“Hout, father!” exclaimed Wolf, who was waxing very valiant under the influence of his imagination. “What more dangerous is the Lord Hugh than any other lord? Perchance, after all, his bark is worse than his bite.” “But thou art young, Wolf, being as yet a boy, with years to grow; thy form is too slight and thy strength all-insufficient to fight with so stormy a sea as that on which thou wouldst venture.” “Fear not for me, father,” interrupted Wolf, half offended; “nor deem that because I am not so big of body as Forest Will, my peril will, therefore, be the greater. Bulk is not craft, or the fox would be less cunning than the ass; nor is size courage, or the sheep would not run before the dog; nor is stature swiftness, otherwise a cow could out-race a hare. Anyhow, I will go, and time will try whether I have mettle enough in me or not, as frost tries the strange plants in the physic garden of the monks of St. Alban’s. But speak on, father, that I may be instructed by thy words, for does not the proverb tell us that as the old cock crows the young one learns?” Styr the Saxon, however, was not listening to his son’s remarks, for a great struggle was taking place in his breast, and when Wolf turned round for a reply his father’s chin was resting on his bosom, and his eye directed to the ground. “Wolf,” said he, at length raising his head, with a sigh, “this is not an adventure to be undertaken lightly, nor without asking leave of the mother who bore thee. But pass through the woodland to thy home at eventide, and I will then tell thee more fully what I think concerning it.” “As thou wiliest, father,” said Wolf, with filial reverence; “but fail not to consider what our grief would be, if, through our neglect, or aught of cowardice on our parts, evil befel the young Hlaford--the son, father, of him who is away.” The eyes of Styr the Saxon filled with tears, and he did not attempt to speak; but, abruptly leaving the stable, he strode away from Oakmede, and made his way through the forest. CHAPTER XXIX HUNTING A WILD BOAR One day in autumn, about a month after Styr the Anglo-Saxon had taken counsel with his son in the stable at Oakmede, when King John was occupied with the siege of Rochester, and Hugh de Moreville was in London urging on his confederates the desperate expedient which they subsequently adopted, a gallant party of knights and squires, armed with spears and hunting-horns, and attended by huntsmen with boar-hounds, left the castle of Chas-Chateil. Riding through the chase, the hunters penetrated into the great forest of Berkshire, which at that time stretched from Windsor right away up the vale of the Kennet to Hungerford, a distance of some forty miles as the crow flies. Their object was to hunt a wild boar, and they were headed by Sir Anthony Waledger, who rode Oliver Icingla’s black steed Ayoub, an animal to which the Norman knight had taken a decided fancy, and which he already looked on as his own property.