[CHAPTER XXXIX]
THE LORDS DE OV
From the first hour of my arrival at Westminster, after returning from Calais, I had naturally been eager to visit my grandsire's homestead, of which, in the midst of battles and sieges, I had often dreamt pleasant dreams when stretched at rest on a foreign soil. But I felt, in some degree, responsible for the warning I had brought to England as to Calais being in peril; and during the time that elapsed between my communication to the Prince of Wales and the arrival of Aymery de Pavie I did not deem myself quite at liberty to leave the palace. No sooner, however, did I ascertain this much, at least, that the result of the Lombard's interview with the king had justified my intelligence, than I asked, and obtained, permission to repair, for a brief period, to the scene of my childhood.
Resolving to set out betimes next day, I availed myself of the interval to proceed to the Falcon, and hear such tidings of my kinsfolk as Thomelin of Winchester could impart. As I left the courtyard of the palace in a joyous mood, I encountered Lord De Ov, who was entering on horseback and with high feudal pride; and again he eyed me with a display of malice which renewed all the perplexity which his conduct had so frequently created in my mind.
"Why, in the name of all the saints, has this haughty young lord selected me, of all people, as the object of his hatred?" I asked myself for the hundredth time, and continued to question myself in vain, as I strode along the bush-grown Strand, and made for Gracechurch.
On reaching the Falcon, I found, to my disappointment, that Thomelin of Winchester was not at his hostelry, and, on inquiring more closely, I learned, somewhat to my alarm, that he had been summoned by my grandsire some days earlier, that he had set out in haste, and that he had not returned. Musing over this intelligence, and by no means in so joyous a mood as that in which I left Westminster, I was issuing from the Falcon, when a small body of horse halted at the door; and, looking up, I, by the twilight, recognised in their leader no less memorable a man than my Northern friend, John Copeland, now a knight banneret, and famous for his adventure with the King of Scots.
I doffed my bonnet as I made the discovery, and held the knight's stirrup as he dismounted from his strong steed.
"Ha, master page!" cried he, recognising me in turn, "you have not come North to try your prowess against the Scots, as I asked you. Nevertheless, we have met again."
"Even so, sir knight," I replied frankly. "And yet, to tell the truth, if I have refrained from coming North, it was not from any expectation of seeing you in the South, considering the high duties you are now called on to perform."
"And wherefore should you see me not in the South, boy?" asked Copeland. "Deem you," added he, not concealing the pride he felt in his elevation, "that the king, when he comes home, hath nothing to say to a man whom he trusts to hold such posts as Warden of Berwick, and Governor of the Castle of Roxburgh?"