Far away
between the black lines of trunks the quick glitter of steel
marked where the Company pursued its way. To the north stretched
the tree country, but to the south, between two swelling downs, a
glimpse might be caught of the cold gray shimmer of the sea, with
the white fleck of a galley sail upon the distant sky-line. Just
in front of the travellers a horseman was urging his steed up the
slope, driving it on with whip and spur as one who rides for a
set purpose. As he clattered up, Alleyne could see that the roan
horse was gray with dust and flecked with foam, as though it had
left many a mile behind it. The rider was a stern-faced man,
hard of mouth and dry of eye, with a heavy sword clanking at his
side, and a stiff white bundle swathed in linen balanced across
the pommel of his saddle.
"The king's messenger," he bawled as he came up to them. "The
messenger of the king. Clear the causeway for the king's own
man."
"Not so loudly, friend," quoth the little knight, reining his
horse half round to bar the path. "I have myself been the king's
man for thirty years or more, but I have not been wont to halloo
about it on a peaceful highway.
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