"There are others--sons of gentlemen and esquires--lodged in houses
around," said Sir William, "who are not meant for cowl or for mass-
priests."
"Yea, forsooth," called Lady Whitburn across the Earl and the
Countess, "what for but to make them as feckless as the priests,
unfit to handle lance or sword!"
"So, lady, you think that the same hand cannot wield pen and lance,"
said the Earl.
"I should like to see one of your clerks on a Border foray," laughed
the Dame of Dacre. "'Tis all a device of the Frenchwoman!"
"Verily?" said the Earl, in an interrogative tone.
"Ay, to take away the strength and might of Englishmen with this
clerkly lore, so that her folk may have the better of them in France;
and the poor, witless King gives in to her. And so while the
Beauforts rule the roast--"
Salisbury caught her up. "Ay, the roast. Will you partake of these
roast partridges, madam?"
They were brought round skewered on a long spit, held by a page for
the guest to help herself. Whether by her awkwardness or that of the
boy, it so chanced that the bird made a sudden leap from the
impalement, and deposited itself in the lap of Lady Whitburn's
scarlet kirtle! The fact was proclaimed by her loud rude cry, "A
murrain on thee, thou ne'er-do-weel lad," together with a sounding
box on the ear.
"'Tis thine own greed, who dost not--"
"Leonard, be still--know thy manners," cried both at once the Earl
and Sir William, for, unfortunately, the offender was no other than
Leonard Copeland, and, contrary to all the laws of pagedom, he was
too angry not to argue the point.
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