She lifted her head, bewildered:—
“Methought,—methought thou wert against wars, and this Rising?”
He smiled, amused, wistful, patient.
“I am one of the peacemakers,” he said. “Natheless, in this battle, the word of my Vision is on the lips of them that slay. I am not for battle, 't is true; but these fight on God's side. If He give leave, who am I to say nay?”
“And thou believest we shall win?” she cried. “Thou believest we shall win?”
“What is 't—to win?” he asked. “Christ Jesus died on cross atwixt two thieves; but He is victor.”
This was the day the Savoy was burned, John of Gaunt's palace without the gates twixt Temple Bar and Charing Cross, and all the furniture and rich stuffs therein that were not burned were hewed and all to-tore and cast in the river. Howsoever, John of Gaunt was in the north at that time, and well for him. In the garden, Stephen, who was in the forefront of the mob all that day, came upon a lad hid behind a bush and busied in rending the badge of Lancaster from his sleeve.
“Dieu merci!—then thou art not slain, my lord!” cried Stephen.
But the boy, drawing a sword, ran upon him with, “Oh, thou false traitor!”
“No traitor, my Lord Henry,” Stephen answered, his hand twisting the child's wrist that the sword dropped harmless. “No traitor, but brother to the people and loyal true subject of King Richard. Have I not sought thee this hour and more throughout the palace? Come, thou art not safe till the Tower hold thee.”