Once more, at the close of morning service, while it was still dark, did Harry Clifford, the new-made knight, kneel before King Henry and feel his hand in blessing on his head. Then he went forth to join Musgrave and the troop that the Earl of Oxford was leading from the Tower to raise the counties of East Anglia and watch the coast against a descent of King Edward from the Low Countries.
As they passed the walls enclosing the Minories Convent, and Hal gazed at it wistfully, the wide gateway was opened and out came a party of black-hooded nuns, mounted on ponies and mules, evidently waiting till Oxford’s band had gone by. Harry drew Sir Giles’s attention, and they lingered, as they became certain that they beheld the Prioress Selby of Greystone, hawk, hound and all, riding forth, nearly smothered in her hood, and not so upright as of old.
‘Ay, here I am!’ she said, as he reined up and bowed his greeting. ‘Here I am on my pilgrimage! I got Father Ridley, the Benedictine head, to order me forth. Methinks he was glad, being a north countryman, to send me out before I either died on the Poor Clares’ hands, or gave them a fuller store of tales against us of St. Bennet’s! Not but that they are good women, too godly and devout for a poor wild north country Selby like me, who cannot live without air.
O the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish best at home in the north countree.
Flori, Flori, whither away? Ah! thou hast found thine old friend. Birds of a feather. Eh? the young folk have foregathered likewise. Watch! And thou, sir knight, whither are you away?’
‘On our way to Norfolk in case the Duke of York should show himself on the coast. And yours, reverend Mother?’
‘To Canterbury first by easy journeys. We sleep to-night at the Tabard, where we shall meet other pilgrims.’
‘Here, alack! our way severs from yours. Farewell, holy Mother, may you find health on your pilgrimage.’
‘Every breath I take in is health,’ said the Mother, who had already manoeuvred an opening in her veil, and gasped to throw it back as soon as she should attain an unfrequented place. ‘There are so many coming and going here that all the air is used up by their greasy nostrils! Well! good luck, and God’s blessing go with you, and you, young Hal, I may say so far, whichever side ye be, but still I hold that York has the right, and yours may be a saint, but not a king.’
Hal had meantime ‘forgathered’ as the Prioress said with Anne, marching, in spite of his new honours, close to her stirrup, and venturing to whisper to her that he was now her knight, and ‘her colours,’ which he was to wear for her, were only a tiny scrap of ribbon from her glove, which he cut off with his dagger, and kissed, saying he should wear it next his heart, though he might not do so openly.