So when we had come to port, bidding the captain farewell, I chartered a good horse to reach the holy place where, as men say, the blessed Michael came down to bid St. Aubert build him a brave house on that lonely rock.
It was the hour of vespers when I attained the hostel of the mount, but I had been aware the last few miles of the sound of a trot behind me, whose pace was marvellous like mine own. If I stayed a moment, the rider behind likewise stayed; if I went at a gallop, he galloped also. It gave me some concern to be followed by a caitiff, watching for my purse, as I had only a sheath-knife with which to defend myself.
However, seeing the abbey lights gleam kindly through its narrow windows, I urged my beast on, though in sooth she was weary; and as I clattered at last into the yard, saw, as I waited for a space by the gateway, my follower walk his steed quietly by, peering the while as he passed.
Now, I strove as soon as was convenient to gain audience of my lord abbot. And this was not easy at that time for a simple secular priest, such as I appeared, for there was ever strife and common contempt 'twixt monk and parish priest, even as it is to-day.
"Audience of the holy father—and to-night?" repeated the seneschal, with proud disdain. "Good son, it is impossible, the abbot is engaged with knight and bishop; keep thou thy little matters till thou canst catch his rein, as he rides forth to-morrow."
"It is no little matter, good brother," I pleaded, "It is of life and death to many holy men."
"If it concerned a kingdom," returned he, "I could not send thee to the abbot now—with the little matters of thy parish to plague him withal," the fellow muttered under his breath.
As we debated thus, a most reverend monk passed through the corridor, of a strangely lofty and noble air and of a winning sweetness, who stayed his journey as he saw my evident distress.
"What ails thee, O my son?" said he.
"I bear grave and sad news to my lord abbot," I said, "and news that he should know without delay."