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Updated: June 25, 2025
"Thou liest!" broke in a low fierce whisper from Bertram Lyngern. "I wis that, Master!" returned the poor executioner. He was not the first man, nor the last, who has been required to pronounce officially what his conscience individually refused to sanction. The severed head was sent to London, a ghastly gift to the usurper. It was set up on London Bridge, beside that of Exeter.
Meantime Bertram Lyngern contrived to squeeze himself inch by inch through the crowd, until at last he stood beside his master. "Ah, my trusty squire!" was the prisoner's greeting. "Look you have here my signet, which with Master Mayor's gentle allowing, you shall bear unto my Lady." The Mayor nodded permission. He was vexed and ashamed.
The worst apprehensions which each imagination could form took vivid shape in the minds of all, when they saw his face. So white and woe-begone he looked so weary and unutterably sorrowful, that all anticipated the news of some heavy and irreparable calamity, from which he only had escaped alone to tell them. "Where left you your Lord, Master Lyngern?"
"Then how shall thine opinion serve in the thick of fight?" "As it hath aforetime. I cannot fight." "But how then?" asked Bertram, opening his eyes. "I can die, Bertram Lyngern," answered the calm, resolute voice. "And it may be that I should die as truly for my Master Christ there, as at the martyr's stake.
There is good reason to believe that John, escaped, and that it was he who, in after years, personated King Richard at the Scottish Court. The Lollard friends, Salisbury and Le Despenser, determined to attempt their escape together. For a minute they waited, looking regretfully after Exeter: then Le Despenser said to his squire "Haste, Lyngern! for Cardiff!"
In the one portrait occurring in Creton's life-like illuminations, which I am disposed to identify with that of Le Despenser, he wears a grey gown, relieved by very narrow stripes of red. Perhaps it was that identical cloak or gown which hung upon the arm of Bertram Lyngern, just outside the postern gate. "Nay, good friend!" objected Le Despenser, with his customary kindly consideration.
The blast of a horn without the moat announced the arrival of a guest or a letter, and Bertram Lyngern went out to see what it was. Ten minutes later he returned to the hall, with letters in his hand, and his face white with some terrible news. "Ill tidings, noble ladies!" "Is it Dickon?" cried the Countess. "Is it Tom?" said the Dowager.
"But, Master Lyngern, think you, the Holy Ghost dwelleth in the priests, and so He doth not in slender folk like to you and me." "Ay so?" answered he, with a slight curl of his lip. "He dwelleth in such men as my Lord of Canterbury, trow? Our Lord saith the tree is known by his fruits.
The little Alianora was asleep in her cradle, and on the bed lay her mother, not asleep, but as still and silent as though she were. Near the cradle, on a settle, sat Maude Lyngern, trying with rather doubtful success to read by the flickering light. Custance had not quitted her bed during all that time. She never spoke but to express a want or reply to a question.
Maude rode on a pillion to the scene where the rustic dinner was to be behind Bertram Lyngern, who seemed in a particularly bright and amiable mood.
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