which might hope in time to entwine itself around his massive leg.
'Once more, Sir Oliver,' said Sir Nigel, looking shorewards with sparkling eyes, 'do we find ourselves at the gate of honour, the door which hath so often led us to all that is knightly and worthy. There flies the prince's banner, and it would be well that we haste ashore and pay our obeisance to him. The boats already swarm from the bank.'
'There is a goodly hostel near the west gate, which is famed for the stewing of spiced pullets,' remarked Sir Oliver. 'We might take the edge of our hunger off ere we seek the prince, for though his tables are gay with damask and silver, he is no trencherman himself, and hath no sympathy for those who are his betters.'
'His betters!'
'His betters before the tranchoir, lad. Sniff not treason where none is meant. I have seen him smile in his quiet way because I had looked for the fourth time towards the carving squire. And indeed to watch him dallying with a little gobbet of bread, or sipping his cup of thrice-watered wine, is enough to make a man feel shame at his own hunger. Yet war and glory, my good friend, though well enough in their way, will not serve to tighten such a belt as clasps my waist.'
'How read you that coat which hangs over yonder galley, Alleyne?' asked Sir Nigel.
'Argent, a bend vert between cotises dancetté gules.'
'It is a northern coat. I have seen it in the train of the Percies. Prom the shields, there is not one of these vessels which hath not knight or baron aboard. I would mine eyes were better. How read you this upon the left?'
'Argent and azure, a barry wavy of six.'
'Ha, it is the sign of the Wiltshire Stourtons! And there beyond I see the red and silver of the Worsleys of Apuldercombe, who like myself are of Hampshire lineage. Close behind us is the moline cross of the gallant William Molyneux, and beside it the bloody chevrons of the Norfolk
