The awful waiting stillness was only disturbed by the gentle sobbing of the Queen’s prayers. But Giles did not hear it. He stood there on the threshold between the two rooms, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. It was as if all the world and all his senses were blotted out. Only one thing kept pounding in his head, over and over: his friend, the greatest friend he had ever had, was dying. Not even finding that the success of his faithful quest had come too late, not even knowing that the bride he brought back could never be the King’s; nothing had power to hold his mind now but the picture of that stricken man upon the bed behind him. His friend was dying.
And then there came a gentle knock on the stair door. Swiftly Luke tiptoed across the room and opened it.
An old woman stood in the archway peering in, two enormous black cats at her feet.
‘May I see the King?’ was all she said.
‘ Agnes! ’ gasped Anne, springing forward.
The Queen stopped praying and raised her head.
‘Your Majesty,’ snapped Doctor Seymour. ‘I beg you do not allow that woman in here. That is Shragga the Witch.’
At this the two cats suddenly raised their backs and hissed.
‘She is a dangerous sorceress,’ he went on. ‘Please do not let her see the King. She is from my town. I know her.’
‘Yes,’ said Agnes, coming forward, fixing him with an angry eye. ‘You know me. And I know you. For it was you, for years, who set the magistrates on me, with your tales of devil tricks, hounding me from place to place, forcing me to hide like a rat. You’d have had me burned if you could. And why? Because you knew I was a better doctor than you could ever be, you pompous, blowing bag of bombast! You never knew enough anatomy to cure a baby of the colic. And now you, with your great learning, would keep me from the King, would you? We shall see.’