Then turning his horse quickly, Eustace rode back to the village.  All was haste and confusion there—­horses were being led forth and saddled, pages, grooms, and men-at-arms hurrying to and fro —­bugles sounding—­everything in the bustle incident to immediate departure.  He could only make his way through the press slowly, and with difficulty, which ill suited with his impatience and perplexity.  In front of the venta, a low white cottage, with a wooden balcony overspread with vines, there was a still closer press, and loud vehement voices, as of disputants, were heard, while the various men-at-arms crowded in so closely to see the fray, if such it were, as to be almost regardless of the horse, which Eustace was pressing forward upon them.  He looked over their heads to see Leonard, but in vain.  He thought of retreat, but found himself completely entangled in the throng.  At that moment, a cry was heard, “The Provost Marshal!” The crowd suddenly, he knew not how, seemed to melt away from around him, in different directions, and he found himself left, on horseback, in the midst of the little village green, amongst scattered groups of disreputable-looking yeomen, archers, and grooms, who were making what speed they could to depart, as from the other side the Provost, the archers of the guard, and Sir John Chandos entered upon the scene.

“Ha!  What is all this?  Whom have we here?” exclaimed the old Baron.  “Sir Eustace Lynwood!  By my life, a fair commencement for your dainty young knighthood!”

“On my word, my Lord Chandos,” said Eustace, colouring deeply, “I am no loiterer here; I came but to seek my Squire, Leonard Ashton, and found myself entangled in the crowd.”

“Ay, ay!  I understand,” said Chandos, without listening to him; “I see how it will be.  Off to your troop instantly, Master Knight.  I suppose they are all seeking Squires in the wine-shops!”

“You do me wrong, my Lord,” said Eustace; “but you shall be obeyed.”

The bugles had already sounded before he reached his own quarters, where he found that, thanks to Gaston, all was right.  The tent had been taken down and packed on the baggage mules, the men were mounted, and drawn up in full array, with his banner floating above their heads; and Gaston himself was only waiting his appearance to mount a stout mule, which Martin, the horse-boy, was leading up and down.

“This is well.  Thanks, good Gaston,” said Eustace, with a sigh of relief, as he took off his heavy helmet, which had become much heated during his hasty ride in the hot sun.

“No news of the truant?” asked Gaston.  “Who but you would have thought of going after him?  Well did I know you would never prosper without me at your elbow.”