Part 12 (1/2)
”A proper distance--we can taste the good monks' hospitality and still make Craigston before night. Is this the Aire I see s.h.i.+ning 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 b.u.t.tery yonder, while I conduct your wors.h.i.+p 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 antic.i.p.ated 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 Yorks.h.i.+re 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.
De Lacy laughed. ”Never fear--I shall be there--Deo volente.”
”You have learned the Christian virtue of humility, at all events,”