he slanting road there was riding a big, burly man, clad in
a tunic of purple velvet and driving a great black horse as hard
as it could gallop. he leaned well over its neck as he rode, and
made a heaving with his shoulders at every bound as though he
were lifting the steed instead of it carrying him. in the rapid
glance alleyne saw that he had white doeskin gloves, a curling
white feather in his flat velvet cap, and a broad gold,
embroidered baldric across his bosom. behind him rode six
others, two and two, clad in sober brown jerkins, with the long
yellow staves of their bows thrusting out from behind their right
shoulders. down the hill they thundered, over the brook and up
to the scene of the contest.
"here is one!" said the leader, springing down from his reeking
horse, and seizing the white rogue by the edge of his jerkin.
"this is one of them. i know him by that devil's touch upon his
brow. where are your cords, peterkin? so! --bind him hand and
foot. his last hour has come. and you, young man, who may you
be?"
"i am a clerk, sir, travelling from beaulieu."
"a clerk!" cried the other. "art from oxenford or from
cambridge? hast thou a letter from the chancellor of thy college
giving thee a permit to beg? let me see thy letter." he had a
stern, square face, with bushy side whiskers and a very
questioning eye.
"i am from beaulieu abbey, and i have no need to beg," said
alleyne, who was all of a tremble now that the ruffle was over.
"the better for thee," the other answered. "dost know who i am?"
"no, sir, i do not."
"i am the law!"--nodding his head solemnly. "i am the law of
england and the mouthpiece of his most gracious and royal
majesty, edward the third."
alleyne louted low to the king's representative. "truly you came
in good time, honored sir," said he. "a moment later and they
would have slain me."
"but there should be another one," cried the man in the purple
coat. "there should be a black man. a shipman with st.
anthony's fire, and a black man who had served him as cook--those
are the pair that we are in chase of."
"the black man fled over to that side," said alleyne, pointing
towards the barrow.
"he could not have gone far, sir bailiff," cried one of the
archers, unslinging his bow. "he is in hiding somewhere, for he
knew well, black paynim as he is, that our horses' four legs
could outstrip his two."
"then we shall have him," said the other. "it shall never be
said, whilst i am bailiff of southampton, that any waster,
riever, draw-latch or murtherer came scathless away from me and
my posse. leave that rogue lying. now stretch out in line, my
merry ones, with arrow on string, and i shall show you such sport
as only the king can give. you on the left, howett, and thomas
of redbridge upon the right. so! beat high and low among the
heather, and a pot of wine to the lucky marksman."
as it chanced, however, the searchers had not far to seek. the
negro had burrowed down into his hiding-place upon the barrow,
where he might have lain snug enough, had it not been for the red
gear upon his head. as he raised himself to look over the
bracken at his enemies, the staring color caught the eye of the
bailiff, who broke into a long screeching whoop and spurred
forward sword in hand. seeing himself discovered, the man rushed
out from his hiding-place, and bounded at the top of his speed
down the line of archers, keeping a good hundred paces to the
front of them. the two who were on either side of alleyne bent
their bows as calmly as though they were shooting at the popinjay
at the village fair.
"seven yards windage, hal," said one, whose hair was streaked
with gray.
"five," replied the other, letting loose his string. alleyne
gave a gulp in his throat, for the yellow streak seemed to pass
through the man; but he still ran forward.
"seven, you jack-fool," growled the first speaker, and his bow
twanged like a harp-string. the black man sprang high up into
the air, and shot out both his arms and his legs, coming down all
a-sprawl among the heather. "right under the blade bone!" quoth
the archer, sauntering forward for his arrow.
"the old hound is the best when all is said," quoth the bailiff
of southampton, as they made back for the roadway. "that means a
quart of the best malmsey in southampton this very night, matthew
atwood. art sure that he is dead?"
"dead as pontius pilate, worshipful sir."
"it is well. now, as to the other knave. there are trees and to
spare over yonder, but we have scarce leisure to make for them.
draw thy sword, thomas of redbridge, and hew me his head from his
shoulders."
"a boon, gracious sir, a boon!" cried the condemned man. what
then?" asked the bailiff.
"i will confess to my crime. it was indeed i and the black co
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