“The reul of St. Maure and of St. Beneit
Because that it was old and some deale streit
This ilke monk let old things pace;
He held ever of the new world the trace.”
Chaucer.
“The churls!” exclaimed Stephen.
“Poor old man!” said Ambrose; “I hope they are good to him!”
“To think that thus ends all that once was gallant talk of fighting under Talbot’s banner,” sighed Stephen, thoughtful for a moment. “However, there’s a good deal to come first.”
“Yea, and what next?” said the elder brother.
“On to uncle Hal. I ever looked most to him. He will purvey me to a page’s place in some noble household, and get thee a clerk’s or scholar’s place in my Lord of York’s house. Mayhap there will be room for us both there, for my Lord of York hath a goodly following of armed men.”
“Which way lies the road to London?”
“We must back into the town and ask, as well as fill our stomachs and our wallets,” said Ambrose. “Talk of their rule! The entertaining of strangers is better understood at Silkstede than at Hyde.”
“Tush! A grudged crust sticks in the gullet,” returned Stephen. “Come on, Ambrose, I marked the sign of the White Hart by the market-place. There will be a welcome there for foresters.”