"Oh, oh--ah--oh!" he blubbered. "I am a dead man! Drowned dead--frozen to the inwards! One had bewitched the accursed nag that she might throw me!" Richard heard a horse cropping the wet fern a little distance away. He captured the offending animal without difficulty, and gave it into the care of his servant. Then he approached Ulwin once more, and took him by the arm in order to help him to his feet. "Dost thou dare?" cried the Englishman, striking aimlessly in the direction of his rescuer's chin. "I have no gold upon me--nought upon me! Murder! Murder by our lord the King's highway! Fellow, I am a thane, and my wergild a thane's wergild--twelve hundred shillings worth!" "No robber am I. Ulwin, I am Richard of Overton. Ye have known me this many a year--I am Richard the Scrob." "Scrob? Scrob? Eh, what is Scrob?" said the thane of the Moor. "Oh, aye--I mind--thou art the Frenchman--Richard--neighbour Richard. Well, Richard, my old nag tossed me off--bewitched is she, the jade! And Alward and Ednoth and the others--to hell with them for selfish churls! they rode on and left me here--would not wait for me--rode on and left me lying here.... I called--I called! Wending home from Wigmore.... Cakes and ale had we--good eating and drinking at Wigmore, Richard.... Left me here to drown! What think ye of that?" "Belike they missed thee not!" replied the other grimly. "Here is your horse. Try to get upon her. I think your bones are whole." Ulwin remained sitting in the mud. "Wa--la! wa--la!" He was weeping again now. "Wa-la-la and woe the day! Beggared am I and all undone! They set two worthy cocks to fight.... Oh, a fair sight to see them at war! When all around would wager upon them, how might I not do likewise? One hundred shillings have I lost to the men of Wigmore! And, Richard, I am burdened with debt: one hundred and forty shillings in all do I owe among my neighbours. I must sell myself into thralldom--my wife--my hapless bairns! Let me flee the shire...." Richard brought a leather wallet from beneath his mantle. "No need," said he. "See here," and he unfastened the string which closed the wallet. "What?" shouted Ulwin, scrambling to his knees. "Money? Money? How comest thou by money? Art surely a sorcerer--a warlock--leagued with Satan and all his devils! Why, it is not three years since we--since thy cattle was driven loose and thy silver scattered and lost beneath the feet of Ludford folk!... Richard Scrob's son--good neighbour----"