“We rode long and late, and I was very weary,” said Richard! “but I don’t care, now we are at home. But I can hardly believe it! Oh, Alberic, it has been very dreary!”
“See here, my Lord!” said Alberic, standing by the window. “Look here, and you will know you are at home again!”
Richard bounded to the window, and what a sight met his eyes! The Castle court was thronged with men-at-arms and horses, the morning sun sparkling on many a burnished hauberk and tall conical helmet, and above them waved many a banner and pennon that Richard knew full well. “There! there!” he shouted aloud with glee. “Oh, there is the horse-shoe of Ferrières! and there the chequers of Warenne! Oh, and best of all, there is—there is our own red pennon of Centeville! O Alberic! Alberic! is Sir Eric here? I must go down to him!”
“Bertrand sent out notice to them all, as soon as you came, to come and guard our Castle,” said Alberic, “lest the Franks should pursue you; but you are safe now—safe as Norman spears can make you—thanks be to God!”
“Yes, thanks to God!” said Richard, crossing himself and kneeling reverently for some minutes, while he repeated his Latin prayer; then, rising and looking at Alberic, he said, “I must thank Him, indeed, for he has saved Osmond and me from the cruel King and Queen, and I must try to be a less hasty and overbearing boy than I was when I went away; for I vowed that so I would be, if ever I came back. Poor Osmond, how soundly he sleeps! Come, Alberic, show me the way to Sir Eric!”
And, holding Alberic’s hand, Richard left the room, and descended the stairs to the Castle hall. Many of the Norman knights and barons, in full armour, were gathered there; but Richard looked only for one. He knew Sir Eric’s grizzled hair, and blue inlaid armour, though his back was towards him, and in a moment, before his entrance had been perceived, he sprang towards him, and, with outstretched arms, exclaimed: “Sir Eric—dear Sir Eric, here I am! Osmond is safe! And is Fru Astrida well?”
The old Baron turned. “My child!” he exclaimed, and clasped him in his mailed arms, while the tears flowed down his rugged cheeks. “Blessed be God that you are safe, and that my son has done his duty!”
“And is Fru Astrida well?”
“Yes, right well, since she heard of your safety. But look round, my Lord; it befits not a Duke to be clinging thus round an old man’s neck. See how many of your true vassals be here, to guard you from the villain Franks.”
Richard stood up, and held out his hand, bowing courteously and acknowledging the greetings of each bold baron, with a grace and readiness he certainly had not when he left Normandy. He was taller too; and though still pale, and not dressed with much care (since he had hurried on his clothes with no help but Alberic’s)—though his hair was rough and disordered, and the scar of the burn had not yet faded from his check—yet still, with his bright blue eyes, glad face, and upright form, he was a princely, promising boy, and the Norman knights looked at him with pride and joy, more especially when, unprompted, he said: “I thank you, gallant knights, for coming to guard me. I do not fear the whole French host now I am among my own true Normans.”