sore thorn in
his side and had routed two expeditions which he had sent against them.
A happy day it would be for the Seneschal of Auvergne when they should
learn that the last yew bow was over the marches.

The material for a feast was ever at hand in days when, if there was
grim want in the cottage, there was at least rude plenty in the castle.
Within an hour the guests were seated around a board which creaked under
the great pasties and joints of meat, varied by those more dainty
dishes in which the French excelled, the spiced ortolan and the truffled
beccaficoes. The Lady Rochefort, a bright and laughter-loving dame, sat
upon the left of her warlike spouse, with Lady Tiphaine upon the right.
Beneath sat Du Guesclin and Sir Nigel, with Sir Amory Monticourt, of the
order of the Hospitallers, and Sir Otto Harnit, a wandering knight
from the kingdom of Bohemia. These with Alleyne and Ford, four French
squires, and the castle chaplain, made the company who sat together that
night and made good cheer in the Castle of Villefranche. The great fire
crackled in the grate, the hooded hawks slept upon their perches, the
rough deer-hounds with expectant eyes crouched upon the tiled floor;
close at the elbows of the guests stood the dapper little lilac-coated
pages; the laugh and jest circled round and all was harmony and comfort.
Little they recked of the brushwood men who crouched in their rags along
the fringe of the forest and looked with wild and haggard eyes at the
rich, warm glow which shot a golden bar of light from the high arched
windows of the castle.

Supper over, the tables dormant were cleared away as by magic and
trestles and bancals arranged around the blazing fire, for there was a
bitter nip in the air. The Lady Tiphaine had sunk back in her cushioned
chair, and her long dark lashes drooped low over her sparkling eyes.
Alleyne, glancing at her, noted that her breath came quick and short,
and that her cheeks had blanched to a lily white. Du Guesclin eyed her
keenly from time to time, and passed his broad brown fingers through his
crisp, curly black hair with the air of a man who is perplexed in his
mind.

"These folk here," said the knight of Bohemia, "they do not seem too
well fed."

"Ah, canaille!" cried the Lord of Villefranche. "You would scarce credit
it, and yet it is sooth that when I was taken at Poictiers it was all
that my wife and foster-brother could do to raise the money from them
for my ransom.