"Kyrie Eleison!" wailed the man Matteo had rescued. "We are delivered from one set of thieves to fall into the clutches of another band more numerous." Hugh eyed him with some amusement, noting, too, the flush that stained the dusky cheeks of the girl in the green habit. He was a well-made man, plump, with the air of a personage used to good service and soft beds. His coat of rich eastern cloth was trimmed with beaver. His face was handsome, even scholarly, but marred by a certain petulant arrogance. "Your fears are reasonless, father," said the girl sharply. "And rather than bemoan our fate, we should thank these gallant knights for their aid. But for them we should be on our way to the lair of the outlaws." "Indeed, lady, you make much of what is of no moment," remonstrated Hugh. "And we are not knights, but plain squires." "You fight like paladins, Messers," she returned with a flash of eyes and teeth. "My daughter saith truth," approved the man. "Squires you may be, but knights you will become, an you perform many such deeds of arms. I would it were in my power to recompense you as befits your prowess and my degree, but I am an exile from my home, fair sirs, and my means are limited. In so far as I may, I am at your command." "There is no thought of debt," answered Hugh. "But I would I knew who these men-at-arms may be. What think you, Matteo?" "We shall learn anon," said the jongleur sententiously. "See!" The forest of spears had halted in the entrance to the clearing, and two men rode forward from the serried ranks. One wore the habiliments of a priest, and his mount was a quick-footed mule. His dress was mean, but the grim face that peered out from the wide cowl challenged instant attention. Gaunt to the verge of emaciation and seared with deep-riven lines, its mobile lips firm-shut, the outstanding feature was the eyes that blazed with almost maniacal brilliance in their hollow sockets. The other rider was far different in aspect. He bestrode a broad-flanked war-horse, and was sheathed in mail of proof. A blood-red cross barred the left breast of his surcoat. All his appointments were those of a warrior. He was of a middle-height, apparently about forty years old, and his head, under its cap of state, was large and finely shaped. He had a jutting beaked nose and brown eyes that might look merry, but were now hard and stern. Hugh knew this man for a leader, accustomed to command and to be obeyed. But it was the priest who spoke first. "What means this slaughter?" he cried threateningly, as he picked his way amongst the bodies that cluttered the grass of the crossroads. "Know ye not that knight-errantry is forbid? The Holy Apostle of Rome hath banned all such who shed the blood of fellow-Christians rather than go to slay the Infidels. Speak ere I curse you, and your souls are condemned to Hell!"