"Martin," said the lady, "they tell me that you are a silent and a prudent
man."
"That am I.
'Tongue speaketh bane,
Though she herself hath nane.'"
"I shall try you: do you know your way to London?"
"Yes."
"To your lord's lodgings in Westminster?"
"Yes."
"How long shall you be going there with this letter?"
"A day and a half."
"When shall you be back hither?"
"On the fourth day."
"And you will go to my lord and deliver this letter safely?"
"Yes, your Majesty."
"Why do you call me Majesty? The King is Majesty."
"You are my Queen."
"What do you mean, man?"
"You can hang me."
"I hang thee, poor soul! Who did I ever hang, or hurt for a moment, if I
could help it?"
"But the Earl may."
"He will neither hang nor hurt thee if thou wilt take this letter safely,
and bring me back the answer safely."
"They will kill me."
"Who?"
"They," said Martin, pointing to the bower maidens,--young ladies of good
family who stood round, chosen for their good looks, after the fashion of
those times, to attend on great ladies. There was a cry of angry and
contemptuous denial, not unmixed with something like laughter, which
showed that Martin had but spoken the truth. Hereward, in spite of all his
sins, was the darling of his mother's bower; and there was not one of the
damsels but would have done anything short of murder to have prevented
Martin carrying the letter.
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