And then there came a sharp clash of arms,
a dull heavy blow as from a club or sword-pommel, and a deep voice
from without summoned them to open in the King's name. The old
dame and Nigel had both sprung to their feet, their table
overturned and their chessmen scattered among the rushes. Nigel's
hand had sought his crossbow, but the Lady Ermyntrude grasped his
arm.
"Nay, fair son! Have you not heard that it is in the King's
name?" said she. "Down, Talbot! Down, Bayard! Open the door
and let his messenger in!"
Nigel undid the bolt, and the heavy wooden door swung outward upon
its hinges. The light from the flaring cressets beat upon steel
caps and fierce bearded faces, with the glimmer of drawn swords
and the yellow gleam of bowstaves. A dozen armed archers forced
their way into the room. At their head were the gaunt sacrist of
Waverley and a stout elderly man clad in a red velvet doublet and
breeches much stained and mottled with mud and clay. He bore a
great sheet of parchment with a fringe of dangling seals, which he
held aloft as he entered.
"I call on Nigel Loring!" he cried. "I, the officer of the King's
law and the lay summoner of Waverley, call upon the man named
Nigel Loring!"
"I am he."
"Yes, it is he!" cried the sacrist. "Archers, do as you were
ordered!"
In an instant the band threw themselves upon him like the hounds
on a stag.
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