"It was a good hostel, that of the `Pied Merlin,'" he remarked.
"By my ten finger bones! when I hang bow on nail and change my
brigandine for a tunic, I might do worse than take over the dame
and her business."
"I thought," said Alleyne, "that you were betrothed to some one
at Christchurch."
"To three," Aylward answered moodily, "to three. I fear I may
not go back to Christchurch. I might chance to see hotter
service in Hampshire than I have ever done in Gascony. But mark
you now yonder lofty turret in the centre, which stands back from
the river and hath a broad banner upon the summit. See the
rising sun flashes full upon it and sparkles on the golden
lions. 'Tis the royal banner of England, crossed by the prince's
label. There he dwells in the Abbey of St. Andrew, where he hath
kept his court these years back. Beside it is the minster of the
same saint, who hath the town under his very special care."
"And how of yon gray turret on the left?"
"'Tis the fane of St. Michael, as that upon the right is of
St. Remi. There, too, above the poop of yonder nief, you see the
towers of Saint Croix and of Pey Berland.
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