His
features were small, delicate, and regular, with clear-cut,
curving nose, and eyes which jutted forward from the lids. His
dress was simple and yet spruce. A Flandrish hat of beevor,
bearing in the band the token of Our Lady of Embrun, was drawn
low upon the left side to hide that ear which had been partly
shorn from his head by a Flemish man-at-arms in a camp broil
before Tournay. His cote-hardie, or tunic, and trunk-hosen were
of a purple plum color, with long weepers which hung from either
sleeve to below his knees. His shoes were of red leather,
daintily pointed at the toes, but not yet prolonged to the
extravagant lengths which the succeeding reign was to bring into
fashion. A gold-embroidered belt of knighthood encircled his
loins, with his arms, five roses gules on a field argent,
cunningly worked upon the clasp. So stood Sir Nigel Loring upon
the bridge of Avon, and talked lightly with his lady.
And, certes, had the two visages alone been seen, and the
stranger been asked which were the more likely to belong to the
bold warrior whose name was loved by the roughest soldiery of
Europe, he had assuredly selected the lady's.
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