"Then you have letters for him, I presume," rejoined the other. "What says the superscription? Does it not give you more clearly his place of abode? This town contains many a street and lane. I have only been here these eight hours since several years; and he may well be in the place and I not know it."
Woodville drew forth the King's letter, and gazed at the writing on the back; while Sir Philip de Morgan, who had risen likewise, took a silent step round, and glanced over his arm. "Ha! the King's own writing," he said. "Sir John Grey! I remember; there is, I believe, an old countryman of ours, living near what is called the Sas de Gand, of the name of Mortimer. He has been here some years; and if there be a man in Ghent who can tell you where to find this Sir John Grey, 'tis he. Nay, I think you may well trust the letter in his hands to deliver. Stay, I will send one of my knaves with you, who knows the language and the manners of this people well."
"I thank you, noble sir," replied his visitor; "but I have a man waiting for me, who will conduct me, if you will but repeat the direction that you gave--near the Sas de Gand, I think you said?"
"Just so," replied Sir Philip de Morgan, drily; "but not quite so far. It is a house called the house of Waeerschoot;--but it is growing late; in less than an hour it will be dark. You had better delay your visit till to-morrow, when you will be more sure of admission; for he is of a moody and somewhat strange fantasy, and not always to be seen."
"I will try, at all events, to-night," replied Richard of Woodville. "I can but go back tomorrow, if I fail. Farewell, Sir Philip, I will be with you at noon;"--and, after all the somewhat formal courtesies and leave-takings of the day, he retired from the chamber of the King's envoy, and sought the guide who had conducted him thither.
The man was soon found, talking to one of the inferior attendants of the Count of Charolois; and, calling him away, Richard of Woodville directed him to lead to the house which Sir Philip de Morgan had indicated. The guide replied, in a somewhat dissatisfied tone, that it was a long way off; but a word about his reward soon quickened his movements; and issuing through the gates of the city, they followed a lane through the suburbs on the northern side of the Lys.
A number of fine houses were built at that time beyond the actual walls of Ghent; for the frequent commotions which took place in the town, and the little ceremony with which the citizens were accustomed to take the life of any one against whom popular wrath had been excited, rendered it expedient in the eyes of many of the nobles of Flanders to lodge beyond the dangerous fortifications, which were as often used to keep in an enemy as to keep one out. Many of these were modern buildings; but others were of a far more ancient date; and at length, as it was growing dusk, the young Englishman's guide stopped at the gate of one of the oldest houses they had yet seen, and struck two or three hard blows upon the large heavy door. For some time nothing but a hollow sound made answer; and looking up, Richard of Woodville examined the mansion, which seemed going fast into a state of decay. It had once been one of the strong battlemented dwellings of some feudal lord; and heavy towers, and numberless turrets, seemed to show that the date of its first erection went back to a time when the city of Ghent, confined to its own walls, had left the houses which were built beyond them surrounded only by the uncultivated fields and pastures, watered by the Scheld, the Lys, and the Liève. The walls still remained solid, though the sharp cutting of the round arches had mouldered away in the damp atmosphere; and the casements above--for externally there were none on the lower story--were, in many instances, destitute of even the small lozenges of glass, which, in those days, were all that even princely mansions could boast.
After waiting more than a reasonable time, the guide knocked loud again, and, looking round for a bell, at length found a rope hanging under the arch, which he pulled violently. While it was still in his hand, a stout Flemish wench appeared, and demanded what they wanted, that they made so much noise? Her words, indeed, were unintelligible to the young Englishman; but, guessing their import, he directed the guide to inquire if an Englishman, of the name of Mortimer, lived there? A nod of the head, which accompanied her reply, showed him that it was in the affirmative; and he then, by the same intervention, told her to let her master know, that a gentleman from England wished to see him.
The girl laughed, and shook her head, saying something which, when it came to be translated, proved to be, that she knew he would not see any one of the kind; but, though it was of no use, she would go and inquire; and away she consequently ran with good-humoured speed, showing, as she went, a pair of fat, white legs, with no other covering than that with which nature had furnished them.
She returned in a minute, with a look of surprise; and bade the strangers follow her, which they did, into the court. There, however, Woodville again directed his guide to wait, and, under the pilotage of the Flemish maid, entered upon a sea of passages, till at length, catching him familiarly by the hand to guide him in the darkness that reigned within, she led him to a flight of stairs, and opened a door at the top. Before him lay a small room, ornamented with richly carved oak, the lines and angles of which caught faintly the light proceeding from a lamp upon the table; and, standing in the midst of the room, with a look of eager impatience, was a man, somewhat advanced in life, though younger than Woodville had expected to see. His hair, it is true, was white, and his beard, which he wore long, was nearly so likewise; but he was upright, and seemingly firm in limb and muscle.[[6]] His face had furrows on it, too; but they seemed more those of care and thought than age; and his eye was clear, undimmed, and flashing.