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<h2 id="id01472" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXV</h2> <h5 id="id01473">THE ROAD TO GOLTRES</h5> On July 14 Prosper left Wanmeeting at a gallop, in the driving rain. There had been thunder and a change in the weather; the roads were heavy and the brooks brimming; but by noon he was in the plain, and by night at One Ash, a lonely dead tree as often gallows as not. There he slept in his cloak. Next morning he was early in the saddle, and had reached the fringe of Goltres Heath by breakfast time—if the hour without the thing can be called by such a comfortable name. He knew there was a cross-road somewhere near by from Goltres to Hauterive Town. He should go warily, for if the first were invested there must needs be communications with the base, which was Hauterive. Sure enough, he had not seen the finger-post before he saw the pikes. There were three mounted men there, one of whom had his face to the north and was shading his eyes to spy over the heath. In a dozen more strides (for he was at no pains to skulk from three troopers) a man saw him, gave a shout and spurred over the heather. Prosper pulled his horse into a gallop, resolved to bring things to a quick conclusion. Spear in rest he came down on his fellow like a gale of wind. The man swerved at the onset; Prosper rocketed into him; horse and man went over in a heap. "Bungler," cried Prosper, and went on. The other two faced him together standing. Prosper drove in between them, and had one of them off at the cost of a snapt spear. He turned on the other with his sword whirling round his head. "Quarter, Messire!" cried the trooper, "here comes one of my betters for you." In effect, a knight on a chestnut horse was coming from Goltres, a most resplendent knight in golden armour, with yellow trappings slashed and fluttering about him. "The Gold Knight!" said Prosper, drawing a sharpish breath; "this is better than I looked for. My man," he went on, turning, "I have measured you with my eye. I think the sign-post will bear you." "I have no doubt of it, Messire," said the man ruefully. "You shall put it to the proof so sure as I live," continued Prosper, "if you stir from where you stand. I have to speak with your master." "Oh, make yourself quite easy, Messire, and trust me," said the man; "I see with whom I have to deal." "Then deal not with him, my friend," said Prosper, and went to meet the Golden Knight. The Golden Knight set spear in rest and came cantering down the track. Prosper let him come. When he was within hail, "Put up your spear, dame," said he, "and listen." The Golden Knight pulled up short, but held his spear couched against the worst. Prosper spoke again quite cheerfully. "You and I have met, Dame Maulfry." "You are speaking foolishness and wasting my time, Messire. I neither know you nor your dame." "You may have known my shield in more gaudy trim. Did I not turn grave-digger for you some years ago?" "Oh, oh! you are Prosper le Gai?" "That is my name, Madam Maulfry. You know me at last." "Yes, I know you. Take care. You are in no friendly country." "I am a very friendly soul, but I will take care. You, I think, have many friends in these parts—one in special, a holy person, a man of religion. Is it so?" "He is a man of many parts, Prosper. He hath an arm." "He hath a gullet, I know," said Prosper cheerfully. "It is of him I would speak, dame, at this moment. I shall meet him before long, I hope, and should like to be advised by an old acquaintance. Will you tell me why he chose out the arms of the man you and I put into the ground?" "Why would you know that, Prosper?" "It seems to me an odd choice. There is a story about them. I am curious." "What is your story, Prosper? I will tell you this, that I tried to dissuade him." "Ah!" "Well, sir, your story?" "You told me they were the arms of De Genlis. Surely you were mistaken in that?" "I will be frank with you, Prosper. I was mistaken. They are the arms of Salomon de Montguichet." "Pardon me, dame," said Prosper, "they are the arms of Salomon de Born." He never dealt cleaner blow with a spear. The Golden Knight stood up rocking in his stirrups. Then he dropped his weapon and began to wail like a woman. "Oh no, no, no! Oh, Prosper, be merciful! Oh, God, kill me, kill me, kill me! Tell me you have lied, Prosper, or I must die." "I have not lied, madam. You have lied," said Prosper, watching with a bleak smile. On a sudden the Golden Knight spurred his horse violently. The beast lunged forward and shot off at a mad gallop with his flanks streaming blood. Prosper watched him go. "Follow! follow!" cried the Golden Knight to the man by the sign-post. "I cannot, my lord," the man shouted as his master flew, "I am a man of my word." "Be off with you, you rascal," cheered Prosper; "I have said my say." The man did not hesitate. Prosper watched the flying pair, a quiet smile hovering about his mouth. "My shot told it seems," he said to himself. "If Salomon de Born were not what I believe him to have been, what is the grief of Madam Maulfry? Well, we will see next what Galors de Born has to say to it." He turned his face towards the north and rode on. If he had followed the two-out of sight by now—he would have got nearer his heart's desire; but he could not do that. He had formed a judgment calmly. If he wanted Isoult he must find Galors. Galors had Hauterive but had not Goltres. Therefore Galors was at Goltres. Prosper always accredited his enemies with his own quality. So he rode away from Isoult as proud as a pope. We will follow the Golden Knight while our breath endures. We can track him to Hauterive. He never stayed rein till he reached it, and there at the gates dropped his chestnut dead of a broken heart. In the hall of the citadel it was no Golden Knight but a grey-faced old woman who knelt before Galors in his chair. Her voice was dry as bare branches. "If ever you owe me thanks for what I have done and will yet do for you, Galors, my lover, you shall pay them now. Prosper is at Goltres. He and Spiridion will be there alone. I give you back Spiridion. Give me the life of Prosper, give me his head and his tongue, give me his heart, and I will be your slave who was once your world. Will you do it, Galors? Will you do it this night?" "By God I will," said Galors. "There is one other thing"—the woman was gasping for breath—"one little thing. Give me back the arms you bear. You must never wear them again. I always hated them; no good can ensue them. Give them to me, Galors, and wear them no more." "By God again," said Galors, "that is impossible! I will never do it. What! when the whole forest rings with Entra per me, and wicket-gates dazzle every eye on this side Wan? My friend, where are your wits? That droll of a Montguichet did me a turn there before you had him, mistress." "Ah, Galors," was all she could say, "he has found me again. I am sick of the work, Galors; let me go home." "Speed me first, my delight," cried Galors, jumping up. He shouted through the door, "Ho, there! My horse and arms! Turn the guard out! In three minutes we are off." The woman crept away. She had worked her hardest for him, but he wanted nothing of her. "Dirty weather, by the Rood," said Galors, looking out at the rain. "Dirty weather and a smell of worse. Hearken to the wind in the turrets. Gentlemen, we are for Goltres. Spare no horseflesh. Forward!" and he was gone through the dripping streets at the falling in of a wild day. It was the day Falve had brought in his bride-expectant to Litany Row. Half-an-hour later Maulfry rode out of the east gate alone, and never held or looked back till she was safe in Tortsentier. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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