The breakfast meal being over, the baron entered through a side door
behind a rude bench, overhung with faded drapery, which formed an
elevation for the chief. His cheek was scorched and darkened with the
burning suns of Palestine, while his beard seemed to have been whitened
in that fiery clime. He was now habited in a rich purple cope or gown,
fitting close, without sleeves or armholes, and embellished with a deep
gold-coloured border, the Anglo-Saxon mantle being now discarded by
persons of distinction. The tunic underneath was of scarlet, bordered
with real ermine, which, together with the low square cap or coronet
that he wore, gave him something of a regal appearance. A leash of
hounds crouched at his feet. Before and below him the heralds and
officers of the household arranged themselves, amongst whom Adam de
Dutton was conspicuous by his ludicrously-solemn attitude and
appearance. The whole scene had the aspect of a military tribunal,
especially when Roger de Lacy (by which name we shall now distinguish
him) ordered that silence should be proclaimed, and that the Dean of
Whalley should be summoned to his presence.
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