"It is good John Chandos!!" cried the King. "By the rood, John, I have missed your merry songs this week or more! Glad I am to see that you have your citole slung to your back. Whence come you then?"
"I come from Tilford, sire, in the hope that I should meet your majesty."
"It was well thought of. Come, ride here between the Prince and me, and we will believe that we are back in France with our war harness on our backs once more. What is your news, Master John?"
Chandos' quaint face quivered with suppressed amusement and his one eye twinkled like a star. "Have you had sport, my liege?"
"Poor sport, John. We flew two hawks on the same heron. They crabbed, and the bird got free. But why do you smile so?"
"Because I hope to show you better sport ere you come to Tilford."
"For the hawk? For the hound?"
"A nobler sport than either."
"Is this a riddle, John? What mean you?"
"Nay, to tell all would be to spoil all. I say again that there is rare sport betwixt here and Tilford, and I beg you, dear lord, to mend your pace that we make the most of the daylight."
Thus adjured, the King set spurs to his horse, and the whole cavalcade cantered over the heath in the direction which Chandos showed. Presently as they came over a slope they saw beneath them a winding river with an old high-backed bridge across it. On the farther side was a village green with a fringe of cottages and one dark manor house upon the side of the hill.
"This is Tilford," said Chandos. "Yonder is the house of the Lorings."
The King's expectations had been aroused and his face showed his disappointment.
"Is this the sport that you have promised us, Sir John? How can you make good your words?"
"I will make them good, my liege."
"Where then is the sport?"
On the high crown of the bridge a rider in armor was seated, lance in hand, upon a great yellow steed. Chandos touched the King's arm and pointed. "That is the sport," said he.