"Sir," said I, bowing low, "I pray you to accept my thanks for your courteous compliment; nathless, I have yet to learn that the soldiers of England are more brutal than other soldiers would be under the like circumstances. For the rest, I did no more than a youth apprenticed to chivalry is bound to do on such occasions."
"Well," continued the governor, "we will not dispute on either point. My business with you is simple. I believe that, of all evils in this life, an Englishman regards captivity with most horror. Is it not so?"
"Doubtless," replied I, reflecting, "to men of a nation whose passion has ever been freedom, the idea of being confined to a narrow space, and within four walls, is the reverse of grateful."
"And you would do something for liberty?" suggested he.
"Certes," replied I quickly; "anything in reason and honour."
"In neither respect should I ask you to offend your conscience," said the governor frankly. "Now listen."
"I hold letters of great moment, written by the Lady Joan, Countess of Hainault, to her daughter, Philippa, Queen of England. On them may depend fifty thousand lives, and it is of the last moment that they should be speedily and safely conveyed to her hands. Are you willing to do an errand which, if it result as I would fain hope, will be the means of putting an end to a sanguinary war, and bringing about an honourable peace?"
"Assuredly," answered I, "I see no reason why I should refuse to be the bearer of letters from the Countess of Hainault to my lady the queen."
"In that case," said the governor, "there is no reason why, in twenty-four hours, you should not be on the sea, and tilting over the waves towards England. The condition which I make in setting you at liberty is so slight that I hardly deem it can interfere with your doing our errand. And, mark me, I make the condition light because I fear not to trust you, for where there is so much chivalry there must be much truth."
"It is simply this--that you give your promise not to bear arms against the King of France for a year and a day."
"What, youth!" exclaimed the governor, "do you hesitate?"
"Yes, by St. George! I do; for I know not whether I can, with honour, make such a promise."
"Tush, youth," said the governor, "you are over-scrupulous. Think of William Montacute, the great Earl of Salisbury, and one of your king's foremost barons. He was long a prisoner in the Châtelet, in Paris; and you may have heard of Salisbury's captivity. While he lay in the Châtelet, his countess, whom Englishmen called Katherine the Fair, had the misfortune to bewitch the King of England by her beauty, but with no will of her own."