Giles had hardly spoken to Barbara since they left the convent—no more than a polite word or two at the places where he had halted to change horses or get food for his passengers.
Now, from afar, he was glad to see the figure of Luke galloping towards him. He was glad, too, to see the old castle loom up at last. It meant the end of a hard and anxious journey. But somehow coming back to it this evening was not the same. Usually this ancient home of kingship, with its weather-beaten battlements rising up and up against the sky like the fingers of Majesty itself, used, without fail, to thrill him every time he saw it. He was a part of it, fitted into its power and being—just as the castle itself fitted so perfectly round the top of the sharply pointed hill it stood on.
Tired and travel-worn he was; but at this moment he did not, he felt, want to sleep in it tonight. He would go off again at once, he told himself. As soon as he had handed Barbara over he would ask for leave to go upon his holiday. What mattered his weariness? He would take the trip home in easy stages and rest upon the way. He would not linger at the palace of the King.
As soon as Luke joined up with him, falling in behind the coach and riding at his side, he told these plans to his esquire.
‘Giles, you can’t do it,’ whispered Luke when he had ended. ‘Of course the King will give you leave if you wish to go. Certainly he has always been more friend than master—to both of us. But he will think it strange of you, your wanting to leave him again right away—even if he doesn’t speak of it. Especially now—when he is not well, as I told you.’
Giles said nothing.
‘Besides that, we need you, the Queen Mother above all. She has had to arrange everything, with no one to share authority or to give advice. She is nearly crazed with fear.’
‘With fear?’ asked Giles. ‘What of?’
‘Oh, things are at a dreadful pass up there! The King fell and hurt himself. They have a surgeon with him. Nobody knows what’s going to happen.’
‘You mean—’ Giles hesitated and his expression changed queerly. It was almost as if he were trying to beat back some dreadful guilty thing rising in his thoughts. ‘You mean there is danger? That the King may— may die?’