Philip next proceeded to the castle, in the principal court of which he found his arquebusiers drawn up. Long before this, the treasure had been locked up in one of the strongest chambers of the donjon. Not being familiar with a Norman castle, the Prince examined the ancient fortress with much interest, and, ascending to the summit of the keep, enjoyed the magnificent view commanded from it.
His inspection of the castle completed, Philip was conducted to a public place in the centre of the town, which derived its name of Saint Michael’s Place, from a venerable and beautiful church standing in the midst of it. Facing the east end of this reverend pile was the habitation designed for his temporary abode.
In Saint Michael’s Place, as elsewhere, a large crowd had congregated, who cheered the Prince lustily on his appearance, and did not seem inclined to disperse even when he had dismounted and entered his lodgings.
The quaint architecture of the habitation, the bay-windows filled with painted glass, the low-raftered roofs, the walls panelled with oak darkened by age, the numerous small apartments, the stiff cumbrous furniture—all so different from the vast gilded saloons and open courts suited to another clime, with which he was familiar—were far from displeasing to Philip, and when the Earl of Arundel apologised for the scant accommodation of the place, the Prince courteously assured him that the house was very much to his taste. “What sufficed for your great monarch, Henry VIII.,” he said, “may well suffice for me.”
Pleading fatigue, he then retired to a private chamber, and was not disturbed until the return of the Count D’Egmont and Osbert Clinton from Winchester, when they were immediately admitted to his presence.
D’Egmont brought a letter from the Queen, which he delivered to the Prince, but, without manifesting any impatience to ascertain its contents, Philip laid it on the table beside which he was seated, and proceeded to question the Count as to his visit.
“Pass by all other matters,” he said, “and come to the point. What did her Majesty think of my nocturnal adventure? Was she satisfied with the explanation offered her?”
“Not entirely, I fear, your Highness,” replied D’Egmont, “though she said little to warrant such a conclusion.”
“You were careful not to alarm her?” said Philip, turning to Osbert.
“She pressed me very shrewdly,” replied the young man, “but I trust I succeeded in allaying her suspicions, which were evidently aroused by the description I was obliged to give of your fair deliverer, Constance Tyrrell. Her Majesty inherits something of the disposition of her august sire, and is inclined to jealousy.”