De Lacy laughed shortly.  “Mercy is but relative, and methinks, you ecclesiastics are no slower in your judgments than are we.  The punishments differ only in kind.”

“But our discipline is a step toward Holiness and Christ, my son.”

“And ours a leap toward Sin and Satan, think you?  Nathless, am I quite as willing to take my chance of Heaven in a coat of mail as in the priestly gown.”

The Abbot’s eyes snapped with irritation, but his speech was easy and pacific.  “You are young, my son; perchance, when you have more grey hairs there will be a change in your views.  Meanwhile you and Sir Ralph need refreshment, to say naught of the good squires and the horses.”

De Lacy hesitated.  They had already tarried overlong, under the circumstances, but perchance Raynor Royk had not yet completed his scrutiny of the Abbey.  There was need that this should be thoroughly done, yet so carefully, withal, as not to arouse suspicion.  If Aldam were to imagine he and his were mistrusted it would make him an enemy if innocent, and a doubly armed foe if guilty.  The doubt, however, was solved by the entrance of a strange horseman into the courtyard.  A faint frown crossed the Abbot’s face as he saw him, and De Lacy instantly decided to remain.  Evidently the newcomer was either unwelcome or inopportune; and if it were because of their presence, then undoubtedly here was their place.

“We will accept with thanks, your reverence,” he said.

Aldam smiled suavely; then went forward to greet the new guest.

“It is Sir Christopher Urswicke—­the priest Knight—­the confessor of Margaret of Richmond,” De Wilton whispered.

“A bit far out of his demesne, methinks,” De Lacy muttered.

“Aye! too far to be passed over without report to His Majesty.  Where Urswicke goes his mistress sends him—­and lately she has but one object in life:  to make her son the King of England.”

“And like enough will succeed only in making him shorter by a head,” De Lacy responded.

Meanwhile Urswicke had greeted the Abbot and dismounting had turned his horse over to his two attendants—­who were neither squires nor yet ordinary servants, and who doubtless could either fight or pray as occasion demanded.  Their dress partook of the style of their master, who wore the ordinary riding costume of a Knight, even to the golden spurs; the only marks of his clerical calling being his short cropped hair and the string of beads about his neck with the pendant crucifix.  His frame was angular and above the ordinary height.  His face was long and narrow, with a hawk-like nose, pointed chin, thin, straight lips, prominent cheek bones and deep-set grey eyes that glittered and chilled like those of a snake.  He swept the others from helm to spur with a single glance, and Aymer saw his eyes fasten for an instant on the Ring of the Boar.

But if Urswicke’s countenance were forbidding, not so was his voice.  Its clear, sweet tones were in such sharp contrast to the fell face that De Lacy was startled into showing his surprise.  And the priest noticed it, as he had many times before in others, and smiled in indifferent contempt.