“By no means,” replied Collingham, as if much honoured by being spoken to by so great a man. “I am from Kent, and hold lands from the Lord Hubert de Burgh; and the Lord Hubert being somewhat neglectful of my interests, I wish to lay my complaints before Prince Louis and the barons against the tenants of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who encroach much on my farm.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Sir Anthony, “then I may be your friend. If you will come into the hall I will have way made for you to lay your grievances before the prince and the lords.”
“Many thanks, sir, but I will not trouble you at this moment, albeit, I do not renounce your aid in the matter. Sir, may I know your name?”
“My name,” answered the knight, “is Sir Anthony Waledger;” and, after having paid for the quart of ale, and drank it hurriedly, but with evident relish, he added, “God be with you, master!” and descended the stair and left the ale-house, and hastily crossed to the palace and made for the council-chamber, whither the barons had gone, and, requesting the usher to open the door, called the Lord Hugh de Moreville.
“My lord,” said he, as De Moreville appeared, “I bring you good news.”
“By St. Moden!” exclaimed De Moreville, amazed at having been trespassed on at such a moment, “why not at once tell me what it is?”
“By the head of St. Anthony!” answered the knight very boldly, as he advanced, “it concerns not only you, but Prince Louis, and all the lords present. I have seen Sir William de Collingham and Master Icingla disguised as yeomen in an ale-house close by the palace-gate.”
“Collingham and Icingla?” said De Moreville, much surprised.
“By the head of St. Anthony, my lord, it is even so—it is true,” replied the knight, greatly elated at the thought of being the bearer of such intelligence; “it is as true as that I live by bread, and you may have them to dine with you if you please.”
De Moreville, in spite of his bad humour, laughed grimly.