“Ay, truly; and mayhap he can give us tidings of Du Guesclin, for they be countrymen and friends. Admit him forthwith; he is right welcome.”
A heavy step came clanging up the stair, and in the doorway stood the towering form of the best knight in Brittany after Du Guesclin himself.
His iron face bore no sign of age, though years had passed since they last beheld it, but a few scars were added to those that had seamed it before, and its grimness was deepened by the empty socket of the eye that he had lost at Auray, when still fighting in the ranks of England.
His change to the French side, however, made no difference in the welcome given him by his old friends; for in that age the knights of Brittany, Guienne, and Gascony changed sides so often that neither they nor those whose side they deserted thought anything about it.
“Welcome, brave De Clisson!” cried Alured, coming forward with extended hands. “What happy chance brings thee just in time to share our Christmas cheer?”
“I had an errand to your king from my liege lord the King of France” (the famous Breton seemed quite to forget how lately he had been fighting against his “liege lord” with all his might), “and, being once over the narrow seas, I was loth to repass them without visiting what few of my old brothers-in-arms war and time have left me in this land.”
“Be assured, not one of them is more pleased at thy coming than we, good Sir Olivier,” said Hugo, heartily. “Our seneschal shall marshal thee forthwith to thy chamber, and the feast shall wait thy coming again.”
De Clisson did not make it wait long, being hungry after his ride, and, in any case, the rough soldier was not one to waste much time in personal adornment. He was soon seated at the board, and in a full tide of gossip on the stirring events he had lately witnessed, in which Du Guesclin’s name came up again and again.
No one, in fact, could better speak on this point than he, having borne a leading part in the marvellous victories by which Bertrand, as Constable of France, had won back from the English the provinces of Saintonge and Poitou, and most of Brittany as well; and Clisson had fought side by side with his great countryman as stoutly as he had fought against him a few years before.
“Our Bertrand’s name is now on the lips of every man in France,” said he with a heartiness which showed that envy, at least, was not among his many vices; “and the minstrels have made a romaunt concerning him and his lady, which men call ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ that tells how a fair damsel consented to wed a monster that dwelt all alone in an enchanted castle, and thereby she brake the spell that bound him, and he was changed to as goodly a prince as lady’s eye could rest on. Marry, ’twere beyond the power of magic,” added he, with a hoarse laugh, “to do as much for our Bertrand!”