r
some case of foul sickness and will not bring it here?"

"Have no fear, lord; I have been waiting on the healthy, not on the
sick--a task which I leave to others who have more taste that way."

Then the door was opened cautiously, and from the room beyond it came a
pungent odour of aromatic essences. Basil passed in, shutting it quickly
behind him. Before him at the further side of the table and near to a
blazing fire stood Acour himself. He was clothed in a long robe and
held a piece of linen that was soaked in some strong-smelling substance
before his nose and mouth.

"Nay, come no nearer," he said to the clerk, "for this infection is most
subtle, and--be so good as to cast off that filthy cloak of yours and
leave it by the door."

Basil obeyed, revealing an undergarment that was still more foul. He was
not one who wasted money on new apparel.

"Well, man," said Acour, surveying him with evident disgust and throwing
a handful of dried herbs upon the fire, "what news now? Has my cause
been laid before his Holiness? I trust so, for know that I grow weary
of being cooped up here like a falcon in a cage with the dread of a
loathsome death and a handful of frightened servants as companions who
do nothing but drone out prayers all day long."

"Yes, lord, it has. I have it straight from Clement's own secretary, and
the answer is that his Holiness will attend to the matter when the pest
has passed away from Avignon, and not before. He adds also that when
it does so, if ever, all the parties to the cause, by themselves or
by their representatives, must appear before him. He will give no _ex
parte_ judgment upon an issue which, from letters that have reached him
appears to be complicated and doubtful."

"Mother of Heaven!" exclaimed Acour, "what a fool am I to let you in to
tell me such tidings. Well, if that is all you have to say the sooner
I am out of this hateful city the better. I ride this afternoon, or, if
need be, walk on foot."

"Indeed," said Basil. "Then you leave behind you some who are not
so frightened of their health, but who bide here upon a very similar
errand. Doubtless, as often happens to the bold, they will find a way to
fulfil it."

"And who may these be, fellow?"

"A bold and warlike knight, a squire with hair like tow and a face that
might be worn by Death himself, and a young English serving man."

Acour started up from the chair in which he had sat down.

"No need to tell me their name