At first Lempriere, ever jealous of his importance, was inclined to treat him with elephantine condescension; but he could not long hold out against the boon archness of the jester, and he collapsed suddenly into as close a friendship as that between himself and Buonespoir.
A rollicking spirt was his own fullest stock-in-trade, and it won him like a brother.
So it was that here, in the very bosom of the forest, lured by the pipe the fool played, Lempriere burst forth into song, in one hand a bottle of canary, in the other a handful of comfits: "Duke William was a Norman (Spread the sail to the breeze!) That did to England ride; At Hastings by the Channel (Drink the wine to the lees!) Our Harold the Saxon died.
If there be no cakes from Normandy, There'll be more ale in England!" "Well sung, nobility, and well said," cried Buonespoir, with a rose by the stem in his mouth, one hand beating time to the music, the other clutching a flagon of muscadella; "for the Normans are kings in England, and there's drink in plenty at the Court of our Lady Duchess." "Delicio shall never want while I have a penny of hers to spend," quoth the fool, feeling for another tune.

"Should conspirators prevail, and the damnedest be, she hath yet the Manor of Rozel and my larder," urged Lempriere, with a splutter through the canary.
"That shall be only when the Fifth wind comes--it is so ordained, Nuncio!" said the fool blinking.

Buonespoir set down his flagon.

"And what wind is the Fifth wind ?" he asked, scratching his bullethead, his child-like, widespread eyes smiling the question.
"There be now four winds--the North wind and his sisters, the East, the West, and South.

When God sends a Fifth wind, then conspirators shall wear crowns.