Beatrix of Clare | Page 7

as was his habit when in thought. Presently he said:
"How do you know that the King's escort will number two thousand?"
"The Council so fixed it, and very much against the wishes of the Queen."
"She wanted more, I doubt not," said the Duke meditatively.
"She long held that less than five thousand would not be fitting the dignity of a King."
Gloucester looked up with a trace of a smile around his eyes.
"Will the Earl of Rivers accompany his nephew?" he asked.
"It was so reported to His Grace of Buckingham; and further, also, that they would not start from Ludlow until the feast of St. George had passed."
"Did Stafford advise no plan in case I fell in with his desires?"
"None. The lords will follow whatever course you fix. All that they urge is haste."
"How long does Buckingham remain at Brecknock?"
"Until he receive word from you--or failing in that, until there be but time sufficient to reach London for the coronation."
"Was it his purpose that you should carry my answer?"
"Nay, my lord Duke," said De Lacy. "Here ends my mission for Buckingham. It was but as friend for friend that I bore this message. I am not of his household nor was it his business that brought me here."
"What brought you to Pontefract then, Sir Knight?" said Richard sternly. "As Buckingham's messenger you have received due honor; that aside, your name alone commends you."
"I sought Pontefract," De Lacy replied, "for the single purpose of tendering my sword to the Duke of Gloucester, hoping in his service to brighten the dimmed lustre of my House."
Not for an instant did the searching eyes of Richard leave the young Knight's face.
"Why do you prefer the Boar of Gloucester to the Stafford Knot? Buckingham is most puissant."
"A De Lacy, my lord," answered Aymer proudly, "follows none but Plantagenet."
"Bravely spoken," said Gloucester, suddenly dropping his stern air, "and worthy of the great name you bear. I accept your sword. Nay, kneel not, sir; Richard Plantagenet deems himself most fortunate to have you at his side."
At that moment the arras was drawn aside and a young and slender woman entered. Her gown was black, unrelieved by any color, save the girdle of gold; her face was almost flawless in its symmetry; her complexion was of a wondrous whiteness; and her eyes, of the deepest blue, soft and melting, and shaded by lashes long and heavy, were of the sort that bespeak the utmost confidence and know no guile. She hesitated as she saw De Lacy and was about to withdraw when the Duke glanced around.
"Nay, sweetheart," said he, rising and going toward her; "do not retire. . . . Sir Aymer de Lacy, I present you to the Duchess of Gloucester."
De Lacy advanced and sinking upon one knee touched his lips to the hand she extended to him.
"Surely, Sir Knight," she said, in a voice whose sweetness struck even his Southern-bred ear, "a De Lacy should ever be welcome in the halls of Pontefract."
"Your words, most gracious lady," answered Aymer, "are almost those used by my lord, the Duke, and to a wanderer's heart they are very grateful."
"You are an errant, then; a Sir Guy or Sir Lancelot," said the Duchess.
"Nay. Only a poor and simple Knight whose highest honor is that he may henceforth follow the banner of your great husband."
"Then must hauberk sit easy as velvet doublet or I know not my lord," and she smiled at Richard.
"Do not," said he, "give to Sir Aymer the notion that he has nothing but hard blows before him--although, indeed, he rode hither on scarce a peaceful mission, since he bears from Stafford and the Nobility the tender of the Protectorship and the insistence that I proceed to London without delay."
As he spoke the face of the Duchess suddenly became grave, and stepping swiftly to his side she put her hand upon his arm.
"You will not go, Richard?" she begged.
"Why, sweetheart, what ails you? Why should a journey to London and a possible exchange of blows alarm you?"
"It is not the journey, dear," she answered. "Many a time have you taken it; and, for the blows, did I not speed you to the Scottish war? Yet I have a foreboding--nay, smile not, my lord!--that upon your course in this matter hangs not only your own fate, but the fate of Plantagenet as well. Accept it not," taking his hand and speaking with deep entreaty; "the Protectorship can add nothing to Richard of Gloucester, and it may work not only your doom but that of the great House of Anjou."
"Nay, Anne, you are ill, surely," said Richard, putting his arm around her. "What has put such uncanny notions into your mind?"
"I do not know; yet I implore you to humor me in this. . . . You have not already despatched an