rd from some woods upon
the right. An answering call rung forth upon their left, and hard upon
it two others from behind them.

"They are the horns of swine-herds," quoth Aylward. "Though why they
blow them so late I cannot tell."

"Let us on, then," said Ford, and the whole party, setting their spurs
to their horses, soon found themselves at the Castle of Villefranche,
where the drawbridge had already been lowered and the portcullis raised
in response to the summons of Du Guesclin.

CHAPTER XXIX. HOW THE BLESSED HOUR OF SIGHT CAME TO THE LADY TIPHAINE.

Sir Tristram de Rochefort, Seneschal of Auvergne and Lord of
Villefranche, was a fierce and renowned soldier who had grown gray in
the English wars. As lord of the marches and guardian of an exposed
country-side, there was little rest for him even in times of so-called
peace, and his whole life was spent in raids and outfalls upon the
Brabanters, late-comers, flayers, free companions, and roving archers
who wandered over his province. At times he would come back in triumph,
and a dozen corpses swinging from the summit of his keep would warn
evil-doers that there was still a law in the land. At others his
ventures were not so happy, and he and his troop would spur it over
the drawbridge with clatter of hoofs hard at their heels and whistle of
arrows about their ears. Hard he was of hand and harder of heart, hated
by his foes, and yet not loved by those whom he protected, for twice he
had been taken prisoner, and twice his ransom had been wrung by dint
of blows and tortures out of the starving peasants and ruined farmers.
Wolves or watch-dogs, it was hard to say from which the sheep had most
to fear.

The Castle of Villefranche was harsh and stern as its master. A broad
moat, a high outer wall turreted at the corners, with a great black keep
towering above all--so it lay before them in the moonlight. By the light
of two flambeaux, protruded through the narrow slit-shaped openings at
either side of the ponderous gate, they caught a glimpse of the glitter
of fierce eyes and of the gleam of the weapons of the guard. The sight
of the two-headed eagle of Du Guesclin, however, was a passport into
any fortalice in France, and ere they had passed the gate the old border
knight came running forwards with hands out-thrown to greet his famous
countryman. Nor was he less glad to see Sir Nigel, when the Englishman's
errand was explained to him, for these archers had been a