“By men’s wrongs, lord,” answered Robin, in a deep voice; “and now, ere this moon wanes, Redesdale is a camp!”
“What the immediate cause of complaint?”
“The hospital of St. Leonard’s has compelled us unjustly to render them a thrave of corn.”
“Thou art a cunning knave! Pinch the belly if you would make Englishmen rise.”
“True,” said Robin, smiling grimly; “and now—what say you—will you head us?”
“Head you! No!”
“Will you betray us?”
“It is not easy to betray twenty thousand men; if ye rise merely to free yourselves from a corn-tax and England from the Woodvilles, I see no treason in your revolt.”
“I understand you, Lord Montagu,” said Robin, with a stern and half-scornful smile,—“you are not above thriving by our danger; but we need now no lord and baron,—we will suffice for ourselves. And the hour will come, believe me, when Lord Warwick, pursued by the king, must fly to the Commons. Think well of these things and this prophecy, when the news from the North startles Edward of March in the lap of his harlots.”
Without saying another word, he turned and quitted the chamber as abruptly as he had entered.