Swords From the Sea by Harold Lamb Page A

him well, Dudley. And my memory of which you prate tells me his age is fourfold my own. Yet is he strong and hale enough to-"
    The boy's lips quivered and were silent. Thorne the armiger turned his head to gaze at a falcon hovering over the rushes on the far bank of the river, so that he might not behold his sovereign's distress.
    "Sire?"
    The duke bent closer, and pursed his thin lips.
    "Master Cabot or Cabota," he added, "is indeed past his prime. 'Tis a mere courtesy that he stands on yonder deck. For-by he is governor of the Mystery and Company of Merchants-Adventurers, for the discovery of places and dominions unknown, he sails with the ships as far as the haven of Orfordnesse on the Suffolk coast. There Cabot leaves them. He is too aged to attempt the voyage into the Ice Sea. Ha, Sirrah Squire, bear your royal burden into the pavilion from which you should never have advanced. He is ailing!"
    Edward was coughing, flecks of blood showing on his pallid lips. His eyes closed and he lay voiceless a moment on the couch. When he spoke it was in so low a whisper that nobleman and armiger both bent lower to catch the words-Thorne expecting that the king might have some command for him.
    "Nay, Dudley. Of what avail to guard the body when life itself is leaving me?" With an effort he opened his eyes and made shift to smile. "My lungs are in consumption, the priests say. Good youth, we trust we have not wearied you. Edward will never again rise from his bed."
    Both the listeners started. Thorne had heard frequently of the feebleness of the boy, although he had not looked to find him so wasted away. To hear that Edward expected to die was a shock. Few men were victors in the long battle with the white plague. Stratford took no pains to conceal his anger that the sentinel should have heard the words of the king.
    "To your post!" he whispered, drawing the youth back from the couch, where Edward was wracked by another fit of coughing. "Keep your ears to yourself, or the provost's knife will e'en trim them to a proper size. Ha-your weapon has been taken."
    The harquebus was not where Thorne had placed it, nor was it to be seen in the pavilion. He searched the tent with his eyes, and flushed hotly, realizing that he had allowed someone to steal his firelock while on duty.
    He was more than a little puzzled as to how it had been done. The officers of the household and some soldiers had pressed to the entrance of the marquee when he carried Edward forth, but he had noticed no one step within. Perforce, he had not been able to watch the weapon while he stood outside.
    Stratford, he knew, had not taken the harquebus. The hag by the bedside sat as before, fumbling with her herbs. Her wrinkled face, brown and dry as a withered apple, was empty of all expression. Certainly the firelock was not concealed under her kirtle.
    "So you would make the Gypsy the butt of your carelessness?" grunted the duke. "Have you aught to say, before I make a charge to your officers that you have suffered your arms to be taken from you while on duty?"
    "I say this."
    Thorne drew the sword that hung from its sling at his hip and took his station at the entrance.
    "My lord, if any man seeks to cross my post unbidden he shall taste steel instead of lead."
    "Humph! The young cock can crow. What more?"
    The gray eyes of the youngster narrowed and he kept silence. Although the fault had not been his, he could make no explanation. Stratford, an experienced soldier and a martinet, had no reason to make a charge against him. The duke, however, was irritated by the appointment of the Flanders veterans over his own yeomen and the officers of the household.
    "What more?" he repeated sharply.
    The second question required an answer, and a bleak look overspread the countenance of the armiger, drawing sharp lines about eyes and chin.
    "My lord of Stratford, the command of his majesty was heard by your lordship. He bade me put down my weapon and carry him forth."
    "Ha! Master