Even when she spoke again of going he was trying to think of some excuse to keep her. With her, out here in the sun, amid all the gracious peace of the Lower Lake, he would ask nothing better than to stay for—well, he didn’t know or care how long. Might he not so, perhaps, hold that gayer sparkle in her eyes? They had known one another many years now, yet they seemed never to have talked of anything but dogs and horses, country things—seldom of people or life.
His own mood at the time puzzled Giles a lot. He asked himself: was this beautiful, strange girl happy? He felt happy. And he had a great wish to make her happy, the happiest girl in the world. A very proper and almost fatherly feeling, he told himself. Even if they were of the same age, what of it? Men had to protect women. But why was he especially wishing to keep her here now? To talk to her? Yes, that was it. He wanted to talk to her, in a fatherly way, about life and serious things—all the things they had never spoken about before. It was true she had a father of her own, the Commander of the Scottish Archers. But who knew how good a father he was, anyhow?
For the third time she began to tell him she must be leaving, when both the dogs barked together. The King’s Finder took his fatherly eyes off the beautiful countess and looked across the lake. It was the figure of a man, over there, whose sudden approach had made the spaniels bark. Moreover, it was none other than his own esquire, Luke, waving and beckoning to him. Glad of a chance to delay her a little longer (and perhaps to invent further ways of keeping her out on her errand), Giles begged her to wait a moment while he went round the shore to speak with his esquire. And, without giving her time to answer, he hurried away.
Luke had rather a queer look in his face, Giles thought, when he came up to him. Ordinarily these two young men were, of course, in the eyes of the Court, master and servant, knight and esquire. And most of the time they had to act their different parts for the sake of appearances in the ceremonious life of the palace. But in real truth the pair were well-tried friends of almost lifelong standing. They shared one another’s secrets and thoughts; and whenever they were alone together, and the world of princely pomp was not watching, they were equals and nothing more.
And that was why, when he came near to Luke this morning, Giles knew instantly there was something wrong. The esquire had a strange, ill-at-ease appearance about him, almost as though he had bad news for the King’s Finder and didn’t know quite how to set about breaking it.
‘I—I am sorry,’ he began in a stammering kind of way—‘very sorry to call you away like this when you were busy—er—with other matters. But I heard something a moment ago and I—I—er—hastened down to tell you of it. I thought perhaps it would be better that you heard it from me than from anyone else. You see—’ Then he stopped and pulled at the head of a bulrush growing near by.
‘Well!’ said Giles. ‘Go on! What is it?’
‘Maybe I’m wrong,’ Luke continued after a moment, ‘in making it my business to come and tell you. But—anyway—that’s what I thought. The King’s betrothal is to be announced this evening. He—he is going to marry Countess Barbara—in a month from today.’
A sharp, strange, almost unbearable feeling of hurt came into the heart of the young knight as he heard these words. There was no mistaking their meaning. Luke’s news was clear and plainly spoken at the end, for all his hesitation to begin. There was no answer necessary, no need to repeat. The King was to marry Barbara.
Giles looked back across the lake. The slim, lovely girl was still standing at the farther shore, the lilies in her arms, waiting for him to return. But he was quite sure at once that he was not going to return. He would need time now before he could speak to her again—of just those ordinary things they always talked of, dogs and horses and the rest. Of a sudden the white figure at the water’s edge grew dim before his eyes as though a mist had risen from the lake between them.
And the King’s Finder knew at last that he was himself in love.
For one mad second the idea came into his mind to run to her, to tell her everything and then escape with her into the mountains—anywhere, to get her away from the King. But what of her, Barbara, the new Queen to be? Why suppose she would want to come with him? She must know of this already. She must be willing. With her knowledge and consent the marriage had been arranged. And then, what of the King? The generous kindly prince who had been so true a comrade, to whom he owed everything! What of the ‘friendship that does not betray’?
The mad moment passed. And Luke’s keenly watching eyes saw the young knight’s muscles tighten with a pitiful, determined courage as he gave up the rebellion in his heart. The esquire came quickly to Giles’s side and, without speaking, gripped him firmly by the arm.
After a moment he heard his master speaking, but in a voice so low it could be barely heard:
‘Do you go round and join her, Luke. Make my excuses to her. I will return to the castle by this shore. Help her with the lilies to the Queen. If the King asks for me, I’ll be at the stables. I’ve a notion to see Midnight the black mare.’
5 The Princess Sophronia
Four weeks, all but a day, had passed. And the whole kingdom had taken on an air of great excitement, of happy expectation. Every town and village and hamlet was making ready for a holiday. For the subjects of the King, without waiting for any royal commands, had decided there should be national rejoicing at his marriage.
It looked, the older ones said, as though it would be an even greater celebration than when the young King was crowned. For then he had been little more than a lad. And a country never feels quite safe from revolution, with a boy on the throne and a strong ambitious nobility thirsty for power. Nor had the people then known what manner of ruler this youngster would turn out to be. But after nine years of the Reign of Peace had rolled by, and the young King had shown his true greatness and generous nature, word had now been spread through the land that he was about to marry. And there was hardly one, even among the lowliest and most poor, who did not greet the news almost as though it were of a happy wedding in his own family.
This gladness was made greater still when it was learned that the King was marrying the lady of his heart, for love, and not a great princess to increase the power and wealth of the realm. Barbara was only a countess, a member of the lesser nobility, and had not even been seen by many; but it was said that her beauty was the rarest the land had ever known and her gracious kindness no less. Such a marriage of romance pleased the people far more than a great alliance to a neighbouring kingdom—which, as often as not, meant nothing in the end but more wars and trouble. And they nodded their heads sagely as they made their villages gay for the festival, saying it was just like the young King to marry the girl he loved, the same as they would have done themselves.
But of course the fluttering excitement was highest of all at the castle itself. Here, as the great day came nearer, the happy bustle of preparation had grown and grown; till now, on the eve of the wedding, the great palace buzzed like a beehive under an August sun at noon.
Everyone, even the Queen Mother herself, had been untiringly busy. For, while some hundreds of extra servants had been hired to do the actual work, it was necessary that they should be watched and guided every minute; and this was the duty of the old and trained retainers, the officers of the Royal Household, and the members of the King’s own family. The Queen Mother devoted almost her whole attention to Barbara’s new wardrobe. Gowns, gowns and more gowns! By the score, dressmakers, tailors, shoemakers, jewellers and glovers were busy in her apartments at all hours. The well-beloved little old lady was determined that her son’s wife should be the best-dressed queen that ever mounted the throne.