He found Edward not reclining on cushions and carpets, not womanlike in
loose robes, not with his lazy smile upon his sleek beauty. The king had
doffed his gown, and stood erect in the tight tunic, which gave in full
perfection the splendid proportions of a frame unsurpassed in activity
and strength. Before him, on the long table, lay two or three open
letters, beside the dagger with which Edward had cut the silk that bound
them. Around him gravely sat Lord Rivers, Anthony Woodville, Lord St.
John, Raoul de Fulke, the young and valiant D'Eyncourt, and many other
of the principal lords. Hastings saw at once that something of pith and
moment had occurred; and by the fire in the king's eye, the dilation of
his nostril, the cheerful and almost joyous pride of his mien and brow,
the experienced courtier read the signs of WAR.

"Welcome, brave Hastings," said Edward, in a voice wholly changed from
its wonted soft affectation,--loud, clear, and thrilling as it went
through the marrow and heart of all who heard its stirring and trumpet
accent,--"welcome now to the field as ever to the banquet! We have news
from the North that bids us brace on the burgonet and buckle-to the
brand,--a revolt that requires a king's arm to quell. In Yorkshire
fifteen thousand men are in arms, under a leader they call Robin of
Redesdale,--the pretext, a thrave of corn demanded by the Hospital of
St. Leonard's, the true design that of treason to our realm. At the same
time, we hear from our brother of Gloucester, now on the Border, that
the Scotch have lifted the Lancaster Rose. There is peril if these two
armies meet. No time to lose,--they are saddling our war-steeds; we
hasten to the van of our royal force. We shall have warm work, my lords.
But who is worthy of a throne that cannot guard it?"

"This is sad tidings indeed, sire," said Hastings, gravely.

"Sad! Say it not, Hastings! War is the chase of kings! Sir Raoul de
Fulke, why lookest thou so brooding and sorrowful?"

"Sire, I but thought that had Earl Warwick been in England, this--"

"Ha!" interrupted Edward, haughtily and hastily, "and is Warwick the sun
of heaven that no cloud can darken where his face may shine? The
rebels shall need no foe, my realm no regent, while I, the heir of the
Plantagenets, have the sword for one, the sceptre for the other. We
depart this evening ere the sun be set."

"My liege," said the Lord St. John, gravely, "on what forces do you
count to meet so fo