“I forgot to tell you that Sir Andrew is disturbed in heart.  He looks into a crystal which he says he brought with him from the East, and swears he sees strange sights there, pictures of woe such as have not been since the beginning of the world.  Of this woe he preaches to the folk of Dunwich, warning them of judgment to come, and they listen affrighted because they know him to be a holy man who has a gift from God.  Yet he says that you and I, Eve, need fear nothing.  May it be so, Hugh.—­E.”

Now when he had thought awhile and hidden up Eve’s letter, Hugh turned to his father and asked him what were these sermons that Sir Andrew preached.

“I heard but one of them, son,” answered Master de Cressi, “though there have been three.  By the Holy Mother! it frightened me so much that I needed no more of that medicine.  Nor, to tell truth, when I got home again could I remember all he said, save that it was of some frightful ill which comes upon the world from the East and will leave it desolate.”

“And what think folk of such talk, father?”

“Indeed, son, they know not what to think.  Most say that he is mad; others say that he is inspired of God.  Yet others declare that he is a wizard and that his familiar brings him tidings from Cathay, where once he dwelt, or perchance, from hell itself.  These went to the bishop, who summoned Sir Andrew and was closeted with him for three hours.  Afterward he called in the complainers and bade them cease their scandal of wizardry, since he was sure that what the holy Father said came from above and not from below.  He added that they would do well to mend their lives and prepare to render their account, as for his part he should also, since the air was thick with doom.  Then he gave his benediction to the old knight and turned away weeping, and since that hour none talk of wizardry but all of judgment.  Men in Dunwich who have quarrelled from boyhood, forgive each other and sing psalms instead of swearing oaths, and I have been paid debts that have been owing to me for years, all because of these sermons.”

“An awesome tale, truly,” said Hugh.  “Yet like this bishop I believe that what Sir Andrew says will come to pass, for I know well that he is not as other men are.”

That night, by special leave, Hugh waited on the King, and with him Grey Dick, who was ever his shadow.

“What is it now, Sir Hugh de Cressi?” asked Edward.

“Sire, after the great battle, nigh upon a year ago, you told me that I must serve you till Calais fell.  I have served as best I could and Calais has fallen.  Now I ask your leave to go seek my enemy—­and yours—­Sir Edmund Acour, Count de Noyon.”

“Then you must go far, Sir Hugh, for I have tidings that this rogue who was not ashamed to wear another man’s armour, and so save himself from your sword, is away to Italy this six months gone, where, as the Seigneur de Cattrina, he has estates near Venice.  But tell me how things stand.  Doubtless that Red Eve of yours—­strangely enough I thought of her at Crecy when the sky grew so wondrous at nightfall—­is at the bottom of them.”