Richard and Osbern stepped stiffly out into the street, brushing their garments as they went. Yes, there they were, the horsemen, filing along the hill-side track. The apathetic sun of late winter lent a sulky radiance to lance, mace, and scabbard, ringed hauberk, conical helm, and kite-shaped shield. Nearer they came--sixty in all, Richard guessed. The cavalcade appeared at the farther end of the street: men-at-arms, pursuivants, knights, esquires, and, behind his banner, riding alone, William fitzOsbern, Earl of Hereford and Lord of Breteuil, in the full splendour of vigorous manhood. "Seignior!" cried Richard the Norman--"Seignior, faictes grace a moy, qui suys de vostre sang!" William fitzOsbern threw an amused glance at a forgotten cobweb that adhered to the speaker's head. "Mort Dex!" said he. "Whom have we here?" "Richard of Overton, son of Hugh, son of Osbern, son of Walter of Rye in the Cotentin, where my nephew is now lord. Sir Count, the mother of my grandsire was cousin and nurse unto Herfast your own father's father, and unto noble Dame Gunnore his sister, spouse of our then Duke." "Thou art the Scrope. I have heard of thee. One named Perot spoke of thee with the King at Westminster; and that British fellow of thine--Howel they call him--guides the company of Ralph de Mortemar behind us upon the road. I have pressed on with another to conduct me, for I would reach the city of Hereford as soon as may be." "Seignior, I have dwelt for twenty years within your county that now is," said Richard, dropping on one knee, "and I pray of you justice and your puissant aid! The rascal English do me wrong, and they will not consider my cause, for I stand alone. One Ulwin invades certain of my lands and a mill which I myself set up beside the river: he first exchanged this Ashford for money and cattle of mine, then pleaded his no-right to sell." He paused. FitzOsbern had half-turned in his saddle and was surveying the rugged hill of Lude upon the other side of the ford. "What a rock of defence!" he exclaimed. "Careless fools to let it stand unfortified!... Well, I did look for thee to come to greet us; but alone? and--toil-stained, is it? I have seen no rascal English hereabouts. This seems a village dead or sleeping. Are ye the only persons here alive, thou and one child?" "News of your coming has reached these English, my lord, and they believe that your purpose is to spoil their homesteads, and so they are gone without into the country, gathering together all able men for resistance. Wild Edric of Clun was here but now, at work upon their fears. Though they be mostly on foot, and their weapons be rusty, they are more than we, and might bar your road to Hereford. Come with me, I pray you: on yonder hill I have a strong house, where ye, aye, and all these, may be safe."