A last turn of the road showed Highstead before him, two furlongs distant.
The thatched roof of the hall rose out of a cluster of shingled huts on a mound defended by moat and palisade.No smoke came from the dwelling, and no man was visible, but not for nothing was Jehan named the Hunter.He was aware that every tuft of reed and scrog of wood concealed a spear or a bowman.So he set his head stiff and laughed, and hummed a bar of a song which the ferry-men used to sing on Seine side."A man does not fight to win his home," he told his horse, "but only to defend it when he has won it.If God so wills I shall be welcomed with open gates: otherwise there will be burying ere nightfall."In this fashion he rode steadfastly toward the silent burg.Now he was within a stone's throw of it, and no spear had been launched; now he was before the massive oaken gate.Suddenly it swung open and a man 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.