It shames me to have come in such travel-stained plight into your
presence, and that of this noble knight," with a bow to Hugh d'Argent.
"Nay," said Hugh, smiling in friendly response. "Travel-stains gained
in such fashion, are more to be desired than silks and fine linen. I
would I could go to rest this night knowing I had accomplished as much."
"Go and have thy bath, boy," said the Bishop. "This will give my monks
time to tickle, catch, and cook, trout for thy supper! Ah, thou young
rascal! But that field is _Corban_, remember. Sup well, rest well,
and the blessing of the Lord be with thee."
The brown riding-suit vanished through the archway.
Father Benedict's lean hand pulled the door to.
The Bishop and the Knight were once more alone.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE POPE'S MANDATE
The Bishop and Hugh d'Argent were once more alone. It was
characteristic of both that they sat for some minutes in unbroken
silence.
Then the Bishop put out his hand, took up the packet from Rome, and
looked at the Knight.
Hugh d'Argent rose, walked over to the casement, and leaned out into
the still, summer night.
He could hear the Bishop breaking the seals of the Pope's letter.
Below in the courtyard, all was quiet. The great gates were barred.
He wondered whether the steaming horse had been well rubbed down,
clothed, and given a warm mash mixed with ale.
He could hear the Bishop unfolding the parchment, which crackled.
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