Then she too gathered things and hurried me, and at last we were on our way to my cave. And as we went I told her how I had met with the Queen, and gave her many instructions as to the care of the hiding and the like, that I might have the less to say in the Queen's presence. It was a long way, and the day was breaking when we came there, and the Queen answered from within to the call of my own name.
Now how those two met I can hardly say, for I told the Queen whom I had brought as I opened the cave mouth, and when I saw the look of thanks she gave me, and saw Annot fall on her knees and kiss her hand, I turned away with a sort of lump in my throat, for even that night alone in the place that was home to me had brought a look to the face of Margaret of Anjou that was terrible.
So I went aside a little way and sat down until Annot called me, and then went back and spoke long with her and the Queen. All that we said need not be set down, nor how the Queen mourned over the news that I must needs give her. But the end of it all was that I was to seek out the Sire de Brezè, the leader of her Angevin levies, and bring him here. She could be patient now with Annot to cheer her.
Therefore I went all day among our outlaws, hearing what they knew of the flight, and at last heard of De Brezè, as the foreigner who had passed through the forest. Then I saw the march of the Yorkist army from Hexham towards the coast, and my heart grew lighter for their going. None had seen Cork that day, and so he had not been scouring the wood, but presently I went to the place where the Queen had been robbed, and the waggon was yet in the lane, empty. Cork and his men must have gone away with the plunder.
I went into Hexham at nightfall, and the place was in confusion and wretchedness. There were many who had been plundered of all, and I learnt without going to the market-place that Annot's uncle was indeed slain. The tavern had been wrecked, but no worse, though they told me that several men had lost their lives in the riot before the provost marshal had ended it too late.
Now as I passed down a lane on my way back to the forest, I came suddenly on two men who sat under a hedge, and I heard a word or two of their talk before they saw me. They were not speaking English, and at once I hoped that I had found some of De Brezè's men. So I gave them good-night, using passwords that the Queen had taught me—words that spoke of hope to the cause of the red rose if a man knew them—made in troubles like these two years ago.
"Good-even, friends. One had wished for a brighter sunset."
"Ay, but the morn may be redder," one answered in good English enough.
"A red morning is a sign of storm," I said, passing on.