“Well! needs must, Nym,” said Constance, turning to the boy who had so nearly worn the crown of England. “And after all, belike, it shall be worser for me than thee.”
“Nym won’t care,” spoke up little Roger boldly, “if my master yonder will let him lie till seven of the clock of a morrow.”
“Till nine, if it like him,” said Sir William.
“Then he’ll be as happy as a king!” added little Roger.
“Nay, you be all too young to care overmuch—save Nan,” responded Constance, looking at Anne’s white troubled face. “Poor maid! ’tis hard for thee.”
“I can bear what God sendeth, Madam,” said Anne in a low voice.
“Well said, brave heart!” answered Constance, only half understanding her. “The blessed saints aid thee so to do!—Now, Sir William, dispose of us.”
Hankeford obeyed the intimation by separating them into two bands. Constance, Bertram, and Maude, he placed in the care of Elmingo Leget, an old servant of the Crown, with orders to conduct them direct to London, where Constance guessed that she at least was to undergo trial. The four young Mortimers he took into his own charge, but declined to say what he was going to do with them. The three officers of the Duke of York were desired to return to their master, the old Judge cynically adding that they could please themselves whether they told him of the recapture or not; while Maydeston was as cynically informed that Sir William saw no sufficient reason wherefore the King’s Grace should be at the charges of his journey home, but that he might ride in the company if he listed to pay for the lodgings of his beast and his carcase. To which most elegant intimation Maydeston replied that he was ready to pay his own expenses without troubling his Majesty, and that he did prefer to keep his master company.
So the little group of friends were parted, and Constance began her return journey to London as a prisoner of state.
But what was happening at Cardiff? And where was the Earl of Kent?