15

By the time Alexander had changed into clean clothes, and washed the stains of the journey away, he had realised with relief what a lucky chance had saved him from giving his name to the Lady Luned, and thereafter possibly taking his place at the royal table. After his long day on the road, with no one but his horse to talk to, he had been in danger of forgetting the purpose of his journey, and that he could hardly claim his right to royal birth and title without doing the very damage that he, with Brand and Uwain, had set out to prevent. Alexander, son of Prince Baudouin, must stay dead, and Anna the widowed princess must stay unmolested, until such time as Drustan their kinsman should put them in the way of the High King’s judgment and justice.

So the Lady Luned’s chance traveller was a nobody, and would dine in his own chamber. And in that case, thought Alexander cheerfully, as footsteps came hurrying along the corridor, and the delectable smells of the meal approached, he could eat straight away, and not be compelled to wait for the belated royal party.

He called “Enter!” and retired into the window embrasure as a couple of servants came in with steaming platters and a generous basket of bread still hot from the oven. The boy who had served him earlier set a jug of wine down, with a goblet and a couple of napkins. The napkins were of fair linen, and the goblet was a graceful thing of silver. It seemed that one need not be royal to be given the best that the Lady Luned had to offer.

He thanked the men, who bowed and withdrew. The boy, lifting the wine-jug, and proffering one of the napkins, was apparently ready to stay and serve him, but Alexander, with a quick word, dismissed him. Even when he had gone, and the door had shut behind him, the prince did not move straight away to the table.

The window of his room gave on the outside of the castle. The opening was narrow, but afforded a reasonable view of the road leading round the edge of the moat towards the bridge and the main gate. The noise of the waterfall had hidden the sound of hoofs, but a few moments ago two horsemen had appeared, riding towards the gate. Before they reached it they drew rein, turning, apparently, to meet and greet two others who came cantering to overtake them. Then came the sound of hammering at the gate, and the shouting that would bring the porter to open.

The first of the queen’s party? Alexander turned thoughtfully from the window, more than ever thankful for the chances that had kept him in seclusion.

The flare of the gatehouse torch had shown him, on the breasts of the second pair of horsemen, the badge of King March of Cornwall.