No sooner had Pedro alighted from Ayoub than he commenced jabbering and inviting Clem the Bold Rider to mount, and Clem, having done so, rode quietly down the acclivity. But it did not suit the Bold Rider to occupy the seat which he did “on sufferance,” and on reaching the level ground he took measures to convince Ayoub that the rider and not the horse was master. The experiment was not successful, and the result was not flattering to his vanity. A brief struggle took place. When it was over, the Bold Rider lay prostrate on the grassy sward, and Ayoub, the refractory steed, with his head reared aloft and his bridle-rein flying hither and thither, was snorting and rushing with the speed of the wind towards the banks of the Kennet. Sir Anthony uttered a fierce oath as he saw Ayoub disappear among the trees, and watched Clem the Bold Rider rise from the ground. “My curse on the braggart churl’s clumsiness!” said he. “The steed is gone beyond hope of recovery. Would that the fall had smashed every bone in his body!” And the knight, having thus given vent to his disappointment, went with Richard de Moreville to see his dame and De Moreville’s daughter mount their palfreys and ride forth to fly their falcons, escorted by a body of horsemen, and attended by their maidens, and their spaniels, and Pedro the page. “Sir Anthony,” said Richard de Moreville as they went, “you have excited my curiosity as to these Icinglas. I crave your permission to visit this captive squire, and hear the adventures in love and war which he had in Castile and Flanders.” “Nay, nay,” replied the knight sternly; “ask anything in reason, but not that. By St. Anthony’s head! even the chaplain should not have gone near him, but that he pressed me hard. Let him pine in solitude; would that it were in chains and darkness!” “But men say that he is fair, and brave, and high of spirit!” “He is his father’s son,” replied Sir Anthony in a conclusive tone, “and the calf of a vicious bull is ever vicious. Besides,” continued the knight, his anger rising as he proceeded, “he is English by birth, and the eggs of the serpent hatch only serpents; and,” added he, staying his step to stamp on the ground, while he ground his teeth with vindictive rage, “it is ever safest for us when we have our armed heel on the viper’s brood.” CHAPTER XXXI PEDRO THE PAGE