Twice the King had stopped his meal and sat with
sidelong head; his wine-cup in his hand, listening attentively
when some sound like the clatter of hoofs was heard from outside;
but the third time there could be no mistake. The tramp and
jingle of the horses broke loud upon the ear, and ended in hoarse
voices calling out of the darkness, which were answered by the
archers posted as sentries without the door.
"Some traveler has indeed arrived, my liege," said Nigel. "What
is your royal will?"
"It can be but Aymery," the King answered, "for it was only to him
that I left the message that he should follow me hither. Bid him
come in, I pray you, and make him very welcome at your board."
Nigel cast open the door, plucking a torch from its bracket as he
did so. Half a dozen men-at-arms sat on their horses outside, but
one had dismounted, a short, squat, swarthy man with a rat face
and quick, restless brown eyes which peered eagerly past Nigel
into the red glare of the well-lit hall.
"I am Sir Aymery of Pavia," he whispered. "For God's sake, tell
me! is the King within?"
"He is at table, fair sir, and he bids you to enter."
"One moment, young man, one moment, and a secret word in your ear.
Wot you why it is that the King has sent for me?"
Nigel read terror in the dark cunning eyes which glanced in
sidelong fashion into his. "Nay, I know not.
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