There, about that table in this humble hostelry, were gathered four
noblemen--three of them the most powerful in all England--who were
arrayed against each other as leaders of the two factions that were
playing for the highest stakes a mortal knows. Every one knew the
relative positions of the others (for Rivers naturally judged
Gloucester to be against the Woodvilles); that, within a few short
days, the final move must be made; and that all their gayety and
jocosity were hollow, and assumed but as a mask. At that very moment,
while they smiled and played at friendship, Rivers and Grey were
consumed with anxiety at this sudden appearance of Buckingham, their
arch-enemy, and were hating him and Richard with fierce intensity;
Buckingham was regarding them with all the fervid resentment the old
Nobility had for this upstart family; while Gloucester, with neither
hatred nor resentment in his mind, but with the cool, calm judgment
that ever rose above the pettiness of personal feeling, was viewing
them only as pawns that hampered his game of statecraft and therefore
must be swept from the board.

It was near midnight when they quit the table and retired to their
rooms above. Richard dismissed Catesby, who as Chamberlain was waiting
for him, and drawing the rude chair to the many-paned window he opened
it, and sat looking out upon the street below. Comparative quiet had
settled over the town, broken now and then by a noise from the camp, or
the shouts of some roistering soldiers far down the road. Around the
inn there was only the tramp of the guards, the rattle of their arms,
or the low word of greeting as they met. Presently there came an easy
knock upon the door and Buckingham entered and shot the bolt behind
him. Gloucester had turned his head at the first sound, but said
nothing until the Duke was beside him. Then, pointing toward the
heavens, he remarked, as he closed the casement: