"I am overworn for fighting," said Richard. "I will even trust my bow rather than my sword or axe."
"As thou wilt," replied his host, but a serving man placed food upon the table, and Richard began to do it full justice.
None other was admitted to the room, and Richard dealt fairly, telling all news that he might tell.
"One thing know I," said the landlord. "The king's levies come in but slowly, and he is sore displeased. Not this year will he cross to France. If I hear truly, some of the great lords would rather march against him than against Philip, and they look for side help from the Scots."
So many true tales creep in at a hostel from the lips of those who tarry there, and the young messenger felt not only weary but half dispirited. The landlord had now gone forth, and for a few moments Richard was alone. The door was not fastened, however, and it opened without a sound to let in a man whose footsteps were unheard until he had passed to the table side.
"My son, peace be with thee! Thou art on the message of the king?"
Richard was startled, but he turned to look, and before him stood a black friar in his long serge robe, with sandals only on his feet. A thought came like a flash:
"I have heard that these holy men are with Philip of France rather than with Edward of England. I must beware of him, for they are cunning men."
Nevertheless he reverently greeted the friar and bade him be seated.
"Tell me, my son, what tidings bringest thou from the north, and from the saintly Archbishop of York?"