In another hour this great crowd had been tamed and won, the men of each county standing massed about the King’s banners. A clerk sat on an overturned tub beside Fulk’s horse, dipping his quill into the ink-horn at his girdle, making a rough draft of the King’s charter to the Commons. And the men who were to tarry behind stood and looked over the clerk’s shoulders, knowing nothing of letters, but seeing in them symbols of strange power. Fulk sent a trumpeter to start the men upon their march. They circled round him with their banners, like a huge wheel with the figure on the white horse for the hub. The King’s lords and gentlemen thanked God and the saints for a marvel. “To your homes, sirs.” Fulk returned to his lords, and saw that a dusty, grey-faced man was standing beside Salisbury’s horse. Walworth and Knollys were whispering together, their heads almost touching. “To the Tower, my lords.” Salisbury covered his mouth with his gloved hand. “Listen. The Tower is ours no longer.” He pushed his horse close to Fulk’s. “Wat and his ruffians broke in. Simon of Sudbury is dead, his head hacked off on Tower Hill. Others are dead with him. By God, we are on the edge of hell. Keep a brave face.” Fulk’s eyes flashed. “Have I faltered? Have I not poured out lies without flinching?” “Sir, you have saved the kingdom. But he—the other——” “What! have they taken him?” “Our Lady be thanked, no. We had news. Something was carried out in the Princess’s bed, put aboard a boat, and smuggled to the Wardrobe in Carter Street.” Fulk’s lips came together in a hard line. “By the Cross, the ice is thin. We have got rid of these good sheep, but should we be betrayed——” “We shall be, with Simon of Sudbury. Wat and John Ball have their thousands still—beasts who have tasted blood.” “Then whither go we, since the Tower is ours no longer?” “To the Wardrobe, sir, to comfort the Princess.” The trumpets sounded, and the King’s company unwound itself into a trail of steel and colour. Fulk rode forward on his white horse, Salisbury beside him, Cavendish close on his other flank. “King Richard! King Richard!” Fulk’s eyes glittered. He spoke to Salisbury under his breath. “Sir, my tongue burns in my mouth. The promises I have made these poor fools!” “You have put the twitch on the beast’s nose. Who rules, the herd or the herdsman?” “Give me Wat and his bloody rogues, and that grey friar—I’ll speak fire to them, and show them the sword.” They re-entered the city, and were stared at by people whose eyes were sullen and threatening, men whose blood was ripe for violence, men who thought of the plunder and the wine and the bodies of women surrendered to their desires. Here Merlin came by his own again. The sheep were pattering back to their fields, but the wolves remained. Fulk met the eyes of these lust-hungry men. His face grew more bleak, his eyes full of a hard, cold light. “Sir, this pleases me better.” “These curs that snarl?”