The game of war is like a game
of tables. Each must lose in his turn, and the player who wins to-day
will fail to-morrow. At the end Octa was discomfited, and was driven
from the country. But it afterwards befell that the Britons despised
Lot. They would pay no heed to his summons, this man for reason of
jealousy, this other because of the sharing of the spoil. The war,
therefore, came never to an end, till the king himself perceived that
something was amiss, whilst the folk of the country said openly that
the captains were but carpet knights, who made pretence of war. At
this certain men of repute came before the king, praying him to
remain no longer hidden from his people. "Come what may," said these
counsellors, "you must get to the host, and show yourself to the
barons." The king took them at their word. He caused himself to be set
within a horse litter, and carried, as though in a bier, amongst his
people. "Now we shall see," said these, "which of these recreant lords
will follow him to the host." The king sent urgent messages to the
knights who were so disdainful of Lot, summoning them on their
allegiance to hasten to his aid. For himself he was carried straight
to Verulam.[1] This once was a fair city where St.
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