“Here is a proper matter!” said Front-de-Bœuf; “this comes of lending you the use of my castle, that cannot manage your undertaking quietly, but you must bring this nest of hornets about my ears!”

“Of hornets?” said De Bracy; “of stingless drones rather; a band of lazy knaves, who take to the wood, and destroy the venison rather than labour for their maintenance.”

“Stingless!” replied Front-de-Bœuf; “fork-headed shafts of a cloth-yard in length, and these shot within the breadth of a French crown, are sting enough.”

“For shame, Sir Knight!” said the Templar. “Let us summon our people, and sally forth upon them. One knight—ay, one man-at-arms, were enough for twenty such peasants.”

“Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy; “I should only be ashamed to couch lance against them.”

“True,” answered Front-de-Bœuf; “were they black Turks or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most valiant De Bracy; but these are English yeomen, over whom we shall have no advantage, save what we may derive from our arms and horses, which will avail us little in the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? we have scarce men enough to defend the castle. The best of mine are at York; so is all your band, De Bracy; and we have scarcely twenty, besides the handful that were engaged in this mad business.”

“Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar ; “that they can assemble in force sufficient to attempt the castle?”

“Not so, Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Bœuf. “These outlaws have indeed a daring captain; but without machines, scaling ladders, and experienced leaders, my castle may defy them.”

“Send to thy neighbours,” said the Templar; “let them assemble their people, and come to the rescue of three knights, besieged by a jester and a swineherd in the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-Bœuf!”

“You jest, Sir Knight,” answered the baron; “but to whom should I send?—Malvoisin is by this time at York with his retainers, and so are my other allies; and so should I have been, but for this infernal enterprise.”

“Then send to York, and recall our people,” said De Bracy. “If they abide the shaking of my standard, or the sight of my Free Companions, I will give them credit for the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in greenwood.”

“And who shall bear such a message?” said Front-de-Bœuf; “they will beset every path, and rip the errand out of his bosom.—I have it,” he added, after pausing for a moment—” Sir Templar, thou canst write as well as read, and if we can but find the writing materials of my chaplain, who died a twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christmas carousals—”

“So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in attendance, “I think old Urfried has them somewhere in keeping, for love of the confessor. He was the last man, I have heard her tell, who ever said ought to her, which man ought in courtesy to address to maid or matron.”

“Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de-Bœuf; “and then, Sir Templar, thou shalt return an answer to this bold challenge.”

“I would rather do it at the sword’s point than at that of the pen,” said Bois-Guilbert; “but be it as you will.”

He sat down accordingly, and indited, in the French language, an epistle of the following tenor:-

“Sir Reginald Front-de-Bœuf, with his noble and knightly allies and confederates, receive no defiances at the hands of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the person calling himself the Black Knight have indeed a claim to the honours of chivalry, he ought to know that he stands degraded by his present association, and has no right to ask reckoning at the hands of good men of noble blood. Touching the prisoners we