Henry was about to rise, when the chamberlain came quickly behind his chair and whispered something close to his ear, looking hard at Denis as he spoke.
So meaning was his glance that the boy, who in spite of the royal favour had been on pins all the time, took fright at once, ready as he was to associate everything informal as being in some way connected with those who had escaped. The next moment the lad’s hands had turned cold and damp, while a giddy sensation attacked his brain, for the King had suddenly exclaimed:
“Hah! The Captain of the Guard with his reports?”
“Yes, Sire. I have told him to wait at the door of your private cabinet. Will you receive him there?”
“No,” cried the King bluffly. “Bring him in here, and see that he has a cup of wine.—Now, my young masquerader,” he cried banteringly to Denis, “there’s news for you. Scores of my guards have been scouring the riverside, and they have come to announce that the prisoners have been secured, for our sick friend the Comte was certain to break down before he had gone far. Well, why do you look like that?” he continued, as he noticed the change in the young esquire’s face. “There, there: I am not so savage as they say, and whatever happens it is nothing to you, boy, for somehow—there, never mind. Here comes my friend the captain.”
For there was the heavy tramp of feet, and the stalwart Captain of the Guard, in half armour, huge buff boots, and pointed morion set well back upon his head, strode up to the King’s table, dusty and travel-stained, to sink upon one knee, the plates of his armour grinding together with a strange sound as he went down—a sound repeated as the King signed to him to rise.
“Well, captain,” cried the King bluffly, “what have you to report? You have captured the French pigeons which escaped their cage, and brought them back with all that they took away?”
“No, Sire,” said the captain shortly.
“What!” roared the King, in a voice of thunder; and there was utter stillness in the great chamber as, in no wise abashed, the captain went on:
“Six companies of horse, Sire, have searched every road and every village on the way towards London, and six more companies have harried every place on both sides the river from here to—”