“I will go on to Kennet Hold,” said Reginald. There was something in the look of the page, more than in the words he uttered, which had so deeply inspired his master with that strongest of all incentives, the dread of ridicule, that his determination was now inflexible. Well was it said by the learned monk, Bedo Camerarius, “the resolution of a strong mind giveth way to argument, but the obstinacy of a weak one never!” Naylis was of the same opinion: he held another conference with his master in whispers; the result of which was that Reginald exchanged his loose robe for the rich suit of armour which was borne after him by his attendants.
They were preparing to separate upon their respective journeys, when they discovered the first fruits of Reginald’s hesitation in the departure of their purposed hostage. No orders had been given for his forcible detention; and he had accordingly taken advantage of the consultation which had engaged the attention of the party to effect his retreat. “The hawk without a collar hath but brief thraldom,” said Robin. “Thou art right, knave,” said Naylis; “had thy counsel been earlier, yon slave should have made experiment of the weight of a Norman gyve. But it matters not. Though the Saxon have the temper of his own Zernbock, and the Furies to boot, he dare not—surely he dare not! Well I wot our master would work so deep a requital that the heads of twenty such miscreants should appear cheap ransom!”
“Fare thee well, good Naylis,” said Reginald; “bid my[Pg 106] father be of good cheer, and do honour to his son’s bridal! Ha! ha! Thou hast still thy misdoubtings and thine apprehensions—I know thy mind!” “Would thou didst know thine own but half as well!” muttered the old man, as he turned slowly round, followed by the Norman attendants. The steeds, as if rejoicing to be again in motion, arched their proud necks, and flung back their thick manes in the wind: the clattering of their hoofs arose, and sank, and died into silence.
Reginald and the knave, Robin, journeyed some miles without converse. The latter seemed to be thinking of nothing but his new doublet, and the former seemed to be thinking of nothing at all. After a considerable pause, the Knight began the conversation. “I am doubting, Robin——”
“It is a wise man that solveth his own doubts!” returned his attendant.
“I am doubting, Robin,” continued Reginald, “whether thou or I be the greater fool!”
“A gibe! a gibe!” cried the jester; “thy reasons, most convincing disputant? thy proofs, most inventive master? thine arguments, most incontrovertible Knight? Marry, an thou make me the greater fool, it will ill become the servant to be greater than his master.”
“Imprimis, thou art a fool by thy name, which is Witless!”
“I will have license to make reply,” said the jester; “thou art a fool to call a wise man by a fool’s name.”
“Secondly,” resumed Reginald, “thou art a fool by thy face!”