It was but a brief suspense.  The outlaws had but tended their own wounded, washed off the stains of the conflict, refreshed themselves with copious draughts of ale or mead, ere they placed a seat of judgment for Grimbeard under a great spreading beech which grew in the centre of the camp, and all the population of the place turned out to see the tragedy or comedy which was about to be enacted.  Just as, in our own recollection, the mob crowded together to see an execution.

Grimbeard was fond of assuming a certain state on these occasions.  He dressed himself in all his rustic finery, and seated himself with the air of a king on his rude chair of honour.  By his side stood Martin, pale and composed, but determined to prevent further bloodshed if it were in mortal power to do so.

“Bring forth the prisoners.”

They were led forth; Ralph looking as saucy and careless as ever.

“What is thy name?” asked Grimbeard.

“Ralph, son of Waleran de Monceux.”

“And what has brought thee into my woods?”

“Thy woods, are they?  Well, thou couldst see I came to hunt.”

“And thou must pay for thy sport.”

“Willingly, since I must.  Only do not fix the price too high.”

“Thy ransom shall be a hundred marks, and till then thou must be content with the hospitality of the woods.  Now for thy followers—­three weeks ago the sheriff hung two of my best men as deer slayers, and I have sworn in such cases to have life for life.  If they hang, we hang too.  If they are merciful, so are we.  Now I am loth to slay an Englishman.  Hast thou not any outlanders here?”

“If I had, dost think I should tell thee?  Why not take me for one?”

“Thou art worth a hundred marks, and they not a hundred pence,” laughed Grimbeard.  “It is not that I respect noble blood.  I have scant cause.  A wandering priest who came to say mass for us told us the story of Jephthah and the Gileadites; I will try the effect of a Shibboleth, too.

“So bring the prisoners forward, one by one, my merrie men.”

The first was evidently an Englishman.

“Say, what food dost thou see on that table yonder?”

“Bread and cheese.”

“It is well; thou shalt be Sir Ralph’s messenger, and shall be set free, upon a solemn promise to do our behests.

“Now set forth the next in order, and let him say, ‘Shibboleth."’

It was an olive-skinned rogue, fresh from Southern France, who stepped forward this time, impelled by his captors.  Asked the same question, he replied: 

“Dis bread and dat sheese {26}.”

“Hang him,” said Grimbeard, and hanged he would doubtless have been, for a dozen hands were busy at once in their cruel glee; some seizing upon the victim, some mocking his pronunciation, some preparing the rope, two or three boys climbing the tree like monkeys, to assist in drawing it over a sufficiently stout branch to bear the human weight, while the poor Gaul stood shivering below; when Martin threw his left arm around the victim, and raised his crucifix on high with the other.