The outlaw now called to Shandy and his men, telling them to remain on watch, but to interfere with no one within the castle. He then sat at the table with Roger Leybourn and his lady, who had recovered from her swoon, and behind them on the rushes of the floor lay the body of De Fulm in a little pool of blood. Leybourn told them that he had heard that De Fulm was at his home, and had hastened back; having been in hiding about the castle for half an hour before the arrival of Norman of Torn, awaiting an opportunity to enter unobserved by the servants. It was he who had followed across the ladder after Shandy. The outlaw spent the night at the castle of Roger Leybourn; for the first time within his memory a welcomed guest under his true name at the house of a gentleman. The following morning, he bade his host goodbye, and returning to his camp started on his homeward march toward Torn. Near midday, as they were approaching the Thames near the environs of London, they saw a great concourse of people hooting and jeering at a small party of gentlemen and gentlewomen. Some of the crowd were armed, and from very force of numbers were waxing brave to lay violent hands upon the party. Mud and rocks and rotten vegetables were being hurled at the little cavalcade, many of them barely missing the women of the party. Norman of Torn waited to ask no questions, but spurring into the thick of it laid right and left of him with the flat of his sword, and his men, catching the contagion of it, swarmed after him until the whole pack of attacking ruffians were driven into the Thames. And then, without a backward glance at the party he had rescued, he continued on his march toward the north. The little party sat upon their horses looking in wonder after the retreating figures of their deliverers. Then one of the ladies turned to a knight at her side with a word of command and an imperious gesture toward the fast disappearing company. He, thus addressed, put spurs to his horse, and rode at a rapid gallop after the outlaw’s troop. In a few moments he had overtaken them and reined up beside Norman of Torn. “Hold, Sir Knight,” cried the gentleman, “the Queen would thank you in person for your brave defence of her.” Ever keen to see the humor of a situation, Norman of Torn wheeled his horse and rode back with the Queen’s messenger. As he faced Her Majesty, the Outlaw of Torn bent low over his pommel. “You be a strange knight that thinks so lightly on saving a queen’s life that you ride on without turning your head, as though you had but driven a pack of curs from annoying a stray cat,” said the Queen. “I drew in the service of a woman, Your Majesty, not in the service of a queen.” “What now! Wouldst even belittle the act which we all witnessed? The King, my husband, shall reward thee, Sir Knight, if you but tell me your name.” “If I told my name, methinks the King would be more apt to hang me,” laughed the outlaw. “I be Norman of Torn.”