"Aye, that may you. But who is thy friend? Thou hast not answered me."
"My companion and squire, Lord Douglas. I bespeak for him thy pardon. Though he meaneth right well, he is ever thoughtless and rude."
"So it would seem. Bring me King Henry's message. Keep me yonder belligerent in leash, my men," Douglas added, pointing toward de Claverlok, who was still tossing the guards about in a vain endeavor to free himself from their smothering grasp.
Sir Richard strode past the struggling, heaving mass of humanity, and then, on up the stairway. Upon reaching the landing he turned to his right to where Lord Douglas stood within the door leading off the jutting balcony. The young knight paused for a moment to glance downward above the railing toward de Claverlok. The grizzled warrior had evidently signified his intention of remaining quiescent, for the guards had loosened their hold of him and he was standing mutely against one of the columns that shot from floor to ceiling at regular intervals around the entire length and breadth of the hall. His arms were folded, and he was gazing straight up into the face of his young friend. The beribboned courtiers and brightly dressed women were standing at a discreet distance, gaping at him. It reminded Sir Richard of an eagle that had dropped its pinions in the midst of a swarm of brilliant-winged, fluttering moths. He noted as well the expression of sad reproach with which the veteran was regarding him. If ever sincerity was stamped in the features of man it was surely displayed in the rugged countenance of de Claverlok, and from that instant the young knight divined his erstwhile companion to be as stanch and true as the steel of the Damascus blade at his side.
"Thou'lt find me here, Sir Richard," de Claverlok called up as the young knight turned to enter the door through which Lord Douglas had but just preceded him. When he came into his cabinet, after traversing a number of curtained passageways, Sir Richard found the bluff Scotsman pacing impatiently back and forth across the floor. He paused when the young knight entered, greeting him formally from his station in the center of the room.
"From King Henry," said he, when the document, fresh from its hiding place, had been surrendered into his hands.
Signing Sir Richard to be seated near a massive, carved oak desk, Douglas dropped into a high-backed chair before it, broke the great red seal and addressed himself to the business of reading. When he had finished perusing the document he laid it face downward upon the desk and leaned back in his chair, tugging at his wiry, black beard, and knitting his fierce brows deeply. During an interval of several minutes he remained in this attitude, stealing occasional glances of searching inquiry in Sir Richard's direction and muttering inaudible sentences to himself.
"That this paper hath reached within the walls of Castle Yewe, sir knight," he at length said, speaking with a cold deliberation, as though carefully weighing each word, "is certes an indisputable proof of thy absolute integrity as a messenger."
"Nay—but——"
"Tut, tut! Say not a word till I have digested this matter within my mind," interrupted Douglas. Whereupon he took up the parchment and read it through carefully a second time. Then, getting up from his seat, he resumed his impatient march across the floor. As Sir Richard sat studying the Scotsman's movements, he fancied that he had never seen a combination of features more suggestive of unfaltering determination and grim pugnacity. Douglas's head was not over large; and his cheek, chin, and crown were covered with a thick mop of jet black beard and hair. He moved his burly figure awkwardly, like one who was more accustomed to riding than walking.