g last night that danger

was coming upon us?"

"she did, my lord."

"by saint paul! my mind misgives me as to what she saw at twyham

castle. and yet i cannot think that any scottish or french

rovers could land in such force as to beleaguer the fortalice.

call the company together, aylward; and let us on, for it will be

shame to us if we are not at dax upon the trysting day."

the archers had spread themselves over the ruins, but a blast

upon a bugle brought them all back to muster, with such booty as

they could bear with them stuffed into their pouches or slung

over their shoulders. as they formed into ranks, each man

dropping silently into his place, sir nigel ran a questioning eye

over them, and a smile of pleasure played over his face. tall

and sinewy, and brown, clear-eyed, hard-featured, with the stern

and prompt bearing of experienced soldiers, it would be hard

indeed for a leader to seek for a choicer following. here and

there in the ranks were old soldiers of the french wars, grizzled

and lean, with fierce, puckered features and shaggy, bristling

brows. the most, however, were young and dandy archers, with

fresh english faces, their beards combed out, their hair curling

from under their close steel hufkens, with gold or jewelled

earrings gleaming in their ears, while their gold-spangled

baldrics, their silken belts, and the chains which many of them

wore round their thick brown necks, all spoke of the brave times

which they had had as free companions. each had a yew or hazel

stave slung over his shoulder, plain and serviceable with the

older men, but gaudily painted and carved at either end with the

others. steel caps, mail brigandines, white surcoats with the

red lion of st. george, and sword or battle-axe swinging from

their belts, completed this equipment, while in some cases the

murderous maule or five-foot mallet was hung across the

bowstave, being fastened to their leathern shoulder-belt by a

hook in the centre of the handle. sir nigel's heart beat high as

he looked upon their free bearing and fearless faces.

for two hours they marched through forest and marshland, along

the left bank of the river aveyron; sir nigel riding behind his

company, with alleyne at his right hand, and johnston, the old

master bowman, walking by his left stirrup. ere they had reached

their journey's end the knight had learned all that he would know

of his men, their doings and their intentions. once, as they

marched, they saw upon the further bank of the river a body of

french men-at-arms, riding very swiftly in the direction of

villefranche.

"it is the seneschal of toulouse, with his following," said

johnston, shading his eyes with his hand. "had he been on this

side of the water he might have attempted something upon us."

"i think that it would be well that we should cross," said sir

nigel. "it were pity to balk this worthy seneschal, should he

desire to try some small feat of arms."

"nay, there is no ford nearer than tourville," answered the old

archer. "he is on his way to villefranche, and short will be the

shrift of any jacks who come into his hands, for he is a man of

short speech. it was he and the seneschal of beaucair who hung

peter wilkins, of the company, last lammastide; for which, by the

black rood of waltham! they shall hang themselves, if ever they

come into our power. but here are our comrades, sir nigel, and

here is our camp."

as he spoke, the forest pathway along which they marched opened

out into a green glade, which sloped down towards the river.

high, leafless trees girt it in on three sides, with a thick

undergrowth of holly between their trunks. at the farther end of

this forest clearing there stood forty or fifty huts, built very

neatly from wood and clay, with the blue smoke curling out from

the roofs. a dozen tethered horses and mules grazed around the

encampment, while a number of archers lounged about: some

shooting at marks, while others built up great wooden fires in

the open, and hung their cooking kettles above them. at the

sight of their returning comrades there was a shout of welcome,

and a horseman, who had been exercising his charger behind the

camp, came cantering down to them. he was a dapper, brisk man,

very richly clad, with a round, clean-shaven face, and very

bright black eyes, which danced and sparkled with excitement.

"sir nigel!" he cried. "sir nigel loring, at last! by my soul

we have awaited you this month past. right welcome, sir nigel!

you have had my letter?"

"it was that which brought me here," said sir nigel. "but

indeed, sir claude latour, it is a great wonder to me that you

did not yourself lead these bowmen, for surely they could have

found no better leader?"

"none, none, by the virgin of l'esparre!" he cried, speaking in

the strange, thick gascon spee