The porter was drowsing on his bench within the lodge, but at the knock he roused himself and, opening the wicket, came hobbling forth and greeted the Knight, while a tame starling that hung in a wicker cage within piped out, “In coelo quies!  In coelo quies!” such being the words that the poor old lame porter had taught him to speak.

“Where is thy prior?” asked the Knight of the old porter.

“He is at meat, good knight, and he looketh for thy coming,” quoth the porter, “for, if I mistake not, thou art Sir Richard of the Lea.”

“I am Sir Richard of the Lea; then I will go seek him forthwith,” said the Knight.

“But shall I not send thy horse to stable?” said the porter.  “By Our Lady, it is the noblest nag, and the best harnessed, that e’er I saw in all my life before.”  And he stroked the horse’s flank with his palm.

“Nay,” quoth Sir Richard, “the stables of this place are not for me, so make way, I prythee.”  So saying, he pushed forward, and, the gates being opened, he entered the stony courtyard of the Priory, his men behind him.  In they came with rattle of steel and clashing of swords, and ring of horses’ feet on cobblestones, whereat a flock of pigeons that strutted in the sun flew with flapping wings to the high eaves of the round towers.

While the Knight was riding along the causeway to Emmet, a merry feast was toward in the refectory there.  The afternoon sun streamed in through the great arched windows and lay in broad squares of light upon the stone floor and across the board covered with a snowy linen cloth, whereon was spread a princely feast.  At the head of the table sat Prior Vincent of Emmet all clad in soft robes of fine cloth and silk; on his head was a black velvet cap picked out with gold, and around his neck hung a heavy chain of gold, with a great locket pendant therefrom.  Beside him, on the arm of his great chair, roosted his favorite falcon, for the Prior was fond of the gentle craft of hawking.  On his right hand sat the Sheriff of Nottingham in rich robes of purple all trimmed about with fur, and on his left a famous doctor of law in dark and sober garb.  Below these sat the high cellarer of Emmet, and others chief among the brethren.

Jest and laughter passed around, and all was as merry as merry could be.  The wizened face of the man of law was twisted into a wrinkled smile, for in his pouch were fourscore golden angels that the Prior had paid him in fee for the case betwixt him and Sir Richard of the Lea.  The learned doctor had been paid beforehand, for he had not overmuch trust in the holy Vincent of Emmet.

Quoth the Sheriff of Nottingham, “But art thou sure, Sir Prior, that thou hast the lands so safe?”

“Ay, marry,” said Prior Vincent, smacking his lips after a deep draught of wine, “I have kept a close watch upon him, albeit he was unawares of the same, and I know right well that he hath no money to pay me withal.”