Sir Nigel

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  V. HOW NIGEL WAS TRIED BY THE ABBOT OF WAVERLEY

  The law of the Middle Ages, shrouded as it was in old Norman-Frenchdialect, and abounding in uncouth and incomprehensible terms, indeodands and heriots, in infang and outfang, was a fearsome weapon inthe hands of those who knew how to use it. It was not for nothing thatthe first act of the rebel commoners was to hew off the head of theLord Chancellor. In an age when few knew how to read or to write, thesemystic phrases and intricate forms, with the parchments and seals whichwere their outward expression, struck cold terror into hearts which weresteeled against mere physical danger.

  Even young Nigel Loring's blithe and elastic spirit was chilled ashe lay that night in the penal cell of Waverley and pondered over theabsolute ruin which threatened his house from a source against which allhis courage was of no avail. As well take up sword and shield to defendhimself against the black death, as against this blight of Holy Church.He was powerless in the grip of the Abbey. Already they had shorn offa field here and a grove there, and now in one sweep they would take inthe rest, and where then was the home of the Lorings, and where shouldLady Ermyntrude lay her aged head, or his old retainers, broken andspent, eke out the balance of their days? He shivered as he thought ofit.

  It was very well for him to threaten to carry the matter before theKing, but it was years since royal Edward had heard the name of Loring,and Nigel knew that the memory of princes was a short one. Besides, theChurch was the ruling power in the palace as well as in the cottage, andit was only for very good cause that a King could be expected to crossthe purposes of so high a prelate as the Abbot of Waverley, as long asthey came within the scope of the law. Where then was he to look forhelp? With the simple and practical piety of the age, he prayed for theaid of his own particular saints: of Saint Paul, whose adventures byland and sea had always endeared him; of Saint George, who had gainedmuch honorable advancement from the Dragon; and of Saint Thomas, whowas a gentleman of coat-armor, who would understand and help a person ofgentle blood. Then, much comforted by his naive orisons he enjoyed thesleep of youth and health until the entrance of the lay brother with thebread and small beer, which served as breakfast, in the morning.

  The Abbey court sat in the chapter-house at the canonical hour oftierce, which was nine in the forenoon. At all times the function wasa solemn one, even when the culprit might be a villain who was takenpoaching on the Abbey estate, or a chapman who had given false measurefrom his biased scales. But now, when a man of noble birth was to betried, the whole legal and ecclesiastical ceremony was carried out withevery detail, grotesque or impressive, which the full ritual prescribed.The distant roll of church music and the slow tolling of the Abbey bell;the white-robed brethren, two and two, walked thrice round the hallsinging the "Benedicite" and the "Veni, Creator" before they settled intheir places at the desks on either side. Then in turn each high officerof the Abbey from below upward, the almoner, the lector, the chaplain,the subprior and the prior, swept to their wonted places.

  Finally there came the grim sacrist, with demure triumph upon hisdowncast features, and at his heels Abbot John himself, slow anddignified, with pompous walk and solemn, composed face, his iron-beadedrosary swinging from his waist, his breviary in his hand, and his lipsmuttering as he hurried through his office for the day. He knelt at hishigh prie-dieu; the brethren, at a signal from the prior, prostratedthemselves upon the floor, and the low deep voices rolled in prayer,echoed back from the arched and vaulted roof like the wash of waves froman ocean cavern. Finally the monks resumed their seats; there enteredclerks in seemly black with pens and parchment; the red-velvetedsummoner appeared to tell his tale; Nigel was led in with archerspressing close around him; and then, with much calling of old French andmuch legal incantation and mystery, the court of the Abbey was open forbusiness.

  It was the sacrist who first advanced to the oaken desk reserved for thewitnesses and expounded in hard, dry, mechanical fashion the many claimswhich the House, of Waverley had against the family of Loring. Somegenerations back in return for money advanced or for spiritual favorreceived the Loring of the day had admitted that his estate had certainfeudal duties toward the Abbey. The sacrist held up the crackling yellowparchment with swinging leaden seals on which the claim was based. Amidthe obligations was that of escuage, by which the price of a knight'sfee should be paid every year. No such price had been paid, nor had anyservice been done. The accumulated years came now to a greater sum thanthe fee simple of the estate. There were other claims also. The sacristcalled for his books, and with thin, eager forefinger he tracked themdown: dues for this, and tailage for that, so many shillings this year,and so many marks that one. Some of it occurred before Nigel was born;some of it when he was but a child. The accounts had been checked andcertified by the sergeant of the law.

  Nigel listened to the dread recital, and felt like some young stag whostands at bay with brave pose and heart of fire, but who sees himselfcompassed round and knows clearly that there is no escape. With his boldyoung face, his steady blue eyes, and the proud poise of his head, hewas a worthy scion of the old house, and the sun, shining through thehigh oriel window, and showing up the stained and threadbare conditionof his once rich doublet, seemed to illuminate the fallen fortunes ofhis family.

  The sacrist had finished his exposition, and the sergeant-at-law wasabout to conclude a case which Nigel could in no way controvert, whenhelp came to him from an unexpected quarter. It may have been a certainmalignity with which the sacrist urged his suit, it may have been adiplomatic dislike to driving matters to extremes, or it may have beensome genuine impulse of kindliness, for Abbot John was choleric buteasily appeased. Whatever the cause, the result was that a white plumphand, raised in the air with a gesture of authority, showed that thecase was at an end.

  "Our brother sacrist hath done his duty in urging this suit," said he,"for the worldly wealth of this Abbey is placed in his pious keeping,and it is to him that we should look if we suffered in such ways, for weare but the trustees of those who come after us. But to my keeping hasbeen consigned that which is more precious still, the inner spirit andhigh repute of those who follow the rule of Saint Bernard. Now it hasever been our endeavor, since first our saintly founder went down intothe valley of Clairvaux and built himself a cell there, that we shouldset an example to all men in gentleness and humility. For this reasonit is that we built our houses in lowly places, that we have no tower toour Abbey churches, and that no finery and no metal, save only iron orlead, come within our walls. A brother shall eat from a wooden platter,drink from an iron cup, and light himself from a leaden sconce. Surelyit is not for such an order who await the exaltation which is promisedto the humble, to judge their own case and so acquire the lands of theirneighbor! If our cause be just, as indeed I believe that it is, then itwere better that it be judged at the King's assizes at Guildford, and soI decree that the case be now dismissed from the Abbey court so that itcan be heard elsewhere."

  Nigel breathed a prayer to the three sturdy saints who had stood by himso manfully and well in the hour of his need. "Abbot John," said he, "Inever thought that any man of my name would utter thanks to a Cistercianof Waverley; but by Saint Paul! you have spoken like a man this day, forit would indeed be to play with cogged dice if the Abbey's case is to betried in the Abbey court."

  The eighty white-clad brethren looked with half resentful, half amusedeyes as they listened to this frank address to one who, in their smalllives, seemed to be the direct vice-regent of Heaven. The archers hadstood back from Nigel, as though he was at liberty to go, when the loudvoice of the summoner broke in upon the silence--

  "If it please you, holy father Abbot," cried the voice, "this decisionof yours is indeed secundum legem and intra vires so far as the civilsuit is concerned which lies between this person and the Abbey. That isyour affair; but it is I, Joseph the summoner, who have been grievouslyand criminally mishandled, my writs, papers and indentures destroyed,my authority flouted, and my person dragged through a bog,
quagmire ormorass, so that my velvet gabardine and silver badge of office werelost and are, as I verily believe, in the morass, quagmire or bogaforementioned, which is the same bog, morass--"

  "Enough!" cried the Abbot sternly. "Lay aside this foolish fashion ofspeech and say straitly what you desire."

  "Holy father, I have been the officer of the King's law no less than theservant of Holy Church, and I have been let, hindered and assaulted inthe performance of my lawful and proper duties, whilst my papers, drawnin the King's name, have been shended and rended and cast to the wind.Therefore, I demand justice upon this man in the Abbey court, thesaid assault having been committed within the banlieue of the Abbey'sjurisdiction."

  "What have you to say to this, brother sacrist?" asked the Abbot in someperplexity.

  "I would say, father, that it is within our power to deal gently andcharitably with all that concerns ourselves, but that where a the King'sofficer is concerned we are wanting in our duty if we give him less thanthe protection that he demands. I would remind you also, holy father,that this is not the first of this man's violence, but that he hasbefore now beaten our servants, defied our authority, and put pike inthe Abbot's own fish-pond."

  The prelate's heavy cheeks flushed with anger as this old grievance camefresh into his mind. His eyes hardened as he looked at the prisoner."Tell me, Squire Nigel, did you indeed put pike in the pond?"

  The young man drew himself proudly up. "Ere I answer such a question,father Abbot, do you answer one from me, and tell me what the monks ofWaverley have ever done for me that I should hold my hand when I couldinjure them?"

  A low murmur ran round the room, partly wonder at his frankness, andpartly anger at his boldness.

  The Abbot settled down in his seat as one who has made up his mind. "Letthe case of the summoner be laid before me," said he. "Justice shall bedone, and the offender shall be punished, be he noble or simple. Let theplaint be brought before the court."

  The tale of the summoner, though rambling and filled with endless legalreiteration, was only too clear in its essence. Red Swire, with hisangry face framed in white bristles, was led in, and confessed to hisill treatment of the official. A second culprit, a little wiry nut-brownarcher from Churt, had aided and abetted in the deed. Both of them wereready to declare that young Squire Nigel Loring knew nothing of thematter. But then there was the awkward incident of the tearing of thewrits. Nigel, to whom a lie was an impossibility, had to admit that withhis own hands he had shredded those august documents. As to an excuse oran explanation, he was too proud to advance any. A cloud gathered overthe brow of the Abbot, and the sacrist gazed with an ironical smile atthe prisoner, while a solemn hush fell over the chapter-house as thecase ended and only, judgment remained.

  "Squire Nigel," said the Abbot, "it was for you, who are, as all menknow, of ancient lineage in this land, to give a fair example by whichothers should set their conduct. Instead of this, your manor house hasever been a center for the stirring up of strife, and now not contentwith your harsh showing toward us, the Cistercian monks of Waverley,you have even marked your contempt for the King's law, and through yourservants have mishandled the person of his messenger. For such offensesit is in my power to call the spiritual terrors of the Church upon yourhead, and yet I would not be harsh with you, seeing that you are young,and that even last week you saved the life of a servant of the Abbeywhen in peril. Therefore, it is by temporal and carnal means that Iwill use my power to tame your overbold spirit, and to chasten thatheadstrong and violent humor which has caused such scandal in yourdealings with our Abbey. Bread and water for six weeks from now to theFeast of Saint Benedict, with a daily exhortation from our chaplain,the pious Father Ambrose, may still avail to bend the stiff neck and tosoften the hard heart."

  At this ignominious sentence by which the proud heir of the house ofLoring would share the fate of the meanest village poacher, the hotblood of Nigel rushed to his face, and his eye glanced round him witha gleam which said more plainly than words that there could be no tameacceptance of such a doom. Twice he tried to speak, and twice his angerand his shame held the words in his throat.

  "I am no subject of yours, proud Abbot!" he cried at last. "My house hasever been vavasor to the King. I deny the power of you and your court tolay sentence upon me. Punish these your own monks, who whimper at yourfrown, but do not dare to lay your hand upon him who fears you not, forhe is a free man, and the peer of any save only the King himself."

  The Abbot seemed for an instant taken aback by these bold words, and bythe high and strenuous voice in which they were uttered. But the sternersacrist came as ever to stiffen his will. He held up the old parchmentin his hand.

  "The Lorings were indeed vavasors to the King," said he; "but here isthe very seal of Eustace Loring which shows that he made himself vassalto the Abbey and held his land from it."

  "Because he was gentle," cried Nigel, "because he had no thought oftrick or guile."

  "Nay!" said the summoner. "If my voice may be heard, father Abbot, upona point of the law, it is of no weight what the causes may have been whya deed is subscribed, signed or confirmed, but a court is concerned onlywith the terms, articles, covenants and contracts of the said deed."

  "Besides," said the sacrist, "sentence is passed by the Abbey court, andthere is an end of its honor and good name if it be not upheld."

  "Brother sacrist," said the Abbot angrily, "methinks you show overmuchzeal in this case, and certes, we are well able to uphold the dignityand honor of the Abbey court without any rede of thine. As to you,worthy summoner, you will give your opinion when we crave for it, andnot before, or you may yourself get some touch of the power of ourtribunal. But your case hath been tried, Squire Loring, and judgmentgiven. I have no more to say."

  He motioned with his hand, and an archer laid his grip upon the shoulderof the prisoner. But that rough plebeian touch woke every passion ofrevolt in Nigel's spirit. Of all his high line of ancestors, was thereone who had been subjected to such ignominy as this? Would they not havepreferred death? And should he be the first to lower their spirit ortheir traditions? With a quick, lithe movement, he slipped under the armof the archer, and plucked the short, straight sword from the soldier'sside as he did so. The next instant he had wedged himself into therecess of one of the narrow windows, and there were his pale set face,his burning eyes, and his ready blade turned upon the assembly.

  "By Saint Paul!" said he, "I never thought to find honorable advancementunder the roof of an abbey, but perchance there may, be some room for itere you hale me to your prison."

  The chapter-house was in an uproar. Never in the long and decoroushistory of the Abbey had such a scene been witnessed within its walls.The monks themselves seemed for an instant to be infected by this spiritof daring revolt. Their own lifelong fetters hung more loosely as theyviewed this unheard-of defiance of authority. They broke from theirseats on either side and huddled half-scared, half-fascinated, in alarge half-circle round the defiant captive, chattering, pointing,grimacing, a scandal for all time. Scourges should fall and penance bedone for many a long week before the shadow of that day should pass fromWaverley. But meanwhile there was no effort to bring them back to theirrule. Everything was chaos and disorder. The Abbot had left his seat ofjustice and hurried angrily forward, to be engulfed and hustled in thecrowd of his own monks like a sheep-dog who finds himself entangled amida flock.

  Only the sacrist stood clear. He had taken shelter behind the half-dozenarchers, who looked with some approval and a good deal of indecision atthis bold fugitive from justice.

  "On him!" cried the sacrist. "Shall he defy the authority of the court,or shall one man hold six of you at bay? Close in upon him and seizehim. You, Baddlesmere, why do you hold back?"

  The man in question, a tall bushy-bearded fellow, clad like the othersin green jerkin and breeches with high brown boots, advanced slowly,sword in hand, against Nigel. His heart was not in the business, forthese clerical courts were not popular, and everyone ha
d a tender heartfor the fallen fortunes of the house of Loring and wished well to itsyoung heir.

  "Come, young sir, you have caused scathe enough," said he. "Stand forthand give yourself up!"

  "Come and fetch me, good fellow," said Nigel, with a dangerous smile.

  The archer ran in. There was a rasp of steel, a blade flickered like aswift dart of flame, and the man staggered back, with blood running downhis forearm and dripping from his fingers. He wrung them and growled aSaxon oath.

  "By the black rood of Bromeholm!" he cried, "I had as soon put my handdown a fox's earth to drag up a vixen from her cubs."

  "Standoff!" said Nigel curtly. "I would not hurt you; but by Saint Paul!I will not be handled, or some one will be hurt in the handling."

  So fierce was his eye and so menacing his blade as he crouched in thenarrow bay of the window that the little knot of archers were at a losswhat to do. The Abbot had forced his way through the crowd and stood,purple with outraged dignity, at their side.

  "He is outside the law," said he. "He hath shed blood in a court ofjustice, and for such a sin there is no forgiveness. I will not have mycourt so flouted and set at naught. He who draws the sword, by the swordalso let him perish. Forester Hugh lay a shaft to your bow!"

  The man, who was one of the Abbey's lay servants, put his weight uponhis long bow and slipped the loose end of the string into the uppernotch. Then, drawing one of the terrible three-foot arrows, steel-tippedand gaudily winged, from his waist, he laid it to the string.

  "Now draw your bow and hold it ready!" cried the furious Abbot. "SquireNigel, it is not for Holy Church to shed blood, but there is naught butviolence which will prevail against the violent, and on your head be thesin. Cast down the sword which you hold in your hand!"

  "Will you give me freedom to leave your Abbey?"

  "When you have abided your sentence and purged your sin."

  "Then I had rather die where I stand than give up my sword."

  A dangerous flame lit in the Abbot's eyes. He came of a fighting Normanstock, like so many of those fierce prelates who, bearing a mace lestthey should be guilty of effusion of blood, led their troops intobattle, ever remembering that it was one of their own cloth and dignitywho, crosier in hand, had turned the long-drawn bloody day of Hastings.The soft accent of the churchman was gone and it was the hard voice of asoldier which said--

  "One minute I give you, and no more. Then when I cry 'Loose!' drive mean arrow through his body."

  The shaft was fitted, the bow was bent, and the stern eyes of thewoodman were fixed on his mark. Slowly the minute passed, while Nigelbreathed a prayer to his three soldier saints, not that they should savehis body in this life, but that they should have a kindly care for hissoul in the next. Some thought of a fierce wildcat sally crossed hismind, but once out of his corner he was lost indeed. Yet at the lasthe would have rushed among his enemies, and his body was bent for thespring, when with a deep sonorous hum, like a breaking harp-string,the cord of the bow was cloven in twain, and the arrow tinkled upon thetiled floor. At the same moment a young curly-headed bowman, whose broadshoulders and deep chest told of immense strength, as clearly ashis frank, laughing face and honest hazel eyes did of good humor andcourage, sprang forward sword in hand and took his place by Nigel'sside.

  "Nay, comrades!" said he. "Samkin Aylward cannot stand by and see agallant man shot down like a bull at the end of a baiting. Fiveagainst one is long odds; but two against four is better, and by myfinger-bones! Squire Nigel and I leave this room together, be it on ourfeet or no."

  The formidable appearance of this ally and his high reputation amonghis fellows gave a further chill to the lukewarm ardor of the attack.Aylward's left arm was passed through his strung bow, and he was knownfrom Woolmer Forest to the Weald as the quickest, surest archer thatever dropped a running deer at tenscore paces.

  "Nay, Baddlesmere, hold your fingers from your string-case, or I maychance to give your drawing hand a two months' rest," said Aylward."Swords, if you will, comrades, but no man strings his bow till I haveloosed mine."

  Yet the angry hearts of both Abbot and sacrist rose higher with a freshobstacle.

  "This is an ill day for your father, Franklin Aylward, who holds thetenancy of Crooksbury," said the sacrist. "He will rue it that ever hebegot a son who will lose him his acres and his steading."

  "My father is a bold yeoman, and would rue it evermore that ever his sonshould stand by while foul work was afoot," said Aylward stoutly. "Fallon, comrades! We are waiting."

  Encouraged by promises of reward if they should fall in the service ofthe Abbey, and by threats of penalties if they should hold back, thefour archers were about to close, when a singular interruption gave anentirely new turn to the proceedings.

  At the door of the chapter-house, while these fiery doings had beenafoot, there had assembled a mixed crowd of lay brothers, servants andvarlets who had watched the development of the drama with the interestand delight with which men hail a sudden break in a dull routine.Suddenly there was an agitation at the back of this group, then a swirlin the center, and finally the front rank was violently thrust aside,and through the gap there emerged a strange and whimsical figure, whofrom the instant of his appearance dominated both chapter-house andAbbey, monks, prelates and archers, as if he were their owner and theirmaster.

  He was a man somewhat above middle age, with thin lemon-colored hair, acurling mustache, a tufted chin of the same hue, and a high craggy face,all running to a great hook of the nose, like the beak of an eagle. Hisskin was tanned a brown-red by much exposure to the wind and sun. Inheight he was tall, and his figure was thin and loose-jointed, butstringy and hard-bitten. One eye was entirely covered by its lid, whichlay flat over an empty socket, but the other danced and sparkled with amost roguish light, darting here and there with a twinkle of humor andcriticism and intelligence, the whole fire of his soul bursting throughthat one narrow cranny.

  His dress was as noteworthy as his person. A rich purple doublet andcloak was marked on the lapels with a strange scarlet device shaped likea wedge. Costly lace hung round his shoulders, and amid its soft foldsthere smoldered the dull red of a heavy golden chain. A knight's beltat his waist and a knight's golden spurs twinkling from his doeskinriding-boots proclaimed his rank, and on the wrist of his left gauntletthere sat a demure little hooded falcon of a breed which in itself was amark of the dignity of the owner. Of weapons he had none, but a mandolinwas slung by a black silken band over his back, and the high brownend projected above his shoulder. Such was the man, quaint, critical,masterful, with a touch of what is formidable behind it, who nowsurveyed the opposing groups of armed men and angry monks with an eyewhich commanded their attention.

  "Excusez!" said he, in a lisping French. "Excusez, mes amis! I hadthought to arouse from prayer or meditation, but never have I seensuch a holy exercise as this under an abbey's roof, with swords forbreviaries and archers for acolytes. I fear that I have come amiss, andyet I ride on an errand from one who permits no delay."

  The Abbot, and possibly the sacrist also, had begun to realize thatevents had gone a great deal farther than they had intended, and thatwithout an extreme scandal it was no easy matter for them to savetheir dignity and the good name of Waverley. Therefore, in spite ofthe debonair, not to say disrespectful, bearing of the newcomer, theyrejoiced at his appearance and intervention.

  "I am the Abbot of Waverley, fair son," said the prelate. "If yourmessage deal with a public matter it may be fitly repeated in thechapter-house; if not I will give you audience in my own chamber; forit is clear to me that you are a gentle man of blood and coat-armor whowould not lightly break in upon the business of our court--a businesswhich, as you have remarked, is little welcome to men of peace likemyself and the brethren of the rule of Saint Bernard."

  "Pardieu! Father Abbot," said the stranger. "One had but to glance atyou and your men to see that the business was indeed little to yourtaste, and it may be even less so when I say that rather than see t
hisyoung person in the window, who hath a noble bearing, further molestedby these archers, I will myself adventure my person on his behalf."

  The Abbot's smile turned to a frown at these frank words. "It wouldbecome you better, sir, to deliver the message of which you say that youare the bearer, than to uphold a prisoner against the rightful judgmentof a court."

  The stranger swept the court with his questioning eye. "The message isnot for you, good father Abbot. It is for one whom I know not. I havebeen to his house, and they have sent me hither. The name is NigelLoring."

  "It is for me, fair sir."

  "I had thought as much. I knew your father, Eustace Loring, and thoughhe would have made two of you, yet he has left his stamp plain enoughupon your face."

  "You know not the truth of this matter," said the Abbot. "If you area loyal man, you will stand aside, for this young man hath grievouslyoffended against the law, and it is for the King's lieges to give ustheir support."

  "And you have haled him up for judgment," cried the stranger with muchamusement. "It is as though a rookery sat in judgment upon a falcon. Iwarrant that you have found it easier to judge than to punish. Let metell you, father Abbot, that this standeth not aright. When powers suchas these were given to the like of you, they were given that you mightcheck a brawling underling or correct a drunken woodman, and not thatyou might drag the best blood in England to your bar and set yourarchers on him if he questioned your findings."

  The Abbot was little used to hear such words of reproof uttered in sostern a voice under his own abbey roof and before his listening monks."You may perchance find that an Abbey court has more powers than youwot of, Sir Knight," said he, "if knight indeed you be who are souncourteous and short in your speech. Ere we go further, I would askyour name and style?"

  The stranger laughed. "It is easy to see that you are indeed men ofpeace," said he proudly. "Had I shown this sign," and he touched thetoken upon his lapels, "whether on shield or pennon, in the marches ofFrance or Scotland, there is not a cavalier but would have known the redpile of Chandos."

  Chandos, John Chandos, the flower of English chivalry, the pink ofknight-errantry, the hero already of fifty desperate enterprises, a manknown and honored from end to end of Europe! Nigel gazed at him asone who sees a vision. The archers stood back abashed, while the monkscrowded closer to stare at the famous soldier of the French wars. TheAbbot abated his tone, and a smile came to his angry face.

  "We are indeed men of peace, Sir John, and little skilled in warlikeblazonry," said he; "yet stout as are our Abbey walls, they are not sothick that the fame of your exploits has not passed through them andreached our ears. If it be your pleasure to take an interest in thisyoung and misguided Squire, it is not for us to thwart your kindintention or to withhold such grace as you request. I am glad indeedthat he hath one who can set him so fair an example for a friend."

  "I thank you for your courtesy, good father Abbot," said Chandoscarelessly. "This young Squire has, however, a better friend thanmyself, one who is kinder to those he loves and more terrible to thosehe hates. It is from him I bear a message."

  "I pray you, fair and honored sir," said Nigel, "that you will tell mewhat is the message that you bear."

  "The message, mon ami, is that your friend comes into these parts andwould have a night's lodging at the manor house of Tilford for the loveand respect that he bears your family."

  "Nay, he is most welcome," said Nigel, "and yet I hope that he is onewho can relish a soldier's fare and sleep under a humble roof, forindeed we can but give our best, poor as it is."

  "He is indeed a soldier and a good one," Chandos answered, laughing,"and I warrant he has slept in rougher quarters than TilfordManor-house."

  "I have few friends, fair sir," said Nigel, with a puzzled face. "I prayyou give me this gentleman's name."

  "His name is Edward."

  "Sir Edward Mortimer of Kent, perchance, or is it Sir Edward Brocas ofwhom the Lady Ermyntrude talks?"

  "Nay, he is known as Edward only, and if you ask a second name it isPlantagenet, for he who comes to seek the shelter of your roof is yourliege lord and mine, the King's high majesty, Edward of England."