“I did bid Piers—,” Richard made another attempt.
“Piers, quotha? Why didst not bid the Jackanapes that sits on the luggage? A proper warder for a sick babe!”
“I am no babe!” here burst out John; “I am twelve years old come Martinmas, and I need no tendance but Richard’s.”
“Ha, ha! So those are all the thanks we ladies get, when we are not young and fair!” laughed Dame Idonea, rather amused.
“I want no women, young or old,” petulantly repeated John; “I want Richard.—Lift me up, Richard; take away this cloak.”
“For his life, no!” returned the Dame; “he has the heats and the chills on him, and to let him take cold would be mere slaughter.”
“Alas!” said Richard, “I hoped nothing ailed him but the sea, and that landing would make all well.”
“As if the sea ever made a child shiver and burn by turns! Nay, ’tis the trick of the sun in these parts. Strange that the sun himself should be a mere ally of the Infidel! I tell thee, if the child is ever to see Dunster again, thou must watch him well, keep him from the sun by day and the chill by night; or he’ll be like the poor creatures in the French camp out there, whom, I suppose, you found in fine case.”
“Alack yes, Lady!”
“I’ve seen it many a time; and all their disorders will be creeping into our camp next. Tell me, is it even as they told us, one king dead and the other dying?”