“Come, Sir Knights,” spoke Paul of Merely, “we will ride within and learn what manner of churls inhabit this ancient rookery.”
As they entered the great courtyard, magnificent even in its ruined grandeur, they were met by a little, grim old man who asked them in no gentle tones what they would of them there.
“We have lost our way in these devilish Derby hills of thine, old man,” replied Paul of Merely. “We seek the castle of Sir John de Stutevill.”
“Ride down straight to the river road, keeping the first trail to the right, and when thou hast come there, turn again to thy right and ride north beside the river—thou canst not miss the way—it be plain as the nose before thy face,” and with that the old man turned to enter the castle.
“Hold, old fellow!” cried the spokesman. “It be nigh onto sunset now, and we care not to sleep out again this night as we did the last. We will tarry with you then till morn that we may take up our journey refreshed, upon rested steeds.”
The old man grumbled, and it was with poor grace that he took them in to feed and house them over night. But there was nothing else for it, since they would have taken his hospitality by force had he refused to give it voluntarily.
From their guests, the two learned something of the conditions outside their Derby hills. The old man showed less interest than he felt, but to the boy, notwithstanding that the names he heard meant nothing to him, it was like unto a fairy tale to hear of the wondrous doings of earl and baron, bishop and king.
“If the King does not mend his ways,” said one of the knights, “we will drive his whole accursed pack of foreign blood-suckers into the sea.”
“De Montfort has told him as much a dozen times, and now that all of us, both Norman and Saxon barons, have already met together and formed a pact for our mutual protection, the King must surely realize that the time for temporizing be past, and that unless he would have a civil war upon his hands, he must keep the promises he so glibly makes, instead of breaking them the moment De Montfort’s back be turned.”
“He fears his brother-in-law,” interrupted another of the knights, “even more than the devil fears holy water. I was in attendance on his majesty some weeks since when he was going down the Thames upon the royal barge. We were overtaken by as severe a thunder storm as I have ever seen, of which the King was in such abject fear that he commanded that we land at the Bishop of Durham’s palace opposite which we then were. De Montfort, who was residing there, came to meet Henry, with all due respect, observing, ‘What do you fear, now, Sire, the tempest has passed?’ And what thinkest thou old ‘waxen heart’ replied? Why, still trembling, he said, ‘I do indeed fear thunder and lightning much, but, by the hand of God, I tremble before you more than for all the thunder in Heaven!’”