“My Lord of Hastings!” said Raynor Royk, with doffed bonnet and in a voice so changed from its usual gruffness that De Lacy and De Wilton both marked it with surprise, “it grieves me ill that I, who have followed the Sable Maunch so oft in battle, should lead you to your death.  Yet I may not shirk my duty, as you, great warrior as you are, well know.  But if there be aught I can do to aid you, that touches not mine honor (for, my lord, we have what we call honor as well as those who wear the yellow spurs), speak but the word.”

Hastings stepped forward and placed his hand upon the old retainer’s shoulder.  “My good fellow,” he said gravely, “there are many with golden spurs who are far less worthy to wear them than are you.  Not always does honor, nay nor chivalry either, dwell beneath the banner or pennon of the Knight.  Permit me a word apart with these kind friends.”

For answer, Raynor Royk gave a sharp order and the soldiers drew out of earshot.

“Need I say to you, Sir Aymer de Lacy, and you, Sir Ralph de Wilton,” said Hastings, “how deeply I appreciate your great kindness in coming with me here.  Place yourselves in my position and you will know the comfort you have given me.  It would be foolish to say I am willing to die; I love life as well as any man; yet bear me witness that I meet my doom as becomes a Peer of England.  I have but two requests to make of you, my friends—­for though you both are of Gloucester’s Household, yet have you been friends to me this day, as Knight to Knight, for you owe me no obligation.  I ask that when yonder deed be done you recall to the Lord Protector his brother Edward’s dying wish that I might lie by his side in Windsor Chapel.  And lastly, I pray you bear to my sweet Countess the assurance of my endless love and adoration.  Give her this ring and (pressing it to his lips) say that it bears my dying kiss.  Tell her”—­and his voice broke, and for the first time in this man’s life tears started to his eyes and trickled down his ruddy cheeks—­“tell her that my last thought was of her . . . tell her that I wish not Heaven save it bring her dear face to me.”  He mastered his emotion.  “Farewell, my friends,” extending his hands, and they silently grasped them, “may God, in His Providence, grant you a kinder death than mine.”

Then with placid face and voice he turned to Raynor Royk, who stood leaning on his axe in evident distress of mind.

“I am at your service, my good man,” he said.  “Dispatch the business quickly and do not, I pray you, bungle it at the stroke.”

Removing his handsome cloak, he opened his doublet at the neck, and with quiet dignity walked to the piece of heavy timber that had been used in repaving the Chapel only the previous day, and which lay across the green.  Raynor Royk made a motion, and a tall soldier stepped forth.  Hastings knelt as the man stopped beside him and drew back his doublet, baring his neck for the blow.