Fulk de Lisle rode on, without troubling to turn the lad’s wit.
He clattered over the bridge and into the main court, and the men who saw him ride in stared at his savage face.
“Pride has had a fall,” said some one.
“Or been balked of a woman.”
Fulk de Lisle called a page who was loitering on the steps of the chapel.
“Have you nothing but eyes, you brat? Where is my lord?”
“In his closet, sir.”
“Run and tell him that I am in the castle.”
Roger Bland already had the news, and his groom of the chamber came out with a haggard face.
“My lord would see you—instantly.”