“Why, there’s preferment for you!” said the boy, laughing. “High game for the heir of the throne! And his gang! Hold up your head, Leonillo: you and I come in for a share of the honour!”
“Hold up your head!” said the outlaw bitterly. “You may chance to hold it as high as your father’s is, for all your gibes and jests, my young Lord, if the Longshanks gets a hold of you, which our Lady forefend.”
“Nay, I think better of my Cousin Longshanks. I loved him well when I was his page at Hereford: he was tenderer to me than ever my brothers were; and I scarce think he would hang, draw, and quarter me now.”
“You may try, if you are not the better guided.”
“How did you hear these tidings?” inquired the boy, changing his mood to a graver one.
“From the monk to whom you confessed a fortnight back. Did you let him know your lineage?”
“How could I do otherwise?”
“He looked like a man who would keep a secret; and yet—”
“Shame—shame to doubt the good father!”
“Nay, I do not say that I do; but I would have the secret in as few men’s power as may be. Nevertheless, I thank the good brother. He called out to me as he saw me about to enter the town, that if I had any tenderness for my own life, I had best not show myself there; and he went on to tell me how the Prince was come to his hunting-lodge, with hawk and hound indeed, but for the following of men rather than bird or beast.”