"You know not the truth of this matter," said the Abbot. "If you
are a loyal man, you will stand aside, for this young man hath
grievously offended against the law, and it is for the King's
lieges to give us their support."

"And you have haled him up for judgment," cried the stranger with
much amusement. "It is as though a rookery sat in judgment upon a
falcon. I warrant that you have found it easier to judge than to
punish. Let me tell you, father Abbot, that this standeth not
aright. When powers such as these were given to the like of you,
they were given that you might check a brawling underling or
correct a drunken woodman, and not that you might drag the best
blood in England to your bar and set your archers on him if he
questioned your findings."

The Abbot was little used to hear such words of reproof uttered in
so stern a voice under his own abbey roof and before his listening
monks. "You may perchance find that an Abbey court has more
powers than you wot of, Sir Knight," said he, "if knight indeed
you be who are so uncourteous and short in your speech. Ere we go
further, I would ask your name and style?"

The stranger laughed. "It is easy to see that you are indeed men
of peace," said he proudly. "Had I shown this sign," and he
touched the token upon his lapels, "whether on shield or pennon,
in the marches of France or Scotland, there is not a cavalier but
would have known the red pile of Chandos."

Chandos, John Chandos, the flower of English chivalry, the pink of
knight-errantry, the hero already of fifty desperate enterprises,