essing on your honest English voice!" cried the stranger,
pricking up his ears at the sound of Alleyne's words. "Never have I
heard music that was so sweet to mine ear. Come, Watkin lad, throw the
bales over Laura's back! My heart was nigh broke, for it seemed that I
had left all that was English behind me, and that I would never set eyes
upon Norwich market square again." He was a tall, lusty, middle-aged
man with a ruddy face, a brown forked beard shot with gray, and a
broad Flanders hat set at the back of his head. His servant, as tall as
himself, but gaunt and raw-boned, had swung the bales on the back of
one mule, while the merchant mounted upon the other and rode to join
the party. It was easy to see, as he approached, from the quality of
his dress and the richness of his trappings, that he was a man of some
wealth and position.

"Sir knight," said he, "my name is David Micheldene, and I am a burgher
and alderman of the good town of Norwich, where I live five doors from
the church of Our Lady, as all men know on the banks of Yare. I have
here my bales of cloth which I carry to Cahors--woe worth the day that
ever I started on such an errand! I crave your gracious protection upon
the way for me, my servant, and my mercery; for I have already had
many perilous passages, and have now learned that Roger Club-foot, the
robber-knight of Quercy, is out upon the road in front of me. I hereby
agree to give you one rose-noble if you bring me safe to the inn of the
'Angel' in Cahors, the same to be repaid to me or my heirs if any harm
come to me or my goods."

"By Saint Paul!" answered Sir Nigel, "I should be a sorry knight if I
ask pay for standing by a countryman in a strange land. You may ride
with me and welcome, Master Micheldene, and your varlet may follow with
my archers."

"God's benison upon thy bounty!" cried the stranger. "Should you come to
Norwich you may have cause to remember that you have been of service to
Alderman Micheldene. It is not very far to Cahors, for surely I see the
cathedral towers against the sky-line; but I have heard much of this
Roger Clubfoot, and the more I hear the less do I wish to look upon his
face. Oh, but I am sick and weary of it all, and I would give half that
I am worth to see my good dame sitting in peace beside me, and to hear
the bells of Norwich town."

"Your words are strange to me," quoth Sir Nigel, "for you have the
appearance of a stout man, and I see that you wear a swo