Over the Court ran a shiver of apprehension; and men eyed one another with misgiving and drew within themselves; while the women, with faces suddenly gone white and lips a tremble, clutched the hands of those most dear, as though to shield them from the doom about to fall.  For green in the memory was Hastings, and Rivers, and Buckingham, and St. Leger, and the stern suddenness of their taking off.

“Perchance, it were more suitable,” the King went on, “that matters of such import be deferred to the quiet of the council chamber and the Court of the Lord High Steward; and in particular, that there should be none of the gentler sex in presence.  Yet for reasons which to me seem adequate and proper, I have determined otherwise.  He who is charged with these crimes is now among you; and by you, my lords and my ladies, shall he be adjudged.  Stand forth, Henry, Lord Darby of Roxford.”

The gasp that soughed through the room as Richard spoke the name was far more of relief than of wonder, and instantly all eyes sought the accused.

And he met them with a shrug of indifference and a smiling face.  And down the aisle that opened to him he went—­debonair and easy—­until he stood before the Throne.  There he bent knee for an instant; then, erect and unruffled, he looked the King defiantly in the eye.

“Here stand I to answer,” he said.  “Let the charges be preferred.”

Richard turned to the Black Rod.

“Summon the accusers,” he ordered.

As the Usher backed from the room, there arose a hissing of whispers that changed sharply to exclamations of surprise as in formal tones he heralded: 

“Sir John de Bury!  Sir Aymer de Lacy!”

The elder Knight leaned on the other’s arm as they advanced; but dropped it at the Throne and both made deep obeisance.  An impatient glance from the King brought instant quiet.

“Sir John de Bury and Sir Aymer de Lacy,” he, said, “you have made certain grave accusations touching Henry, Lord Darby of Roxford.  He stands here now to answer.  Speak, therefore, in turn.”

De Bury stepped forward and faced Darby, who met him with folded arms and scornful front.

“I charge Henry, Lord Darby,” he said, “with having abducted and held prisoner, in his castle of Roxford and elsewhere, my niece, the Lady Beatrix de Beaumont, Countess of Clare.”

A cry of amazement burst from the Court, but Richard silenced it with a gesture.

“You have heard, my lord,” he said.  “What is your plea?”

“Not guilty, Sire.”

At a nod from the King, De Lacy took place beside Sir John.

“I charge Henry, Lord Darby of Roxford,” he cried, “with high treason, in that he aided and a betted the Duke of Buckingham in his late rebellion, and stood prepared to betray his Sovereign on the field of battle.”

“You hear, my lord,” said the King.  “What is your plea?”