Richard thought this no mischance at all, and just then, Alberic, who had run on a little before, came back exclaiming, “They are French. It is the Frank tongue, not the Norman, that they speak.”
“So please you, my Lord,” said Osmond, stopping short, “we go not rashly into the midst of them. I would I knew what were best to do.”
Osmond rubbed his forehead and stood considering, while the two boys looked at him anxiously. In a few seconds, before he had come to any conclusion, there came forth from the gate a Norman Squire, accompanied by two strangers.
“My Lord Duke,” said he to Richard, in French, “Sir Eric has sent me to bring you tidings that the King of France has arrived to receive your homage.”
“The King!” exclaimed Osmond.
“Ay!” proceeded the Norman, in his own tongue, “Louis himself, and with a train looking bent on mischief. I wish it may portend good to my Lord here. You see I am accompanied. I believe from my heart that Louis meant to prevent you from receiving a warning, and taking the boy out of his clutches.”
“Ha! what?” said Richard, anxiously. “Why is the King come? What must I do?”
“Go on now, since there is no help for it,” said Osmond.
“Greet the king as becomes you, bend the knee, and pay him homage.”
Richard repeated over to himself the form of homage that he might be perfect in it, and walked on into the court; Alberic, Osmond, and the rest falling back as he entered. The court was crowded with horses and men, and it was only by calling out loudly, “The Duke, the Duke,” that Osmond could get space enough made for them to pass. In a few moments Richard had mounted the steps and stood in the great hall.