Luke frowned uneasily at the floor. ‘He has not seemed so well. Tries hard to act a good host’s part to all his guests. But looks pale, with his thoughts a hundred miles away. He eats hardly at all. Most of the daylight hours, as I said, he spends up in the tower watching the road below.’
Giles turned back to the open window and for a moment said nothing more. Over the dark hill beyond the river a wisp of a slanting moon could now be seen. Its pale path shimmered dimly in the quiet water below. Luke crossed the room, put his hand upon his master’s shoulder and looked out. A ferry-boat with long sweeping oars crept out from the shadow of the farther shore and slid silently towards them. Suddenly the noise of bells broke the hush with a distant silvery voice.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Luke, gazing up at the hill.
‘Chapel bells,’ said Giles. ‘Vespers. That’s the Convent of Saint Bridget up there, the long building at the top of the ridge.’
‘You do know this country, don’t you?’ said Luke. ‘I suppose you’d be bound to, after nine years at your work. Convent of Saint Bridget, eh? Looks like a big place . . . Listen, Giles: how about some supper? You must be hungry—and I know I am. Let me go down and rout out that lazy old host of ours. And I must see if he has put my horse to bed yet. I’ll not be long.’
He started towards the door.
‘Oh, and you won’t forget the saddle-bag,’ he added. ‘You’ll find a fresh shirt in it, if you’ve a mind to rid yourself of some of the road-dust. I’ll give you a call as soon as the food is ready.’
10 The pocket of the tunic
For a moment longer Giles remained looking out at the ferry-boat before he closed the window part way and turned to the saddle-bag. He opened it without much interest, and spread its contents on the bed.
Besides the newly laundered linen there was a tunic, some hose, a pair of gloves and other things. He could hear Luke below shouting for the host, then the clatter of footsteps and his cheerful whistle as he crossed the stable yard to look to his horse.