followers had escaped.  But he feared that alone, and unacquainted with the language of the country, they would find it difficult indeed to escape the search which would be made for them, and to manage to find their way back to their country.  For himself, he had little hopes of liberty, and scarcely more of life.  The hatred of the baron towards the English would now be heightened by the daring act of insult to the arms of Austria, and this would give a pretext for any deed of violence which might be wrought.

Cuthbert was, after a short confinement, brought before the lord baron of the place, in the great hall of the castle.

“Who art thou, sir,” the noble exclaimed, “who darest to disturb the marriage procession of my daughter, and to insult the standard of the emperor my master?”

“I am Sir Cuthbert, Earl of Evesham, a baron of England,” Cuthbert said fearlessly, “and am travelling homeward from the Holy Land.  My garb as a crusader should protect me from all interruption; and the heedless conduct of my retainer was amply justified by the insult offered to the arms of England.  There is not one of the knights assembled round you who would not in like manner have avenged an insult offered to those of Austria; and I am ready to do battle in the lists with any who choose to say that the deed was a foul or improper one.  In the Holy Land, Austrians and English fought side by side; and it is strange indeed to me that on my return, journeying through the country of the emperor, I should find myself treated as an enemy, and see the arms of King Richard exposed to insult and derision by the burghers of this city.”

As Cuthbert had spoken, he threw down his mailed glove, and several of the knights present stepped forward to pick it up.  The baron, however, waved them back.

“It is no question,” he said, “of honourable fight.  This is a follower of the murderer of my good cousin of Montferat, who died under the hands of assassins set upon him by Richard of England.”

“It is false!” Cuthbert shouted.  “I denounce it as a foul lie, and will maintain it with my life.”

“Your life is already forfeited,” the baron said, “both by your past connexion with Richard of England and as the insulter of the arms of Austria.  You die, and to-morrow at noon your head shall be struck off in the great square before my castle.”

Without another word Cuthbert was hurried off to his cell, and there remained, thinking moodily over the events of the day, until nightfall.  He had no doubt that his sentence would be carried out, and his anxiety was rather for his followers than for himself.  He feared that they would make some effort on his behalf, and would sacrifice their own lives in doing so, without the possibility of assisting him.