Bambro’ started in his chair. What could the fierce leader of the Bretons, a man who was red to the elbow with English blood, have to say to them? On what errand had he left his castle of Josselin to pay this visit to his deadly enemies?
“Are they armed?” he asked.
“They are unarmed.”
“Then admit them and bring them hither, but double the guards and take all heed against surprise.”
Places were set at the farther end of the table for these most unexpected guests. Presently the door was swung open, and Croquart, with all form and courtesy, announced the two Bretons, who entered with the proud and lofty air of gallant warriors and high-bred gentlemen.
Beaumanoir was a tall, dark man with raven hair and long, swarthy beard. He was strong and straight as a young oak, with fiery black eyes, and no flaw in his comely features, save that his front teeth had been dashed from their sockets. His squire, William of Montaubon, was also tall, with a thin, hatchet face, and two small gray eyes set very close upon either side of a long, fierce nose. In Beaumanoir’s expression one read only gallantry and frankness; in Montaubon’s there was gallantry also, but it was mixed with the cruelty and cunning of the wolf. They bowed as they entered, and the little English seneschal advanced with outstretched hand to meet them.
“Welcome, Robert, so long as you are beneath this roof,” said he. “Perhaps the time may come in another place when we may speak to each other in another fashion.”
“So I hope, Richard,” said Beaumanoir; “but, indeed, we of Josselin bear you in high esteem, and are much beholden to you and to your men for all that you have done for us. We could not wish better neighbours, nor any from whom more honour is to be gained. I learn that Sir Robert Knolles and others have joined you, and we are heavy hearted to think that the orders of our kings should debar us from attempting a venture.”
He and his squire sat down at the places set for them, and, filling their glasses, drank to the company.
“What you say is true, Robert,” said Bambro’, “and before you came we were discussing the matter among ourselves, and grieving that it should be so. When heard you of the truce?”
“Yester evening a messenger rode from Nantes.”
“Our news came tonight from Hennebon. The king’s own seal was on the order. So I fear that for a year, at least, you will bide at Josselin and we at Ploermel, and kill time as we may. Perchance we may hunt the wolf together in the great forest, or fly our hawks on the banks of the Duc.”
“Doubtless we shall do all this, Richard,” said Beaumanoir; “but by Saint Cadoc it is in my mind that, with goodwill upon both sides, we may please ourselves, and yet stand excused before our kings.”
Knights and squires leaned forward in their chairs, their eager eyes fixed upon him. He broke into a gap-toothed smile as he looked round at the circle, the wizened seneschal, the blond giant, Nigel’s fresh young face, the grim features of Knolles, and the yellow, hawk-like Calverly, all burning with the same desire.
“I see that I need not doubt the goodwill,” said he, “and of that I was very certain before I came upon this errand. Bethink you, then, that this order applies to war but not to challenges, spear-runnings, knightly exchanges, or the like. King Edward is too good a knight, and so is King John, that either of them should stand in the way of a gentleman who desires to advance himself, or to venture his body for the exaltation of his lady. Is this not so?”
A murmur of eager assent rose from the table.
“If you, as the garrison of Ploermel, march upon the garrison of Josselin, then it is very plain that we have broken the truce, and upon our heads be it. But if there be a private bickering betwixt me, for example, and this young squire whose eyes show that he is very eager for honour, and if, thereafter, others on each side join in and fight upon the quarrel, it is in no sense war, but rather our own private business which no king can alter.”
“Indeed, Robert,” said Bambro’, “all that you say is very good and fair.”
Beaumanoir leaned forward toward Nigel, his brimming glass in his hand.
“Your name, squire?” said he.
“My name is Nigel Loring.”
“I see that you are young and eager, so I choose you, as I would fain have been chosen when I was of your age.”
“I thank you, fair sir,” said Nigel. “It is great honour that one so famous as yourself should condescend to do some small deed upon me.”
“But we must have cause for quarrel, Nigel. Now, here I drink to the ladies of Brittany, who, of all ladies upon this earth, are the most fair and the most virtuous, so that the least worthy amongst them is far above the best of England. What say you to that, young sir?”
Nigel dipped his finger in his glass, and, leaning over, he placed its wet impress on the Breton’s hand.
“This in your face!” said he.
Beaumanoir swept off the red drop of moisture and smiled his approval.
“It could not have been better done,” said he. “Why spoil my velvet paltock, as many a hotheaded fool would have done. It is in my mind, young sir, that you will go far. And now, who follows up this quarrel?”
A growl ran round the table.
Beaumanoir ran his eye round and shook his head.
“Alas!” said he, “there are but twenty of you here, and I have thirty at Josselin who are so eager to advance themselves that, if I return without hope for all of them, there will be sore hearts amongst them. I pray you, Richard, since we have been at these pains to arrange matters, that you in
