An awkward silence followed--that was not broken until Sir Aymer came galloping back. With a familiarly courteous salute he swung Selim around; and Lord Darby, seizing the opportunity, bowed low to the Countess, and with a menacing glare at De Lacy--who met it with a careless smile--he spurred away.

The Countess had observed Darby's look and she followed him with a frown . . . and De Lacy wisely kept silent.

"I am glad you came," she said presently--then pulled Wilda to a walk.

"Let us loiter; since we are late it is small matter when we reach the rendezvous."

"Why reach it at all?" he asked.

She hesitated.

"Why not ride?" he persisted.

She looked at the horses thoughtfully . . . then shook her head. "I would far rather ride," she said, "but the Queen expects me; duty calls."

"St. Denis! I had quite forgot--duty calls me, too."

But they did not take the horses from their walk, and it was far after time when they reached the wide open s.p.a.ce in the forest, where the party had a.s.sembled.

Upon one side were pitched three large silk pavilions; the center one of red and blue--the colors of the Kingdom; the others, gold and blue--the colors of the House of York. In front and for a wide s.p.a.ce around on the soft turf were spread the thick carpets of the far East.

Before the tents paced two archers of the guard; and stationed at close intervals around the clearing were a goodly force of those veterans, all of whom had been among the personal retainers of Richard when he was Duke of Gloucester.

Not over two score of the Court had been bidden, and these were cl.u.s.tered before the royal pavilion when De Lacy and the Countess rode up. A volley of chaff greeted them as he lifted her from the saddle.

One suggested that they had lost their way . . . another that it was a shame to bring in horses so utterly exhausted . . . another that they must have stumbled on the Court by accident . . . another that there was powder on De Lacy's sleeve. . . And so it went; until Beatrix, in sheer desperation, gathered her skirts about her and fled into the tent.

The Queen was alone, resting on a couch in the inner apartment; but she had heard the noisy greetings outside and had wondered who were the victims. Beatrix's entrance and snapping eyes told her; and she met her with a smile of sympathy.

"Do not mind them, dear," she said. "They mean nothing and you have beard a dozen others treated so, under similar circ.u.mstances."

"I know . . . I know . . . Your Majesty," she replied, with nervous energy . . . "but it was most annoying . . . and with Sir Aymer."

"I doubt not he would give much to know that fact," said the Queen with an amused smile.

"It is because I fear he does know it that I am so vexed. By my faith, I have made a merry mess of it all through this morning."

"The merriest mess and the best you could make, my dear girl,"

motioning her to a place on the couch, "would be to marry Sir Aymer de Lacy."

The Countess gave a look of startled surprise--then dropped her head.

"And methinks," Anne went on, watching her closely, "that you are of the same mind. Take your Queen's word, aye, and your King's as well--for Richard has spoken of it--and quarter the red chevrons with the silver stag."

The Countess was slowly tracing figures on the carpet with her riding whip; and her mistress pressed on:

"You surely cannot hesitate from doubt of his affection. In a thousand ways he shows you that. And certes you have had enough of suitors to be able to weigh very scrupulously the faith they bring. He loves you honestly. He is your equal in birth; and though his English t.i.tle be inferior to yours, he is a Count in France. Why not, my dear Beatrix, be . . . kind to him?" and she put her arm about her.

"You are an earnest pleader, my dear mistress," said the Countess, still busy with the carpet . . . "and, may be, not without cause. . .

Sir Aymer is all you aver . . . a braver Knight or truer heart I never knew. . . And it would be false modesty to pretend I think he does not love me. I did doubt it until lately, but the doubt has gone now.

Were I as sure of myself as I am of him, I would hold him off not a moment longer--he might speak when he chose . . . and the quickest would not be too quick for me . . . Indeed, sometimes I long for him with eager heart; yet, when he comes, I grow weak in resolution and from very timidity give him only chilly words."

The Queen drew her a little closer. "I understand, dear," she said.

"It was so with me when my own dear lord came wooing."

"And how did you . . . change?" Beatrix asked, and blushed winsomely.

And Anne blushed, too. "Nay, I do not know. . . One day my heart met his words and all was peace and happiness."

The Countess sighed. "I wish it might be so with me," she said, and tears were in her voice; "for lately I have grown very lonely--and after you, this man comforts me the most."

"My sweet Beatrix," said the Queen, "Sir Aymer has you safe enough,"

and she put both arms around her and kissed her cheek.

And so, a moment later, the King found them; and with a smile, half sympathy and half amus.e.m.e.nt, he said:

"Methinks, my dear, you and the Countess are wasting sadly your favors on each other. And I am acquainted with many a gallant Knight--but one especial--who would give his quarterings to be prisoner to her as you are at this moment."

Beatrix's cheeks and brow went rosy and in sharp embarra.s.sment she hid her face upon the Queen's shoulder.

"Pardieu, my dear," said Richard, "I did not mean to distress you--yet since I have said it, let me say a little more. As the Queen likes you, so like I De Lacy, and I have given him these words: 'I make not the match, but if you two wish it, none shall make it otherwise.' And I give them now to you also. Nay, thank me not," as she arose and curtsied low; "and while the match would please us well, yet it is our pleasure to follow your desires. All we need is to know them, and that in your own good time." And Richard took her hand and kissed it; then flung aside the curtains and went out as abruptly as he had entered.

XIV

THE QUEEN OF ARCHERY

As the King appeared before the pavilion, a bugle rang out, the soldiers presented halberds, and all talk ceased sharply.

"My good friends," said he, "I have brought you here to-day to test your skill with a weapon that once made an English army the most feared in all the world. In a word, I am curious to know how steadily you can draw the cord and lay your bodies to the bow. Yonder are the b.u.t.ts, and here the staves and the draw line. It is but a poor one hundred paces to the nearest clout; and as that will be too beggarly a distance for you, my lords, you shall use the second. The first has been placed for the fair dames who are to shoot with you, if they will."

And taking the hand of the Queen, who had come forth with the Countess of Clare and was standing beside him, he led the way to the near end of the clearing where, on a rustic table built of boughs, were piled an a.s.sortment of yew staves and arrows of seasoned ash, with cords of deer hide, wrist gloves, baldrics, and all the paraphernalia essential to the archer's outfit.

"Let the lots be drawn," he commanded; and a page came forward with the disc-bag.

As soon as De Lacy saw that Beatrix would partic.i.p.ate in the contest, he chose with much care a stave best adapted for her wrist, and picking out a string to correspond and three grey-goose-feather shafts of a proper length and thickness, he brought them to her.

"Do you not shoot?" she asked.

"Yes--but with small hope. The French do not run to the long bow, and while once I could ring the blanc I am sadly out of practice."

"Ring it now . . . you can," she said softly.

He looked at her hesitatingly. "Tell me," he said, coming a bit nearer; "tell me . . . will you be sorry if I fail?"

But the old habit held her and she veered off. "a.s.suredly . . . it would be poor friendship if I were not." . . . A bowstring tw.a.n.ged and the crowd applauded. "Come," she exclaimed, "the match has begun."

"And is this my answer?" he asked.