Noble Vance, the Forest Warden¹, came riding into Paradise on his black horse, with two archers² in russet and green following at his heels. He crossed the Rondel at the mill, and his scarlet³ coat went burning through the orchards⁴ and over the fields. Such common folk as saw him louted very low to the man, for, though he rode over Church lands, he was a fellow to be feared, being merciless and very cunning. Poachers and laborers⁵ whom he caught chasing the deer had but one thing to hope for from Noble Vance. He loved tying a man to a tree and thrashing him with his own whip, and the fellows he caught red-handed would rather have it so than be sent to Roger Bland⁶ of Troy Castle.  
About a furlong from the priory gate the Forest Warden overtook Dom Geraint.
 
“The best of a May morning to you, man of God.”
 
“And God’s grace be upon you, defender⁷ of the deer!”
 
They were gossips, these two, men of animal energy who understood each other, and looked at life with the same shrewd cynicism. Their eyes met whimsically. Neither had any solid respect for the dignity of the other. Their appetites and prejudices were alike; they met on common ground and made life a gloating, full-blooded jest.
 
“You ride early, Master Warden.”
 
“All for the joy of being shrived by you, Dom Geraint.”
 
“Tut-tut—I am busy to-day. It would be a long affair.”
 
“Not so long, either; for you have only to name me any sin, good sir, and I will say that I have committed it.”
 
“What a mass of guilt⁸ is here—riding in scarlet!”
 
“The black coat has its red in the lining⁹!”
 
They laughed in each other’s faces.
 
“You will come in and drink some of our ale?”
 
“Such brown Paradise is not to be despised. I have an hour to spare.”
 
“I will give you a penance¹⁰: not to look at a woman for two months.”
 
“Fudge, good sir, I am out to tie one behind me on the saddle this very day.”
 
The archers were sent to the buttery hatch, while the prior’s parlor¹¹ served Vance and Dom Geraint. Prior Globulus had ridden out on a white mule¹² to visit one of his farms, and Geraint had no prejudices against sitting in the old man’s chair.
 
Vance drank to him.
 
“May you have the filling of it, dear gossip. Then Paradise will lack nothing.”
 
Geraint gave blow for blow.
 
“And no man will stay me when I go a-hunting, whether it be the red deer——”
 
“Or others. You have a park of your own, man.”
 
“And you—the whole Forest.”
 
“Thin, sir—very thin. Game is scarce, though I am trapping a fine young doe this very day. And here is the jest, gossip Geraint; she has taken cover in one of your thickets¹³.”
 
Geraint looked hard at Vance over the top of his mug.
 
“Here—in Paradise! Rabbits, man! I know everything that happens in Paradise.”
 
“Who doubts it? But this is a great gibe¹⁴, with that woolly-noddled saint of yours serving as father confessor!”
 
“I miss the scent¹⁵, my friend.”
 
“You and I can keep each other’s secrets. There is some trouble brewing¹⁶ about here, though I have not got to the bottom of it as yet. Old Dale’s cubs¹⁷ had

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