"And if we are caught in a lie," he said, "we shall be well beaten." For they were young and were pages, not yet squires, and still under education. "Also we shall be beaten if we say things un-courtly to the Queen," retorted the first. "This air smells of sticks," said the other, as he sniffed, and laughed at his jest, but somewhat nervously. "You shall speak for us," concluded his companion, "for you are the truth-teller." So they came to the Queen, and laid the blank shield at her feet, and neither would say anything. "Saw you the gentleman to whom it belongs?" she asked. "Yes, Madam!" they answered in one breath. "And said he anything? Have you no message?" "He said, Madam--" said one, and stopped short. "Yes, Madam, he said that we should tell your Grace--" But the page's courage failed him, and he stopped. "What said he?" asked Eleanor, bending her brows. "Speak out!" "May it please your Grace, the gentleman said that it was his father's shield." "And that he craved excuse if it were of an old fashion," added the other. "And that he would not sell it," concluded the one who was the bolder of the two. Then he shrank back, and his companion too, and they seemed trying to get behind each other; for the Queen's eyes flashed wrath, and her beautiful lips parted a little over her gleaming teeth, that were tightly closed. But in an instant she was calm again, and she took money from her wallet and gave each page a piece of gold, and spoke quietly. "You are brave boys to give me such a message," she said. "But if I chance to find out that you have changed it on the way, you shall each have as many blows as there are French deniers in a Greek bezant--and I doubt whether any one knows how many there may be." "We speak truth, Madam," said the two, in a breath, "and we humbly thank your Grace." She sent them away, and sat looking at the shield at her feet, while Anne of Auch waited in silence. Eleanor's eyes burned in her head, and her hands were cold, and would have shaken a little if she had not held them tightly clasped together. "It was unknightly of him to say that," she cried at last, as if it hurt her. But her lady was still silent, and the Queen turned her hot eyes to her. "You say nothing. Was it not unknightly of him?" "Madam," answered Anne of Auch, "since you wished to pay him for your life, it is little wonder if he thinks you may offer to buy his arms." They said no more for a long time, and from the outer tent the sweet subdued voices of many women, talking and laughing softly together, floated into the silence like the song of birds at dawn. At last the Queen spoke, but it was to herself. "He had the right," she said bitterly, and bent her head a little, and sighed. "Paint me the shield, Lady Anne," she added, a moment later, looking up calmly once more. "On a field azure, for the faith he keeps, gild him the cross flory of Aquitaine--for me!"