_Eleanor._ Dost thou love this Becket, this son of a London merchant, that thou hast sworn a voluntary allegiance to him?
_Fitz Urse._ Not for my love toward him, but because he hath the love of the King. How should a baron love a beggar on horseback, with the retinue of three kings behind him, outroyaltying royalty?
_Fitz Urse._ And this plebeian like to be Archbishop!
_Eleanor._ True, and I have an inherited loathing of these black sheep of the Papacy. Archbishop? I can see farther into man than our hot-headed Henry, and if there ever come feud between Church and Crown, and I do not charm this secret out of our loyal Thomas, I am not Eleanor.
_Fitz Urse._ Last night I followed a woman in the city here. Her face was veiled, but the back methought was Rosamund--his paramour, thy rival. I can feel for thee.
_Eleanor._ Thou feel for me!--paramour--rival! No paramour but his own wedded wife! King Louis had no paramours, and I loved him none the more. Henry had many and I loved him none the less. I would she were but his paramour, for men tire of their fancies; but I fear this one fancy hath taken root, and borne blossom too, and she, whom the King loves indeed, is a power in the State. Follow me this Rosamund day and night, whithersoever she goes; track her, if thou can'st, even into the King's lodging, that I may (_clenches her fist_)--may at least have my cry against him and her,--and thou in thy way shouldst be jealous of the King, for thou in thy way didst once, what shall I call it, affect her thine own self.
_Fitz Urse._ Ay, but the young filly winced and whinnied and flung up her heels; and then the King came honeying about her, and this Becket, her father's friend, like enough staved us from her.
_Fitz Urse._ Yea, by the blessed Virgin! There were more than I buzzing round the blossom--De Tracy--even that flint De Brito.
_Eleanor._ Carry her off among you; run in upon her and devour her, one and all of you; make her as hateful to herself and to the King as she is to me.
_Fitz Urse._ I and all should be glad to wreak our spite on the rose-faced minion of the King, and bring her to the level of the dust, so that the King--
_Eleanor._ If thou light upon her--free me from her!--let her eat it like the serpent and be driven out of her paradise!