“Who comes here? Faith, the lad goes a steady pace and carries a light heart from his song; and no ill voice either.”
It was Hilarius, and he sang the Alma Redemptoris as he sped along the green grass which bordered the highway.
When Martin hailed him he turned aside gladly, and his face lit up at the sight of the vielle.
“Whence dost thou come, lad?” said Martin, eyeing him with interest.
“Many days’ journey from the Monastery of Prior Stephen,” answered Hilarius.
“But thou art no monk!”
“Nay, a novice scarcely; but the Prior hath bidden me go forth to see the world. It is wondrous fair,” he added sincerely.
“He who speaks thus is cloister-bred,” said Martin, and as Hilarius made sign of assent, “’tis writ on thy face as well. Thy Prior gave thee letters to the Abbat of St Peter’s, I doubt not; thy face is set for Westminster.”
“Ay, for Westminster, but my letters are for that good knight, Sir John Maltravers. I should have made an end of my journeying ere now but that two days ago I met strange company. They took my purse and hat and shoes, and kept me with them all night until the late dawn. Then they gave me my goods again, and bade me God-speed.’