"Why dost not look after thy property, Aymery? Where didst leave it? Not with any of us, I’ll warrant." "Ah, I recollect! ’Twas with the armourer’s boy I left it. Doubtless he still thinketh ’tis only Edgar’s bidding he must do. It seemeth I must teach him another well-merited lesson. Bid him come to me at once, Maurice--be off with thee!" The page sped off upon his errand, and the others waited, eyeing Aymery expectantly, for they felt that something more than the chastisement of an unruly youth was in the wind. At any moment Edgar Wintour might come in, for it was nigh upon his time, and none thought that he would see Aymery flog Peter without interfering. The angry esquire spent the minute or two which elapsed before the boy’s arrival in examining the pieces of armour strewn about the floor, and the inspection apparently did nothing to improve his temper. Peter had evidently been told what was afoot, for he went straight up to Aymery immediately he entered. "You want me, sir," he said quietly. "Aye, varlet," cried Aymery, grasping him roughly by the collar, "dost see my armour strewn about the floor? What dost mean by it? I will break every bone in thy body, dog that thou art!" and he gave emphasis to his savage words by shaking Peter with all his strength. "I placed them not there," cried Peter, twisting himself free. "I know nothing of it." "Know nothing of it!" cried Aymery, still more incensed. "The work is only half done--dost know nothing of that? Knave, get thee to work at once and do it over again, or I will beat thee so thou canst not stand." Peter hesitated a moment, for the armourer was busy, and was, he knew, awaiting his return with some impatience. Misunderstanding his reluctance to do his behest, Aymery’s wrath boiled up and over, and, seizing the boy by the shoulders, he flung him across the table. "Come, Roland, aid me administer a sound thrashing to this obstinate varlet. He thinketh ’tis only Wintour’s bidding he must do, and hangeth back when we command." Roland was only too ready, and grasped and held Peter while Aymery snatched up a couple of armour buckles and belaboured him with all his strength. There could be no doubt that Aymery was almost beside himself with rage, for the buckles tore away Peter’s clothing until they reached and began to score deeply into the bare flesh--and still he went on. At first the lad bore the beating in silence, but as the buckles began to cut into his back he commenced to scream with ever-increasing intensity. It was in the midst of this that Edgar suddenly entered. The screams and the sight of Peter, face downwards on the table and covered with blood, smote him as a blow, and his face blanched in a way that none had ever seen before. "Get thee gone, Wintour," cried Aymery recklessly. "This is well-merited punishment, and interfere thou shalt not."