Plato's Well stood in Stockwell Street, on the further side of the Castle, and on the south of Gloucester Hall, now Worcester College. Fortified by her brother's presence, Flemild turned after him, and they went up Castle Street, and along North Bayly Street into Bedford Lane, now the northern part of New Inn Hall Street. When they reached the North Gate, they had to wait to go out, for it was just then blocked by a drove of cattle, each of which had to pay the municipal tax of a halfpenny, and they were followed by a cart of sea-fish, which paid fourpence. The gate being clear, they passed through it, Flemild casting rather longing looks down Horsemonger Street (the modern Broad Street), where a bevy of young girls were dancing, while their elders sat at their doors and looked on; but she did not attempt to join them. A little further, just past the Church of Saint Mary Magdalen, they came to a small gothic building over a well. Here, for this was Saint Maudlin's Well, Haimet drew the water, and they set forth on the return journey. "Want to go after those damsels?" inquired the youth, with a nod in the direction of the dancers, as they passed the end of the street. "N-o," said Flemild. "Mother bade me haste back. Beside, they won't be out many minutes longer. It isn't worth while." "Like a woman," retorted Haimet with a satirical grin; "the real reason always comes last." "What do you know about it?" answered his sister, not ill-humouredly, as they paused again at the North Gate. "O Haimet, what are those?" A small company of about thirty--men, women, and a few children--were coming slowly down Horsemonger Street. They were attired in rough short tunics, warm sheepskin cloaks, heavy boots which had seen hard service, and felt hats or woollen hoods. Each man carried a long staff, and all looked as though they were ending a wearisome journey. Their faces had a foreign aspect, and most of the men wore beards,--not a very common sight in England at that date, especially with the upper classes. And these men were no serfs, as was shown by the respectability of their appearance, and the absence of the brazen neck-collar which marked the slave. The man who walked first of the little company, and had a look of intelligence and power, addressed himself to the porter at the gate in excellent French--almost too excellent for comprehension. For though French was at that date the Court tongue in England, as now in Belgium, it was Norman French, scarcely intelligible to a Parisian, and still less so to a Provencal. The porter understood only the general scope of the query--that the speaker wished to know if he and his companions might find lodging in the city. "Go in," said he bluntly. "As to lodgings, the saints know where you will get them. There are dog-holes somewhere, I dare say."