“The friar is safe below, unhurt. I will take you to him. But I have no key.” “Where is it, then?” “Sir Drogo has taken it with him.” “We will have it open. “Friar Martin, art thou within?” “Safe and uninjured. Is it thou, Kynewulf? Then I charge thee that thou do no hurt to any here. They have not injured me.” “Not injured thee, to place thee here! Well, we will soon have thee out. We have promised Grimbeard to bring thee to him, or forfeit our lives. He is dying.” “Dying! And I not there! What has chanced?” “He was hit by one of those arrows the treacherous Drogo shot from the wall while the flag of truce was yet flying, when we first came to demand thee. But we must work to relieve thee.” And toil they did, but all in vain. They had no tools to force that iron door. Meanwhile a sound of scuffling drew other members of the band to a chamber in the tower, where the good knight Ralph de Monceux was confined, and as they approached they heard a heavy fall and found Marboeuf lying dead on the floor, his skull cleft asunder, whilst over him stood Ralph, axe in hand. The “merrie men” knew their bold captive. “Ah! How is this? What ox hast thou felled?” “Only a butcher who came in to slay me, but I avoided the blow, flew suddenly at his wrist and mastered the weapon, when I gave him what at Oxford we called _quid pro quo_, as we strewed the shambles with _boves boreales_.” They did not understand his Latin, but they knew Marboeuf, who, as the reader will comprehend, seeing all was lost, had striven to perform his vow, and happily had begun first with this dexterous young knight. Hence they found the poor mayor of Hamelsham safe and sound, only a little less afraid of the “merrie men” than of Drogo; for often had they rifled the castle and robbed the hen roosts of his town. But all their efforts failed to open Martin’s door, and they were at their wits’ end what to do. They heard a rumour that the battle was lost, so they set men to watch, and prepared an ambush in his own castle yard for Drogo, in case he should survive the fight and come to hide, with especial instructions to take him alive, as they intended to hang him from his own tower. Meanwhile, through the dewy night, amidst the thousand odours of the woods, rode Hubert and his fifty horsemen. They stayed not for brake, and they slacked not for ford. All the loving heart of Hubert went before him to the rescue of the friend of his boyish days; suffering, he doubted not, cruel wrong and unmerited imprisonment in a noisome dungeon. And ere the midnight hour he arrived amidst the familiar scenes, and saw at length the towers rise before him in the faint light of a new moon. The sound of his horses must have been heard, but no challenge of warder awaited them. When the party arrived they found the drawbridge down, the gates open. What could it mean? “It may be treachery. Look to your arms ere you ride in,” cried Hubert.