"But who," cried Prosper, "in the name of the true Lord, is your lord
of Hauterive? And how dare he take upon himself the style and fee of
the Countess of Hauterive, Bellesme, and March? I have no reason to
love that lady, but I thought all Morgraunt was hers."
"Morgraunt is hers, and Hauterive, and all the country from March unto
Wanmouth," said the countryman. "But this lord is an outlaw who was
once a monk down at Malbank in the south; and hath renounced his flock
and gathered together a crew as unholy as himself. And the story goes
that he did it all for the sake of a girl who scorned him. Now then he
holdeth Hauterive as his tower of strength, has harried Waisford, and
threatens Wanmeeting town, giving out that he will edge in the lady,
besiege High March itself, wed the Countess, and have the girl (when
he finds her) as his concubine. So he will be lord of all, and God of
no account so far as I can see. And the name of this almighty scamp,
Messire-"
"Is Galors de Born," put in Prosper.
The countryman got up and faced him.
"Are you a fellow of his?" he asked. "For, look you, though I must die
for it, I will die killing."
"Friend," Prosper said gently, "the man is my enemy whom I had thought
disabled longer by a split throat which he got of me. I see I have yet
to deal with him. Tell me now where he is."
"I can tell you no more," said the fellow, "than that his tower is in
Hauterive. He hath guards along the river and a post at Waisford. We
shall have trouble to cross the water. He is said to be for
Wanmeeting; but I know he has High March in his eye, because the girl
he wants is believed to be there. He has been here also, as you see,
God damn him."
"God hath damned him," said Prosper, "but the work is in my hands."
"You will need more than your hands for the business, my gentleman. He
hath five hundred spears."
"The battle is between his and mine nevertheless."
"Then there is the Golden Knight, as they call him, come from hell
knows where; not a fighter but a schemer; and swift, my word! And
cruel as the cold. Will you tackle him?"
"I shall indeed," said Prosper. "Farewell, I am for my luck at
Waisford."
"I would come with you if I might," said the man slowly.
"Come then. Two go better than one against five hundred."
"Let me bury my pretty dead and I am yours, Messire."
"Ah, I will help you there if I may," Prosper replied.