day (which was Saint Joseph [March 19th]) she watched him as cat,
mouse. He could not leave the chamber a moment but my Lord of March
crept after. I reckoned some mischief was brewing, but, _purefoy_! I
guessed not how much. That day died my Lord of Kent, on the scaffold at
Winchester. And so beloved was he that from noon till four of the clock
they had to wait, for no man would strike him, till at last they
persuaded one in the Marshalsea, that had been cast for [sentenced to]
death, to behead him as the price of his own life.

A little after that hour came in Sir Hugh de Turpington, that was
Marshal of the Hall to the King.

"Sir," saith he to the King, "I am required of the Sheriff to tell you
that my Lord of Kent hath paid wyte on the scaffold. So perish all your
enemies!"

Up sprang the King with a face wherein amaze and sore anguish strave for
the mastery.

"My uncle Edmund is dead on scaffold!" cried he in voice that rang
through hall. "Mine enemies! _He_ was none! What mean you? I gave no
mandate for such, nor never should have done. _Dieu eit mercie_! mine
enemies be they that have murdered my fair uncle, that I loved dear.
Where and who be they? Will none here tell me?"

Wala wa! was soul in that hall brave enough to tell him? One of those
two chief enemies stale softly to his side, hushing the other (that
seemed ready to break forth) by a look.

"Fair Son," saith the Queen, in her oiliest voice, "hold you so light
your own life and your mother's? Was your uncle (that wist full well
how to beguile you) dearer to you than I, on whose bosom you have lain
as babe, and whose heart hath been rent at your smallest malady?"

(Marry, I marvel when, for I never beheld less careful mother than Dame
Isabel the Queen. But she went forth.)

"The proofs of what I say," quoth she, "shall be laid afore you in full
Parliament, and you shall then behold how sorely you have been deceived
in reckoning on a friend in your uncle. Meanwhile, fair Son, trust me.
Who should seek your good, or care for your safety, more than your own
mother?"

Ah verily, who should! But did she so? I could see the King was
somewhat staggered by her sweet words, yet was he not peaced in a
moment. His anger died down, but he brake forth in bitter tears, and so
left the hall, greeting as he went.

Once more all passed away: and they that had hoped for the King to awake
and discover truth found themselves beguiled.

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