From every part of the field there rang in Henry's ears loud cries of exultation over the dead and vanquished Richard, which merged presently into a riotous pandemonium of inarticulate sound when the horse, bearing its gruesome burden, was paraded before the men in the direction of Market Bosworth Road. "_Le roi est mort,--vive le roi!_" the clear voice of Henry's squire made itself manifest above the din. Something the faintest of smiles broke upon the impassivity of the Earl's countenance as he turned his head in the direction whence this cry had come. Sir Richard, bearing a jeweled crown outstretched in his hands, was just leaping above the clump of copse-wood whereupon the body of Sir John Cheyney was lying. Lord Stanley, who, by this time, had resumed seat upon his horse, quickly stationed himself between the approaching young knight and the Earl of Richmond. Then, taking the crown that had encircled Richard's helmet throughout the battle, he set it solemnly upon that of Henry. Whereupon--"The King is dead, long live the King!" the cry rippled abroad over the sanguinary field of Bosworth; and the blazing August sun beat down upon a circle of upraised, flashing swords, unsheathed in promise of fealty to the new monarch. CHAPTER I A WARRANT UPON DOUGLAS Upon a massive chair of state within the private audience chamber, which adjoined the throne room in the venerable castle of Kenilworth, sat King Henry VII, gloomily brooding. An ermine trimmed robe of softest velvet fell from his shoulders, rippling over the steps of the raised dais to the floor below; a golden, jeweled crown sat awry upon his head. Five years as reigning monarch of a discontented and rebellious people had borne their weight more heavily upon him than had the whole of the twenty-nine preceding them. Though yet young, as time relatively to the man is commonly measured, his hair and carefully pointed beard were shot with premature gray. His countenance, deeply lined, was overspread with a sickly pallor. His hands, clutching upon the arms of the damask-covered chair into which he had thrown himself, and in which he was now half-sitting, half-reclining, trembled as though palsied with an enfeebled age. His royal marriage with Elizabeth of York, daughter of Henry VI, had marked the consummation of his loftiest ambition. The omen of the white rose mingling with the red had been pleasantly fulfilled. Outwardly his position seemed sufficiently secure. But beneath the surface there were incessant ebullitions of seditious sentiment threatening momentarily to seethe to the top and engulf him. Always, must dissembling be met with keen and smooth diplomacy; plot, with adroit and clever counter-plot.