"Ah!" said Sir Lancelot, shaking his head gravely, "it was at a time which no warrior of France can recall but with sadness, and at a place which, credit me, I long again to behold as an exile the home whence he had been banished—the castle of Corbie."
"I now remember me," replied I, and not without a flush of pride; for on that day I had won some renown as the champion of imperilled ladies.
"And trust me," said Sir Lancelot cordially, and with a tear in his eye—for it was one of the ladies of Poix to whom he pledged his love, and in whose honour he was eager to do noble deeds—"there are many, myself among the number, who remember how chivalrously you did your devoir as an aspirant to chivalry, and, by our lady of Rybamont! were you here free, and at liberty to do as you liked, instead of a prisoner, naught would please me better than on the morrow to mark my esteem for your valour by indulging you with an encounter outside the barriers of this castle for death or life."
"Gramercy, sir knight," replied I, laughing heartily, "you over-estimate my prowess when you deem me worthy of such a distinction: and yet," added I, "should we chance to meet in time to come on some field where French and English men struggle for renown and victory, in no wise could I imagine good St. George favouring me more highly than by placing me face to face and hand to hand with a warrior at once so courteous and so brave."
Smiling, as if pleased with the answer, Sir Lancelot de Lorris showed that, however readily he would, under other circumstances, have given me a passport to another world, he was not indifferent to my comfort in this. Leading myself and my comrade to the huge chimney, he did everything to console us in our captivity, and his example was not lost on his countrymen, who stood around breaking jests on the poverty of the land and the badness of the fire.
"By my faith," said John de Helennes, a squire of France, "the night is raw and cold; and my very bones seem to freeze."
"In truth," remarked another French squire, known as Eustace the Strong—who prided himself on being like that King of France called Pepin le Bref, whom he did resemble in this at least, that, though his stature was small, his strength was enormous—"Scotland is not a country to be in during winter. I never knew what hard living was till now."
"But certes," said John de Helennes, "that is no reason why we should have such a fire in such weather; for, being but now in the courtyard, I saw several asses driven in, laden with billets of wood for the use of the garrison."
"Holy Mary!" exclaimed Eustace with a look of indignation. "Do you tell me that fuel in plenty is so near, and that warriors of France are left to starve in the cold? Shame upon us if we right not ourselves in such a case."
And, as the strong Frenchman spoke, he sallied forth to the courtyard, seized one of the asses with panniers, carried it into the hall, and, pushing towards the chimney, flung the ass and its load, with its feet uppermost, on the dogs of the hearth, to the great delight of the bystanders, who, with the exception of Sir Lancelot, overlooked the cruelty of the action, and applauded the display of strength.