“Nevertheless,” adds William of Malmesbury, “being greatly moved, the King hesitated a long while whether he should go out to hunt as he designed; his friends persuading him not to suffer the truth of the dreams to be tried at his personal risk.  In consequence he abstained from the chase before dinner, dispelling the uneasiness of his unregulated mind by serious business.  They relate that having plentifully regaled that day, he soothed his cares with a more than usual quantity of wine.”

All this, I suppose, befell in the Castle of Malwood.

After dinner the King prepared to hunt.  “Being in great spirits,” says Ordericus, “he was joking with his attendants while his boots were being laced, when an armourer came and presented him six arrows.  The King immediately took them with great satisfaction, praising the work, and unconscious of what was to happen, kept four of them himself and held out the other two to Walter Tyrrel.  “It is but right,” said he, “that the sharpest arrows should be given to him who knows best how to inflict mortal wounds with them.”  This Tyrrel was a French knight of good extraction, the wealthy lord of the castles of Poix and Pontoise, filling a high place among the nobles, and a gallant soldier; he was therefore admitted to familiar intimacy with the King and became his constant companion.  Meanwhile as they were idly talking and the King’s household attendants were assembled about him, a monk of Gloucester presented himself and delivered to the King a letter from his abbot.  Having read it, the King burst out laughing and said merrily to the knight just mentioned, “Walter, do what I told you.”  The knight replied, “I will, my lord.”  Slighting then the warnings of the elders, and forgetting that the heart is lifted up before a fall, he said respecting the letter he had received, “I wonder what has induced my lord Serlo to write me in this strain, for I really believe he is a worthy abbot and respectable old man.  In the simplicity of his heart he transmits to me, who have enough besides to attend to, the dreams of his snoring monks and even takes the trouble to commit them to writing and send them a long distance.  Does he think that I follow the example of the English, who will defer their journey or their business on account of the dreams of a parcel of wheezing old women?

“Thus speaking, he hastily rose and mounting his horse rode at full speed to the forest.  His brother, Count Henry with William de Bretanel, and other distinguished persons, followed him, and having penetrated into the woods the hunters dispersed themselves in various directions according to custom.  The King and Walter Tyrrel posted themselves with a few others in one part of the forest and stood with their weapons in their hands eagerly watching for the coming of the game, when a stag suddenly running between them the King quitted his station and Walter shot an arrow.  It grazed the beast’s grizzly back, but glancing from it mortally wounded the king, who stood within its range.  He immediately fell to the ground, and, alas! suddenly expired.”