II


Now it was the custom on the morning of the Holy day for the _seigneur_
to ride his finest stallion to the top of the hill, where led a steep
road down into the town. There he dismounted, surrounded by his people,
guests and soldiers, smaller visiting nobility, the household of the
Castle. And, the stage being set as it were, and the village waiting
below, it was his pleasure to give his charger a great cut with the
whip and send him galloping, unridden, down the hill. The horse was his
who caught it.

Below waited the villagers, divided between terror and cupidity. Above
waited the Castle folk. It was an amusing game for those who stood
safely along the parapet and watched, one that convulsed them with
merriment. Also, it improved the quality of those horses that grazed in
the plain below.

This year it was a great grey that carried Charles out to the road that
clung to the face of the cliff. Behind him on a donkey, reminder of the
humble beast that had borne the Christ into Jerusalem, rode the Bishop.
Saddled and bridled was the grey, with a fierce head and great
shoulders, a strong beast for strong days.

The men-at-arms were drawn up in a double line, weapons at rest. From
the place below rose a thin grey smoke where the fire kindled for the
steer. But the crowd had deserted and now stood, eyes upraised to the