“Would that the fray could begin at once!” cried Alured, impatiently, “ere our honoured uncle hath time to damp us with one of his wonted homilies against over-boldness! Methinks it would fit him better to urge us on than to warn us back.”
In fact, their good uncle, Sir Simon Harcourt, was never weary of warning his hot-blooded nephews against rashly running into danger—which was very kind of him, considering that their death would have made him one of the richest landed proprietors in England. But, by some unlucky chance, the good knight’s admonitions were always given in such a way as to irritate the fiery youths into perilling their lives more recklessly than ever.
“Now, I bethink me, Claremont,” broke in one of his comrades—“I say not ‘Alured’ or ‘Hugo,’ for never can I tell to which of the two I speak——”
A general laugh greeted the jest (such as it was) in which the twins good-humouredly joined.
“I say, then,” resumed the speaker, “that it is full time for the fulfilment of the prophecy concerning you twain, which was to come to pass in a year and a day.”
“A prophecy?” echoed three or four voices at once.
“Marry, even so—and a rare one,” laughed Alured de Claremont. “I thank thee, Beauchamp, for reminding me of it, for in sooth I had forgotten it myself. This is the tale, comrades, if ye care to hear it—
“Just a year agone to-day, my uncle rode out hence with a part of his train (among whom were my brother and I) to see if the Frenchmen were stirring, and if there were any sign of their coming against us from St. Omer. All day we rode on without seeing aught—for the whole country-side was wasted till it lay utterly desolate—neither house nor barn, neither man nor beast.
“At last, just as the sun was going down, two men came toward us, the one habited like a grey friar, the other in the dress of a lay brother of the order; and the moment we caught sight of the monk’s face, we all knew him at once (for, in truth, he is not one to be lightly forgotten) for that same Brother Michael whom men call the Pilgrim of God, and whom we had seen long since at Dinan, where he saved from the boiling cauldron one doomed to die.
“Our uncle rode forward to greet him, and ask for news; and while they spake together, Hugo and I noted that this lay brother who was with him had the look of a simpleton, and was, belike, some crazy fellow whom the good monk had taken to him for charity’s sake. So we began to make our sport with him, asking him jestingly of this and that; but he looked on us right gravely and sadly, as if such game liked him not, and then he spake to us in rhyme, like any masquer in the show of St. George and the Dragon. How ran the words, Hugo?”