"When will the maid arrive? Through what means will your men effect her freedom? Does Tyrrell know?" was Sir Richard's volley of questions.
"Nay—Tyrrell does not know. 'Twas at the suggestion of your good friend, the Renegade Duke, that I sent for her, who has but just this eve arrived within the castle. He has been laid up with a sickness. But give you a good-night, Sir Richard, and get you to your bed," Douglas concluded, getting up to pull the bell cord above his chair and again tendering the young knight his hand.
Like one walking in a dream, Sir Richard followed the smoking rush-lights of the two pages who were awaiting to lead him to his room. For the third time the words of the unhappy youth, Perkin Warbeck, were recalled vividly to his mind—"A phantom in the midst of phantoms, moving in a fog of mystery."
A sound body overcame an uneasy mind and conscience, however, and he slept peacefully through the fog, with nothing more alarming than a multitude of shadowy de Claverloks to inhabit his dreams. In the morning he was awake betimes, broke his fast, and then wandered out to view the lists, which would soon resound with the huzzas of excited spectators, and the tumult of friendly striving.
To the northward of the walls of the castle tents were thickly dotted over the hillsides, the blue smoke of their fires rising high into the keen, clear air. Horses were tethered to almost every tree; oxen were moving about over the slopes, grazing the frosty grass. In the open spaces knots of men and women were gathered, eating, drinking, and singing. Snatches of their rude songs reached to the young knight's ears as he stood watching the interesting spectacle.
Within the space reserved for the uses of the knights who were to engage in the games, he noted a pavilion bearing his cognizance emblazoned above its entrance. He walked across, stopping in front of it to look up along the decorated stand, with its ribbon-twined pillars, its manifold pennants, its blaze of multi-colored banners all snapping and fluttering in the crisp breeze. It was a brave sight, and sent Sir Richard's blood tingling through his veins. He grew conscious of a keen desire to feel the first shock of the combat.
By now other knights were passing beside him, many of whom were not strangers to Sir Richard's prowess with the sword. They gave him the morning's greeting and passed within their tents. Heralds and pursuivants, dressed in the brightest and gaudiest of liveries, were moving busily about the tilting-yard, engaged upon their tasks of observing that everything was in cap-a-pie order. Presently Lord Douglas and his retinue of inseparable jackdaws entered the stand across the covered bridge that gave into it from the castle. They moved in a body to the front and bowed in concert, wishing him a row of solemn good-morrows. Sir Richard grew to speculating as to what was taking place within their teeming brains. He wished that he might have lifted their coverings for a moment to have a peep within.
Upon returning their ceremonious salutations, he parted the curtained entrance and walked within his tent.
No sooner was he come inside when a seam opened to the right, disclosing a hand holding a parchment with ribbons dangling from its great seal. Sir Richard instantly recognized it to be the document that had been stolen from his wallet. The seam gaped wider then, and Tyrrell's grim visage appeared above the hand.
"Hist!" he whispered low. "I essayed to speak with thee last night within thy chamber, but armed guards were stationed without thy door. Mark ye well what I say, Sir Richard Rohan, for I must perforce say briefly. Here is the message from Henry to Douglas, which I took from thee on the night thou didst tarry within the Red Tavern. Mighty well is it for thee that it was purloined, ... else thou wouldst not have been here to-day. But another of similar import is likely any day to arrive from Kenilworth. Thou art in direst peril. Read it, Sir Richard. But not now.... After I have gone.... I dare not long remain. Thy life and mine would pay instant forfeit were I to be discovered here. Hark ye, ... closer! That red striped lance yonder is worm eaten to the core. I have one for myself hewn from the same piece of wood. When we shall be called opposite in the lists, ... mark ye, now, ... forget not to couch that stick at me. It will shatter to the hilt, as will mine own. At our next meeting, with fair lances, thou shalt have the northern stand. When the trumpet winds, plunge rowels into thy steed's belly and charge at me. But do not engage my shield or person. Gallop by me and make straight for the gate, which will be open and packed with gaping peasantry. I have stationed there two score of brawny men and true, who will part a way for thee. Ride on through and make southward along the Sauchieburn Pass. I will execute a swift demivolte and follow closely at thy heels, appearing to give chase. An, perchance, I fail of getting away with thee, go swift to the Red Tavern and await there my coming. Zenas will be looking out for thee. An I come not, ... well, ... Lord Kennedy shall bear thee messages. Hist! At thy door there. 'Tis the man I have bribed to sew up this rent. Admit him, Sir Richard, and give thyself to the reading of the warrant. Adieu!"