"Thibault Sanchez," replied Le Borgne Basque, giving his real name,
which he might safely do, as it was not known to above two men in the
whole Duchy of Aquitaine. "Thibault Sanchez, so please you, noble
Sir, a poor Squire from the mountains, who hath seen some few battles
and combats in his day, but never one equal to the fight of Najara,
where your deeds of prowess--"

"My deeds of prowess, Sir Seneschal, had better rest in silence until
our horses have been disposed of, and I have made the rounds of the
Castle before the light fails us."

"So late, Sir Knight! and after a long and weary journey? Surely
you will drink a cup of wine, and take a night's rest first, relying
on me, who, though I be a plain man, trust I understand somewhat of
the duties of mine office."

"I sleep not until I have learnt what is committed to my charge,"
replied the Knight. "Lead the way, Master Sanchez."

"Ah! there is what it is to have a Knight of fame," cried Le Borgne
Basque. "What vigilance! what earnestness! Ah, this will be, as I
told my comrades even now, the very school of chivalry, the pride of
the country."

They had by this time crossed the narrow court, and passing beneath
a second portcullised door defended on either side by high battlement
walls, nearly double as thick as the steps themselves were wide. At
the head was an arched door, heavily studded with nails, and opening
into the Castle hall, a gloomy, vaulted room, its loop-hole windows,