"Canst thou make out their cognisance?"
"The light doth not serve."
"Order a troop of horse: I ride to meet them; let the banquet be prepared."
In another quarter of an hour a little party dashed over the lowered drawbridges and out on the western road; meanwhile the great hall was lighted, and the cooks hurried on the feast.
In less than another hour the blast of trumpets announced the return of the Lord of the Castle with his guest. And Brian Fitz-Count rode proudly into his stronghold: on his right hand rode a tall knight, whose squires and attendants followed behind with the Wallingford men.
"Welcome, Sir Milo of Gloucester, to my castle," exclaimed the Lord of Wallingford, as he clasped the hand of his visitor beneath the entrance tower.
"By'r ladye, a fine stronghold this of yours; that tower on the keep might rival in height the far-famed tower of Babel."
"We do not hope to scale Heaven, although, forsooth, if the Masses said daily in Wallingford are steps in the ladder, it will soon be long enough."
And they both laughed grimly in a way which did not infer implicit belief in the power of the Church.
"The bath, then the board—prepare the bath for our guest."