Had it been my own sorry nag I should long since have been by the heels.
Once clear of the wood I suddenly sighted Oxford towers to my left, and found myself on the road by which I had passed but an hour ago with the angry Welshman.

I had forgotten him, and 'twas well for him that I had.
I had no mind to put myself again within reach of his worship, the Mayor of Oxford, and his merry men; so I tugged my right rein and kept my horse's head turned to the wooded hills northward.

There, thought I, I can at least find time to draw breath and determine what must be done next.

To the forest I sped, then, marvelling at the pace of my brave horse, and wondering if the Bishop's man was yet on the road at my heels.
On the steeper ground my horse slackened a bit, but I urged him forward till we were deep in the wood, with a choice of four or five paths, any of which led, heaven knows where.

Here I let him stand and get his wind, while I turned over in my mind what should be my best course.
While I was debating, to my surprise, my horse pricked up his ears and gave a loud neigh, which was answered from no great distance by another.
At first I supposed his companions had followed us, or that our pursuers were nearer than I reckoned for.