They shrank and drew back in humble haste out of reach, if not out of sight.All but one. Half a head taller than his fellows, one lean, cloaked figurestood his ground, whether out of inability to move quickly, or want ofunderstanding, or in mute defiance. He remained erect, intently gazing throughthe eye-slot in the veil that covered his face. When he did take a pace back,without turning his head, he went heavily upon one foot, and was too slow toavoid the lash of the whip, if indeed he had intended to avoid it. The blowtook him on shoulder and breast. His maimed foot turned under him, and he fellheavily in the grass.

Cadfael had started forward, but Mark was before him, dartingdown with an indignant cry to drop to his knees and spread an arm over thegaunt figure, putting his own braced body between the fallen man and the nextblow. But Domville was already past, disdainful of further noticing the dregsof the world. He neither hastened nor slowed his pace, but rode on without aglance aside, and all his train after him, though holding rather to theroadway, and some with averted faces. The three young squires passed,embarrassed and uneasy. The big, tow-headed youngster in the middle actuallyturned full-face to the two on the ground, flashed them a dismayed stare fromeyes as blue as cornflowers, and rode with his chin on his shoulder until bothhis fellows elbowed him back to caution and his duty.

The whole cortege passed while Mark was helping the gaunt old man to hisfeet. The servants followed woodenly, armored against the world by theirservitude. Certain more lordly figures, guests or minor relatives, passedblandly, as though nothing whatever had occurred. In their midst a demurecleric fingered his beads, faintly smiling, and ignored all. Rumor said that