Much relieved by the information that his life was no longer in danger, and elated at the prospect of such an adventure as escorting a queen, even as the companion of a man who, a few weeks earlier, had been a forest outlaw, Oliver Icingla hastened to array himself for the journey, and to mount his black steed, Ayoub; and when the king, and his knights, and squires, and standard-bearers, and multitudinous attendants, rode from the Tower and emerged from the gates of London, which John was not destined again to enter, William de Collingham, mounted and armed as became a knight, but still carrying with him the iron club which had distinguished him as a man of the forest, with the young English squire riding at his right hand and a band of stout horsemen at his back, preceded the royal array and took the nearest way to Wiltshire, with the object of reaching Savernake. “By the mass!” exclaimed Collingham, suddenly breaking the silence he had hitherto maintained since leaving London; “I much marvel that the king, old and experienced as he is, and so much accustomed to deal with men--both priests and laymen--can credit the possibility of Stephen Langton restoring the Tower.” “And wherefore not?” asked Oliver, but with less surprise than might have been expected under the circumstances. “Is not my lord archbishop a man of honour and probity?” “Tush!” replied Collingham, impatiently. “Stephen Langton is, no doubt, a good and honest man, as times go, and eager enough for the public weal. But he is heart and soul with Fitzwalter and De Vesci, and is either dictating their measures or doing their bidding. In neither case, credit me, will he ever again admit the king to London, save as the slave or tool of the confederates; and I see clearly that John has pride enough left never to come on such terms. By the mass, we are only at the beginning of this struggle; for I know that the king--albeit he seems now in their toils--will yet lead the confederates a dance on which they are far from counting; and, frankly, so far as they are concerned, I should not grieve on that account; for I sadly doubt their sincerity, albeit they bawl so loudly upon justice and righteousness.” “What, sir knight,” asked Oliver, “deem you so lightly of their sincerity?” “By my faith, I do,” replied Collingham, bluntly; “and only give them credit for having a very sharp eye after their own interest. Never a word should we have heard from them of old charters and ancient laws but for the question of the scutages, with which the king was, doubtless, inclined to deal more severely than was prudent or politic.” “Explain more fully,” said Oliver, who was interested in such conversation, and anxious to comprehend the merits of the controversy.