“Methinks,” Cnut said, “that it were well that one should keep watch at the door.  I like not the look of our host, and we are near the spot where the bands of the robbers are said to be busy.”

Toward morning the archer on guard reported that he could hear the sound of many approaching footsteps.  All at once sprang to their feet, and betook themselves to their arms.  Looking from the window they saw a large party of rough men, whose appearance at once betokened that they were disbanded soldiers—­a title almost synonymous in those days with that of robber.  With the united strength of the party the truckle bed was carried from the alcove and placed against the door.  Cuthbert then threw open the window, and asked in French what they wanted.  One of the party, who appeared to be the leader, said that the party had better surrender immediately.  He promised them good treatment, and said that the knight would be put to ransom, should it be found that the valuables upon his person were not sufficient to pay the worshipful company present for the trouble which they had taken in waiting upon him.  This sally was received with shouts of laughter.  Cuthbert replied quietly that he had no valuables upon his person; that if they took him there were none would pay as much as a silver mark for the ransom of them all; and that the only things that they had to give were sharp arrows and heavy blows.

“You talk bravely, young sir,” the man said.  “But you have to do with men versed in fight, and caring but little either for knocks or for arrows.  We have gone through the Crusades, and are therefore held to be absolved from all sin, even that so great as would be incurred in the cutting of your knightly throat.”

“But we have gone through the Crusades also,” Cuthbert said, “and our persons are sacred.  The sin of slitting our weazands, which you speak of, would therefore be so great that even the absolution on which you rely would barely extend to it.”

“We know most of those who have served in the Holy Land,” the man said more respectfully than he had yet spoken, “and would fain know with whom we speak.”

“I am an Englishman, and a follower of King Richard,” Cuthbert said, “and am known as Sir Cuthbert of Evesham.  As I was the youngest among the knights who fought for the holy sepulcher, it may be that my appearance is known to you?”

“Ah,” the other said, “you are he whom they called the Boy Knight, and who was often in the thick of the fray, near to Richard himself.  How comes it, Sir Cuthbert, that you are here?”

“The fleet was scattered on its return,” Cuthbert replied, “and I landed with my followers, well-nigh penniless, at Zara, and have since made my way across the Tyrol.  I have, then, as you may well suppose, neither silver nor gold about my person; and assuredly neither Philip of France nor John of Austria would give a noble for my ransom; and it would be long, methinks, to wait ere John of England would care to ransom one of King Richard’s followers.”