Geoffery was unremitting in his attentions, and his father seemed as assiduous in his court to the fierce Crusader, who listened intently to some private intelligence which the dean was evidently much interested in communicating.  The following were the only words that could be distinguished at the dismissal of the courteous De Whalley, as he retired a few paces ere he departed:—­

“To-morrow be it,” said Fitz-Eustace, “after matins, and we will hear thee further in this matter:  let him then be conveyed to our presence.”

The dean retired, but at dawn he was again present in the chantry of St Michael, within the castle.

Fierce came the beams of the morning sun through the eastern oriel of the hall, and the guards and retainers of this feudal fortress were waiting the appearance of their lord.  Lounging idly at the great entrance were those more immediately in attendance on their chief, some playing at merelles, or nine-men’s morris; others tilting with mimic arms, and twanging the bowstring.  The pikemen were drawn up in the courtyard, awaiting orders from their superior.  Their glittering weapons flung back the morning light in sharp flashes to the sky; while on the tower the dark pennon hung motionless and drooping in the sultry air.

The news of his arrival had drawn hither not a few of the surrounding peasantry to gaze upon the pomp and to pay homage at the court of their feudal lord; and a crowd of idlers was accumulating beneath the walls of the fortress.

The breakfast meal being over, the baron entered through a side door behind a rude bench, overhung with faded drapery, which formed an elevation for the chief.  His cheek was scorched and darkened with the burning suns of Palestine, while his beard seemed to have been whitened in that fiery clime.  He was now habited in a rich purple cope or gown, fitting close, without sleeves or armholes, and embellished with a deep gold-coloured border, the Anglo-Saxon mantle being now discarded by persons of distinction.  The tunic underneath was of scarlet, bordered with real ermine, which, together with the low square cap or coronet that he wore, gave him something of a regal appearance.  A leash of hounds crouched at his feet.  Before and below him the heralds and officers of the household arranged themselves, amongst whom Adam de Dutton was conspicuous by his ludicrously-solemn attitude and appearance.  The whole scene had the aspect of a military tribunal, especially when Roger de Lacy (by which name we shall now distinguish him) ordered that silence should be proclaimed, and that the Dean of Whalley should be summoned to his presence.

Robert de Whalley immediately presented himself, with arms folded, and an air of great ceremony in his behaviour.

“Thou hast been prompt to our bidding; the lark, I trow, had but newly risen from her bed ere thou wast away from thine,” said the baron.

“Three weary miles through this grim forest is good speed ere matins; but I knew the occasion was urgent, and my lord’s commands admit not of delay.  The palfrey which you so pleasantly noted yestereen is the sole companion of my pilgrimages to and fro for the good of this noble house.  I did offer prayers for the soul of the deceased ere matins this morning, in the chapel.”