"Sir Oliver!" he gasped.
"And what of him? Stand not babbling like a child. Out with it, gossip."
"The Grâce à Dieu lies off the Poles yonder," continued Wat, pointing towards the invisible sandbanks that encumbered the mouth of the harbour. "She hath come in betimes this morning, and even now is anchored beyond the bar."
Geoffrey gave a cry of delight at the glad news; but Gripwell was far from satisfied.
"And why has not the cog stood in? And how goeth it with Sir Oliver?"
"The ebb maketh strongly," replied the fisherman. "'Twas only with much ado that I gained the harbour, my craft being but light. As thou knowest, gossip, there be none to touch her, not even at Bosham or Emsworth. And then concerning Sir Oliver. I saw him not, neither was I able to draw nigh to the Grâce. It served my purpose but to come hither and claim the guerdon that my lady hath promised to him who brought the news of Sir Oliver's return."
"Then get thee to the castle, Wat. As for thy craft, it must needs take ground, since the rithe dries within an hour. But that will pass, I'll warrant, for thy welcome will not be a hasty one."
Already Geoffrey had sped to bear the news to his mother, the Lady Bertha, while the fisherman and the man-at-arms followed, Wat inwardly chafing at the measured stride of the old warrior.
Sir Oliver's wife was a tall, dignified matron of forty years; stern, almost masculine in manner, yet devoted to her husband and son. During Sir Oliver's frequent absences the care and maintenance of the castle were entirely in her hands, and, from the merest detail concerning the domestic ordering of the numerous household to the weighty questions appertaining to its defence, the Lady Bertha ruled with firmness and discretion.
Nor was she backward in maintaining her authority. Once, and once only, did the youthful Geoffrey take upon himself to give certain orders to the warriors of the outer bailey.