“Little of importance,” replied the supposed palmer. “But before I tell my story, perhaps thou wilt answer me a few inquiries, for I confess I am mightily curious about this same hall of thine. I had thought this was the hall of Staley.”
“And so it is, Sir Palmer. What belike should make thee doubt it?”
“Well, friend, I have travelled in the Holy Land myself, and thy master’s escutcheon is not unknown to me. He was a stout soldier of King Richard against the Paynim. And that banner which floats from the high tower bears not the same devise as that which Sir Ro of Staley bravely upheld against the Saracens.”
“In truth, thou art right there, Sir Palmer. ’Tis not the same banner, and, though I eat my salt beneath the new devise, I do not mind confessing that I would sooner see the old one flying overhead. ’Tis a sad story, friend. Hast thou not heard in thy wanderings that the brave knight of Staley was slain in the Holy Land?”
“That is news to me,” answered the other, starting. “But even so, what of his lady? Is she not alive?”
The warder looked uneasily about him, as though he had no wish to talk upon such a subject.
“The women can tell thee more of my lady,” said he. “And thou art still hungry. Eat first, and talk afterwards.”
DOORWAY TO STALEY CHAPEL, MOTTRAM CHURCH.