noll, and here the
group had collected--half-a-dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet
smock--discussing what the bell betided. An express had gone through the
hamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not
daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant
himself of what was forward, and only bore sealed letters from Sir
Daniel Brackley to Sir Oliver Oates, the parson, who kept the Moat House
in the master's absence.

But now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge of the
wood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young Master Richard
Shelton, Sir Daniel's ward. He, at the least, would know, and they
hailed him and begged him to explain. He drew bridle willingly enough--a
young fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and grey-eyed, in a jacket of
deer's leather, with a black velvet collar, a green hood upon his head,
and a steel cross-bow at his back. The express, it appeared, had brought
great news. A battle was impending. Sir Daniel had sent for every man
that could draw a bow or carry a bill to go post-haste to Kettley, under
pain of his severe displeasure; but for whom they were to fight, or of
where the battle was expected, Dick knew nothing. Sir Oliver would come
shortly himself, and Bennet Hatch was arming at that moment, for he it
was who should lead the party.

"It is the ruin of this kind land," a woman said. "If the barons live at
war, ploughfolk must eat roots."

"Nay," said Dick, "every man that follows shall have sixpence a day, and
archers twelve."

"If they live," returned the woman, "that may very well be; but how if
they die, my master?"

"They cannot better die than for their natural lord," said Dick.

"No natural lord of mine," said the man in the smock. "I followed the
Walsinghams; so we all did down Brierly way, till two years ago, come
Candlemas. And now I must side with Brackley! It was the law that did
it; call ye that natural? But now, what with Sir Daniel and what with
Sir Oliver--that knows more of law than honesty--I have no natural lord
but poor King Harry the Sixt, God bless him!--the poor innocent that
cannot tell his right hand from his left."

"Ye speak with an ill tongue, friend," answered Dick, "to miscall your
good master and my lord the king in the same libel. But King
Harry--praised be the saints!--has come again into his right mind, and
will have all things peaceably ordained. And as for Sir Daniel, y'a