"Well, then," began Copeland, "you must know that, in the year 1330, soon after King Edward—the second of the name—was cruelly murdered in Berkeley Castle—for a cruel murder it was—Isabel the queen and Roger de Mortimer, with whom Queen Isabel was deemed much too familiar, held sway in the country."
"I have heard that such was the case," said I.
"At that time," continued Copeland, "rumours, which assuredly were false, ran about to the effect that King Edward was still alive, and that he was a prisoner in Corfe Castle; and a conspiracy, in which many good men took part, was formed to restore him to liberty."
"Even so," said I; "of this I have heard vaguely."
"At the head of that conspiracy," continued Copeland, "was Edmund, Earl of Kent, the young king's uncle, who, believing his brother to be still alive, rashly went to Corfe Castle, and asked the governor of the fortress to conduct him to Sire Edward; for which indiscretion he was tried at Winchester and executed."
"I have heard that sad tale," said I, interrupting; "how the earl's sentence caused such indignation that even the headsman declined to do his office; how he remained four hours on the scaffold before any one could be found to enact the part of executioner; and how, finally, a malefactor from the Marshalsea, on being bribed with a promise of pardon, undertook to behead him."
"It was even as you relate it," said Copeland, resuming; "and it happened that one of the men of rank engaged in the conspiracy of which the Earl of Kent was head, was Edward, Lord De Ov, a brave warrior, whose wife was a daughter of the house of Merley. Now, it was generally considered that this Lord De Ov—who, I may mention, was marvellously skilful in those chivalrous tricks which you, and striplings like you, value so highly—might have escaped to France, as the Lord Viscount Beaumont and others did about the same time, and lived, like them, to return to England in happier days; but, unluckily for his chances of escape, he had a younger brother named Roger, who, from base motives, betrayed him. So, instead of getting off, he was taken, while lurking on the coast, carried to Winchester, and hanged in that city on a high gibbet."
"My curse on the brother who could be guilty of such treachery!" exclaimed I, my blood boiling with indignation.
"But," continued Copeland, heedless of my interruption, "this was not all. Edward, Lord De Ov, had a wife and infant son; and for Roger's purpose it was necessary to make away with them also; and accordingly the widow was decoyed away by Margery, one of the queen's gentlewomen, who pretended that she had been sent for by her husband, and, carrying with her the infant son, left her husband's castle at Winchester. For years neither mother nor son was heard of. At length, however, they were reputed to have died, and corpses, said to be theirs, were brought North, and buried in the chapel of the castle; and Roger De Ov became lord of all. But Roger soon after pined and died; and, when he went the way of all flesh, his son, who is now lord, succeeded to his feudal power. But men still say that, somewhere or other, the widow and son of Edward, Lord De Ov, yet live, and that one day or other there will be an overturn; and now you comprehend wherefore my lord sits less easy in his seat than he might otherwise, do, and how there may be people living whose demands put his temper to the test."
"Assuredly," said I, "the story is sufficiently plain, albeit involving a mystery."