Once or twice the earl looked sadly at Hubert, but the face of the fair boy was unclouded.  If he had looked on the other side, he might have seen anxiety, if not apprehension, on one face.

“Enter then, sir forester.”

The forester entered.

“You found a deer shot by an arrow in the West Woods?”

“I did.”

“And you found the arrow?”

“Yes.”

“Was it marked?”

“It was.”

The earl held an arrow up.

“Who owns the crest of a boar’s head?”

Hubert started.

“I do, my lord—­but—­but,” and he changed colour.

Do not let the reader wonder at this.  Innocence suddenly arraigned is oft as confused as guilt.

“But, my lord, I never shot the deer.”

“Thine arrow is a strong presumptive proof against thee.”

“I cannot tell, my lord, who can have used one of my arrows for such a purpose—­I did not.”

Here spoke up another page, a Percy of the Northumbrian breed of warriors.

“My lord, I was out the other day with Hubert in the woods, and he lost an arrow which he shot at a hare.  We often lose our arrows in the woods.”

“Does any other page know aught of the matter?  Speak to clear the innocent or convict the guilty.  As you look forward to knighthood, I adjure you all on your honour.”

Then Drogo, who thought that things were going too well for Hubert, spoke.

“My lord, is it a duty to tell all we know, even if it is against a companion?”

“It is under such circumstances, when the innocent may be suspected.”

“Then, my lord, I saw Hubert shoot that deer, as I was in the West Woods.”

“Saw him!  Did he see you?”

“It is a lie, my lord,” cried Hubert indignantly.  “I cast the lie in his teeth, and challenge him to prove his words by combat in the lists, when I will thrust the slander down his perjured throat.”

The earl had his own doubts as to this new piece of evidence, for he was aware of Drogo’s feelings towards Hubert, and therefore he welcomed the indignant denial of the younger boy.  Still, he could not permit mortal combat at their age.  They were not entitled to claim it while below the rank of knighthood.

“You are too young for the appeal to battle.”

“My lord,” whispered one of his knights, “a similar case occurred at Warkworth Castle when I was there:  a page gave another the direct lie as this one has done, and the earl permitted them to run a course with blunted lances and fight it out; adjudging the dismounted page to be in the wrong, as indeed he afterwards proved to be.”

“Let it be so,” said Earl Simon, who had a devout belief in the ordeal, as manifesting the judgment of the Unerring One.  “We allow the appeal, and it shall be decided this afternoon in the tilt yard.”

Blunted lances!  Not very dangerous, our readers may think at first thought.  But the shock and the violent fall from the horse was really the more dangerous part of the tournament.  The point of the lance seldom penetrated the armour of proof in which combatants were encased.