"God's blood!" said the rough voice, "who is this that handles my
daughter as though they had been but an hour wed? Take those lips of
yours from her, fellow, or I'll cut them from your chops."
I looked round astonished, to see Sir Robert Aleys mounted on a grey
horse, and followed by a company of men-at-arms who appeared to be under
the command of a well-favoured, dark-eyed young captain with long hair,
and dressed more wondrously than any man I had ever seen before. Had he
put on Joseph's coat over his mail, he could not have worn more colours,
and I noted that the toes of his shoes curled up so high that I wondered
however he worked them through his stirrups, and what would happen to
him if by chance he were unhorsed.
Being taken aback I made no answer, but William Bull, who, if a rough
fellow, had a tongue in his head and a ready wit, spoke up for me.
"If you want to know," he said in his Sussex drawl, "I'll tell you who
he is, Sir Robert Aleys. He is my worshipful master, Hubert of Hastings,
ship-owner, householder, and trader of this town.
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