“With all my heart, your Grace,” said Courcelle fervently, andoffered an ardent hand to the lady.

Hugh Beringar watched the girl pass by, her hand submissive in the broadbrown hand that clasped it, her eyes cast down, her small, gentle face with itsdisproportionately large and noble brow tired and sad now that she had done hererrand faithfully. From outside the royal tent he had heard every word. Shelooked now as if she might melt into tears at any moment, like a little girlafter a formal ordeal, a child-bride dressed up to advertise her riches or herlineage, and then as briskly dismissed to the nursery when the transaction wasassured. The king’s officer walked delicately beside her, like aconqueror conquered, and no wonder.

“Come, the lord king waits,” said the guttural voice of WillemTen Heyt in his ear, and he turned and ducked his head beneath the awning ofthe tent. The comparative dimness within veiled the large, fair presence of theking.

“I am here, my liege,” said Hugh Beringar, and made hisobeisance. “Hugh Beringar of Maesbury, at your Grace’s service withall that I hold. My muster is not great, six knights and some fiftymen-at-arms, but half of them bowmen, and skilled. And all are yours.”

“Your name, Master Beringar, is known to us,” said the kingdrily. “Your establishment also. That it was devoted to our cause was notso well known. As I have heard of you, you have been an associate of FitzAlanand Adeney, our traitors, until very recently. And even this change of heartcomes rather belatedly. I have been some four weeks in these parts, withoutword from you.”

“Your Grace,” said Beringar, without haste to excuse himself orapparent discomfort at his cool reception, “I grew up from a childregarding these men whom you understandably name your traitors, as my peers andfriends, and in friendship have never found them wanting. Your Grace is toofairminded a man not to admit that for one like me, who has not so far sworn