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202 armour, with lances raised and closed vizors, sat their horses on either side, while in the centre, with two pages to tend upon him, there stood a noble-faced man in flowing purple gown, who pricked off upon a sheet of parchment the style and title of each applicant, marshalling them in their due order, and giving to each the place and facility which his rank demanded. His long white beard and searching eyes imparted to him an air of masterful dignity, which was increased by his tabardlike vesture and the heraldic barret cap with triple plume which bespoke his office.

'It is Sir William de Pakington, the prince's own herald and scrivener,' whispered Sir Nigel, as they pulled up amid the line of knights who awaited admission. 'Ill fares it with the man who should venture to deceive him. He hath by rote the name of every knight of France or of England, and all the tree of his family, with his kinships, coat-armour, marriages, augmentations, abatements, and I know not what beside. We may leave our horses here with the varlets, and push forward with our squires.'

Following Sir Nigel's counsel, they pressed on upon foot until they were close to the prince's secretary, who was in high debate with a young and foppish knight, who was bent upon making his way past him.

'Mackworth!' said the king-at-arms. 'It is in my mind, young sir, that you have not been presented before.'

'Nay, it is but a day since I set foot in Bordeaux, but I feared lest the prince should think it strange that I had not waited upon him.'

'The prince hath other things to think upon,' quoth Sir William de Pakington; 'but if you be a Mackworth you must be a Mackworth of Normanton, and indeed I see now that your coat is sable and ermine.'

'I am a Mackworth of Normanton,' the other answered, with some uneasiness of manner.

'Then must you be Sir Stephen Mackworth, for I learn that when old Sir Guy died he came in for the arms and the name, the war-cry and the profit.'