The King had supped and was playing at “tables” with one of his
gentlemen. The room was hung with blue arras, covered with lions rampant
in gold. The sun had long set, and a soft, blue-black sky showed through
the open window, with here and there a star showing. Candles burnt in
sconces on the walls, and the floor was littered with rushes and sweet
herbs.
A page came in, a child with flaxen hair.
“Sire, Madame the Princess would see you. She is in the great gallery,
and coming hither.”
Richard was not pleased.
“Bid her come, little fool. Sit you still, Falconbridge; we play on.”
They were intent on the game when the Princess entered, and Richard did
not raise his eyes to see that Knollys and Salisbury were with her.
Knollys had closed the door, and they stood gazing at the King.
“Richard!”
There was such a whipping sharpness in her voice that the King looked up
startled, and saw Salisbury and Knollys. Nor did their grim faces please
him.
“Ah, my Lord of Salisbury!”
“Falconbridge, leave us.”
“Madame—mother, the game is not done.”
She stepped forward, swept the pieces off the board, her face like
stone. Falconbridge rose incontinently and went out, pushing past Fulk,
who was standing in the passage.
“What means all this?”
“Son, there are words to be spoken between us, words that I for one
would gladly not hear.”
He looked at her uneasily.
“What spoil-sport business is this?”
She stretched out a closed hand, and, opening her fingers suddenly,
showed the ring lying in her palm.
“Richard, this was lost to you. Take back your own.”
They were watching him, and they saw his lower lip loosen, his eyes grow
shallow with a kind of fear.
“That ring of mine! I had mislaid it.”
He was lying, and his flaccid face betrayed him.
“Mislaid! That is a word to use! Mislaid! Soul of my God, it is your
honour that you have mislaid!”
He tried to bluster.
“What foolery is this? I lose a ring, and strange words come back with
it.”
“Tell me, son, how did you lose the ring to the grey friar? How came it
that a certain man was betrayed? How was it that your ring wrought
murder?”
He was white to the lips now.
“It is false.”
She saw him shrink and falter, and a bitter, scornful cry escaped from
her.
“Son, son, you shame me to the death; but by the fear of God that is in
me I will bring you down into the dust. For out of the dust you must
rise. Let Fulk Ferrers come to us.”
Knollys went to the door, and Richard’s eyes followed him—eyes that
seemed to expect a ghost. He saw Fulk enter—Fulk the young man in his
own likeness, bareheaded, calm, with a steadfast look about his eyes.
And he sat back in his chair, shrinking, moistening his lips.
“Son, behold your brother! He is alive, not dead. Give God thanks for
it.”
A moment’s silence prevailed. It was as though no words were great
enough to sound the deeps of that silence.
Then Fulk was inspired. He crossed the room and stood before Richard’s
chair.
“Brother, why should hate live between us? Let us take hands and swear
comradeship. Then I will go and trouble you and this land no longer.”
Richard rose slowly, falteringly, his eyes on Fulk’s. The other’s
manhood seemed to flow into him. His lips grew firmer, his bearing more
steady.
“Brother!”
He bowed his head suddenly, caught at Fulk’s hands, and burst into
tears.
Again there was silence, save for the sound of his weeping. They let him
weep. Presently he raised his head, and his face had a new nobility.
“I, Richard of England, stand here in my shame. Mother, look on me with
pity.”
“Son, there is a new heart in you.”
His wet eyes flashed.
“Fulk Ferrers, God forgive me my littleness and my coward thoughts. And
of you, Sir Robert Knollys, and of you, my Lord of Salisbury, I ask
pardon. Tell me, sirs, what can be done?”
Knollys drew his sword out of its scabbard.
“Knighthood helps in the wars.”
Richard looked questioningly at Fulk.
“Will you take it at my hands?”
“They are a King’s hands.”
“Then kneel, brother, kneel.”
Fulk knelt, and Knollys’ sword served to give the stroke on the
shoulder.
“Rise, Sir Fulk Ferrers. If thou art minded to leave this English land,
by this shame of mine, thou shalt go as the son of a prince should go.”
“Let him have men and money, sir.”
Fulk rose, and Richard gave him Knollys’ sword.
“Keep it, brother. Knollys shall be recompensed. And I am thinking that
thou art leaving something of thyself behind with me. My Lord of
Salisbury, let all things be done nobly. It is the King’s will.”