“Most truly spoken,” said the King; “and an ill-conditioned animal thou art. But come hither, master mule, and be unloaded, that thou mayest get thee to thy litter, without any music being wasted on thee. Meantime do thou, good brother of Salisbury, go to our consort's tent, and tell her that Blondel has arrived, with his budget fraught with the newest minstrelsy. Bid her come hither instantly, and do thou escort her, and see that our cousin, Edith Plantagenet, remain not behind.”
His eye then rested for a moment on the Nubian, with that expression of doubtful meaning which his countenance usually displayed when he looked at him.
“Ha, our silent and secret messenger returned?—Stand up, slave, behind the back of De Neville, and thou shalt hear presently sounds which will make thee bless God that He afflicted thee rather with dumbness than deafness.”
So saying, he turned from the rest of the company towards De Vaux, and plunged instantly into the military details which that baron laid before him.
About the time that the Lord of Gilsland had finished his audience, a messenger announced that the Queen and her attendants were approaching the royal tent.—“A flask of wine, ho!” said the King; “of old King Isaac's long-saved Cyprus, which we won when we stormed Famagosta. Fill to the stout Lord of Gilsland, gentles—a more careful and faithful servant never had any prince.”
“I am glad,” said Thomas de Vaux, “that your Grace finds the mule a useful slave, though his voice be less musical than horse-hair or wire.”
“What, thou canst not yet digest that quip of the mule?” said Richard. “Wash it down with a brimming flagon, man, or thou wilt choke upon it. Why, so—well pulled!—and now I will tell thee, thou art a soldier as well as I, and we must brook each other's jests in the hall as each other's blows in the tourney, and love each other the harder we hit. By my faith, if thou didst not hit me as hard as I did thee in our late encounter! thou gavest all thy wit to the thrust. But here lies the difference betwixt thee and Blondel. Thou art but my comrade—I might say my pupil—in the art of war; Blondel is my master in the science of minstrelsy and music. To thee I permit the freedom of intimacy; to him I must do reverence, as to my superior in his art. Come, man, be not peevish, but remain and hear our glee.”
“To see your Majesty in such cheerful mood,” said the Lord of Gilsland, “by my faith, I could remain till Blondel had achieved the great romance of King Arthur, which lasts for three days.”
“We will not tax your patience so deeply,” said the King. “But see, yonder glare of torches without shows that our consort approaches. Away to receive her, man, and win thyself grace in the brightest eyes of Christendom. Nay, never stop to adjust thy cloak. See, thou hast let Neville come between the wind and the sails of thy galley.”
“He was never before me in the field of battle,” said De Vaux, not greatly pleased to see himself anticipated by the more active service of the chamberlain.