“It would appear that my coming was very timely for us both,” said De Lacy, “for my mission in these parts is with you.”

“With me?” Sir John de Bury exclaimed, struggling to his feet.  “Then, if you will let me have a horse, I will ride beside you to the castle—­it is less than half a league distant.”

“One moment, Sir John,” said Aymer.  “Did you recognize any of your assailants?”

“Not one, by St. Luke,” said De Bury.  “Some rascally robbers, I fancy; there are enough of them in these parts.”

De Lacy motioned to Raynor.

“Do you know this carrion?” he asked.

The veteran dismounted and examined the bodies; turning with his foot those that had fallen face downward.

“They are strangers to me, my lord,” he said.  “I never saw hair of them before.  But, perchance, this fellow can give you some information,” and suddenly stooping, he seized one of the seeming dead men by the neck and jerked him to his feet.  “Answer the Knight, rogue,” he said.  “Raynor Royk has seen too many dead bodies to be fooled by one that has not a scratch upon it.”

“By St, Denis!” said Do Lacy, “he is the one my good horse knocked over.  I clean forgot him.  How now, fellow,” he continued sternly, “what mean you by assaulting a Knight upon the King’s highway; and who set you up to such work?”

The man, who had been simulating death, hoping so to escape, regarded De Lacy with a frown and in sullen silence.

“Speak,” said Raynor, giving him a shake that made his teeth rattle.

For answer he suddenly plucked a small dagger from a concealed sheath and, twisting around, struck full and hard at the old soldier’s face, which was unprotected by the steel cap.  Raynor sprang back and avoided the blow, but in so doing he released his hold, and the rogue dashed instantly for cover.  No one was in his way and his escape seemed certain, for the heavily armed men of De Lacy would have no chance in a foot race with one lightly clad.  With two bounds he had reached the line of trees and was almost secure when, like a flash, Giles Dauvrey drew his heavy dagger and hurled it after him.  The point struck full in the centre of the neck and sank deep into flesh and bone.  With a gurgling cry he plunged forward and lay still—­dead before his body touched the turf.

“By St. Peter! a neat throw, Sir Squire,” said Raynor, as he jerked out the weapon and handed it to Dauvrey.  “I mind never to have seen a better.”

“Toss the other carrion by the roadside,” said De Lacy; “we tarry here no longer.”

VII

A FAVOR LOST

When De Lacy, armed for the road, sought his host the following morning to say farewell, he found him in an easy chair near the fireplace in the hall, with his wounded leg resting on a stool, and the answer to Gloucester’s letter in his hand.  The old Knight made as though to arise, but the younger quickly placed his hand upon his shoulder and held him firm in his seat.