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"And what news?" asked Hastings, as he found himself amidst the king'ssquires; while yet was heard the laugh of the tymbesteres, and yetgliding through the trees might be seen the retreating form of Sibyll.
"My lord, the king needs you instantly. A courier has just arrivedfrom the North. The Lords St. John, Rivers, De Fulke, and Scales arealready with his highness."
"Where?"
"In the great council chamber."
To that memorable room [it was from this room that Hastings washurried to execution, June 13, 1483] in the White Tower, in which thevisitor, on entrance, is first reminded of the name and fate ofHastings, strode the unprophetic lord.
He found Edward not reclining on cushions and carpets, not womanlikein loose robes, not with his lazy smile upon his sleek beauty. Theking had doffed his gown, and stood erect in the tight tunic, whichgave in full perfection the splendid proportions of a frameunsurpassed in activity and strength. Before him, on the long table,lay two or three open letters, beside the dagger with which Edward hadcut the silk that bound them. Around him gravely sat Lord Rivers,Anthony Woodville, Lord St. John, Raoul de Fulke, the young andvaliant D'Eyncourt, and many other of the principal lords. Hastingssaw at once that something of pith and moment had occurred; and by thefire in the king's eye, the dilation of his nostril, the cheerful andalmost joyous pride of his mien and brow, the experienced courtierread the signs of WAR.
"Welcome, brave Hastings," said Edward, in a voice wholly changed fromits wonted soft affectation,—loud, clear, and thrilling as it wentthrough the marrow and heart of all who heard its stirring and trumpetaccent,—"welcome now to the field as ever to the banquet! We havenews from the North that bids us brace on the burgonet and buckle-tothe brand,—a revolt that requires a king's arm to quell. InYorkshire fifteen thousand men are in arms, under a leader they callRobin of Redesdale,—the pretext, a thrave of corn demanded by theHospital of St. Leonard's, the true design that of treason to ourrealm. At the same time, we hear from our brother of Gloucester, nowon the Border, that the Scotch have lifted the Lancaster Rose. Thereis peril if these two armies meet. No time to lose,—they aresaddling our war-steeds; we hasten to the van of our royal force. Weshall have warm work, my lords. But who is worthy of a throne thatcannot guard it?"
"This is sad tidings indeed, sire," said Hastings, gravely.
"Sad! Say it not, Hastings! War is the chase of kings! Sir Raoul de
Fulke, why lookest thou so brooding and sorrowful?"
"Sire, I but thought that had Earl Warwick been in England, this—"
"Ha!" interrupted Edward, haughtily and hastily, "and is Warwick thesun of heaven that no cloud can darken where his face may shine? Therebels shall need no foe, my realm no regent, while I, the heir of thePlantagenets, have the sword for one, the sceptre for the other. Wedepart this evening ere the sun be set."
"My liege," said the Lord St. John, gravely, "on what forces do youcount to meet so formidable an array?"
"All England, Lord of St. John!"
"Alack! my liege, may you not deceive yourself! But in this crisis itis right that your leal and trusty