one of greater heart and higher of enterprise does not
ride beneath the lilies of France. Such a man would never stoop to write
a letter for the sake of putting dishonor upon one of knightly rank. I,
for one, will never believe it."

A gruff murmur from the others showed that they were of one mind with
the Prince. The light of the torches from the walls beat upon the line
of stern faces at the high table. They had sat like flint, and the
Italian shrank from their inexorable eyes. He looked swiftly round, but
armed men choked every entrance. The shadow of death had fallen athwart
his soul.

"This letter," said the King, "was given by de Chargny to one Dom
Beauvais, a priest of St. Omer, to carry into Calais. The said priest,
smelling a reward, brought it to one who is my faithful servant, and so
it came to me. Straightway I sent for this man that he should come to
me. Meanwhile the priest has returned so that de Chargny may think that
his message is indeed delivered."

"I know nothing of it," said the Italian doggedly, licking his dry lips.

A dark flush mounted to the King's forehead, and his eyes were gorged
with his wrath. "No more of this, for God's dignity!" he cried. "Had
we this fellow at the Tower, a few turns of the rack would tear a
confession from his craven soul. But why should we need his word for his
own guilt? You have seen, my lords, you have heard! How say you, fair
son? Is the man guilty?"

"Sire, he is guilty."

"And you, John? And you, Walter? And you, Hubert? And you, my Lord
Bishop? You are all of one mind, then. He is guilty of the betrayal of
his trust. And the punishment?"

"It can only be death," said the Prince, and each in turn the others
nodded their agreement.

"Aymery of Pavia, you have heard your doom," said Edward, leaning his
chin upon his hand and glooming at the cowering Italian. "Step forward,
you archer at the door, you with the black beard. Draw your sword!
Nay, you white-faced rogue, I would not dishonor this roof-tree by your
blood. It is your heels, not your head, that we want. Hack off these
golden spurs of knighthood with your sword, archer! 'Twas I who gave
them, and I who take them back. Ha! they fly across the hall, and with
them every bond betwixt you and the worshipful order whose sign and
badge they are! Now lead him out on the heath afar from the house where
his carrion can best lie, and hew his scheming head from his body as a
warning to all such traitors!"