"A murrain upon you, boy!" exclaimed Sir Thomas, frowning. "Deem you that my lord has so little to think of, that he can find time to listen to your talk about trifles?"
"Lead me to my lord's presence," said I, in a conclusive tone, "and I will stake my head on my intelligence proving of moment enough to secure me an audience."
The air of mystery which I assumed was not lost on the good knight; in fact, I believe his curiosity was highly excited. In any case, without more ado, he drew aside the curtain of the pavilion, and I speedily found myself in the presence of the heir of England.
At that time the Prince of Wales, who was buoyant with all the enthusiasm of youth, and dreaming constantly of the feats of arms performed in other days by paladins and heroes of romance, and not without an ardent ambition to emulate their achievements, was somewhat weary of the inaction of a siege which, being slowly and cautiously conducted, furnished no opportunity of performing the daring deeds in which his soul delighted. Naturally, therefore, anything that gave novelty to the scene was acceptable. As I entered, he was listening to Sir William Pakington, his secretary, who, for his amusement, read aloud from the book called "Tristrem"; and the glance of surprise which his countenance wore as he turned towards me was accompanied with an expression which seemed to intimate that I was welcome.
"Wonder upon wonders!" exclaimed he; "can this be my page Winram—Arthur Winram?"
"The same, my lord, and at your highness's command."
"Methought you had fallen in the battle," said the prince, smiling; "or beshrew me if, at one time, I did not fancy that, like your famous namesake, King Arthur, you had been carried away to Elfland by the faëry queen."
"No, my lord; Elfland may, for aught I know, be a pleasant abode for such as have the fortune to get there; but I have not been beyond the haunts of living men."
I then rapidly related the adventures of which I had been the hero from the time at which the young Count of Flanders had been rescued from my grasp by Philip of Valois, while flying from Cressy, to the hour when the King of Scots had been taken prisoner by John Copeland, while flying from Neville's Cross. The prince listened with attention, now and then putting a question to make me explain events more fully; and when my narrative came to an end, he rose, and for a few moments paced the floor of the pavilion in a reflecting mood.
"By good St. George!" exclaimed he, stopping suddenly, "this news of the defeat of the Scots comes in good time to scare the blood out of Philip's body, and to encourage my lord the king to take this place by storm before the winter sets in. It seems," continued he, "that when this Scottish invasion was bruited about, his holiness the Pope remarked that 'the Scots were the only antidote to the English.' I marvel what he will say now. Two such victories against such odds, and in so many months!" he added, "surely neither history nor song tells of a nation so highly favoured in hours of peril."