“Anon, anon, sir earl!” answered Edward, impatiently, as Pembroke, kneeling, laid the papers on a small table of ivory which stood at the monarch’s side.  “Tell me more of this strange farce; a king, ha! ha!  Does the rebel think ’tis but to put a crown upon his head and a sceptre in his hand that makes the monarch—­a king, forsooth.  And who officiated at this right solemn mockery?  ’Twas, doubtless, a goodly sight!”

“On my knightly faith, my liege, strangely, yet truly, ’twas a ceremony regally performed, and, save for numbers, regally attended.”

“Thou darest not tell me so!” exclaimed the king, striking his clenched hand fiercely on the table.  “I tell thee thou darest not; ’tis a false tale, a lie thrust upon thee to rouse thy spirit but to laugh at.  De Valence, I tell thee ’tis a thing that cannot be!  Scotland is laid too low, her energies are crushed; her best and bravest lying in no bloodless graves.  Who is there to attend this puppet king, save the few we miss? who dared provoke our wrath by the countenance of such a deed?  Who would dare tempt our fury by placing a crown on the rebel’s head?  I tell thee they have played thee false—­it cannot be!”

“Thy valor hath done much, my gracious liege,” returned Pembroke, “far more than ever king hath done before; but pardon me, your grace, the people of Scotland are not yet crushed, they lie apparently in peace, till a chief capable of guiding, lordly in rank and knightly in war, ariseth, and then they too stand forth.  Yet what are they? they do but nominally swell the rebel’s court:  they do but seem a multitude, which needs but thy presence to disperse.  He cannot, if he dare, resist thee.”

“And wherefore should these tidings so disturb you grace?” interposed the Earl of Hereford, a brave, blunt soldier, like his own charger, snuffing the scent of war far off.  “We have but to bridle on our harness, and we shall hear no more of solemn farces like to this.  Give but the word, my sovereign, and these ignoble rebels shall be cut off to a man, by an army as numerous and well appointed as any that have yet followed your grace to victory; ’tis a pity they have but to encounter traitors and rebels, instead of knightly foes,” continued the High Constable of England.

“Perchance Robert of Carrick deems the assumption of king will provoke your grace to combat even more than his traitorous rebellion, imagining, in his madness, the title of king may make ye equals,” laughingly observed the Earl of Arundel; and remarks and opinions of similar import passed round, but Edward, who had snatched the papers as he ceased to speak, and was now deeply engrossed in their contents, neither replied to nor heeded them.  Darker and darker grew the frown upon his brow; his tightly compressed lip, his heaving chest betraying the fearful passion that agitated him; but when he spoke, there was evidently a struggle for that dignified calmness which in general distinguished him, though ever and anon burst forth the undisguised voice of wrath.