came out. He was a short, square fellow who limped, and, half hidden by his long hair, a great scar showed white on his forehead.
“In whose name?” he asked in the English tongue.
“In the name of our lord the King and the Earl Ivo.”
“That is no passport,” said the man.
“In my own name, then,—in the name of Jehan the Hunter.”
The man took two steps forward and laid a hand on the off stirrup. Jehan leaped to the ground and kissed him on both cheeks.
“We have met before, friend,” he said, and he took between his palms the joined hands of his new liege.
“Two years back on the night of Hastings,” said the man. “But for that meeting, my lord, you had tasted twenty arrows betwixt Highstead and the forest.”
Part 3
“I go to visit my neighbours,” said Jehan next morning.
Arn the Steward stared at his master with a puzzled face. “You will get a dusty welcome,” he said. “There is but the Lady Hilda at Galland, and her brother Aelward is still at odds with your Duke.”
Nevertheless Jehan rode out in a clear dawn of St. Luke's summer, leaving a wondering man behind him, and he rode alone, having sent back his men-at-arms to Ivo. “He has the bold heart,” said Arn to himself. “If there be many French like him there will assuredly be a new England.”
At Galland, which is low down in the fen country, he found a sullen girl. She met him at the bridge of the Galland fen and her grey eyes flashed fire. She was a tall maid, very fair to look upon, and the blue tunic which she wore over her russet gown was cunningly embroidered. Embroidered too with gold was the hood which confined her plaited yellow hair.
“You find a defenceless house and a woman to conquer,” she railed.
“Long may it need no other warder,” said Jehan, dismounting and looking at her across the water.
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