CHAPTER 2. THE ENGLISHMAN
Part 1
The little hut among the oak trees was dim in the October twilight on the evening of St. Callixtus' Day. It had been used by swineherds, for the earthen floor was puddled by the feet of generations of hogs, and in the corner lay piles of rotting acorns. Outside the mist had filled the forest, and the ways were muffled with fallen leaves, so that the four men who approached the place came as stealthily as shades.
They reconnoitred a moment at the entrance, for it was a country of war.
“ Quarters for the night,” said one, and put his shoulder to the door of oak-toppings hinged on strips of cowhide.
But he had not taken a step inside before he hastily withdrew.
“ There is something there,” he cried—“something that breathes. A light, Gil.”
One of the f
