When we both had done, the King sat with his eyes on the ground before him; and the hall was very still till Elizabeth of Carleton, tall, white-haired and queenly, in silken robes of black, rose in her place, and, stretching forth her hands, addressed the King:
“Henry of Anjou,” she cried, “Elizabeth of Winchester, in her old age and sorrow, calls to you for vengeance for her murdered son.”
More she would have spoken, but bitter tears streamed down her face, and her voice was choked with sobs.
The King gazed steadily at the weeping lady, and made as though to speak when my father started from his seat and shouted:
“There was no murder done, my Lord. The Carleton brought his death upon himself.”
The King turned upon him a stern and heavy look.
“Mountjoy,” he said, “wast thou there in the forest when Carleton was slain?”
“Then knowest thou aught save what thy son tells thee of this fray with thy enemies?”
“Nay, my lord; but ’tis enough. The Mountjoys fight their enemies and do not lie about them.”
With a wave of his hand the King bade my father be seated. Then he sat motionless and thoughtful for long, while none ventured to disturb him. His brow was drawn as with pain and he rested his head on his hand, the while we of Mountjoy, our enemies of Carleton all the members of that brilliant company awaited his verdict.
At last he slowly lifted his head and began to speak:
“I find the prisoners guilty of the charge that lies against them. To Richard, son of Robert, Lord of Mountjoy, I extend my clemency in view of the loyal and valiant service rendered by his father to our house, commanding only that he desist from bearing arms till he receive our permission.
“As for yonder varlet, called Cedric, he shall hang, to-morrow at dawn; and his body shall swing from Shrewsbury gate as an example to like evil-doers.”
Some of the clerks and constables strove to raise the shout—“Long live the King”; but all became utterly silent when my father sprang from his bench, and with a face of fury addressed his sovereign:
“Not so, my lord! Not so! By the Holy Sepulcher, it shall not be.”
The King sprang to his feet, and his right hand went to his sword hilt.
“Mountjoy,” he shouted, “thou forget’st thyself. Beware lest thou bring down on thy head a wrath more terrible than that of any Carleton.”