Other great lords joined Knollys and Walworth on the platform of the White Tower. They stood in a group, close to the drooping standard, listening to the cries of the mob. Their faces were very grave and grim. “To-day’s game is a game of chess, sirs, and it is the King’s move. Knights, castles, and bishops are of no account.” “All hangs on the courage of a bastard!” “A good hawk or I’m no judge. Let’s fly him.” Salisbury struck the standard pole with his fist. “St. George and King Richard for Merrie England! That is our cry. The lad shall serve. Let these hinds march to Mile End, and meet the King face to face. We will send our trumpeters to the outer gate. Now God in heaven alone knows what this day will bring.” It was six o’clock when trumpets sounded from the outer gate and a herald wearing the King’s coat stood out against the sky line. Thousands of heads came crowding forward. The herald held up his hand for silence, and his big voice carried. “Give heed, give heed!” Someone bawled, “Crow, good cock!” “St. George and King Richard for England! Ye Commons and good men all, take heed, and hear the words of the King. ‘I will come forth and speak with my people, and meet them face to face. None shall stand between us. I, Richard the King, am King!’ Therefore, sirs, march you to Mile End peaceably, in good order, like honest fellows. The King will ride out and bring you banners. Shout for St. George and King Richard!” And shout they did, like madmen. The King’s company gathered in the great court, while the King heard Mass in the chapel, Simon of Sudbury serving at the altar, little thinking that it was to be his last Mass. Salisbury, Warwick, Knollys, Walworth, and Cavendish were with the bastard King. He walked in their midst down the stairway, and they held close to him when he came out from the gloom of the entry into the full June sunlight. His banners were gathered below. Trumpets blew; the men of the guard tossed their pikes. All eyes sought the King. He was in red and white, a light gold crown set upon his velvet cap, his sword at his side, a rich collar of gold about his throat, his gloves studded with jewels. He stood there for a moment at the head of the stairway in the midst of the great lords, his face white in the sunlight, the proud face of a King. A great silence held. Those who gazed upon him wondered. It was a King who had come out to them—not a cringing, frightened boy. The weak figure had stiffened; the eyes were furtive no longer; the mouth was straight and purposeful. But no idle gazing was to be suffered. The great lords kept close about their King, and stood round him while he mounted his white horse. He looked at no one, spoke to none, but kept his soul for the great adventure. The trumpets blew, the banners swayed; King Richard, at the head of his lords and gentlemen, rode forward to meet the Commons.