A moment later the Palmer appeared, clad in a black mantle and cowl, and
wearing on his shoulders the keys of St. Peter cut in cloth of red. His
cap, bordered with scallop shells, fitted close to his head, and over
all was drawn the cowl. His sandals were travel-worn. In his hands he
bore a staff and palm branch, emblems of the pilgrim from the holy land.
No lord or knight was there in the hall who had a more stately step,
none who looked more proud. He waited not for salutation, but strode
across the hall of state, and fronted Marmion, as peer meets peer.
Beneath the cowl was a face so wan, so worn, a cheek so sunken, and an
eye so wild, that the mother would not have known her child, much less
Marmion, his rival.
Danger, travel, want, and woe soon change the form. Deadly fear can
outstrip time; toil quenches the fire of youth; and despair traces
wrinkles deeper than old age.
"Happy whom none of these befall;
But this poor Palmer knew them all."
Lord Marmion made known his request, and the Palmer took upon himself
the task of guide, on condition that they set out without delay, saying:
"'But I have solemn vows to pay
And may not linger by the way;
Saint Mary grant that cave or spring
May back to peace my bosom bring,
Or bid it throb no more!'"
Then the page, on bended knee, presented to each guest in turn the
massive silver bowl of wassail, "the midnight draught of sleep," rich
with wine and spices.
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