terror. When all the faithless
had either gone or joined Lancaster, there remained six, who loved their
master better than themselves, and followed, voluntary prisoners,
outwardly in the train of Henry of Lancaster, but really in that of
Richard of Bordeaux.

These six loyal, faithful, honourable men our story follows. They
were--Thomas Le Despenser, Earl of Gloucester; John de Montacute, Earl
of Salisbury; Thomas de Holand, Duke of Surrey; William Le Scrope, Earl
of Wilts; Richard Maudeleyn, chaplain to the King; John Maudeleyn
(probably his brother), varlet of the robes.

Slowly the conqueror marched Londonwards, with the royal captive in his
train. Westminster was reached on the first of September. From that
date the coercion exercised over the King was openly and shamelessly
acknowledged. His decrees were declared to be issued "with the assent
of our dearest cousin, Henry Duke of Lancaster." At last, on Michaelmas
Day, the orders of that loving and beloved relative culminated in the
abdication of the Sovereign.

The little group of loyalists had now grown to seven, by the addition of
Exeter, who joined himself to them as soon as he was set at liberty.
They remained in London during that terrible October, and most of them
were present when, on the 13th of that month, Henry of Lancaster was
crowned King of England.

There stood the vacant throne, draped in gold-spangled red; and by it,
on either hand, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal. The hierarchy were,
on the right, Arundel at their head, having coolly repossessed himself
of the see from which he had been ejected as a traitor; an expression of
contemptuous amusement hovering about his lips, which might be easily
translated into the famous (but rather apocryphal) speech of Queen
Elizabeth to the men of Coventry--"Good lack! What fools ye be!" On
the left hand of the throne stood Lancaster, his lofty stature
conspicuous among his peers, waiting with mock humility for the farce of
their acknowledgment of his right. Next him was his uncle of York,
wearing a forced smile at that which his conscience disapproved, but his
will was impotent to reject. Aumerle came next, his face so plainly a
mask to hide his thoughts that it is difficult to judge what they were.
Then Surrey, with a half-astonished, half-puzzled air, as though he had
never expected matters really to come to this pass. His uncle Exeter,
who sat next him, looked sullen and discontented. The o