"Be Lacy! De Wilton! . . . Will you not," as they hurried to him, "by your oath of pity and humility, accompany me to the block? It is hard enough, God knows, that one who has both rank and blood should die without trial or legal judgment; yet that none but hirelings should be with me at the end is inhuman beyond measure. Look at yonder sycophants, who but an hour ago hung upon my slightest gesture, now hurrying from me as though I had the plague." "Whatever we can do, my lord," said De Lacy, "pray command. I would we had power to stay your doom." Hastings smiled sadly. "I shall not detain you long. Lead on, my man." It was but a step to the Chapel, and seeing that neither block nor headsman was in waiting he shrugged his shoulders and laughed sarcastically: "Not honored even by the usual participants," he remarked. "Yon log of timber and a common axe must serve the purpose. A strange undoing for one who has ridden boot to boot with Edward . . . a Lord Chamberlain and Captain of Calais." "My Lord of Hastings!" said Raynor Royk, with doffed bonnet and in a voice so changed from its usual gruffness that De Lacy and De Wilton both marked it with surprise, "it grieves me ill that I, who have followed the Sable Maunch so oft in battle, should lead you to your death. Yet I may not shirk my duty, as you, great warrior as you are, well know. But if there be aught I can do to aid you, that touches not mine honor (for, my lord, we have what we call honor as well as those who wear the yellow spurs), speak but the word." Hastings stepped forward and placed his hand upon the old retainer's shoulder. "My good fellow," he said gravely, "there are many with golden spurs who are far less worthy to wear them than are you. Not always does honor, nay nor chivalry either, dwell beneath the banner or pennon of the Knight. Permit me a word apart with these kind friends." For answer, Raynor Royk gave a sharp order and the soldiers drew out of earshot.