“The crowd separates, he rides this way!” said the heir of Fitzhugh. “Shall we go forth to meet him?”
“Not so!” exclaimed Hilyard, “we are still the leaders of this army; let him find us deliberating on the siege of Olney!”
“Right!” said Coniers; “and if there come dispute, let not the rabble hear it.”
The captains re-entered the tent, and in grave silence awaited the earl’s coming; nor was this suspense long. Warwick, leaving the multitude in the rear, and taking only one of the subaltern officers in the rebel camp as his guide and usher, arrived at the tent, and was admitted into the council.
The captains, Hilyard alone excepted, bowed with great reverence as the earl entered.
“Welcome, puissant sir and illustrious kinsman!” said Coniers, who had decided on the line to be adopted; “you are come at last to take the command of the troops raised in your name, and into your hands I resign this truncheon.”
“I accept it, Sir John Coniers,” answered Warwick, taking the place of dignity; “and since you thus constitute me your commander, I proceed at once to my stern duties. How happens it, knights and gentlemen, that in my absence ye have dared to make my name the pretext of rebellion? Speak thou, my sister’s son!”
“Cousin and lord,” said the heir of Fitzhugh, reddening but not abashed, “we could not believe but what you would smile on those who have risen to assert your wrongs and defend your life.” And he then briefly related the tale of the Duchess of Bedford’s waxen effigies, and pointed to Hilyard as the eye-witness.
“And,” began Sir Henry Nevile, “you, meanwhile, were banished, seemingly, from the king’s court; the dissensions between you and Edward sufficiently the land’s talk, the king’s vices the land’s shame!
“Nor did we act without at least revealing our intentions to my uncle and your brother, the Lord Montagu,” added the heir of Fitzhugh.