[CHAPTER XXIV]
THE FALCON REVISITED
It was the evening of Saturday, the 10th of October, 1346, when the sun was just setting, as I, having crossed the Channel, and travelled from Dover to London, and escaped all perils by sea and land, again found myself safe and sound in that part of the capital of England known as Gracechurch.
I alighted, not without the air of a stripling of consequence, at the sign of the Falcon, and, as I did so, and parted from my horse, I could not but remember how brief was the period that had elapsed since first I set foot in that hostelry, and yet how much in the interval I had seen and experienced. I was certainly a little more advanced in years, and looked, perhaps, less boyish, because taller and stronger, than when I accompanied my grandsire to see London lighted up on Midsummer Eve, and to try my skill at the quintain on the day of St. John the Baptist. But half of the dreams in which I then was in the habit of indulging had been realised. I had seen countless knights, with their plumes, and swords, and prancing steeds, and I had witnessed much of the pomp and pageantry, and something, also, of the horrors, of war. Moreover, I had played a part which flattered my vanity. I had figured in court and camp—had passed through perilous adventures—had stood, sword in hand, as the champion of noble demoiselles—had footed the walls of besieged towns, and had participated in a great victory, the tidings of which set bells ringing and bonfires blazing all over England.
What wonder if, in such circumstances, my young heart swelled with pride, and if I already saw myself, in imagination, with the crest, and plume, and golden spurs of knighthood, leading bands of fighting men to battle, and rushing on to victory in the name of God and St. George?
Musing thus—for I had my full share of ambition as well as vanity—I, with a firm step, entered the hostelry of the Falcon; and, having seated myself at a table, and summoned the drawer to furnish a stoup of wine, I looked around on the company with the air of superiority which is soon learned among men taking part in military enterprises that are crowned with success.
Many of the ordinary frequenters of the Falcon were there, indulging, as of old, in gossip about the events of the day, and discussing the news with a degree of excitement which convinced me that there was something of great importance in the wind. My attention, however, was attracted to three persons who sat in silence apart from the group of citizens, and separate from each other. One was evidently a yeoman of Kent; the second was a young priest, with a restless eye and a wild manner; and the third, whose dress indicated that he ranked as a squire, was a tall, strong man of forty or thereabouts, with fair hair and a grey eye, whose glance told plainly as words could have done that he was deficient neither in satire nor sagacity. He called for a quart of ale just as I entered, and proceeded to discuss the liquor with evident relish.
I was on the point of putting a question to this worthy gentleman as to the latest news from Calais, and had just prepared myself to open the conversation by drinking deep of the wine which the drawer had brought me, when Thomelin of Winchester entered. I smiled in recognition, and mine host, observing me, stared as if he had seen a ghost.
"What!—eh!—Arthur, my lad!" exclaimed he, recovering himself, "can this possibly be you, and in the body?"