Geoffrey recognized the newcomer as the seneschal of the Castle of Arundel. Nor was he long in ignorance of the rider's errand, for, in a loud voice, the officer exclaimed—
"To the Châtelaine of Warblington greeting; but methinks 'tis neither time nor place for expressions of gladness."
"How so, Sir Scudamour?" asked the Lady Bertha haughtily, for she took the seneschal's mien with disfavour.
"By this, fair dame," and, pointing to one of the men-at-arms who had meanwhile arrived at the barbican, he called attention to a shield-like object the soldier was bearing. It was a hatchment, or escutcheon of a deceased noble, and the arms were those of King Henry IV—three lions passant quartered with fleurs-de-lys.
Drawing a soiled parchment from his pouch the seneschal presented it to the Lady Bertha with a courteous bow, then, giving a meaning look of displeasure at the preparations for Sir Oliver's return, he wheeled his horse and galloped away.
Slowly the châtelaine broke the seals and drew out the missive. Silence had fallen upon the crowd. Instinctively soldier and peasant knew that King Henry was no more.
The men-at-arms and archers doffed their steel caps, the peasants, bareheaded and with mouths agape, crowded silently around the stately figure of the Lady Bertha, as in a loud voice she began to read the momentous news—
"To all to whom these present letters shall come: Whereas God hath been pleased to call unto Himself the soul of Henry, King of England, France——"
"An empty title," muttered a voice. Geoffrey turned; it was Gripwell who had uttered these words. Fortunately for him the châtelaine heard him not, and went on reading.
"——Lord of Ireland, and Suzerain of the Kingdom of Scotland, it is hereby ordained that on the day following his most lamented decease his worthy son, Henry, Prince of Wales, Earl of Cornwall and Carnarvon, and Governor of Calais, be proclaimed King of England, France, Lord of Ireland, and Suzerain of Scotland. Oyez, oyez, oyez. God save King Henry the Fifth!"