His blood was fairly aflame, however, and he needed no such challenge.
Dashing at the black man, he smote at him with such good will that the other let his knife tinkle into the roadway, and hopped howling to a safer distance.
The second rogue, however, made of sterner stuff, rushed in upon the clerk, and clipped him round the waist with a grip like a bear, shouting the while to his comrade to come round and stab him in the back.
At this the negro took heart of grace, and picking up his dagger again he came stealing with prowling step and murderous eye, while the two swayed backwards and forwards, staggering this way and that.
In the very midst of the scuffle, however, whilst Alleyne braced himself to feel the cold blade between his shoulders, there came a sudden scurry of hoofs, and the black man yelled with terror and ran for his life through the heather.
The man with the birth-mark, too, struggled to break away, and Alleyne heard his teeth chatter and felt his limbs grow limp to his hand.
At this sign of coming aid the clerk held on the tighter, and at last was able to pin his man down and glanced behind him to see where all the noise was coming from.
Down the slanting road there was riding a big, burly man, clad in a tunic of purple velvet and driving a great black horse as hard as it could gallop.
He leaned well over its neck as he rode, and made a heaving with his shoulders at every bound as though he were lifting the steed instead of it carrying him.
In the rapid glance Alleyne saw that he had white doeskin gloves, a curling white feather in his flat velvet cap, and a broad gold, embroidered baldric across his bosom.
Behind him rode six others, two and two, clad in sober brown jerkins, with the long yellow staves of their bows thrusting out from behind their right shoulders.
Down the hill they thundered, over the brook and up to the scene of the contest.
"Here is one!" said the leader, springing down from his reeking horse, and seizing the white rogue by the edge of his jerkin.
"This is one of them.
I know him by that devil's touch upon his brow.
Where are your cords, Peterkin?
So! --bind him hand and foot.
His last hour has come.
And you, young man, who may you be?"
"I am a clerk, sir, travelling from Beaulieu."
"A clerk!" cried the other.
"Art from Oxenford or from Cambridge?
Hast thou a letter from the chancellor of thy college giving thee a permit to beg?
Let me see thy letter."
He had a stern, square face, with bushy side whiskers and a very questioning eye.
"I am from Beaulieu Abbey, and I have no need to beg," said Alleyne, who was all of a tremble now that the ruffle was over.
"The better for thee," the other answered.
"Dost know who I am?"
"No, sir, I do not."
"I am the law!"--nodding his head solemnly.
"I am the law of England and the mouthpiece of his most gracious and royal majesty, Edward the Third."
Alleyne louted low to the King's representative.
"Truly you came in good time, honored sir," said he.
"A moment later and they would have slain me."
"But there should be another one," cried the man in the purple coat.
"There should be a black man.
A shipman with St. Anthony's fire, and a black man who had served him as cook--those are the pair that we are in chase of."
"The black man fled over to that side," said Alleyne, pointing towards the barrow.
"He could not have gone far, sir bailiff," cried one of the archers, unslinging his bow.
"He is in hiding somewhere, for he knew well, black paynim as he is, that our horses' four legs could outstrip his two."
"Then we shall have him," said the other.
"It shall never be said, whilst I am bailiff of Southampton, that any waster, riever, draw-latch or murtherer came scathless away from me and my posse.
Leave that rogue lying.
Now stretch out in line, my merry ones, with arrow on string, and I shall show you such sport as only the King can give.
You on the left, Howett, and Thomas of Redbridge upon the right.
So!
Beat high and low among the heather, and a pot of wine to the lucky marksman."
As it chanced, however, the searchers had not far to seek.
The negro had burrowed down into his hiding-place upon the barrow, where he might have lain snug enough, had it not been for the red gear upon his head.
As he raised himself to look over the bracken at his enemies, the staring color caught the eye of the bailiff, who broke into a long screeching whoop and spurred forward sword in hand.