So earnest a warning was not calculated to allow even the most tired of huntsmen to sleep. William sprang from his bed, and with nothing but a _capa_, or short, hooded cloak thrown over his half-clad body, without even clapping on his inseparable spurs, he leaped to his horse and rode for his life. All unattended he galloped through the night, fording now the shallow Doure and now the ebbing Vire, stopping for one short prayer for safety at the shrine of St. Clement, near Isigny, and speeding along the unfrequented road between Bayeux and the sea, until just before sunrise he galloped into the little hamlet of Rie or Rye, close to the shore. Foam-flecked and mud-bespattered, his flagging horse dashed past the _manoir_ or castle of the lord of the hamlet whose name was Hubert. [Illustration: "SO, HOLLO, MY LORD DUKE," SAID HUBERT, "WHAT TAKETH THEE ABROAD IN THIS GUISE SO EARLY?"] The old Norman was an early riser, and was standing at his castle gate sniffing the morning air. His ear caught the sound of hoofs, and as the lad galloped up, the stout old baron rubbed his eyes in surprise to see his sovereign in such sorry plight. "So, hollo, my lord duke," he cried; "what taketh thee abroad in this guise so early? Is aught of danger afoot?" "Hubert," said the duke, "dare I trust thee?" "And why not," was the reply. "Have I ever played thee false? Speak, and speak boldly." Then William told his story, and without a moment's hesitation the loyal baron hurried his early guest into the castle, summoned his three sons, gave the lad a fresh horse, and said to his boys: "Mount, and mount quickly. Behold your lord in dire stress. Leave him not till you have lodged him safely in Falaise." He bade them God-speed and hurried them off none too soon, for scarce had the sounds of their horses' hoofs died away before the duke's pursuers came riding hard behind. And Hubert, apparently as good a conspirator as any of them, sent them on a wild-goose chase over the wrong road, while the boy duke, with his faithful escort of Hubert's sons, crossed the ford of Folpendant and reached Falaise at last in safety--in not a very presentable condition after his hard all-night ride for his life, but, says the old record, "what mattered that so that he was safe?" Such a break-neck race with death[L] could have but one result. The young duke realized at last the fierceness and relentlessness of his rivals and enemies, and, sorrowing most of all at the treachery of the lad who had been his playmate and comrade in arms in mimic fight and serious quarrel, at the chase and in the tourney, he turned reluctantly for succor to the only man to whom he might rightly look for aid--his liege lord and suzerain, Henry, King of France.