The King's Esquires Part 12

"Having no sleep last night," the lad said to himself. "Enough to make anyone drowsy; that and the long ride. Why, Saint Simon's worse than I was. Nice pair of guards we make! Suppose instead of an arm a spear were thrust through that panel, an enemy might reach his heart."

Making an effort to shake off his lethargy, the boy stepped to where Saint Simon lay back sleeping soundly, and then, buckling on his sword the while, he bent over him, took his sword-belt from where it hung over a corner of the chair back, and thrust the cold hilt into the heavy sleeper's hand.

"Quiet, my boy," muttered Saint Simon, "and keep your nasty cold wet muzzle out of my hand. We shall get there some time," he added murmuringly, "and you are all right. I am not going away."

"Pst! Pst! Saint Simon! Rouse up, man! Don't go to sleep."

"Is it nearly morning, skipper?" grumbled the sleeper.

"No, and it isn't night," whispered Denis, with his lips close to the other's ear. "Quiet, or you'll wake the King."

"The King--the King! Vive le roi!" muttered Saint Simon.

"Stupid!" whispered Denis, laying one hand lightly over Saint Simon's lips and shaking him softly with the other. "Wake up. You're asleep."

"I kiss your Majesty's hand," babbled the sleeper softly.--"Eh? Asleep?

Nonsense! Who's asleep?"

Then coming suddenly to himself, his hand closed tightly upon the hilt of his sword, and dashing away the fingers upon his lips he sprang fiercely to his feet, gazing wonderingly at his companion.

"Pst! The King!" whispered Denis.

"Eh? The King?" said Saint Simon, lowering his voice and glancing at the slumbering monarch. "I say, I haven't been asleep, have I?"

"Sound as a dormouse in December."

"Oh, horrible! Suppose he had woke up. But he would have found you on the watch."

"He wouldn't," said Denis, laughing silently, "for I went off as sound as you; and no wonder after such a night. What with that and the dinner, and this hot room, a weasel couldn't have kept awake. Here, let's go outside into the open air. I want to see if the horses have been well fed."

"Yes, of course. We ought to have thought of that before," whispered Saint Simon; and together they crossed softly to the door, pa.s.sed out, and closed it behind them without a sound; and then, with a soft pleasant air greeting their cheeks, they pa.s.sed along the open hall, caught sight of their hostess, who smiled a reply to their salute, and entered the great inn-yard, going to the far end and the big range of stables where they had left their steeds.

"Yes," said Saint Simon thoughtfully, in response to his own thoughts, "we must look after the horses, or else the chief will be wishing again that he had brought the old physic-monger. Nice time we should have of it if he were here! He always makes me uncomfortable with those eyes of his. I should like to catch him asleep some time."

"Why? What for?"

"To put it to the test. But you never catch a weasel asleep, and I believe old Leoni always snoozes with one eye open."

"I daresay; and I wonder which. But what do you mean about putting it to the test?"

"Whether he can see with that fixed eye of his."

"Whether he can see? Why shouldn't he?"

"Why, you know, of course?"

"Not I. Why, of course he can."

"Do you mean to say that you have been all this time at Court and don't know about that?"

"About what?"

"About that eye of his."

"I only know that it's precious ugly, and used to make me very uncomfortable, because I always felt as if I must look at it instead of at the other or at both at once."

"But don't you know what they say?"

"Who do you mean by 'they'?"

"Well, _on_; everybody. That he had the point of a sword jabbed into it once when he was fencing."

"Oh, I never heard that," cried Denis. "Then that accounts for its queer fixed look."

"Queer fixed look? It's horrible! I don't think that I am quite a coward; but old Leoni, when he fixes me with that eye of his, quite gives me the creeps."

"Well, he does look queer sometimes. But I say, this is refreshing after that hot room," said Denis. "There's a great garden yonder, and open fields. I should like to have a wander there for an hour or two."

"So should I," said Saint Simon; "but we must get back, in case his lordship wakes."

"Yes. It won't do for us to forget ourselves. Esquires ought never to want to sleep," said Denis; and then quickly, "nor grooms nor hostlers neither. Here, look at these two red-faced pigs."

He pointed on to the two men who had taken charge of and rubbed down their chargers upon their arrival, and who were now lying in a heap of straw, eyes shut, mouth open, and with their heavy faces looking swollen and red, breathing stertorously.

"Why, the brutes are drunk," said Saint Simon. "If their mistress knew, I fancy their stay here would be short, for she seems a thorough business soul."

"Sim!" cried Denis excitedly, gripping him by the shoulder.

"What's the matter, lad? Can you see a ghost or a nightmare in the dark corner there?"

"No, nor can I see our horses. They were haltered yonder. Where are they now?"

"Ah!" yelled Saint Simon, and s.n.a.t.c.hing out his sword he made as if to p.r.i.c.k the two sleeping grooms into wakefulness; but Denis flung his arm across his chest and cried angrily:

"Never mind them! The horses, man, the horses--the horses! They may be only in the field, led there to graze."

"You are mad!" cried Saint Simon angrily. "But yes; go on out through that farther door."

Denis was already making for an opening at the far end of the long low building, through which the afternoon sunshine streamed. Pa.s.sing out, they found themselves in an inner yard, and beyond that there was a long open meadow, surrounded by a high hedge. But for the moment all was blank, and a feeling of despair made the young men's hearts sink as they mentally saw at a glance that their beautiful chargers had not excited attention for nothing--that they had been followed, horse-thieves had been at work, and that their n.o.ble steeds were gone.

"How shall we dare to face the King?" thought Denis, and the next instant he grasped the fact that there must be a lane beyond the distant hedge, for he just caught sight of the head of a man whose covering seemed familiar gliding along above the fencing, now seen, now disappearing, as if he were mounted on a walking-horse.

"Look! Not too late, Sim," he whispered. "They're over yonder. We must make for that lane. I'll go this way to cut that fellow off; you go to the left there, to meet him if I turn him back."

"Think the horses are there?" whispered Saint Simon hoa.r.s.ely.

"Think!" cried Denis, in a low, harsh voice that he did not know as his own. "No: I am sure."

No further words pa.s.sed, for, separating at once, Denis dashed off to the right to make for the far corner of the field, in the faint hope of reaching it and getting through into the lane in time, while Saint Simon ran swiftly to the left to get into the horse-track there and follow the marauders up.