“It is Reist at last,” one exclaimed.
But the General shook his head.
“It is the King,” he declared. “See he is riding his own horse.”
The old battle-cry rang like music in the King’s ears as he galloped down the lines. He was fair to look upon in the faint early sunlight, bronzed and manly, a born soldier with a dash of the enthusiast. The men, fresh from reading his proclamation, welcomed him with thunderous cheers. Their shouts rose to the skies, and Ughtred breathed more freely. For these were Reist’s men, and it was Reist’s place which he must fill.
“Your Majesty is welcome to the camp,” General Dartnoff said, saluting. “We were looking for the Duke of Reist.”
The King passed into the tent, and motioned the General and the other officers to follow them. Then he turned and faced them.
“General Dartnoff,” he said, “I regret to inform you that the Duke of Reist has resigned his command.”
Blank astonishment was written into their faces. The thing was incredible.
“I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” General Dartnoff said, with some hesitation, “but do we indeed hear you rightly? The Duke of Reist has resigned his command—in time of war—at such a time as this? Nicholas of Reist!”