“Aymer, the Prior Aymer? Brian de Bois-Guilbert?”⁠—muttered Cedric; “Normans both;⁠—but Norman or Saxon, the hospitality of Rotherwood must not be impeached; they are welcome, since they have chosen to halt⁠—more welcome would they have been to have ridden further on their way⁠—But it were unworthy to murmur for a night’s lodging and a night’s food; in the quality of guests, at least, even Normans must suppress their insolence.⁠—Go, Hundebert,” he added, to a sort of majordomo who stood behind him with a white wand; “take six of the attendants, and introduce the strangers to the guests’ lodging. Look after their horses and mules, and see their train lack nothing. Let them have change of vestments if they require it, and fire, and water to wash, and wine and ale; and bid the cooks add what they hastily can to our evening meal; and let it be put on the board when those strangers are ready to share it. Say to them, Hundebert, that Cedric would himself bid them welcome, but he is under a vow never to step more than three steps from the dais of his own hall to meet any who shares not the blood of Saxon royalty. Begone! see them carefully tended; let them not say in their pride, the Saxon churl has shown at once his poverty and his avarice.”