It was at last in the morning of a fair, warm day that Richard and his archers rode out from under a dense wood to shout together as one man for what they saw.
"Aye, here we are!" said Richard, "and yonder is the spire of York Cathedral. One hour more and we are at our journey's end."
Never before had any man among them journeyed so far, but they showed small signs of wear or weariness. Nevertheless, at Richard's command they gave goodly attention to their apparel and their weapons, and to the coats of their beasts, before presenting themselves at the gate of the ancient cathedral city.
"I have heard tell," said Richard to Guy, "that here was a town in the old days of the Romans. There hath been many a battle and leaguer before these walls."
"The Romans?" replied Guy. "I was told of them by a Cornish man. There were giants in Cornwall in those days. God grant they are all gone their way; but the Cornish men say they at times find the long bones and the big, hollow skulls."
"The gates are well guarded," was the next thought of Richard. "Can there be bad news from the north?"
Guards there were, and none went out or in without notice to discern well whom they might be, as if, perchance, there were spies in the land.
"In the king's name!" shouted Richard, at the gate, "Richard of Wartmont. From Earl Warwick and the king's duty to his Grace the Archbishop."
"In the king's name, enter!" as loudly responded a crested knight who had advanced before the sentries. "Follow thou me to the archbishop. The warders will care for thy men. I am Robert Johnstone of the Hill. Art thou not a Neville, and my kinsman?"
"That am I," said Richard. "My father was Sir Edward Neville."