s foes, who were growing more powerful every day.
He would sleep to-night, not at Spilsby, but at Sutterby. He was a loyal
subject; no harm that he could prevent should come to the King.

Before you come to Sutterby on the Wolds, as you travel north to the
fenland, there is a combe through which the highway passes, and a stream
which has on one side many rocks and boulders, and on the other a sort
of hedge of trees and shrubs. It was here that the enemies of the King,
that is, some stilt-walkers, with two dishonourable gentlemen who had
suffered from the King's oppressions, placed themselves to way lay his
Majesty. Lord Rippingdale had published it abroad that the King's route
was towards Horncastle, but at Stickney by the fens the royal party
separated, most of the company passing on to Horncastle, while Charles,
Lord Rippingdale and two other cavaliers proceeded on a secret visit to
a gentleman at Louth.

It was dark when the King and his company came to the combe. Lord
Rippingdale suggested to his Majesty that one of the gentlemen should
ride ahead to guard against surprise or ambush, but the King laughed,
and said that his shire of Lincoln bred no brigands, and he rode on. He
was in the coach with a gentleman beside him, and Lord Rippingdale rode
upon the right. Almost as the hoofs of the leaders plunged into the
stream there came the whinny of a horse from among the boulders.
Alarmed, the coachman whipped up his team and Lord Rippingdale clapped
his hand upon his sword.

Even as he did it two men sprang out from among the rocks, seized the
horses' heads, and a dozen others swarmed round, all masked and armed,
and calling upon the King's party to surrender, and to deliver up their
valuables. One ruffian made to seize the bridle of Lord Rippingdale's
horse, but my lord's sword severed the fellow's hand at the wrist.

"Villain," he shouted, "do you know whom you attack?"

For answer, shots rang out; and as the King's gentlemen gathered close
to the coach to defend him, the King himself opened the door and stepped
out. As he did so a stilt struck him on the head. Its owner had aimed it
at Lord Rippingdale; but as my lord's horse plunged, it missed him, and
struck the King fair upon the crown of the head. He swayed, groaned and
fell back into the open door of the coach. Lord Rippingdale was at once
beside him, sword drawn, and fighting gallantly.

"Scoundrels," he cried, "will you kill your King?"

"We will have