It was a trifle past midnight when de Claverlok and the men he had commissioned to bring with him halted in the highroad before the door of the Red Tavern. Coincident with their arrival the hitherto deserted and lonely appearing hostelry was magically metamorphosed into a hive of buzzing industry. The near vicinity of the building became brilliantly illuminated with the flare of many links, the iron pikes of which had been struck into the earth from the roadway to the entrance of the inn. That the scene was one of martial activities could in no wise be mistaken, for the yellow light of the torches was reflected and repeated against a goodly number of steel cuirasses and polished bucklers.

Beside Tyrrell, near the doorway, stood a thin and rather under-sized man, wearing an intricately plaited coat of light chain mail, over which was drawn a white linen tunic, with a crimson Maltese cross emblazoned upon the breast, after the fashion of the ancient Crusaders. This individual, conspicuous alone because of the simplicity of his dress when contrasted with those about him, was the famed diplomatist, warrior, statesman, shrewd conspirator, and eminent churchman, Lord Bishop Kennedy, to whom Tyrrell looked ever for council and advice, and who, in reality, had been the brains and backbone of the movement that had been designed to set the youthful Duke of York upon the throne of England. Here was a man possessing that strength of character that permitted him to remain always in the background. From whence he was wont to view the vast schemes in which he became involved as a whole, much as the successful general might select a high eminence from which to overlook and direct the maneuvres of his army. While indolence was at times attributed to him, on account of a certain reserve and unobtrusiveness of manner, to those who knew him well he was known to be indefatigably energetic. It was said of him, indeed, that he never slept, saving with an open eye to his tent-flap, or doorway. In Sir James Tyrrell, Bishop Kennedy had achieved a notably brilliant confederate?—?a man of ideas, a born inventor, but visionary to a perilous degree. Tyrrell was not suffered to be awakened out of his dream that he was the real leader; though, in point of truth, he was but nominally such. If, however, the block were to claim its tithe of vengeance, Tyrrell's head, and not Lord Kennedy's, would have been among those selected. Kennedy regarded politics as he did a game of chess, and was marvelously proficient in playing both. "A knight, or even a despised pawn," he was known to have said, "may say 'check' to a king, but it is a wise precaution to have a bishop stationed on the long diagonal."

"Thou art certain beyond all peradventure," he was saying to Tyrrell, "that thou canst not be mistaken as to the identity of thy find?"

"Aye?—?marry, am I, my lord," Tyrrell confidently replied. "I could scarce be amiss in my recognition of the unusual birthmark. Besides, good bishop, did not the youth make confession of his lack of knowledge of his progenitors?" "Yea. But 'tis a common ignorance?—?that, friend Tyrrell. Of a truth, the stroke seemeth too timely and well-favored to be genuine," said Kennedy, who was never ready to accept the semblance of a fact for the fact itself. "Here hath the earth had scarce time to grow cold above the young duke, when up crops another candidate every whit as legitimate and proper. 'Twould appear, my friend, as though an incipient monarch were being reared in every wayside hovel. Yet?—?as thou hast said?—?thou couldst scarce have been mistaken in the birthmark. If proven true, 'tis indeed a most providential stroke. But this very day have I learned that Lord Douglas is meditating a move like unto thine. Already have I laid plans to gather more intimate particulars?—?for thy express benefit, understand me. But I can lesson thee now that some hint of the young prince's existence and death hath flown into his yawning ear. Keep a firm hold upon thy wits and tongue, for there is surely a traitor abroad, Sir James. More; I have it that Douglas doth lay open claim to the possession of the living person of the genuine heir, and that there is now a gathering of the clans for the purpose of raising the counterfeit claimant to the throne. Emissaries from Castle Yewe will come here to treat with thee for the combining of thy forces with Douglas's. An this youth of thine be indeed the Earl of Warwick, son of George, Duke of Clarence, thou canst laugh in Douglas's teeth. An it were not so, friend Tyrrell, thou couldst do naught wiser than amalgamate issues. For thy life would be worth no more than a leaden farthing from the fury of thine own troop, an they were to be disbanded without chance of giving battle to Henry."

At this juncture four men drew beside the speakers, through the door, carrying Sir Richard, who had been rendered unconscious through the medium of Friar Diomed's narcotic. As gently as their rough hands could accomplish it, the young knight was placed in the covered litter, which had been standing along the highway awaiting his reception.

"I beg of thee, Sir James," said Lord Kennedy then, "procure for me from this young knight's wallet the warrant of which thou wert speaking. I would I might know well its contents." The keen politician might easily have taken it himself, as it was his intention to travel northward with the horsemen and litter-bearers, but he desired to assure himself that the document would not remain behind in Tyrrell's keeping. The time was likely to come when this piece of parchment would be an invaluable political perquisite.

When the warrant had been secured and surrendered into his hands, Bishop Kennedy made quick work of breaking the seal that Tyrrell had so deftly mended. By the light of one of the links he read it slowly through, nodding his head the while.

"'Tis well," he said when he had finished; "and I doff my bonnet to thee, Sir James, for a most fortunate and successful general."

Whereupon he folded up the parchment and thrust it carelessly within his bosom. Then, grasping Tyrrell's hand, he bade him adieu, swung himself upon his horse and started in the train of the cavalcade, which had already begun its march from the inn.

In the light of the single torch remaining, Tyrrell stood beside the door till the noise of the moving company had dwindled to silence in the distance, after which he extinguished the blazing link and disappeared within the lonely tavern.

It was nearing daybreak when the cavalcade, led by de Claverlok and Lord Bishop Kennedy, filed past the sentinel outposts within the area of the encampment. The bivouac had been set along the shore, within sight and sound of the sea, and not above a dozen miles from the Red Tavern; but, because of the litter-bearers, the men had been put to the necessity of moving in a slow and deliberate manner, which fact accounted for their tardy progress in effecting the distance.

As Sir Lionel de Claverlok is destined to play a most important part in this narrative of tangled conspiracies, it would doubtless be well now to introduce him to the reader.

To begin with, he was a man who was loved and admired by his enemies, which, though it may appear anomalous, was nevertheless true. He was as refreshing as a shower in spring; as open in his manner as a wind-swept plain. Saving in the arts of warfare, however, of all of which he had proven himself to be a surpassing master, he was uneducated. Every rugged feature displayed between the shaggy thatch of his wiry, silver-shot hair, and the thick tangle of his disordered, curly beard bespoke at once the good fellow and indomitable warrior. Whilst, intuitively, one would take him for a person of gentle extraction, there was about him little, if anything, of the polished courtier. He had been too industriously engaged upon the business of his life, which was to conquer a complete understanding of war-craft, to yield thought or time to the cultivation of the softer attainments of the court gallant. As to his physical attributes, he was stockily set up, not above the average in height, and in the noontide of a vigorous and healthful manhood.

"Men," said Bishop Kennedy as he drew up before his tent, "raise me the silken pavilion of purple and black upon yonder hill. When thou hast done, set up the bed thou didst bring with thee, and dispose the young knight, now asleep in the litter, within. Bid the Renegade Duke to set a close guard above his slumbers. Haste thee, go!" Then, turning to de Claverlok, "attend me within my tent, Sir Lionel," he added, "I would have a moment's speech of thee."

Whereupon they dismounted, gave their horses into the charge of waiting equerries and went inside.

"This fanciful plan of our dreamy friend of the flying inn," he pursued when they had seated themselves, "to keep the Earl of Warwick in the grip of Friar Diomed's decoction is both impracticable and dangerous. 'Twould be a good three days ere he could be brought to our main stronghold in the mountains." So saying, he took from his wallet the phial that Tyrrell had entrusted to his keeping and emptied its sparkling contents upon the ground.

"I would, my lord," said de Claverlok soberly, "that I could pour a phial of it within my tent?—?eh! Mayhap 'twould put the blessed ants to sleep, and keep them from crawling beneath my gorget ... eh!"

Bishop Kennedy acknowledged the grizzled knight's sally with a mere suspicion of a smile.

"Lay our commands upon the Renegade Duke," he pursued, "that he shall permit the prisoner, for as such we must for the present regard him, to rest till such time as he may naturally awaken from his stupor. I desire, de Claverlok, that thou shalt say but little to the duke of the haps of this night. By all means, keep from his knowledge the identity of the young earl. My reasons for this are most urgent, I would have thee to know. Meanwhile, keep a close eye to the prisoner thyself. We may deem it expedient later to give him wholly into thy charge. And now, good sir, to thy cot?—?and may pleasing visions await thee there."

When de Claverlok issued from Lord Kennedy's tent he glanced upward toward the knoll whereupon the folds of the purple and black pavilion were billowing gracefully in the crisp morning air. Betaking himself up the slope, he waited there till the unconscious Sir Richard had been comfortably disposed beneath its silken roof, the same, by the way, which had been intended as a covering for the dead prince.

Then, when he had done with appointing and setting the guard, the grizzled warrior made in the direction of the renegade duke's tent for the purpose of imparting to him Lord Kennedy's instructions.