He had no particular wish to enter, and yet would have liked to see what could be seen of the court.
'Where the doorkeeper is a churl, what will folk say of the master of the house ?' said Scudamore.
'They may say as they list; it will neither hurt him nor me,' said Eccles.
'Make haste, my good fellow, and let us through,' pleaded Scudamore.

'By Saint George! but my leg is in great pain.

I fear the knee-cap is broken, in which case I shall not trouble thee much for a week of months.' As he spoke, he stood leaning on Richard's arm, and behind them stood Lady, still as a horse of bronze.
'I will but drop the portcullis,' said the warder, 'and then I will carry thee to thy room in my arms.

But not a cursed roundhead shall enter here, I swear.' 'Let us through at once,' said Scudamore, trying the imperative.
'Not if the earl himself gave the order,' persisted the man.
'Ho! ho! what is that you say?
Let the gentlemen through,' cried a voice from somewhere.
The warder opened the wicket immediately, stepped inside, and held it open while they entered, nor uttered another word.

But as soon as Richard had got Scudamore clear of the threshold, to which he lent not a helping finger, he stepped quietly out again, closed the wicket behind him, and taking Lady by the bridle, led her back over the bridge towards the bowling-green.
Scudamore had just time to whisper to Heywood, 'It is my master, the earl himself,' when the voice came again.
'What! wounded, Rowland?
How is this?
And who have you there ?' But that moment Richard heard the sound of his mare's hoofs on the bridge, and leaving Scudamore to answer for them both, bounded back to the wicket, darted through, and called her by name.