For a space Sir Aymer rode alone at the head of the column without even
casting a glance behind or addressing a word to his squire. Presently
the road forked and turning half around in his saddle, he inquired:
"Which leads to Kirkstall Abbey?"

"The straightaway one, my lord; the other would carry you back to
Wakefield," said the elderly under-officer, whose hair, where it had
strayed from under his casquetel, was silvered, and across whose
weather-beaten face, from chin to temple, ran a bright red scar.

"The battlefield?"

"The same, sir."

"Ride beside me," said De Lacy. "Did you fight at Wakefield?"

"I did, fair sir--it was a bloody field."

"The Duke of York died that day."

"Aye, sir--I stood not ten feet from him when he fell. He was a brave
knight, and our own Gloucester much resembles him in countenance."

"You have seen many battles, my man?"

"Since the first St. Albans I have missed scarce one. It is a trade
that came into the family with my grandsire's sire."

"And do your children follow it, as well?"