convey an order; the banners were bound in sable; upon every man was
the badge of mourning; Richard himself was clad in black, and the
trappings of his horse were raven-hued. Not since the great Henry died
at Vincennes, sixty and more years before, had England mourned for a
King; and as they passed along the highway and through the straggling
villages, the people wondered at the soberly garbed and quiet column,
forgetting, for the moment, that Edward the Fourth was sleeping in the
chapel of St. George at Windsor and that his successor was not yet
crowned.

All morning Gloucester rode steadily onward, halting near noon at a
wayside hostelry for refreshment. The keeper, unnerved at the sudden
advent of such a guest, could only stand and stare at the Duke,
forgetting in his amazement even the accustomed bow with which he would
have greeted an ordinary wayfarer, until a sharp word from Catesby
brought him to his wits.

When the meal was almost finished, a sudden commotion arose outside,
and the door was opened to admit one whose appearance showed every
evidence of a rapid ride.

"Speak," said Richard.

The messenger saluted. "So please you, my lord, His Majesty will reach
Northampton by four o'clock this afternoon."

Gloucester nodded; then arose and drew on his gauntlets.

"Gentlemen," said he, "we may not dally longer. Order up the horses,
Ratcliffe, and let the route be sounded; we must be at Northampton ere