The cortege, who had scattered
in the excitement of the chase, came together again, and the
journey was once more resumed.
A horseman who had been riding toward them across the moor now
quickened his pace and closed swiftly upon them. As he came
nearer, the King and the Prince cried out joyously and waved their
hands in greeting.
"It is good John Chandos!!" cried the King. "By the rood, John, I
have missed your merry songs this week or more! Glad I am to see
that you have your citole slung to your back. Whence come you
then?"
"I come from Tilford, sire, in the hope that I should meet your
majesty."
"It was well thought of. Come, ride here between the Prince and
me, and we will believe that we are back in France with our war
harness on our backs once more. What is your news, Master John?"
Chandos' quaint face quivered with suppressed amusement and his
one eye twinkled like a star. "Have you had sport, my liege?"
"Poor sport, John. We flew two hawks on the same heron. They
crabbed, and the bird got free. But why do you smile so?"
"Because I hope to show you better sport ere you come to Tilford."
"For the hawk? For the hound?"
"A nobler sport than either."
"Is this a riddle, John? What mean you?"
"Nay, to tell all would be to spoil all. I say again that there
is rare sport betwixt here and Tilford, and I beg you, dear lord,
to mend your pace that we make the most of the daylight.
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