The
story goes that rough jests passed at Malwood-Keep between Tyrrell and
the king, ending in anger, as jests are apt to. William boasted that he
would carry an army through France to the Alps. Tyrrell, heated with
wine, answered that he might find France a net easier to enter than to
escape from. The hearers remembered these bitter words afterwards.
On the night before the fatal day it is said that cries of terror came
from the king's bed-chamber. The attendants rushed thither, only to find
that the monarch had been the victim of nightmare. When morning came he
laughed the incident to scorn, saying that dreams were fit to scare only
old women and children. His companions were not so easily satisfied.
Those were days when all men's souls were open to omens good and bad.
They earnestly advised him not to hunt that day. William jested at their
fears, vowed that no dream should scare him from the chase, yet, uneasy
at heart, perhaps, let the hours pass without calling for his horse.
Midday came. Dinner was served. William ate and drank with unusual
freedom. Wine warmed his blood and drove off his clinging doubts. He
rose from the table and ordered his horse to be brought. The day was
young enough still to strike a deer, he said.
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