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The Company had marched to the turn of the road ere Sir Nigel
Loring rode out from the gateway, mounted on Pommers, his great
black war-horse, whose ponderous footfall on the wooden
drawbridge echoed loudly from the gloomy arch which spanned it.
Sir Nigel was still in his velvet dress of peace, with flat
velvet cap of maintenance, and curling ostrich feather clasped in
a golden brooch. To his three squires riding behind him it
looked as though he bore the bird's egg as well as its feather,
for the back of his bald pate shone like a globe of ivory. He
bore no arms save the long and heavy sword which hung at his
saddle-bow; but Terlake carried in front of him the high
wivern-crested bassinet, Ford the heavy ash spear with
swallow-tail pennon, while Alleyne was entrusted with the
emblazoned shield. The Lady Loring rode her palfrey at her
lord's bridle-arm, for she would see him as far as the edge of
the forest, and ever and anon she turned her hard-lined face up
wistfully to him and ran a questioning eye over his apparel and
appointments.


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