For a space Sir Aymer rode alone at the head of the column without even
casting a glance behind or addressing a word to his squire. Presently
the road forked and turning half around in his saddle, he inquired:
"Which leads to Kirkstall Abbey?"
"The straightaway one, my lord; the other would carry you back to
Wakefield," said the elderly under-officer, whose hair, where it had
strayed from under his casquetel, was silvered, and across whose
weather-beaten face, from chin to temple, ran a bright red scar.
"The battlefield?"
"The same, sir."
"Ride beside me," said De Lacy. "Did you fight at Wakefield?"
"I did, fair sir--it was a bloody field."
"The Duke of York died that day."
"Aye, sir--I stood not ten feet from him when he fell. He was a brave
knight, and our own Gloucester much resembles him in countenance."
"You have seen many battles, my man?"
"Since the first St. Albans I have missed scarce one. It is a trade
that came into the family with my grandsire's sire."
"And do your children follow it, as well?"
"Not so, my lord. Raynor Royk has none to succeed him. And by your
leave it is small matter. In a few years there will be but scant work
for my calling in this land. England has seen her last warrior
King--unless------"
"Unless what?" said De Lacy.
The old retainer glanced shrewdly at his young leader; then answered
with apparent carelessness.
"Unless Richard of Gloucester should wear the crown."
De Lacy looked at him sharply.
"Small likelihood of that, my man," said he. "Edward left a goodly
family."
"In truth yes, my lord," was the answer. "Yet there would be more joy
among the soldiers in the North if Gloucester were our King."
Doubtless the speech merited rebuke,--it was over near to treason,--but
the man was honest in his devotion to the Duke, and likely meant no
particular disrespect to the young Edward. So De Lacy let it pass, but
straightway changed the subject.
"Do you know Craigston Castle?" he asked.
"Most thoroughly."
"Where is it?"
"On the North bank of the Wharfe, a short three leagues beyond
Kirkstall Abbey."
"And the Abbey?"
"Five leagues or more from Pontefract."
"A proper distance--we can taste the good monks' hospitality and still
make Craigston before night. Is this the Aire I see shining ahead?"
"The same; the ford is easy."
De Lacy nodded; and the veteran taking that as his dismissal drew back
and resumed his place in the column.
The nones bell had already sounded some little time when they drew rein
before the lodge of the great Cistercian Abbey. The gates were closed,
but the wicket was open and at it was the rotund face of the brother
who served as porter.
"Be so kind, worthy monk, as to say to your superior that a Knight and
his attendants crave refreshment ere they travel further," said De Lacy.
"Enter, fair lord," returned the porter, swinging back the gates. "Bid
your men repair to the buttery yonder, while I conduct your worship to
the holy father."
They found the Abbot pacing the gravel path between the cloister and
the church, with his chancellor at his side. His cowl was thrown back
and the white gown of his Order, which hung full to his feet, was
fastened close to the throat. His face was pale, and the well-cut
features and the small hands betokened his gentle birth. He was,
possibly, about fifty years of age, but his step and bearing were as
easy as De Lacy's own.
"_Benedicite_, my son," said he, as the Knight bent head to the
uplifted hand, "you are welcome, and just in time to join us at the
noonday meal."
"It was to ask refreshment for myself and my men that I halted, and
your reverence has in kindness anticipated me," said De Lacy.
The Abbot turned to the porter: "Brother James," he said, "see that all
are provided for and that the horses have a full allowance of
grain.--And now, there sounds the horn for us. Sir------"
"Aymer de Lacy," filled in the Knight.
"A goodly name, my son; and one dear to Yorkshire hereabouts, although,
now, near forgotten. Have you seen Pontefract?"
"I quit it but this morning."
"In sooth!" said the Abbot, with sudden interest. "And is His Grace of
Gloucester still in presence there?"
"He left shortly before I did."
"For London?"
"Nay, methinks I heard he rode to York," replied De Lacy, who had
learned enough on the Continent of the ways of churchmen not to tell
them all he knew.
"To York!" said the Abbot in some surprise. "How many men did he take
with him?"
"I was not present when the Duke departed and I did not see his
following," returned Aymer.
The Abbot's keen eyes tried to read behind the answer, but evidently
without success, for his next remark was: "I do not recall your face,
Sir Aymer, among the many Knights who have traversed these parts."
"Your memory is entirely trustworthy," said De Lacy. "I came from
France but lately, and have never seen this section until to-day."
"Fare you not to the coronation?"
"In truth, yes, your reverence; Deo volente."
"Then must you soon turn bridle; London lies to the South, my son,"
said the Abbot, with a smile.