"
The Abbot was little used to hear such words of reproof uttered in
so stern a voice under his own abbey roof and before his listening
monks. "You may perchance find that an Abbey court has more
powers than you wot of, Sir Knight," said he, "if knight indeed
you be who are so uncourteous and short in your speech. Ere we go
further, I would ask your name and style?"
The stranger laughed. "It is easy to see that you are indeed men
of peace," said he proudly. "Had I shown this sign," and he
touched the token upon his lapels, "whether on shield or pennon,
in the marches of France or Scotland, there is not a cavalier but
would have known the red pile of Chandos."
Chandos, John Chandos, the flower of English chivalry, the pink of
knight-errantry, the hero already of fifty desperate enterprises,
a man known and honored from end to end of Europe! Nigel gazed at
him as one who sees a vision. The archers stood back abashed,
while the monks crowded closer to stare at the famous soldier of
the French wars. The Abbot abated his tone, and a smile came to
his angry face.
"We are indeed men of peace, Sir John, and little skilled in
warlike blazonry," said he; "yet stout as are our Abbey walls,
they are not so thick that the fame of your exploits has not
passed through them and reached our ears. If it be your pleasure
to take an interest in this young and misguided Squire, it is not
for us to thwart your kind intention or to withhold such grace as
you request.
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