I never loved her, as in mine opening words I writ: yet in that dread moment I could not find in mine heart to leave her all alone in her agony. I have ever found that he which brings his sorrows on his own head doth not suffer less thereby, but more. And let her be what she would, she was a woman, and in sorrow, not to say mine own liege Lady: and signing to Dame Joan to follow me, down degrees ran I with all haste, and not staying to scratch on the door [Note 9], into the chamber to the Queen. We found her sitting up in her bed, her hands held forth, and a look of agony and horror on her face. "Cicely, is it thou?" she shrieked. "Joan! Whence come ye? Saw ye aught? What do they to him? who be the miscreants? Is my son there? Have they won him over--the coward neddirs [serpents] that they be! Speak I who be they?--and what will they do? Ah, Mary Mother, what will they do with him?" Her voice choked, and I spake. "Dame, the King is there, and divers with him." "What do they?" she wailed like a woman in her last agony. "There hath been sharp assault, Dame," said I, "and I fear some slain; for as I ran in hither, I saw that which seemed me the body of a dead man at the head of degrees." "Who?" She nearhand screamed. "Dame," I said, "I think it was Sir Hugh de Turpington." "But what do they with _him_?" she moaned again, an accent of anguish on that last word. I save no answer. What could I have given? Dame Joan de Vaux saith, "Dame, the King is there, and God will be with the King. We may well be ensured that no wrong shall be done to them that have done no wrong. This is not the contekes [quarrel] of a rabble rout; it is the justice of the Crown upon his enemies." "His enemies?--whose? Mine enemies are dead and gone. All of them-- all! I left not one. Who be these? who be they, I say? Cicely, answer me!" Afore I could speak word, I was called by another voice. I was fain enough of the reprieve. Leaving Dame Joan with the Queen, I ran forth into the Queen's closet, where stood the King. What change had come over him in those few hours! No longer a bashful lad that was nearhand afraid to speak for himself ere he were bidden. This was a young man [he was now close on eighteen years of age] that stood afore me, a youthful warrior, a budding Achilles, that would stand to no man's bidding, but would do his will. King of England was this man. I louted low before my master.