But the following day brought a change of plans. The King had held
council with himself during the night; and in the morning there went
forth the word that in late July he would make a royal progress through
his realm, and in the ancient town of York be crowned a second time.
Of this purpose Richard had promptly informed the Queen at Westminster;
and the same messenger who bore her answer bore also a letter from the
Countess of Clare to Sir John de Bury, advising him that she would not
go North, as had been intended, but would wait and attend Her Majesty;
explaining that not only could she thus make the long journey with no
trouble to him and with more comfort to herself, but also that she was
moved by the express desire of the Queen, who was loath to lose her.
Sir John straightway sought the castle, and De Lacy had small trouble
in persuading him to remain and ride back to Yorkshire with the King.
That evening Aymer informed His Majesty that, on account of the new
orders, he would not relinquish for the present his duties as Knight of
the Body, and Richard smiled comprehendingly, but made no comment.
Three days later the Court moved to Windsor. On the morning after the
arrival there, as De Lacy rounded the front of St. George's Chapel, he
came upon the Queen, attended only by the Countess of Clare. He
uncovered, and with a deep obeisance was passing on when the former
addressed him.
"Sir Aymer," she said, and he halted and bowed low again, "methought
you had left us for distant Yorkshire. We are glad the information was
not sound.--Are we not, Beatrix?" with a sly glance at her companion.
"Whatever pleases you pleases me," the Countess answered with a frank
smile.
"And do you know, Sir Aymer," said the Queen, who was in a happy mood,
"that the Countess of Clare had also proposed leaving us for Craigston
Castle . . . and, indeed, upon the very morning you had fixed to go?"
"What rare fortune to have met her on the way," said Aymer.
"Greater fortune, think you, than to be with her here at Windsor?"
The Countess looked at her mistress in blank surprise.
"Could there be greater fortune than to be where Your Majesty is in
presence?" Aymer asked.
"Where she is in presence at this particular moment, you mean?" taking
Beatrix's hand.
"Your Majesty is hardly fair to Sir Aymer or to me," said the Countess
quickly. "You draw his scanty compliments from him like an arrow from
a wound--hurting him all the while."
The Queen laughed. "If all Sir Aymer's wounds hurt him no more, he is
likely to know little pain."
"I know he is French-bred and a courtier," Beatrix answered.
"As you told me once before in Pontefract," De Lacy observed.
"And as I am very apt to tell you again when you are presumptuous and
flattering."
"Henceforth I shall be neither."
"Charming, Sir Aymer, charming . . . if you could."
"I can."
"Till you meet another woman."
"It is not in the other woman that my danger lies."
Beatrix frowned, and the Queen laughed.
"The Countess seems to know your failings, Sir Aymer," she said, "and
may be this is a good time for you to know them, too. Nay, Beatrix,
you need not accompany me. . . I am going to the Chapel. Do you take
Sir Aymer in hand and bring him out of his French habits, since you do
not like them. For my part, I think them very charming."
"Surely she loves you," said De Lacy, when the Queen had gone.
The Countess gave him her shoulder.
"She takes a queer way to show it then," she retorted, her foot beating
a tattoo on the stones.
He smothered a laugh. "Shall we walk?" he asked.
He got a shrug and a louder tattoo.
"Since the Queen has left me to your tender mercies," she said coldly,
"I am at your service."
They walked in silence; he smiling; she stern-eyed and face straight to
the fore.
"Does it occur to you, my lady," he said after a while, "that you are a
bit unjust?"
The small head lifted higher . . . then presently, with rising
inflection: "Unjust--to whom?"
"To the Queen."
"I am sorry."
"And unjust to me also."
No answer--only a faint toss of the ruddy tresses.
"And to me also," he repeated.
She surveyed him ignoringly--and turned away, eyebrows lifted.
De Lacy smiled and waited.
Presently she gave him a quick, sidelong glance. He was gazing idly
toward the river. . . Again she looked . . . and again--each time a
trifle more deliberately. . . Finally she faced him.
"You are unusually disagreeable to-day," she said.
"I am sorry," he answered instantly. "I do not wish to be."
It was so contrary to what she had expected that she halted in sheer
surprise.
"I wonder," she said musingly. . . "I wonder . . ." then she laughed
forgivingly. "Come, let us cease this constant banter. We have been
at it ever since we met, and it profits nothing to our friendship."
"With all my heart," he exclaimed, taking her hand and pressing it with
light fingers.
She drew it away sharply.
"Do you think that a fitting way to begin?"
"Your pardon," he said softly; "I fear I did not think."
She looked at him with quick scrutiny.
"We islanders are not given to impulse, Sir Aymer, and do not trust it
deeply. I forgive you--but . . . not again."
"By St. Denis! I seem to blunder always," he said sadly. "I please
you in nothing and am ever at fault."
"You are unjust to yourself," she protested. "You please me in much,
and . . . you ought to know it;" then she blushed. . . "Let us go on
the terrace," and hurried across. . . "Now talk to me . . . not about
me," she said rather curtly, as she sat down.
De Lacy was growing used to these swift shifts of humor, these flashes
of tenderness, veering instantly to aloofness, and then back to a
half-confidential camaraderie, that was alluringly delicious, yet
irritatingly unsatisfying. At first he had tried to force the
situation to his own liking,--to break through her moods and effect an
atmosphere more equable,--but she soon had taught him the folly of it,
and never failed to punish when he forgot. This time she, herself, had
broken through a bit, but that would only make his punishment the
heavier.
At first the conversation was aimless and disconnected. De Lacy let it
drift and the Countess was rather distrait and steered it uncertainly.
Presently she took a grip upon herself, and, before he realized it, he
was telling her of the French Court; of Louis the King, whom men called
"The Fell," but who was, he said, the ablest of the Valois, and would
do much for France--though not by the means then deemed most
honorable,--being far ahead of his Age. He spoke of the brave, dead
St. Pol, the Constable--after Dunois, the greatest since Du Guesclin's
time. He told her of their palaces . . . of the life of their women,
though he touched but lightly upon its loose gayety . . . of the cities
. . . of the great domains whereon the noble had the "right of high
justice, the middle and the low," and indeed up until very lately had
done his own sweet will toward aught but the King, and in many cases
toward the King himself. . . And at length he mentioned having seen
and met Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, at the Court of Blois.
Concerning him the Countess asked many questions, and Aymer answered
them as best he could. He had not given the Earl much thought, nor had
he offered him any attentions, for he was regarded as little more than
adventurer--though one with strangely plenty of money; and who was
tolerated by the crafty Louis only because he might be useful some time
to play against the Yorkist King of England.
"Methinks there is more in the Tudor than you credit," said the
Countess. "I have heard much of him, and from one who knows him
well--or did a few years since. He is not a brave Knight or skilled
warrior may be, but he has a certain shrewdness and determination which
would make him a formidable rival for the Crown, if he were able to
muster a following or had an opportunity to arouse any enthusiasm for
his cause."
"And from what wise person did you learn all this?" De Lacy asked with
an amused smile.
"From the Countess of Northumberland."
"And whence comes her knowledge?"
"If you were not new to England you would not ask," said she. "Henry
Tudor was for years a prisoner of state in her father's castle of
Pembroke. She knows him from daily companionship and should be
competent to judge. Indeed, as the Lady Maude Herbert, it is said she
was betrothed to him."
"Why did she marry Percy?"
"That, I can only guess. Her father fell at Edgecote; there were six
other sisters . . . and the great Earl came a-wooing. Besides,
Richmond was in exile, had lost his patrimony and a price was on his
head."
"And she never loved him?" De Lacy asked.
"Nay, that I do not know; but she was very young, and if she did it was
not likely a lasting passion. She seems happy enough as chatelaine of
Topcliffe."
"Doubtless--yet, nevertheless, there is another woman in England than
Stanley's Countess who may be dangerous to Richard if Henry Tudor ever
seek an issue with him."
"You mean the Countess of Northumberland?"
"Aye. Percy wields huge power. He and the Stanleys together could
well-nigh topple the throne. Lord Stanley no man trusts--and it was a
Percy whose treason sent the Second Richard to his doom."
"Richard of Bordeaux was not Richard of Gloucester," she argued.
"In truth, no, but the conditions then were far more favorable to the
King. Believe me, wore I the Crown, these two women would give me more
concern than all the nobles in my kingdom."
"What would you do if you _were_ King?" she asked, smiling.
De Lacy held up his hands. "Do! When I cannot control even one woman,
I would make a merry mess with two and a kingdom besides."
Just then a horn spoke merrily from the courtyard and De Lacy sprang up.
"Richard is for a ride in Windsor forest and I must away," he said. "I
would that you went, too."
"We do go," she said. "Let us haste or I shall be late to horse."
"May I ride with you?" he asked.