Sir Nicholas saw what awaited him, and rode down into the small crowd like a thunderbolt. There was a surge forward to cut him off, a flurry of agitated shouting, and the scurry of feet, and the bay horse was amongst them. Confusion reigned, some trying to fling themselves out of the way of the plunging hooves, others striking wildly at the lithe figure atop of the maddened horse. The bay was rearing and snorting with fright, wrenched aside to evade a murderous blow from a club, backing into a group of peasants, who gave precipitately, gripped by an insistent pair of knees. Sir Nicholas' sword flashed aloft, wielded like a flail. He forced a way through, the serfs falling back before his irresistible path, tumbling over one another in their haste to get away from this demon's reach. The hand on the bridle was slackened, the bay horse was away, ridden hard to the south, towards the track that led eastwards to the Frontier. There were men on the road, dotted here and there, stragglers hurrying to see the capture of a pirate; they sprang aside instinctively to give place to the mad, runaway horse that bore down on them, and saw in the grey light a straight rider with a naked sword in his hand. Some crossed themselves, some yelled an alarm, but no one offered El Beauvallet hindrance. The road to the east was found; Sir Nicholas forced the bay in to a more sober pace, and turned down the track. By the shout that was raised behind him he knew that his way was marked. The villagers might be trusted to direct the soldiers aright. Sir Nicholas settled down to a canter, feeling his way, as it were, along the track. The ground seemed level enough, grown over here and there with sparse, shifting turf. To either side scrubby bushes were scattered, with a few trees rearing up amongst them. Behind came gradually the muffled sound of the pursuit. Sir Nicholas spurred on, mile upon mile, left the road for the flat pasture-land that ran beside it, and galloped on, the sound of his flight deadened by the soft earth. The curtal horse shook his fine head a little, feeling a race in the air as the hand on his bridle slackened, lengthened his easy stride, and took hold of the bit in good earnest. The trees grew more thickly now, oaks, Sir Nicholas guessed, and presently a black wall seemed to rise up ahead. The track curved slightly, and plunged into a great forest of oak trees. The branches, in full leaf, shut out the moonlight from the depths of the forest; only the track was faintly illuminated where the silver light filtered through the almost interlocking branches. Sir Nicholas reined in, head up and ears straining, listening. Faintly, very far away, came the sound of horses on the road. He swung himself down from the saddle, passed a hand over the bay's steaming neck, and led him into the dusk of the forest.