"Only the master of the Preceptory," went on Acour, changing his tone
somewhat, "might take fright and think I wished to violate his sanctuary
if I came there with thirty spears at my back."
"And no fool either," said the voice, "seeing that they are French
spears and his is an English sanctuary."
"Therefore," continued Acour, "I pray you, deliver the letter. Perchance
when we meet again, Master Mayor," he added with a venomous glance of
his dark eyes, "you will have some boon to ask of me, and be sure I'll
grant it--if I can."
Then without waiting for an answer, for the mob of sturdy fishermen,
many of whom had served in the French wars, looked threatening, he
and his following rode away through the Ipswich gate and out on to the
moorlands beyond, which some of them knew but too well.
All the rest of that day they rode slowly, but when night came, having
halted their horses at a farm and given it out that they meant to push
on to Woodbridge, they turned up a by-track on the lonely heath, and,
unseen by any, made their through the darkness to a certain empty house
in the marshes not far from Beccles town. This house, called Frog Hall,
was part of Acour's estate, and because of the ague prevalent there in
autumn, had been long unattended. Nor did any visit it at this season of
the year, when no cattle grazed upon these salt marshes.
Here, then, he and his people lay hid, cursing their fortunes, since,
notwithstanding the provisions that they had conveyed thither in secret,
the place was icy cold in the bitter, easterly winds which tore over
it from the sea.
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