'"
The king greeted this message with a loud laugh.
"Do they take me for an Englishman, with their dreams?" he asked. "Do
they fancy that I am fool enough to give up my plans because a monk
dreams or an old woman sneezes? Go, tell your abbot I have heard his
story. Come, Walter de Poix, to horse!"
The train swept away, leaving the monkish messenger alone, the king's
disdainful laugh still in his ears. With William were his brother Henry,
long at odds with him, now reconciled, William de Breteuil, and several
other nobles. Quickly they vanished among the thickly clustering trees,
and soon broke up into small groups, each of which took its own route
through the forest. Walter Tyrrell alone remained with the king, their
dogs hunting together.
That was the last that was seen of William, the Red King, alive. When
the hunters returned he was not with them. Tyrrell, too, was missing.
What had become of them? Search was made, but neither could be found,
and doubt and trouble of soul pervaded Malwood-Keep.
The shades of night were fast gathering when a poor charcoal-burner,
passing with his cart through the forest, came upon a dead body
stretched bleeding upon the grass. An arrow had pierced its breast.
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