“Sirs, I am King Richard. Behold the Queen of the Commons. Behold your Queen!”
Isoult understood. Cavendish gave her his hand and knee, and she was on the black horse’s back, facing the crowd and smiling.
Fulk saluted her; eyes and heart were in that homage.
“Men of England, behold the Queen of the Commons. I am Richard, your captain. Now, by the splendour of God, I charge you follow me.”
He had won them. They cheered, surged round him, waving their caps and hoods on the points of their bows and bills. Merlin, a coughing, sneezing, impotently raging thing, was smothered in the eddies of the crowd. Fulk stretched out a hand for Isoult’s. He spoke to her, looking in her eyes.
“My desire, I had thought you dead.”
“I am alive, to soar with you, brave falcon.”
She gazed at him with strange, passionate pride.
“Ah, King of the Burning Heart!”
“I am the green leaf of the rose. By my soul, I know that you dared death.”