The revulsion was great from such terror to comfort, joy, and thankfulness. All came forward. The leader of the army looked at the group, stayed his horse, and lifted his visor. A cry of joy broke from Philippa and Isoult, for they saw beneath his helm a face that they had known well in the old Calais days.
“Mrs Philippa Basset!” exclaimed he in amazement; “at the least if mine eyes bewray me not. And Mrs Barry! God keep you both! How come you here? and do you lack aid?”
“Your eyes be true men, my Lord Grey de Wilton,” (Note 2) said Philippa, “and right glad are mine to light on no unfriendlier face. Truly at the first we took you for rebels, and had it not been for your coats and your standard, I had picked you off with my matchlock ere I wist who it were.”
Lord Grey laughed merrily.
“Nay,” said he, “we are marching against the rebels, by the King’s gracious commission. What may I do for you, my mistresses? Whither go you?”
“We be on our way to London,” answered Philippa, “if it like the saints to have us there.”
“It may like the troops, maybe, the better,” said Lord Grey. “Well, I will then send with you certain picked soldiers, good men and true, to see you safe on your way, if God permit.”
“We thank you heartily, and will accept of your goodness with a very good will,” she replied. “And what news, now?”
“Very ill news,” answered he. “The rebels be up all through Somerset, and Kent, and Essex, and Lincoln, and Norfolk, and Suffolk.”
“Thanks be to our Lady!” cried she; “none of those lie in our way to London.”