They were well in advance of their little column, and they rode out over the brow of a low hill and from under the shadow of overarching trees.
"My Lord of Wartmont," loudly exclaimed the man-at-arms, "look yonder! Shall we not push forward?"
Before them lay a deep, narrow valley, with many cots and vineyards scattered up and down the stream which wandered through it. Directly across the hollow, however, there was a sight worth seeing. High and rock-bordered was that northward hillside, but on its crown was a fortress that was half a church, with a walled town beyond the foot of the castle. High and precipitous were the granite cliffs, high were the towers of the castle, but into the sunset light above them all arose the cross-tipped steeple of the church.
On this side of the outer wall of the town on the hill was a great gate, and over it floated, as also on the donjon keep of the castle, near the town gate, the golden lilies of the royal standard of France, streaming out against the sky.
"We will not go forward," said Richard. "We will halt, rather. No force like ours can do aught with a fort like that. Nor shall we now surprise them. Some captain of high rank is in command, for there is the fleur-de-lis flag."
"My Lord, there was the blast of a horn!" said Ben o' Coventry, from the archer ranks.
"Thou hast keen hearing," Richard replied, as again the mellow music came faintly up the road; "that horn calleth us to wait for the force that followeth."
At the word of command, the horsemen drew rein and the footmen stood at rest. They had not long to wait.
A splendid black horse, and on him a rider in black armor, came spurring along the narrow highway accompanied only by a page.
"It is the prince!" exclaimed Richard. "What doeth he here alone?"