er blood! and of Doom shall we
require it." And at that all the people shouted and then stood with
uncovered heads, while the young men bore away the body of Oxenford's
daughter on their locked shields and gave it to her mother.

[Illustration: "OF DOOM SHALL WE REQUIRE IT"]

That night Constans rode out from Deepdene at the head of twenty picked
men, leading them to the secret place where he had stored the guns and
ammunition which he had brought from Doom. Two days of practice with the
unfamiliar weapons, and on the morning of the third the little squad,
reinforced by a company of two hundred men-at-arms, set out upon the
northern road.

Towards noon they passed through Croye. It had been their intention to
stop here for the mid-day meal, but none cared to propose a halt after
entering this strange city of silence. Ordinarily the central square
would have been filled with a voluble, chaffering crowd, it being a
market-day; now there was not a living thing to be seen, not even a hog
wallowing in the kennel nor a buzzard about the butcher-stalls. Yet
there were no traces of fire and sword, the houses had suffered no
violence, and stood there barred and shuttered as though it were still
the middle watch of the night.

"What think you?" said Piers Major to Constans. "Is it the plague?"

"No, or there would be fires burning in the streets and yellow crosses
chalked upon the door-lintels. Those who keep so close behind their
bolts and bars are living people, hale and strong as ourselves. But,
assuredly, some great fear has been put upon them. Perhaps we shall know
more as we go on."

The answer to the riddle was given as they turned the corner by Messer
Hugolin's house. The strong-room on the ground-floor stood empty and
despoiled of its treasures, yet the gold and silver had not been carried
away, but lay scattered about in the filth of the street, as though
utterly contemned by the marauders.

And there, hanging from a cross-bar of the broken window, was the body
of Messer Hugolin, Councillor Primus of Croye, dressed in his scarlet
robes of office, and with a great gold chain about his neck. His head
was bowed upon his breast, so that the face was not visible, and for
this indulgence Constans gave inward thanks.

"Ride on," commanded Piers Major, shortly, and the cavalcade clattered
forward. It is not worth while to linger where once Dom Gillian's
tax-gatherers have passed.

XXII

YET THREE DAYS

Es