“Eat first,” said Osmond.
“But what are you going to do? I will not be as foolish as I was when you tried to get me safe out of Rollo’s tower. But I should like to wish Carloman farewell.”
“That must not be,” said Osmond; “we should not have time to escape, if they did not still believe you very ill in bed.”
“I am sorry not to wish Carloman good-bye,” repeated Richard; “but we shall see Fru Astrida again, and Sir Eric; and Alberic must come back! Oh, do let us go! O Normandy, dear Normandy!”
Richard could hardly eat for excitement, while Osmond hastily made his arrangements, girding on his sword, and giving Richard his dagger to put into his belt. He placed the remainder of the provisions in his wallet, threw a thick purple cloth mantle over the Duke, and then desired him to lie down on the straw which he had brought in. “I shall hide you in it,” he said, “and carry you through the hall, as if I was going to feed my horse.”
“Oh, they will never guess!” cried Richard, laughing. “I will be quite still—I will make no noise—I will hold my breath.”
“Yes, mind you do not move hand or foot, or rustle the straw. It is no play—it is life or death,” said Osmond, as he disposed the straw round the little boy. “There, can you breathe?”
“Yes,” said Richard’s voice from the midst. “Am I quite hidden?”
“Entirely. Now, remember, whatever happens, do not move. May Heaven protect us! Now, the Saints be with us!”
Richard, from the interior of the bundle heard Osmond set open the door; then he felt himself raised from the ground; Osmond was carrying him along down the stairs, the ends of the straw crushing and sweeping against the wall. The only way to the outer door was through the hall, and here was the danger. Richard heard voices, steps, loud singing and laughter, as if feasting was going on; then some one said, “Tending your horse, Sieur de Centeville?”