As they descended the steps their eyes fell upon the figure of a tall man clad in a pilgrim’s cape, hood and low-crowned hat, of which the front was bent upwards and laced, who carried in his hand a palmer’s staff, and about his waist the scrip and water-bottle.

“What do you seek, holy palmer?” asked Godwin, coming towards him.  “A night’s lodging in my uncle’s house?”

The man bowed; then, fixing on him a pair of beadlike brown eyes, which reminded Godwin of some he had seen, he knew not when or where, answered in the humble voice affected by his class: 

“Even so, most noble knight.  Shelter for man and beast, for my mule is held without.  Also—­a word with the lord, Sir Andrew D’Arcy, for whom I have a message.”

“A mule?” said Wulf.  “I thought that palmers always went afoot?”

“True, Sir Knight; but, as it chances, I have baggage.  Nay, not my own, whose earthly gear is all upon my back—­but a chest, that contains I know not what, which I am charged to deliver to Sir Andrew D’Arcy, the owner of this hall, or should he be dead, then to the lady Rosamund, his daughter.”

“Charged?  By whom?” asked Wulf.

“That, sir,” said the palmer, bowing, “I will tell to Sir Andrew, who, I understand, still lives.  Have I your leave to bring in the chest, and if so, will one of your servants help me, for it is heavy?”

“We will help you,” said Godwin.  And they went with him into the courtyard, where by the scant light of the stars they saw a fine mule in charge of one of the serving men, and bound upon its back a long-shaped package sewn over with sacking.  This the palmer unloosed, and taking one end, while Wulf, after bidding the man stable the mule, took the other, they bore it into the hall, Godwin going before them to summon his uncle.  Presently he came and the palmer bowed to him.

“What is your name, palmer, and whence is this box?” asked the old knight, looking at him keenly.

“My name, Sir Andrew, is Nicholas of Salisbury, and as to who sent me, with your leave I will whisper in your ear.”  And, leaning forward, he did so.

Sir Andrew heard and staggered back as though a dart had pierced him.

“What?” he said.  “Are you, a holy palmer, the messenger of—­” and he stopped suddenly.

“I was his prisoner,” answered the man, “and he—­who at least ever keeps his word—­gave me my life—­for I had been condemned to die—­at the price that I brought this to you, and took back your answer, or hers, which I have sworn to do.”

“Answer?  To what?”

“Nay, I know nothing save that there is a writing in the chest.  Its purport I am not told, who am but a messenger bound by oath to do certain things.  Open the chest, lord, and meanwhile, if you have food, I have travelled far and fast.”

Sir Andrew went to a door, and called to his men-servants, whom he bade give meat to the palmer and stay with him while he ate.  Then he told Godwin and Wulf to lift the box and bring it to the solar, and with it hammer and chisel, in case they should be needed, which they did, setting it upon the oaken table.