" said he, "grant me leave to avenge upon the
body of yonder lord the wrongs the Countess of Clare has suffered."

Beatrix made a sharp gesture of dissent and turned to the King
appealingly.

With a smile he reassured her.

"Not so, De Lacy," he said kindly. "We do not risk our faithful
subjects in combat with a confessed traitor. There are those appointed
who care for such as he. . . Nay, sir, urge me not--it is altogether
useless." And he motioned Aymer back to his place.

Then he faced Lord Darby, who met him with a careless smile.

"Out of your own mouth have you condemned yourself," he said. "And
there is now no need for verdict by your Peers. It remains but to pass
upon you the judgment due your crimes. And first: for your foul wrong
to the Countess of Clare and through her, to all womankind, here, in
her presence and before all the Court, you shall be degraded."

Darby's face flushed and he took a quick step backward, like one
stricken by a sudden blow. But he made no reply, save from his angry
eyes.

"What say you, Flat-Nose; will you execute the office?" the King asked.

"And it please you, Sire, I cannot do such shame upon my former
master," Gorges answered bluntly.

"It does please me well, sirrah; though truly your face belies your
heart. . . What, ho! the guard! . . . Let the under-officer come
forward."

In a moment the tall form of Raynor Royk stalked out from the throng,
and halting in the open he raised his halberd in salute.

"Hew me off the spurs from yonder fellow," the King ordered, with a
move of his hand toward the condemned.

Saluting again, the old soldier strode over and with two sharp blows of
his weapon struck the golden insignia of Knighthood from Lord Darby's
heels.

Nor did Darby make resistance; but with arms folded on his breast he
suffered it to be done, though his bosom heaved in the fierce struggle
to be calm, and the flush left his face and it grew gray and drawn, and
bitter agony looked out from his eyes. And many turned away their
heads. And on the dais the Countess had faced about, and the Queen and
she were softly weeping.

Lifting the spurs from the pavement Raynor Royk held them up.

"The order is executed, Sire," he said.

"Fling them into the ditch," the King commanded. "They, too, are
stained with dishonor."

Then in tones cold and passionless, and wherein there was no shade of
mercy, he went on: "And now, Henry Darby--for Lord and Knight y