wrenched back almost upon his haunches. He twisted round in the saddle to face the man on the roan destrier. ‘What beastly work is this?’ he panted. ‘You dog, Gilbert! so it is you!’
Gilbert was surprised to see his brother. He made his horse move towards Verceray, and said with a grin: – ‘Holà, and where did you spring from so suddenly?’
Raoul was still white with his passion. He pressed up to Gilbert, and said in a low voice: – ‘What have you done, you devil? What reason had you? Call off your hounds! Call them off, I say!’
Gilbert laughed. ‘What business is it of yours?’ he said contemptuously. ‘Holy Face, but you are in a rare temper! Do you know where you stand, you silly dreamer? That’s not one of our men.’ He pointed to the bound serf, as though he had satisfactorily explained his conduct.
‘Let him go!’ Raoul ordered. ‘Let him go, Gilbert, or by God and His Mother, you shall rue it!’
‘Let him go, indeed!’ repeated Gilbert. ‘He can go when that old slut brings up his daughter, perhaps, but not before. Have you gone moon-mad?’
Raoul saw that it was useless to bandy more words to and fro. In silence he wheeled Verceray about and rode up to the captive, pulling his knife from his belt to cut the rope that bound the man.
As soon as Gilbert perceived that he was in earnest he stopped laughing and cried out angrily: – ‘Stand back, you young fool! Hands off my meat! Here, you! pull him off that horse!’
One of the men started forward to obey the command. Raoul’s right foot left the stirrup and shot out, to crash full into the man’s face, knocking him clean head over heels. No one else made any movement to come at him, for although these men were Gilbert’s own bullies they knew what respect was due to Hubert de Harcourt’s other sons.
Seeing that no one else was advancing upon him Raoul leaned over in the saddle and sawed quickly through the rope that bound the serf’s wrists to the tree. The man was either dead, or swooning; his eyes were shut, and his face grey under the flecks of blood. As the last strands parted he fell in a heap on to the ground, and lay there.
Gilbert had spurred angrily after Raoul, but the shrewd kick that had stretched his servant flat brought back his good humour, and instead of storming and swearing as he usually did when crossed, he clapped Raoul on the shoulder, and sang out: – ‘By the Rood, that was neatly done, cockerel! I swear I didn’t know you had it in you. But you are all wrong, you know. The dirty bondman has been hiding his daughter from me this past week, and I’ve been obliged to beat him till he’s three parts dead before I could learn where the wench was hid.’
‘Keep your foul hands off me!’ Raoul said. ‘If there were justice in Normandy you would hang, you hound!’ He slid down from Verceray’s back, and bent over the peasant. ‘I think you have killed him,’ he said.
‘One lousy knave the less, then,’ said Gilbert. ‘Not so free with your tongue, Brother Priest, or maybe I’ll school you a little as you won’t like.’ The scowl had descended on his face again, but at that moment he caught