“None,” replied the Friar Rushak; “and if the King should——”
“The King!” repeated Beatrice, with a thrill of dread.
“Ay, Lady, the King,” replied the Friar Rushak, with a strong emphasis and a desperate expression; “but thou must wear this disguise to conceal thee,” continued he, opening out a bundle containing a Franciscan’s habit. “Draw the cowl over thy head and face; follow me with caution; and whatever thou mayest see, utter no word, or give no sign, else——Nay, let not thy breath he heard, or——Come on.”
The Friar Rushak now led the way with the lamp, and the Lady Beatrice, shaking from a dread that even her loose disguise could not conceal, stepped after him through a spring door behind the tapestry, that led into a passage in the centre of the wall. The Franciscan followed, and shut the door behind him. [[521]]The passage was so narrow, that one person only could advance at a time. It was strangely crooked also, frequently bending at right angles, so as to defy all Beatrice’s speculation as to where they might be leading her. A dead silence was preserved by both her attendants, and they moved with a caution that allowed not a step to be heard. Friar Rushak halted suddenly, and turned round; the lamp flashed upon his face, and showed his angry eye; the Lady Beatrice fell back in terror into the arms of the Franciscan behind her. Friar Rushak put his finger to his open mouth, and then told her, in a whisper, to suppress the high breathing which her fears had created. The Lady Beatrice endeavoured to obey. Friar Rushak motioned to her and the Franciscan to remain where they were; he advanced three or four paces with great caution, and, slowly opening a concealed door, listened for a moment; then gently pushing aside the tapestry within, he thrust forward his head, and again withdrawing it, motioned to Beatrice and the Franciscan to advance.
“They sleep,” whispered he. “Follow me—but no word, sign, or breath, as thou dost value thy life.”
Friar Rushak entered within the tapestry, and the Lady Beatrice followed him into a magnificent chamber, lighted by a single lamp. A gorgeous bed occupied one end of the apartment. Over it, attached to the heavy Gothic ceiling, was a gilded crown, whence descended a crimson drapery, richly emblazoned with the Royal Arms of England, under which lay a young man, his head only appearing above the bed-clothes. She hastily glanced at his features, which the lamp but dimly illuminated. It was King Richard. His dark eye-lashes were closed, but she trembled lest he should awaken. Around the room were several couches, where his pages ought to have watched, but where they lay as sound as their Royal master.
They had hardly stepped into the room, when a little dog came growling from under the King’s bed. The Lady Beatrice had nearly sunk on the floor, but the little favourite of the monarch instantly recognized Friar Rushak as a well-known friend, and quietly retreated to his place of repose. The pages showed no symptom of alarm, but the King turned in bed, and exposed his head more fully to view. The Lady Beatrice shook from head to foot as she looked towards him; but her apprehension was excited yet more immediately, when she beheld Friar Rushak at her side, with a menacing eye, and a dagger in his grasp. A sign at once conveyed to her that it was silence he wanted; and though she ventured not to breathe, her heart beat so against her side as she stood, that she felt as if the very [[522]]sound of its pulsations would break the slumbers of all around her. Again the King was quiet, and Friar Rushak moved on towards the opposite door. The Lady Beatrice drew the cowl more over her face, and, without daring to repeat her glance at the King, followed with as much caution as her sinking knees would permit her to use.
The door was opened by Friar Rushak with the utmost gentleness, and they found themselves at one extremity of a suite of apartments, the long perspective of which was seen running onwards from one to another, and where they could perceive groups of dozing domestics lying on chairs, and stretched on benches, in every possible position. Through one of these rooms they passed, and then retreated by a side-door into a narrow circular stair, by which they descended to the hall of entrance, where they found about a dozen archers sitting slumbering by a great fire. These men roused themselves on their approach, and, starting up, sprang forward to bar their passage with their halberts. The Lady Beatrice became alarmed, and, in the trepidation that seized her, dropped the friar’s habit that had hitherto concealed her.
“Ha!” exclaimed one of the soldiers, “a woman and two monks! Who may that considerate lord have been who hath thus taken the shrift with the sin?”
“Silence, Barnaby,” cried another man; “that is the holy Father Rushak, the King’s Confessor.”