“Be sure, then, I will not keep all these grey-beard sorners about me,” he said, lowering his voice cautiously; “I will only have young gallant men like you and David there.  But what comes here?”

There was a stir among the servitors at the upper end of the room.  Sholto, who stood behind his master’s chair, heard the skirl of the war-pipes approach nearer.  It grew louder, more insistent, finally almost oppressive.  The doors at either end were filled with armed men.  They filed silently into the hall in dark armour, all carrying shining Lochaber axes.

Douglas leaned back in his chair, and looked nonchalantly on like a spectator of a pageant.  He continued to talk to the King easily and calmly, as if he were in his own Castle of Thrieve.  But Sholto saw the white and ghastly look on the face of the Chancellor, and noted his hands nervously grip the table.  He observed him also lean across and confer with Livingston, who nodded like one that agrees that the moment of action has come.

At the upper end of the hall were wide folding doors which till now had been shut.  These were opened swiftly, either half falling back to the wall.  And through the archway came two servitors in black habits, carrying between them on a huge platter of silver a black bull’s head, ghastly and ominous even in death, with staring eyeballs and matted frontlet of ensanguined hair.

“Treachery!” instantly cried Sholto, and ere the men could approach he had drawn his sword and stood ready to do battle for his lord.  For throughout all Scotland a bull’s head served at table is the symbol of death.

The Earl did not move or speak.  He watched the progress of the men in black, who staggered under their heavy burden.  David also had risen to his feet with his hand on his sword, but William Douglas sat still.  Alarm, wonder, and anxiety chased each other across the face of the young King.

“What is this, Chancellor—­why is the room filled with armed men?” he cried.

But Crichton had withdrawn himself behind the partisans of his soldiers, and down the long table there was not a man but had risen and bared his sword.  Every eye was turned upon the young Earl.  A score of men-at-arms came forward to seize him.

“Stand back on your lives!” cried Sholto, sweeping his blade about him to keep a space clear about his youthful master.

But still the Earl William sat calm and unmoved, though all others had risen to their feet and held arms in their hands.

“What means this mumming?” he said, high and clear.  “If a mystery is to be played, surely it were better to put it off till after dinner.”

Then through the open doorway came a voice piercing and reedy.

“The play is played indeed, William of Douglas, and the lion is now safe in the power of the dogs.  How like you our kennel, most mighty lion?”

It was the voice of the Chancellor Crichton.