“Nay, come no nearer,” he said to the clerk, “for this infection is most subtle, and—be so good as to cast off that filthy cloak of yours and leave it by the door.”
Basil obeyed, revealing an undergarment that was still more foul. He was not one who wasted money on new apparel.
“Well, man,” said Acour, surveying him with evident disgust and throwing a handful of dried herbs upon the fire, “what news now? Has my cause been laid before his Holiness? I trust so, for know that I grow weary of being cooped up here like a falcon in a cage with the dread of a loathsome death and a handful of frightened servants as companions who do nothing but drone out prayers all day long.”
“Yes, lord, it has. I have it straight from Clement’s own secretary, and the answer is that his Holiness will attend to the matter when the pest has passed away from Avignon, and not before. He adds also that when it does so, if ever, all the parties to the cause, by themselves or by their representatives, must appear before him. He will give no ex parte judgment upon an issue which, from letters that have reached him appears to be complicated and doubtful.”
“Mother of Heaven!” exclaimed Acour, “what a fool am I to let you in to tell me such tidings. Well, if that is all you have to say the sooner I am out of this hateful city the better. I ride this afternoon, or, if need be, walk on foot.”
“Indeed,” said Basil. “Then you leave behind you some who are not so frightened of their health, but who bide here upon a very similar errand. Doubtless, as often happens to the bold, they will find a way to fulfil it.”
“And who may these be, fellow?”
“A bold and warlike knight, a squire with hair like tow and a face that might be worn by Death himself, and a young English serving man.”
Acour started up from the chair in which he had sat down.
“No need to tell me their names,” he said, “but how, by hell’s gate, came de Cressi and his familiar here.”