dainty pages of my lady's bower. A Gascon, and lowly born, he was a
simple man-at-arms when, in a small affray on the Italian border, he
had chanced to ward from Sir Aymer de Lacy's head the battle-axe that,
falling on him from behind, must else have cleft him to the gorget.
The young Knight had thereupon obtained the man's transfer to his own
following and--becoming assured of his bravery and martial fitness--he
had made him his squire when, a few months later, an Italian cross-bolt
had wrought a vacancy in the post. Stocky in build, wonderfully quick
and thoroughly trained in arms, he also had the rare faculty of
executing an order without the slightest evasion, and could be trusted
in any emergency either of discretion or valor. Right often had the
two stood side by side in the press of skirmish and the rush of
battle,--for they had ever sought the locality of strife--and there had
come to be little choice for the foeman between the accomplished
axe-play of the master and the sweeping blows of the sturdy squire.
And as among the veteran soldiery of the French-Italian borders no name
stood higher than De Lacy, so also was no wearer of the silver spurs
more respected than he who bore the banner of the Trippant Stag.

"It is a great fortress, Giles," said the Knight. "Never have I seen a
stronger."

"Marry, no; nor one, I ween, wherein the discipline was sterner. Are
all castles in this land of yours, my lord, so conducted?"

"All wherein the Duke of Gloucester holds command."

"Of a truth, then," said Dauvrey, "the tales I have heard of this
Prince are not so wide of the clout."