Richard hurriedly told the circumstances of the encounter, a matter on which he had the less scruple as Simon was entirely out of reach. He had hardly completed his narration when Prince Edmund returned, and with him came others of the council. Edmund was followed by his squire, Hamlyn; and some of the archers were left without. Richard had told his tale, but had had no assurance of how the Prince would act upon it, nor how far the brand of shame might be made to rest on him and his unhappy house. He had avowed his brother’s guilt to the Prince; alas! must it again be blazoned through the camp?
The greetings and inquiries of the new arrivals were hastily got over by the Prince, who lay—holding truly a bed of justice—partly raised by his cushions, with bloodless cheeks indeed, but with flashing eyes, and lips set to all their wonted resoluteness.
“Let me hear, my Lords,” he said, “wherefore—so soon as I was disabled—you thought it meet to put mine own body squire and kinsman in ward?”
“Sir,” said the Provost Marshal, “these knaves of mine have let an accomplice escape who peradventure might have been made to tell more.”
“An accomplice? Of whom?” demanded the Prince.
“Of the—the assassin, my Lord, on whom your own strong hand inflicted chastisement. This Dustifoot, who was the yeoman on guard by your tent, and introduced him to your presence, was seized by the villains at night, endeavouring to hold converse with this gentleman, and was by them taken into custody, whence, I grieve to say, he hath escaped.”
“Give his guard due punishment!” said Edward shortly. “But how concerns this the Lord Richard de Montfort’s durance?”
“Sir,” added the Earl of Gloucester, “is it known to you that the dog of a murderer was yet no Moslem?”
“What of that?” sharply demanded Edward.
“There can scarcely be a doubt,” continued the red-haired Earl, “that an attempt on your life, my Lord, could only come from one quarter.”