St. George's day was dropping into night. Since early morning the
castle had been busy in the various ceremonies with which mediaeval
England observed the feast of her patron Saint; the garrison had been
paraded and inspected; the archers had shot for a gold bugle, and the
men-at-arms had striven for a great two-handed sword; there had been
races on foot and on horseback, and feats of strength and wrestling
bouts; and the Duke himself had presided at the sports and distributed
the prizes.
It was almost sundown when the last contest was over and the great
crowd of spectators that had congregated within the outer bailey began
to disperse. Richard had dismissed his attendants, with the exception
of Ratcliffe, and leaning on the latter's arm he sauntered slowly
across the stone-paved courtyard toward the keep.
"Methinks," said De Wilton, as he and De Lacy followed at some
distance, "that the order we have so long expected must come to-morrow.
And I, for one, shall be well content; it is many a long day since I
saw London."
"Why so certain of to-morrow?" De Lacy asked.
"Because if His Grace intend to be present at the coronation, he may
dally here no longer. . . Say you not so, Dacre?" as the latter joined
them.
"Verily, yes," said Dacre, "and I have already directed my squire to
prepare for the journey. Marry! it will be a joyous time in London."
"It is long since there was a peaceful crowning in fair England,"
observed De Lacy, "and I shall be glad indeed to see the pomp."
"It may not equal the splendors you have seen in France," remarked
Dacre, "but there will be a goodly show nevertheless; something rather
brighter than Yorkshire hills or Scottish heather."
"I have no quarrel with the heather," replied De Wilton, "but the hills
are . . . well, not--so soft as the cheeks and eyes of the dames of the
Court."
"In sooth," said De Lacy, "I am with you in that. To me a pretty face
was ever more attractive than a granite crag."
"Both are handy in their places," said Dacre with a shrug. "Yet,
Pasque Dieu! of the two it were not hard to choose the trustier."
"Go to!" exclaimed De Wilton; "it was not a gallant speech. You will
have to mend your mind in London."
"Nay, Sir Ralph, my words, perhaps, but scarce my mind."
"It is the same thing there," De Wilton laughed.
At that moment the Master of Horse suddenly left the Duke and turned
toward the stables.
"Busk yourselves for the road, fair sirs," he called, as he passed.
"We march after matins to-morrow."
The news spread like the wind through the castle, but it occasioned
neither confusion nor even bustle. The personal following of Richard
of Gloucester were selected from veteran soldiers who were ever ready.
They had but to don harness and mount horse when the route was sounded;
and they could have ridden across the drawbridge at sundown, just as
readily as the next morning.
In the antechamber that evening there was much discussion by the
younger Knights as to the Duke's probable course; would he head the
Nobility; would he aim for the Protectorship; would he remain quiescent
and let the Woodvilles control? Those older in his service, however,
were content to bide patiently the future, for long since had they
learned the folly of trying to forecast the purposes of their silent
leader.
And Sir Ralph de Wilton and Sir Henry de Vivonne were hot in the
argument when Sir James Dacre arose and clapped De Lacy on the shoulder.
"Come along," he said. "These two gentlemen are vastly entertaining,
doubtless, but I am for the presence chamber to make my adieux."
The Lady Mary Percy was reading aloud Chaucer's "Knight's Tale" when
they were announced, but she quickly laid aside the heavy tome, and the
Duchess paused in her embroidery and greeted them with a smile.
"I have seen nothing of you since you saved the Countess," she said,
giving each a hand to kiss, "and I owe you both a heavy payment."
"And which, then, does Your Grace rate the higher: the Countess or her
hat?" Dacre asked.
"I do not quite understand," said she.
"Sir Aymer de Lacy saved the Countess, and I saved the hat," he
explained.
"And what did Lord Darby save?" the Lady Mary asked pertly.
Dacre smiled placidly.
"Nothing--not even his temper; the Countess saved that for him," he
answered; and every one laughed--even the Duchess; though she shook her
head at him, the while, in mock reproof.
"That forfeits your share of the reward," she said; then turned to De
Lacy. "Some time, Sir Aymer, I must have a gallop beside the wonderful
Selim."
De Lacy bowed low. "Why not on him?" he asked.
"Well, perhaps--when we all are together again."
"In London--or at Windsor?"
A faint shade of concern came into her eyes, and De Lacy's thoughts
instantly recurred to the scene in the Duke's chamber the day he
arrived.
"At Windsor, let us hope; the roads are charming there," she said, and
then she resumed her embroidery.
"Be seated, sirs," she commanded.
"Come hither, Sir Aymer de Lacy," called the Lady Mary, who was sitting
beside the Countess of Clare. . . "It just occurred to me to-day that
I heard of you a year or so ago from a friend in France."
"It seems to me," said De Lacy, taking the low stool at her feet, "that
I have a sure quarrel with your memory, either because it is laggard or
because it is not."
"And which do you think it is?" she asked.
"I might guess the better if I knew your friend's name."
"Marie."
"Half the women of France are Maries."
"You were then at Blois."
"At the Court, you mean?"