“Talk you with such like evil fawtors, (factor, doer), Master Bertram?” asked Maude in a shocked voice.
“Evil fawtors, forsooth! Hugh is no evil fawtor. How can I help but rede (attend to) his sayings? He is one of my fellows. And ’tis but what he hath from his father. Master Calverley is a squire of the Queen’s Grace, and one of Sir John de Wycliffe’s following.”
“Who is Sir John de Wycliffe?” said Maude.
“One of the Lord Pope his Cardinals,” laughed Bertram. “Get thee to thine herbs and pans, little Maude; and burden not thy head with Sir John de Wycliffe nor John de Northampton neither. Fare thee well, my maid. I must after my master for the hawking.”
But before Bertram turned away, Maude seized the opportunity to ask a question which had been troubling her for many a month.
“If you be not in heavy bire, Master Bertram—”
“Go to! What maketh a minute more nor less?”
“Would it like you of your goodness to tell me, an’ you wit, who dwelleth in the Castle of Pleshy?”
“‘An’ I wit’! Well wis I. ’Tis my gracious Lord of Buckingham, brother unto our Lord of Cambridge.”
“Were you ever at Pleshy, Master Bertram?”