"May it please Your Majesty," the boy said, as the King's curt nod gave him leave to speak, "Sir Robert Brackenbury craves instant audience on business of state."
"Admit him!"
The next moment the old Knight strode into the room, spurs jangling and boots and doublet soiled by travel.
"Welcome, Robert," said Richard, giving him his hand. "What brings you in such haste?"
"Matters which are for your ears alone, Sire," said the Constable of the Tower, with the abruptness of a favored counsellor.
The King walked to a distant window.
"Might the two-faced Lord Steward hear us?" Brackenbury asked.
"No danger, speak—what is amiss in London?"
"Enough and to spare. Edward's sons are dead."
Even Richard's wonderful self-control was unequal to such news, and he started back.