, for they will sleep
at Walderne tonight, on their road to Pevensey.

The day wears away. Drogo paces the battlements of the watchtower
with excited steps--the royal banner will soon be seen surmount ing
that ridge above the castle. Yes, there is a messenger spurring
downwards as fast as the sandy road will permit him; see, he is
galloping as for dear life--look at the cloud of dust which he
raises. The "merrie men" have disappeared in the woods, and Drogo
descends to meet him; just as the rider enters beneath the
suspended portcullis into the court of the castle, he reaches the
foot of the stairs.

"What news? Speak, thou varlet!"

"The king approaches. Already he is within sight from the upper
windows of the windmill."

"Throw open the gates, man the battlements, let pennon and banner
wave; here will we receive him. Get me the keys to deliver to my
liege."

Then Drogo paid a visit to the kitchen to see that the men cooks
were getting forward with the banquet, that the oxen and fatlings,
the spoils of a successful foray upon the farmyards of hostile
neighbours--the deer, the hares, and partridges of the woods--the
fish of the mere, were being successfully roasted, boiled, baked,
stewed, or the like, for the king's supper. Then he interviewed the
butler about the supplies of malmsey, clary, mead, ale, and the
like. Then he saw that the adornments of the great hall were
completed, the banners, the armour, the antlers of the deer,
suspended becomingly around the walls, the floor strewn with fresh
rushes, the tapestry arranged in comely folds.

When all this was done the trumpets from the battlements announced
that the royal army was descending from the heights above. It was a
glorious sight that the gazer looked upon from the battlements:

On lance, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part.

The boast of chivalry! The pomp of power! The woods fairly
glistened with lances and spears reflecting the rays of the setting
sun. The green of the foliage was relieved by banners of every hue,
in bright contrast against the darker verdure, the tramp of war
horses, the thunder of armed heels, the buzz of a myriad voices.
And now the royal guard descends the gentle slope which rises just
above the castle to the north, and approaches the drawbridge.

Outside they halt. Drogo kneels in front of the gateway, the keys
of his castle in his hand.

The guard opens, and the king dismounts from his horse, somew