"My lord the king," said she, "will naturally be all anxiety to hear the result of the battle which is about to be fought; and I must needs, without a moment of unnecessary delay, despatch a messenger to him with the tidings, whether of weal or woe."
"Madam," said I, "do not fear--or, rather, I should say, do not doubt--under the eyes of so gracious a lady, that the English soldiery will do their duty, and the beams of victory will rest on St. George's cross."
A frown and a smile passed over the queen's face as showers and sunshine succeed each other on an April day. My audacity caused the frown; my enthusiasm caused the smile. But she quickly gained her serenity.
"You are too young to have any title to express opinions so boldly," she said; "and yet I deny not that much must be overlooked in the case of those who have fought by my son's side. However, hold yourself in readiness to proceed to Calais at a moment's notice."
"Madam," urged I earnestly, and like a condemned man begging for mercy, "I would fain hope that the prospect of so high an honour as carrying a message to my lord the king may not be inconsistent with my drawing my sword against the Scots, and striking a blow for his honour and the safety of the kingdom."
"Better not," replied the queen. "It may be cruel to gainsay you. But you are too young to die, sir page, and will live, please God, to win distinction some other day."
I bowed low, but my countenance indicated my disappointment.
"But," continued she, "the Lords D'Eyncourt and Ogle, with a body of cavalry selected for the duty, are to attend me as a guard during the battle. I accord to you the honour of being one of the party; and it is an honour which I trust that you, as a disciple of chivalry, in the service of the Prince of Wales, will not fail highly to value. You are dismissed."
As she spoke, the queen began to read the epistle of the Countess of Hainault, over which she had already glanced; and, having bent my knee, I retired, not without a feeling of disappointment. Indeed, I must frankly confess that, however high the distinction of attending the Queen of England on such an occasion, I should have relinquished it without a sigh; for so completely had Copeland's stories of adventures and contests with Scottish warriors taken possession of my imagination, that I would gladly, at that moment, have resigned all ambition, and all hopes of rising in life, under the patronage of royal personages, for the privilege of riding to battle with the brave Northumbrian, and charging, sword in hand, by his side into the ranks of foemen, wherever the excitement was highest and the conflict keenest.