“Nay, I will bear no more messages to prisoners,” said that man very rough, when she had caught his arm. “The King 's within. There 'll be a lopping of heads, and mine own wags very loose o' my neck.”
“To no prisoner, good brother,” pleaded Calote, “but to a fair lady; Godiyeva 's her name, madame's waiting-woman.”
The gaoler grunted, and stood uncertain.
“Do but say this,—there 's a jongleuse craveth speech of her, a jongleuse that served her once.”
He grunted yet more loud and went within.
After a little while he came again and a page with him, who led Calote across the outer and inner ward to the keep, and so by narrow ways and steep stairs to a turret chamber where sat the Lady Godiyeva.
“Lady,” said Calote, “hast thou forgot one night in Yorkshire, at thy manor-house?”
“Mine old father is dead,” Godiyeva answered, “and Eleyne, my sister, is lady o' the manor,—but I have not forgot.”
“Lady,—Madame Godiyeva, I would come at King Richard. Have a boon to crave, a token to deliver.”
Godiyeva bent her eyes, thoughtful, stern, upon the maid: “A token to deliver?‘ quoth she. ’In Yorkshire thou didst wear a dagger, I saw 't, that night.”