“Cicely! Cicely! how darest thou? Come back, or thou shall be mispaid or tint!” (Held in displeasure or ruined.)
But I cared not at that moment, whether for mispayment or tinsel. I had my duty to do, and I did it. If the news were true, the Queen was little like to snyb (blame) me when she found it so: and if no, well, I had but done as I should. And I knew that Dame Tiffany, which tended her like a hen with one chicken, should hear my tidings of another fashion from the rest. Had Dame Elizabeth lain that night in the pallet, and Dame Tiffany in the antechamber, my work had been the lighter. But afore I might win to the pallet—which to do I had need to cross the chamber,—Queen Isabel’s own voice saith from the state bed—“Who is there?”
“Dame,” said I,—forgetting to kneel, in such a fluster was I—“my brother hath now brought tidings that the Scots come in force by the Aire Valley, with all speed, and are nearhand at the very gate; wherefore—”
The Queen heard me no further. She was out of her bed, and herself donning her raiment, ere I might win thus far.
“Send Dame Elizabeth to me,” was all she said, “and thyself bid De Nantoil alarm the garrison. Well done!”
I count I am not perfect nor a saint, else had I less relished that second shake of Dame Elizabeth—that was fast asleep—and deliverance of the Queen’s bidding. I stayed me not to hear her mingled contakes and wayments (reproaches and lamentations), but flew off to the outermost door, and unbarring the same, spake through the crack that wherewith I was charged to Oliver de Nantoil, the usher of the Queen’s chamber, which lay that night at her outer door. Then was nought but bustle and stir, both within and without. The Queen would have up Robin, and hearkened to his tale while Alice Conan combed her hair, the which she bade bound up at the readiest, to lose not a moment. In less than an hour, methinks, she won to horse, and all we behind, and set forth for York, which was the contrary way to that the Scots were coming. And, ah me! I rade with Dame Elizabeth, that did nought but grieve over her lost night’s rest, and harry poor me for breaking the same. I asked at her if she had better loved to be taken of the Scots; since if so, the Queen’s leave accorded, we might have left her behind.
“Scots!” quoth she. “Where be these ghostly (fabulous, figurative) Scots? I will go bail they be wrapped of their foldings (plaids) fast asleep on some moor an hundred miles hence. ’Tis but Robin, the clown! that is so clumst (stupid) with his rashness, that he seeth a Scot full armed under every bush, and heareth a trumpeter in every corncrake: and as if that were not enough, he has a sister as ill as himself, that must take all for gospel as if Friar Robert preached it. Mary love us! but I quoke when thou gattest hold on me by the shoulders! I count it was a good hour ere I might sleep again.”
“Dear heart, Dame!” cried I, “but it was not two minutes! It is scantly an hour by now.”
“Then that is thy blame, Cicely, routing like a bedel (shouting like a town-crier), and oncoming (assaulting) folks as thou dost. I marvel thou canst not be peaceable! I alway am. Canst mind the night that ever I shaked thee awake and made thee run out of thy warm bed as if a bear were after thee?”
I trust I kept out of my voice the laughter that was in my throat as I said, “No, Dame: that cannot I.” The self notion of Dame Elizabeth ever doing thus to any was so exceeding laughable.