And, in truth, their situation was perilous; for since the exploit of Collingham at Chas-Chateil, and Oliver’s escape from that castle, had become matters of notoriety in London, both had been marked men. And not only had Hugh de Moreville sworn vengeance in case of having the power to inflict it, but Sir Anthony Waledger, exasperated by the loss of his post as governor of Chas-Chateil, which he ascribed to the trick put upon him and its results, vowed never to taste joy again till he had put both the knight and the squire into his patron’s power. What was their real object in being in London under the circumstances, chroniclers have not pretended to state; but certainly they would have been safer elsewhere. Perhaps the very danger they incurred had its influence in making them venture into the midst of foes; but, however that may have been, there they were in that ale-house at Westminster, and below was Sir Anthony Waledger conversing with the woman of the hostelry. “Dame,” said the knight, in his grandest way, “tell me, on your troth, who are they drinking above? Are they alone, or in company?” “On my troth, sir,” answered the landlady, “I cannot tell you their names; they have come here but now.” On hearing this, Sir Anthony Waledger, wishing to judge with his own eyes, went up-stairs to ascertain the truth, and, not doubting that he was right in the conjecture he had formed, called for a quart of ale--for the Norman knight was never neglectful of opportunities of getting liquor--and, having ordered the quart of ale, he saluted Collingham. “God preserve you, master!” said he, dissembling; “I hope you will not take my coming amiss; for, seeing you at the window, I thought you might be one of my farmers from Berks, as you are very like him.” “By no means,” replied Collingham, as if much honoured by being spoken to by so great a man. “I am from Kent, and hold lands from the Lord Hubert de Burgh; and the Lord Hubert being somewhat neglectful of my interests, I wish to lay my complaints before Prince Louis and the barons against the tenants of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who encroach much on my farm.” “Ha!” exclaimed Sir Anthony, “then I may be your friend. If you will come into the hall I will have way made for you to lay your grievances before the prince and the lords.” “Many thanks, sir, but I will not trouble you at this moment, albeit, I do not renounce your aid in the matter. Sir, may I know your name?” “My name,” answered the knight, “is Sir Anthony Waledger;” and, after having paid for the quart of ale, and drank it hurriedly, but with evident relish, he added, “God be with you, master!” and descended the stair and left the ale-house, and hastily crossed to the palace and made for the council-chamber, whither the barons had gone, and, requesting the usher to open the door, called the Lord Hugh de Moreville. “My lord,” said he, as De Moreville appeared, “I bring you good news.”