“Hail and greeting to thee, my Pertinax; thy gloomy visage is a joy!”
Sir Pertinax snorted, but spake not; wherefore the Duke questioned him full blithe: “What fair, good wind hath blown thee dungeon-wards, sweet soul?”
“Ha!” quoth the knight. “Fetters, see'st thou, a dungeon, and these foul knaves for company—the which cometh of thy fool's folly, messire! So prithee ha' done with it!”
“Stay, gentle gossip, thou'rt foolish, methinks; thou frettest 'gainst fate, thou kickest unwisely 'gainst the pricks, thou ragest pitifully 'gainst circumstance—in fine, thou'rt a very Pertinax, my Pertinax!”
“Aye troth, that am I and no dog to lie thus chained in noisome pit, par Dex! So let us out, messire, and that incontinent!”
“Why here is a bright thought, sweet lad, let us out forthwith—but how?”
“Summon the town-reeve, messire, the burgesses, the council, declare thy rank, so shall we go free—none shall dare hold thus a prince of thy exalted state and potent might! Declare thyself, lord.”
“This were simple matter, Pertinax, but shall they believe us other than we seem, think ye?”
Quoth Pertinax: “We can try!”
“Verily,” said Jocelyn, “this very moment!” So saying, he turned to the three who sat in a corner muttering together.