Riding all day, Wilfred retraced in this ignominious manner the
road he had so eagerly traversed under the veil of night; and at
length, towards sunset, they came in sight of the priory, the
bridge, and the castle of Aescendune.
"I think I may cut these bonds now, and thou needest not be seen to
return in the guise of a captive. Once more, tell me all; I will be
thy mediator with thy father."
"Father!" repeated Wilfred with an expression indicative of
something deeper yet than scorn or hatred, but he said no more.
The blast of trumpets from the approaching troop aroused the
inmates of the castle, and they flocked to their battlements to
behold the pennon of Eustace de Blois, familiar to them on many a
hard-fought field of old.
Immediately there was bustling and saddling, and a troop of horse
issued over the drawbridge to greet the coming guest. Foremost
amongst them was the grim stepfather, and by his side rode Etienne.
Imagine their surprise when they recognised Wilfred in the train of
their visitor; we can hardly paint fitly the scornful looks of
Etienne, or the grimness of the stepfather.
But there was etiquette to be consulted--a most important element
in the days of chivalry--and no question was asked until all the
customary salutations had been made.
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