"And to thee, Arnold Gripwell. But how goes it? Dost see aught of the ship?"
"Nay, Master Geoffrey; this wind, which is most unseasonable for the time o' year, hath stirred up much mist, so that the sea cannot be clearly discerned."
"'Tis passing strange. Sir Oliver, my father, hath sent word that, God willing, he would cross the seas from Harfleur on the eve of the Feast of St. Perpetua. Already fourteen days are spent, and yet he cometh not."
"The reason is not far to seek," replied Gripwell, pointing towards the distant Portsdown Hills. "So long as this wind holdeth the ship is bound to tarry."
"But how long, think you, will it blow thus? Thou art a man skilled in such matters."
"Nay, I cannot forecast, fair sir. For now, when the husbandman looketh for the east wind to break the ground, this most unwholesome air doth hold. Mark my words, Master Geoffrey, when it turneth we shall have another winter. But the sun is rising. I must display my lord's banner."
So saying, he bent the flag to the halyards, and soon the emblem of the Lysles was fluttering bravely in the breeze—azure, a turbot argent, surmounted by an estoile of the last—in other words, a silver turbot, with a silver star above, both on a field of blue.
Geoffrey knew well the meaning of this device. The first denoted that the Lord of Warblington was one of the coastwise guardians of the Channel; the star was in recognition of a former Lysle's service under Edward I, on the occasion of a desperate night attack upon the Scots.
Always ready on the first summons, the Lysles placed duty to their king as the highest of their earthly devoirs, and it was their proud boast that no important expedition had crossed the Channel without the head of the Manor of Warblington in its ranks.
Like many an English knight of that period, Sir Oliver Lysle had interests in France. Through his mother he inherited the seigneurie of Taillemartel in Normandy.