Although he had just passed his thirtieth year, yet his fame was as wide as the domain of chivalry, and his name a thing to conjure with in England.  Born in an age when almost as children men of rank and station were called upon to take their sires’ place, Richard had been famed for his wisdom and statecraft before the years when the period of youth is now presumed to begin.  At the age of eighteen he had led the flower of the Yorkist army at the great battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury, and not the dauntless Edward himself, then in the heyday of his prowess, was more to be feared than the slight boy who swept with inconceivable fury through the Lancastrian line, carrying death on his lance-point and making the Boar of Gloucester forever famous in English heraldry.  And since then his hauberk had scarce been off his back, and while his royal brother was dallying in a life of indulgence amid the dissipations of his Court, the brave and resolute Richard was leading his armies, administering his governments, and preserving order on the Marches of the Border.

Presently there was a sharp knock on the door and a page entered.

“Well?” demanded the Duke abruptly.

“May it please you, my lord,” said the boy; “a messenger of importance who desires immediate audience.”

Richard frowned slightly.

“Whose badge does he wear?” he asked.

“No one’s, my lord, but the fashion of his armor savors of the Court.  He bade me announce him as Sir Aymer de Lacy.”

“The name, boy, is better recommendation than any fashion.  Admit him.”

De Lacy crossed to the center of the apartment with easy grace, and after a deep obeisance stood erect and silent facing the Duke, who eyed him critically.  A trifle over the average height and rather slender, and clad in complete mail except for the bascinet which he carried in his hand, there was something in his appearance and bearing that impressed even the warlike Richard.  His dark hair hung in curls to his gorget.  His hauberk of polished steel was but partially concealed by the jupon of azure silk emblazoned with a silver stag trippant; his cuissarts and greaves glistened in the firelight, and his long sollerets bore on their heels the golden spurs of his rank.  Around his waist was a broad belt wrought in gold, and from it, almost in front, hung a great two-handed sword whose point reached to within a few inches of the floor.

“You are welcome,” said Gloucester.  “A De Lacy should ever find a ready greeting at Pontefract.  Of what branch of the family are you?”

“One far removed from that which built this fortress, most noble Duke,” returned the Knight, with a peculiarly soft accent.  “My own ancestor was but distantly connected with the last great Earl of Lincoln whom the First Edward loved so well.”

“I do not recall your name among those who fought for either York or Lancaster.  Did your family wear the White Rose or the Red?”