Near the outskirts of the village, lights were
flashing and moving unsteadily in the road as those who carried them
staggered along. To reach the monastery which was the headquarters of
the court, the Queen and Gilbert would have to walk a hundred yards
down the street before turning to the right. Gilbert saw at a glance
that it would be impossible for them to reach the turning before
meeting the drunken crowd.
"It would be better to go back by another way," he said, slackening his
pace.
But the Queen walked quietly on without answering him. It was clear
that she intended to make the people stand aside to let her pass, for
she continued to walk in the middle of the street. But Gilbert gently
drew her aside, and she suffered him to lead her to a doorway, raised
two steps above the street, and darkened by an overhanging balcony.
There they stood and waited. A dense throng of grooms, archers and men-
at-arms came roaring up the steep way toward them. A huge man in a
dirty scarlet tunic and dusty russet hose, with soft boots that were
slipping down in folds about his ankles, staggered along in front of
the rest. His face was on fire with wine, his little red eyes glared
dully from under swollen lids, and as he bawled his song with mouth
wide open, one might have tossed an apple between his wolfish teeth. In
his right hand he held an earthen jug in which there was still a little
wine; with his left he brandished a banner that had been made by sewing
a broad red cross upon a towel tied to one of those long wands with
which farmers' boys drive geese to feed.
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