“Messire,” said he soft-voiced, “for this I might hang thee to a tree, or drag thee at a horse’s tail, or hew thee in sunder with this great sword o’ thine which shall be mine henceforth—­but these be deaths unworthy of such as thou—­my lord Duke!  Now within Garthlaxton be divers ways and means, quaint fashions and devices strange and rare, messire.  And when I’m done, Black Roger shall hang what’s left of thee, ere he go to feed my hounds.  That big body o’ thine shall rot above my gate, and for that golden head—­ha!  I’ll send it to Duke Ivo in quittance for his gallows!  Yet first—­O, first shalt thou sigh that death must needs be so long a-coming!”

But now, from where the van-ward marched, came galloping a tall esquire, who, reining in beside Sir Pertolepe, pointed down the hill.

“Lord Pertolepe,” he cried joyously, “yonder, scarce a mile, flies the banner of Gilles of Brandonmere, his company few, his men scattered and heavy with plunder.”

“Gilles!” quoth Sir Pertolepe.  “Ha, is it forsooth Gilles of Brandonmere?”

“Himself, lord, and none other.  I marked plain his banner with the three stooping falcons.”

“And he hath booty, say you?”

“In truth, my lord—­and there be women also, three horse litters—­”

“Ah—­women!  Verily, good Fulk, hast ever a quick eye for the flutter of a kirtle.  Now, mark me Fulk, Thornaby Mill lieth in our front, and beyond, the road windeth steep ’twixt high banks.  Let archers line these banks east and west:  let the pikemen be ambushed to the south, until we from the north have charged them with the horse—­see ’tis done, Fulk, and silently—­so peradventure, Sir Gilles shall trouble me no more.  Pass the word—­away!”

Off rode Sir Fulk, and straightway the pounding hoofs were still, the jingle of bridle and stirrup hushed, and in its place a vague stir of bustle and excitement; of pikemen wheeling right and left to vanish southwards into the green, and of archers stringing bows and unbuckling quiver-caps ere they too wheeled and vanished; yet now Sir Pertolepe stayed four lusty fellows, and beckoning them near, pointed to the prisoners.

“Good fellows,” quoth he, nodding jovially upon the archers, “here be my three rogues, see you—­who must with me to Garthlaxton:  one to die by slow fire, one to be torn by my hounds, and one—­this tall golden-haired youth—­mark him well!—­to die in slow and subtle fashion.  Now these three do I put in charge of ye trusty four; guard them well, good fellows, for, an one escape, so shall ye all four die in his stead and in such fashion as he should have died.  Ha! d’ye mark me well, my merry men?”

“Aye, lord!” nodded the four, scowling of brow yet pale-cheeked.

“Look to it I find them secure, therefore, and entreat them tenderly.  March you at the rear and see they take no harm; choose ye some secure corner where they may lie safe from chance of stray shafts, for I would have them come hale and sound to Garthlaxton, since to die well, a man must be strong and hearty, look you.  D’ye mark me well, good fellows?”