About eight o'clock they arrived at the village of Pontivy, and reining-in at the inn, Redward dismounted and strode up to mine host, who saw in every armed man a spoiler, whether he were for Montfort or for Blois.
"Hark ye, garçon!" exclaimed the master-bowman, "thy best food and wine in plenty, and provender for our horses! And, as thou valuest thy hide, say not one word to my master, the worthy Sieur d'Erqui, for he is in a bad mood, and woe betide the man who addresses him!"
Their steeds were led away, and Raymond and his father were shown into the largest room of the inn, while the waiting-maids, urged by the host, bustled about preparing the meal.
Raymond did not belie the character his father had given him as the Sieur, but his reticence was due to bodily fatigue. For, while awaiting the meal, fitful sleep claimed him, but it was only to awaken with a start as his head fell forward on his chest.
Never was a repast better enjoyed, and never was the desire to sleep so irresistible, but Redward, though weary himself, was inexorable.
"Maybe swift pursuit is already at our heels," said he. "So onward we must go. Holà!" he shouted, hammering on the trestled board with his sword-hilt.
In answer to the summons the host appeared, trembling in his shoes.
"How is the army ordered before Hennebon And where shall my master find the banners of the Duke Charles?"
"Sir, report hath it that the force of Blois lieth thickest about where this road approaches the town, so, without doubt, the banners of the Duke are there."
Throwing down a coin to pay for their repast (whereat the host marvelled greatly, seeing it was not the custom of the times), Redward followed the supposed Sieur from the inn; their horses were brought round, and soon they were clattering over the pavé of the village towards the open country.