Standing on the threshold of the castle yard six lads could now be seen, brightly dressed in gay uniforms, with six shining trumpets held ready at their lips. They were very still, very silent. But all at once, when the doors had swung the whole way open, they blew a mighty blast of sound.
When the music had died away things began to bustle. The trumpeters drew back to one side and a soldier, clearly an officer of the guard, came forward and gave some orders to the sentries. These began herding the people back from the gateway; and soon a larger body of troops (about a hundred men, Giles guessed) marched out and formed up along the sides of the street.
‘Good!’ whispered Luke. ‘The King will be going out by the East. Let’s move farther down, close to the bend, by the fountain. The people are fewer there—and the soldiers not so many. But we must not get too far away, or the horses will be trotting instead of walking. Oh, goodness! There he comes. Let’s hurry.’
Again with surprising speed, the lame boy broke into a hobbling, hopping run; and in a couple of minutes the two had taken up a position on the line of march a hundred yards or so farther down the street. Here Luke became still more careful that they should not attract notice from anyone. And with Giles at his heels he sidled in through the crowd till the two of them had their noses almost touching the back of an enormous soldier.
This morning the people were not shouting as they had been yesterday. That had been a day of welcome. Now they were just very respectful and quiet. And no one would have guessed what they were waiting for if it had not been that all the men and boys took off their hats as a party of horsemen came trotting out from the castle gate.
Giles’s heart sank as he saw the pace they moved at. It would be no easy matter for a boy of his size to stop a mounted man at the trot. But the party slowed down to a walk as soon as it had passed the bridge over the moat.
‘Fine!’ whispered Luke. ‘The King is riding right in front. That’s he in grey, with the scarlet feather in his cap. Move a little to your right ... a little more—so you’re between the two soldiers. Steady! Don’t press forward yet. Wait till I nudge you.’
To poor Giles it seemed hours while the grey figure on the beautiful white horse walked down that hundred yards of cobbled road. A few paces behind came five or six noblemen—and behind them again, twenty or thirty servants or huntsmen. Everyone was mounted. As they came nearer, Giles, without stretching his neck too far forward between the soldiers, tried to see the faces of the horsemen behind the King. He somehow felt more afraid of them and the soldiers at his elbow than he did of the King himself. He looked for the proud dark face of the Duke. But it was not there. The King was going hunting today without the company of his cousin.
Then Giles heard a gentle whinny; and suddenly his wandering gaze found that the head of the white horse had come almost level with him. At that moment a bony hand pushed him softly in the back.
In a flash he had ducked under the soldier’s arm and leapt out into the open roadway.