nds of
the king's companions. He could not hope to make people credit his tale.
Mounting his horse, he rode with all speed through the forest, not
drawing rein till the coast was reached. He had far outridden the news
of the tragedy. Taking ship here, he crossed over in haste to Normandy,
and thence made his way to France, not drawing a breath free from care
till he felt the soil of his native land beneath his feet. Here he lived
to a good age and died in peace, his life diversified by a crusading
visit to the Holy Land.

The end of the Red King resembled that of his father. The Conqueror had
been deserted before he had fairly ceased breathing, his body left half
clad on the bare boards of his chamber, while some of his attendants
rifled the palace, others hastened to offer their services to his son.
The same scenes followed the Red King's death. His body was left in the
charcoal-burner's cart, clotted with blood, to be conveyed to
Winchester, while his brother Henry rode post-haste thither to seize the
royal treasure, and the train of courtiers rode as rapid a course, to
look after their several interests.

Reaching the royal palace, Henry imperiously demanded the keys of the
king's treasure-chamber. Before he received them William de Breteuil
entered, breathless with haste, and bade the keepers not to deliver
them.

"Thou and I," he said to Henry, "ought loyally to keep the faith which
we promised to thy brother, Duke Robert; he has received our oath of
homage, and, absent or present, he has the right."

But what was faith, what an oath, when a crown was the prize? A quarrel
followed; Henry drew his sword; the people around supported him; soon he
had the treasure and the royal regalia; Robert might have the right, he
had the kingdom.

There is tradition connected with the Red King's death. A stirrup hangs
in Lyndhurst Hall, said to be that which he used on that fatal day. The
charcoal-burner was named Purkess. There are Purkesses still in the
village of Minstead, near where William Rufus died. And the story runs
that the earthly possessions of the Purkess family have ever since been
a single horse and cart. A stone marks the spot where the king fell, on
it is the inscription,--

"Here stood the oak-tree on which the arrow, shot by Walter Tyrrell at a
stag, glanced and struck King William II., surnamed Rufus, on the
breast; of which stroke he instantly died on the second of August, 1100.

"That the spot where