“He will neither hang nor hurt thee if thou wilt take this letter safely, and bring me back the answer safely.”
“They will kill me.”
“Who?”
“They,” said Martin, pointing to the bower maidens,—young ladies of good family who stood round, chosen for their good looks, after the fashion of those times, to attend on great ladies. There was a cry of angry and contemptuous denial, not unmixed with something like laughter, which showed that Martin had but spoken the truth. Hereward, in spite of all his sins, was the darling of his mother’s bower; and there was not one of the damsels but would have done anything short of murder to have prevented Martin carrying the letter.
“Silence, man!” said Lady Godiva, so sternly that Martin saw that he had gone too far. “How know’st such as thou what is in this letter?”
“Those others will know,” said Martin, sullenly, without answering the last question.
“Who?”
“His housecarles outside there.”
“He has promised that they shall not touch thee. But how knowest thou what is in this letter?”
“I will take it,” said Martin: he held out his hand, took it and looked at it, but upside down, and without any attempt to read it.