Yes—he got up and paced the floor as the idea grew in his mind—yes, that was the best plan. He needed a change. It was a good time too, this, to ask permission to go on leave. For almost nine years he had been at his master’s side with barely a break. The King would surely let him take a holiday. He would make a visit to his own town, his home. His parents, after all this time, would be glad to see him, their son, now grown into a man. And then Luke?—Should he take him too?
He paused in his restless walk, wondering if Luke were still awake. The room had three doors to it: one that opened on the tower stairs, another that shut off Luke’s bedroom, and a third leading through a short passage to the King’s apartments. This, tonight, was ajar; and Giles saw the light of a candle showing dimly behind it. He knew that His Majesty had not yet come to bed, for he had seen him a little while since going towards the palace chapel with the Queen Mother. The grooms were probably asleep within, waiting for their master to retire. In the whole castle there was not a sound.
On tiptoe Giles had started towards Luke’s room when he heard footsteps coming up the tower stairs. It sounded like several people, hurrying—but softly, without clatter. He watched the latch as it was lifted carefully from outside. Then the door silently flew open and two soldiers of the guard, with lanterns in their hands, stepped into the room.
They at once made way for those that followed: the King himself; the Queen Mother weeping and clinging to his arm; and behind her, her Lady-in-Waiting, Anne.
The King’s face looked like a ghost’s. With a quick whispered command he dismissed the men-at-arms, bidding them leave their lanterns and to shut the door behind them. He motioned to Anne to close the entrance to his own rooms. The Queen Mother sank into a chair sobbing softly.
The whole mysterious business puzzled Giles completely. But, with the others present he asked no questions. He stood where they had found him, respectfully waiting for his master to speak first. For a little, the King’s face moved and twisted in a dreadful way, like someone choking for breath and words together.
‘Giles,’ he gasped out at last, ‘I come to beg of you the greatest thing I have ever asked of any man—the most sacred task your service to me has ever been called upon to carry out. The Countess Barbara has disappeared, gone!—And you must find her. You must, you must.’
He moved a step nearer and his clenched hands rose trembling in the air above his head. The Queen glanced nervously towards the door as his words grew louder.
‘She’s gone, Giles!’ The King’s voice broke down again to a choking whisper. ‘You must find her for me.—Find her and bring her back!’
7 The great quest
And so Sir Giles Waggonwright, the King’s Finder, set forth alone to seek the King’s bride. His only companion was the horse he rode, Midnight. The famous black mare was older now, but as clever, as gentle, as sure-footed as ever; and her master could have asked for no better company to suit his mood today.
Not only was this task that lay ahead the greatest the King had ever given him; it was also the most difficult. He had nothing whatever to guide him in his search. All he knew was that the Countess Barbara had disappeared and left no trace behind her.
Before leaving the castle he had questioned the Queen Mother—also his own sister, who had been the last to see the Countess in the palace. Anne slept in the room next to Barbara’s and had said good night to her when they both retired at ten o’clock. About half an hour later, she told her brother, a strong wind had begun to blow; and fearing the rattling windows might wake the Countess, she had gone into the next room. She found it empty, the bed not slept in, and no trace of Barbara anywhere.
When the Queen Mother had been told of this, she and the King had made a more thorough search to see if anything could be discovered that would help to solve the mystery. This was done with great secrecy; because the Queen was most anxious that the guests invited to the wedding should suspect nothing until the news could no longer be kept from them. Barbara’s father, the Commander of the Scottish Archers, had been asked if he knew any cause or reason for so strange a business. But the poor man, almost crazed with grief, was just as puzzled as the King over his daughter’s disappearance.
There were thus only five people in the palace who as yet knew; and they were of course terrified that some harm had come to the missing girl. All sorts of guesses were made as to what had become of her, but not one that brought any help or light or satisfaction. It was the King’s opinion that she had been kidnapped—perhaps through a false message or some other means planned to lure her away beyond the castle walls; from there she could have been carried off swiftly, leaving no trace.
There was no one that the King could suspect directly of such a deed. But there were among his guests foreign kings and princes who had in former times been at war with his father. And it was possible that some one of them might have arranged the matter—helped by friends or retainers from outside—without appearing to have anything to do with it. To any bearing malice or envy against him, this would seem a sure way to bring ridicule or disgrace upon a great monarch: by taking his bride from his castle on the eve of the wedding.
This story or explanation was the only one the poor King could think of. Giles did not say whether he believed it or did not believe it. Anyhow, if it were true it made secrecy doubly important. The only consolation he could offer to the King was that there were no signs of violence or a struggle left behind. This was at all events some comfort. Sometimes no news meant good news, he said.
After he had assured himself that no tracks were to be found beneath the windows of the Countess’s room, he made certain that she could not be hidden anywhere in the castle—also that no horses were missing from the stables. Then he came to the King and his mother to bid them farewell.
So great was his faith in his own gift for finding—in his never-failing luck—that he told them he hoped to bring or send back news of the missing girl in two or three days at most. Meanwhile he begged them to take the greatest care that no word of Barbara’s disappearance should leak out. Anne was to guard the Countess’s room, so that none should know that she was not still within the castle walls. He asked that Luke be taken into the secret and set to help his sister with her task. His search would be made easier so. There was no need, he said, that the wedding guests should be sent away for the present; but word ought to be given out that the marriage had had to be put off for a few days—to await the arrival of an important personage whose presence at the ceremony was necessary. Then when the King had wished him good fortune, and the Queen Mother had given him her blessing, he had ridden forth alone.
He had appeared sure and confident enough when he was still with them, hoping to cheer their sad hearts. But after he was well away from the castle he was bound to admit that he had very little to build his hopes on. And the more he thought of his task the harder it seemed. In all the difficult searches he had made so far he had begun by carefully thinking out a plan of action. Yet here for the first time, with the whole world for a hunting ground, he could scarcely think of any worthy of the name.
The best he could do, he decided, was to work over the country in circles, keeping the castle as a centre. It was barely twelve hours since Barbara had left. She could not therefore at most be farther off than a fast horse could carry her in that time. So it was his hope that in crossing all the roads that led away from the palace he might hear word, or by some other good turn of fortune find which one it was she had travelled by.