"'Write to any man that all is betrayed," said
De Aquila, "and even the Pope himself would sleep
uneasily. Eh, Jehan? If one told thee all was betrayed, what
wouldst thou do?"
"'I would run away," said Jehan. "it might be true."
"'Well said," quoth De Aquila. "Write, Gilbert, that
Montgomery, the great Earl, hath made his peace with
the King, and that little D'Arcy, whom I hate, hath been
hanged by the heels. We will give Robert full measure to
chew upon. Write also that Fulke himself is sick to death
of a dropsy."
"'Nay!" cried Fulke, hanging in the well-shaft.
"Drown me out of hand, but do not make a jest of me."
"'Jest? I?" said De Aquila. "I am but fighting for life
and lands with a pen, as thou hast shown me, Fulke."
'Then Fulke groaned, for he was cold, and, "Let me
confess," said he.
"'Now, this is right neighbourly," said De Aquila,
leaning over the shaft. "Thou hast read my sayings and
doings - or at least the first part of them - and thou art
minded to repay me with thy own doings and sayings. Take
pen and inkhorn, Gilbert. Here is work that will not irk thee.
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