I looked round astonished, to see Sir Robert Aleys mounted on a grey horse, and followed by a company of men-at-arms who appeared to be under the command of a well-favoured, dark-eyed young captain with long hair, and dressed more wondrously than any man I had ever seen before.  Had he put on Joseph’s coat over his mail, he could not have worn more colours, and I noted that the toes of his shoes curled up so high that I wondered however he worked them through his stirrups, and what would happen to him if by chance he were unhorsed.

Being taken aback I made no answer, but William Bull, who, if a rough fellow, had a tongue in his head and a ready wit, spoke up for me.

“If you want to know,” he said in his Sussex drawl, “I’ll tell you who he is, Sir Robert Aleys.  He is my worshipful master, Hubert of Hastings, ship-owner, householder, and trader of this town.  Or at least he was these things, but now it seems that his ships and house are burnt and his mother with them; also that there will be no trade in Hastings for many a day.”

“Mayhap,” answered Sir Robert, adding other oaths, “but why does he buss my daughter?”

“Perchance because he must give as good as he got, which is a law among honest merchants, noble Sir Robert.  Or perchance because he has a better right to buss her than any man alive, seeing that but for him, by now she would be but stinking clay, or a Frenchman’s leman.”

Here the fine young captain cut in, saying,

“Whatever else this worshipful trader may need, he does not lack a trumpeter.”

“That is so, my Lord Deleroy,” replied William, unmoved, “for when I find a good song I like to sing it.  Go now and look at those three men who lie yonder on the slope, and see whether the arrows in them bear my master’s mark.  Go also and look upon the Castle hill and find a knight with his head well-nigh hewn from his shoulders, and see whether yonder sword fits into the cut.  Aye, and at others that I could tell you of, slain, every one of them, to save this fair lady.  Aye, go you whose garments are so fine and unstained, and then come back and talk of trumpeters.”

“Pish!” said my Lord Deleroy with a shrug of his shoulders, “a lady who is over-wrought and hangs to some common fellow, like one who kisses the feet of a wooden saint that she thinks has saved her from calamity!”

At these words I, who had been listening like a man in a dream, awoke, as it were, for they stung me.  Moreover, I had heard that this fine Deleroy was one of those who owed his place and rank to the King’s favour, as he did his high name, being, it was reported, by birth but a prince’s bastard sprung from some relative of Sir Robert whom therefore he called cousin.

“Sir,” I said, “you know best whether I am more common than you are.  Let that be.  At least I hold in my hand the sword of one who begat my forefather hundreds of years ago, a certain Thorgrimmer who was great in his time.  Now I have had my fill of fighting to-day, and you, doubtless through no fault of your own, have had none; you also are clad in mail and I, a common fellow, have none.  Deign then to descend from that horse and take a turn with me though I be tired, and thus prove my commonness upon my body.  Of your nobility do this, seeing that after all we are of one flesh.”