“Ay,” answered the knight, “since to your gentleness we owe our lives.  But with your leave I will add that we were overcome not by men, but by a devil”—­and he nodded toward Grey Dick—­“since no one who is only man can have such hellish skill in archery as we saw yesterday, and now again this morning.  Moreover,” he went on, contemplating Dick’s ashen hair and cold eyes set wide apart in the rocky face, like to those of a Suffolk horse, “the man’s air shows that he is in league with Satan.”

“I’ll not render your words into our English talk, Sir Pierre,” replied Hugh, “lest he of whom you speak should take them amiss and send you where you might learn them false.  For know, had he been what you say, the arrow that lies in your horse’s heart would have nailed the breastplate to your own.  Now take a message from me to your lord, Sir Edmund Acour, the traitor.  Tell him that I shall return ere long, and that if he should dare to attempt ill toward the Lady Eve, who is my betrothed, or toward my father and brethren, or any of my House, I promise, in Grey Dick’s name and my own, to kill him or those who may aid him as I would kill a forest wolf that had slunk into my sheepfold.  Farewell!  There is bracken and furze yonder where you may lie warm till some pass your way.  Mount, men!”

So they rode forward, bearing all the Clavering weapons with them, which a mile or two further on Grey Dick hid in an empty fox’s earth where he knew he could find them again.  Only he kept the French knight’s beautiful dagger that was made of Spanish steel, inlaid with gold, and used it to his life’s end.

Here it may be told that it was not until thirty-six hours had gone by, as Hugh learned afterward, that a countryman brought this knight and his companions, more dead than alive, to Dunwich in his wain.  As he was travelling across Westleton Heath, with a load of corn to be ground at the Dunwich mill, it seemed that he heard voices calling feebly, and guided by them found these unhappy men half buried in the snow that had fallen on that day, and so rescued them from death.

But when Sir Edmund Acour knew the story of their overthrow and of the message that Hugh had sent to him, he raved at them, and especially at Sir Pierre de la Roche, saying that the worst of young de Cressi’s crimes against him was that he had left such cowardly hounds alive upon the earth.  So he went on madly till Sir John Clavering checked him, bidding him wait to revile these men until he, and not his horse, had met Grey Dick’s arrows and Hugh de Cressi’s sword.

“For,” he added, “it may happen then that you will fare no better than they have done, or than did John, my son.”