The crowd obeyed, opening a path, and soon we were face to face.

"What is it, Hubert of Hastings?" he asked. "Is there fire that you
shout so loudly?"

"Aye, Worship," I answered. "Fire and murder and all the gifts that the
French have for England. The Fleet of France is beating up for Hastings,
fifty sail of them or more. We crept through them in the fog, for the
wind which would scarce move them served our turn and beyond an arrow or
two, they took no note of a fishing-boat."

"Whence come they?" asked the bailiff, bewildered.

"I know not, but those in another boat we passed in the midst shouted
that these French were ravaging the coast and heading for Hastings
to put it to fire and sword. Then that boat vanished away, I know not
where, and that is all I have to tell save that the French will be here
within an hour."

Without staying to ask more questions, the bailiff turned and ran
towards the town, and presently the alarm bells rang out from the towers
of All Saints and St. Clement's, while criers summoned all men to the
market-place. Meanwhile I, not without a sad look at my boat and the
rich catch within, made my way into the town, followed by my two men.

Presently I reached an ancient, timbered house, long, low, and rambling,
with a yard by its side full of barrels, anchors, and other marine
stores such as rope, that had to do with the trade I carried on at this
place.