"Now,
by the keys of Peter! I had rather that hand withered and tongue was
palsied ere I had struck or miscalled you. If you are the Socman's
brother you are one of the right side, I warrant, for all your clerkly
dress."

"His brother I am," said Alleyne. "But if I were not, is that reason why
you should molest me on the king's ground?"

"I give not the pip of an apple for king or for noble," cried the serf
passionately. "Ill have I had from them, and ill I shall repay them. I
am a good friend to my friends, and, by the Virgin! an evil foeman to my
foes."

"And therefore the worst of foemen to thyself," said Alleyne. "But I
pray you, since you seem to know him, to point out to me the shortest
path to my brother's house."

The serf was about to reply, when the clear ringing call of a bugle
burst from the wood close behind them, and Alleyne caught sight for
an instant of the dun side and white breast of a lordly stag glancing
swiftly betwixt the distant tree trunks. A minute later came the shaggy
deer-hounds, a dozen or fourteen of them, running on a hot scent, with
nose to earth and tail in air. As they streamed past the silent forest
around broke suddenly into loud life, with galloping of hoofs, crackling
of brushwood, and the short, sharp cries of the hunters. Close behind
the pack rode a fourrier and a yeoman-pricker, whooping on the laggards
and encouraging the leaders, in the shrill half-French jargon which was
the language of venery and woodcraft. Alleyne was still gazing
after them, listening to the loud "Hyke-a-Bayard! Hyke-a-Pomers!
Hyke-a-Lebryt!" with which they called upon their favorite hounds, when
a group of horsemen crashed out through the underwood at the very spot
where the serf and he were standing.

The one who led was a man between fifty and sixty years of age, war-worn
and weather-beaten, with a broad, thoughtful forehead and eyes which
shone brightly from under his fierce and overhung brows. His beard,
streaked thickly with gray, bristled forward from his chin, and spoke
of a passionate nature, while the long, finely cut face and firm mouth
marked the leader of men. His figure was erect and soldierly, and he
rode his horse with the careless grace of a man whose life had been
spent in the saddle. In common garb, his masterful face and flashing
eye would have marked him as one who was born to rule; but now, with his
silken tunic powdered with golden fleurs-de-lis, his velvet mantle lined
with