Sir Richard broke his fast in the main room below, sitting by the fire in the broad chimney. He concluded that the chamber to which he had been assigned upon the first night of his visit to the Red Tavern was now surrendered to the uses of the ladies; it being the only one, so far as he could see, that could boast of a coating of mortar. The walls of the remaining rooms abounded in cracks and crannies, the which admitted the chill blasts in discomforting volumes. To the weary young knight, the roaring blaze by the table's side was a most agreeable accompaniment to a very excellent repast. Often afterward it recurred to Sir Richard that he ate during that day because of an habitual predilection to line his inwards. In solemn truth, however, the wine set before him seemed without hint of zest or bouquet, and the toothsome viands provided by Zenas might as well have been so much sawdust for all the taste that Sir Richard got out of them withal.
With the sun drawing toward the zenith, the earth warmed into a semblance of balminess, and the young knight loitered about outside in the hope that Rocelia would walk out presently to take the air. It entered Sir Richard's whirling head that the hunchback had divined the cause of his excessive restlessness; the which the impetuous young knight resented by soundly tongue-lashing the fellow. He scarce answered Sir Richard a word, but received his acrimonious outburst with queer leers, and winks, and knowing smiles. The young knight was fair tempted to take the flat of his sword to him.
"I fear me much that Isabel has soured thy accustomed sweet temper ... sire," Zenas said, with an intonation that was unmistakably satirical. The young knight noted that this was the first occasion upon which the crook-back had actually avowed him sovereign.
"Ah! and right willingly would I play the king," Sir Richard thought, "an I could but wield empire over one dear subject. And why not, forsooth?" his ruminations carried him along. "By'r Lady! who's to prevent me from asserting my sovereignty by commanding this young woman to be summoned into my presence?"
It was as Sir Richard was striding toward the tavern door to carry out his mad project that he glimpsed Rocelia through an upper window. She looked out upon him, inclining her head and smiling. Deferentially Sir Richard doffed his helm, his courage vanishing from him like rime on a mid-August day. The young knight noted that she was wearing a gown of saffron velvet.
Then, quickly entering the tavern, Sir Richard commanded Zenas to fetch him ink, paper and a quill. "Henceforth," said he to himself, "I'll surely play the king; and here shall be my kingdom." But he made up his mind to temper his rule in the meantime with somewhat of diplomacy and cunning.
"Summon Harold hither," said he to the hunchback; "I'll have speech of him."
Directing the note which he then wrote jointly to dame Sutherland and Rocelia, he gave it into the foot-boy's hands and bade him to deliver it at their door. Then, going outside, he directed the groom to trap his stallion; whereupon he started swiftly northward along the forest road. Glancing backward as he swept around the point of the brae, Sir Richard was pleased to discover both of the ladies at the window waving him their adieux.
It was well along in the afternoon when the young knight arrived at the inn where Tyrrell was lying. Stretching east and west from the little building were long, double lines of white tents. The inn-keeper had established him a tap-room in the stable, the which was crowded with boisterous, brawling soldiers. It reminded Sir Richard of another Babel, so varied were their manners of speech.
Within the tavern, however, all was orderly and quiet, with a strong reek of medicines in every corner. For long the young knight seated himself by Tyrrell's bed, the while Sir James stormed and raved in a frightful delirium of fever; cursing King Richard III.; describing the horrible tortures to which his brother had been put; condemning Henry for a base usurper, and railing against Douglas and his traitorous defection. It must have been a full hour before his mind merged into a brief period of calm sanity. Coolly then he counted the pulsings of his heart, whereupon he told the young knight that he was sore feeble. "'Twill be a week at least," he said, "ere the fever shall have run its course. If I am alive after that, perchance I might come safely through." He looked at the young knight askance when Sir Richard spoke to him of Rocelia, but gave him a word of cheer to deliver to her. The young knight remained by Tyrrell's side till again the fever gripped him; then took his way downstairs, bestrode his stallion, and clipped it along the pass toward his little kingdom.