While crossing the court with the monk, Rodomont paused for a moment, and directed his companion’s attention to the Lollards’ Tower.
“You would imagine the prisoners must be secure in that tower, holy father,” he remarked.
“Unquestionably so, my son,” replied the friar.
“His Majesty, however, is not of that opinion,” rejoined Rodomont. “He is under the impression that a certain young gallant, whose brain seems turned by love, would be rash enough to climb, by means of a rope-ladder, to the window of the cell wherein his mistress is confined.”
“Does the King suspect this?” inquired the monk, uneasily.
“So shrewdly, that he has ordered me to keep strict watch to-night, and to arrest the love-sick gallant should he appear. The task is not to my liking, but I must obey his Majesty’s orders. Some men will run any risk for those they love—but you, father, cannot understand such matters. You would reprove Osbert Clinton—for so the gallant is named—for his rashness and folly.”
“I should pity him, rather than blame him,” said the friar.
“And you would not deem it wrong if I were to aid him, eh, father? Certes, I should be loth to betray him—but he is so imprudent that he might betray himself. ’Tis a miracle that he ’scaped detection by the King just now.”
“What mean you, my son?” cried the monk, alarmed.
“I mean that Master Osbert Clinton has been rash enough to venture hither,” said Rodomont; “and though luckily his Majesty did not see through his disguise, I was not equally blind.”