"Doubtless," replied I, reflecting, "to men of a nation whose passion has ever been freedom, the idea of being confined to a narrow space, and within four walls, is the reverse of grateful."
"And you would do something for liberty?" suggested he.
"Certes," replied I quickly; "anything in reason and honour."
"In neither respect should I ask you to offend your conscience," said the governor frankly. "Now listen."
"I am all attention."
"I hold letters of great moment, written by the Lady Joan, Countess of Hainault, to her daughter, Philippa, Queen of England. On them may depend fifty thousand lives, and it is of the last moment that they should be speedily and safely conveyed to her hands. Are you willing to do an errand which, if it result as I would fain hope, will be the means of putting an end to a sanguinary war, and bringing about an honourable peace?"
"Assuredly," answered I, "I see no reason why I should refuse to be the bearer of letters from the Countess of Hainault to my lady the queen."
"In that case," said the governor, "there is no reason why, in twenty-four hours, you should not be on the sea, and tilting over the waves towards England. The condition which I make in setting you at liberty is so slight that I hardly deem it can interfere with your doing our errand. And, mark me, I make the condition light because I fear not to trust you, for where there is so much chivalry there must be much truth."
"Name the condition," said I.
"It is simply this—that you give your promise not to bear arms against the King of France for a year and a day."