"Have you seen Hereward, villain?" asked he, through an interpreter.
"Nay."
"You lie. These are his fresh horse-tracks, and you must have seen him
pass."
"Eh?"
"Thrust out one of his eyes, and he will find his tongue."
It was done.
"Will you answer now?"
The poor wretch only howled.
"Thrust out the other."
"No, not that! Mercy: I will tell. He is gone by this four hours. How have
you not met him?"
"Fool! The hoofs point onward there."
"Ay,"--and the fellow could hardly hide a grin,--"but he had shod all his
horses backwards."
A storm of execration followed. They might be thrown twenty miles out of
their right road by the stratagem.
"So you had seen Hereward, and would not tell. Put out his other eye,"
said Taillebois, as a vent to his own feelings.
And they turned their horses' heads, and rode back, leaving the man blind
in the forest.
The day was waning now. The fog hung heavy on the treetops, and dripped
upon their heads. The horses were getting tired, and slipped and stumbled
in the deep clay paths. The footmen were more tired still, and, cold and
hungry, straggled more and more. The horse-tracks led over an open lawn of
grass and fern, with here and there an ancient thorn, and round it on
three sides thick wood of oak and beech, with under copse of holly and
hazel.
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