"Rather a duke who fain would be of all parts," the young knight answered, and then smiled to note that the quip was lost upon the foreign lad. He made a little movement of his hand to signify that he would be no longer unknown, and one of the others informed the questioner. "It is his Grace of Gloster--our good King's brother--who honors you with his princely favor." Some archers bore in a bed of boughs at this, over which the Prince, still smiling, spread his own red cloak, jewelled collar and all. To another he gave the casket with the book. "I keep my Christmas at the house of holy St. Bernard, down the valley," he said, as the men lifted Andreas gently into the litter, and folded the royal robe about his slender form. "Sobeit thou gainest strength there, in warm bed and cheerful care, shalt ride to London with me." So, as he turned upon his heel, the torch-bearers spread themselves forth to light his way; and after him, with much rattling of iron, arms and armor, the knights and the men with the litter pushed their way. Dickon stood by the declining fire, awed and struck dumb with what had come to pass. The brother of the King! They were bearing Andreas away, and he was left under the black winter sky with his crossbow and frozen boar and empty bottle, desolate and alone. He stared stupidly at the dancing torch-lights on the armor of the passing group, with a dull ache in his breast. Then suddenly he heard the shrill voice of Andreas crying, "Dickon! My Dickon!" Dickon ran headlong forward, and stood boldly beside the litter, which for the moment was halted in its progress. When the Prince turned to look back, the smith's son faced even this mighty glance upright, and with his chin in the air. If the wrath of kings' brothers killed, then he would at least die beside Andreas. "What to-do is this?" Richard of Gloster asked, with a bending of his brows upon the peasant lad. The Prince had stopped, and with him all his cortège. Above him flickered in its final stage the last of the rush-lights on the tree. Now that he stood cloakless, one of his shoulders was revealed higher than the other. "He saved my poor life, your Highness," spoke Andreas swiftly from his couch. "He came to Camber Dane along with the robber band, but in the pillage he bore no part, and with his own hands slew he two villains who would have run me down, and bore me through the forest here, and got food and drink and fire for me, and guarded my 'Troilus' there from loss and----" "Whose man art thou, boy?" the Prince broke in. "I was Sir Watty Curdle's man," Dickon made answer, with a stumbling tongue, but bold enough mien. "But that I will be no more, but rather die here first." "Why, Sir Watty hath outstripped thee in _that_ race. I set his head up on a pole in Craven market-place this morning, and Egswith hath the King's men in it to keep for once an honest Christmas," said the Prince, smiling grimly. "What name hast thou?" "No other name save Dickon."