‘It may be so,’ said Bedford; ‘and yet I would I had not consented to his going where that woman of Hainault might work on him to fret the Lady Esclairmonde.’
James started somewhat as he remembered overruling this objection of Malcolm’s own making. ‘She cannot have the insolence,’ he said.
At that moment a hasty step approached; the door was opened with scant ceremony, and Ralf Percy, covered from head to foot with blood, hurried in breathless and panting.
‘My lord Duke, your license! Here is Malcolm Stewart set upon in the forest by robbers and stabbed!’
‘Slain? Dead?’ cried both princes, springing up in horror.
‘Alive still—in the chapel—asking for you, my lord,’ said Percy. ‘He bade us lay him there at the King’s feet; and as it was the readiest way to a priest, we did his bidding.’
‘My poor Malcolm!’ sighed James; and he and Bedford hastened to obey the summons.
There was time on the way for Ralf Percy to give them the particulars. ‘We had gone forth—Trenton, Kitson, altogether some half-dozen of us—for a mouthful of air in the forest after our guard all day in the chapel, when about a mile from the Castle we heard a scuffle, and clashing of arms. So breaking through the thicket, we saw a score of fellows on horseback fully armed, and in the midst poor Glenuskie dragged to the ground and struggling hard with two of them. We drew our swords, hallooed, and leapt out; and the knaves never stayed to see how many of us there were, but made off like the dastards they were, but not till one had dealt poor Stewart this parting stroke. He hath been bleeding like a sheep all the way home, and hath scarce spoken but a thanksgiving for our having come in time, as he called it, and to ask for Dr. Bennet and the Duke.’
The words brought them to the door of the chapel, where for a time the chants around King Henry had paused in the agitation of the new arrival. As the black and white crowd of priests and monks opened and made way for the King and Duke, they saw, in the full light of the wax tapers, laid on a pile of cushions not far from King Henry’s feet, the figure of Malcolm, his riding-gown open at the breast, and kerchiefs dyed and soaked with blood upon it; the black of his garments and hair enhancing the ghastly whiteness of his face, and yet an air of peace and joy in the eyes and in the folded hands, as Dr. Bennet and another priest stood over him, administering those abbreviated rites of farewell blessing which the Church sanctioned in cases of sudden and violent death. The princes both stood aside, and presently Malcolm faintly said, ‘Thank God! I trusted to His mercy to pardon! Now all would be well could I but see the Duke.’
‘I am here, dear youth,’ said Bedford, kneeling on one side of him; while James, coming to the other side, spoke to him affectionately; but to him Malcolm only replied by a fond clasp of the hand, giving his sole attention to Bedford, to whom he held the signet.