I can no more," said Grey Dick. "Only I pray
that none may be suffered to hang about or pester me at the butts, since
I am a lonely man who love not company when I use my art."
"That shall be so," said the King. "And now to the sport."
"The sport!" grumbled Grey Dick, when he and Hugh were alone together.
"Why, it is other sport we should be seeking, with Acour and his knaves
for targets. Go to the King, master, and show him that while we linger
here the Frenchman may slip away, or work more and worse treasons."
"I cannot, Dick; the parchments are not written out, and his Grace
is bent upon this pleasure match. Moreover, man, all these archers
here--yes, and their betters also--would say that you had fled because
you were an empty boaster who dared not face the trial."
"They'd say that, would they?" snarled Grey Dick. "Yes, they'd say that,
which would be bitter hearing for you and me. Well, they shall not say
it. Yet I tell you, master," he added in a burst of words, "although
I know not why, I'd rather bear their scorn and be away on the road to
Dunwich."
"It may not be, Dick," replied Hugh, shaking his head doubtfully. "See,
here they come to fetch us."
In a glade of the forest of Windsor situated near to the castle and
measuring some twenty-five score yards of open level ground, stood
Grey Dick, a strange, uncouth figure, at whom the archers of the guard
laughed, nudging each other.
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