Fulk sat on his horse and watched them, and a strange light came into his eyes. He heard Knollys speaking.
“Now are they like sheep that but an hour ago were very wolves. And one man has conquered them.”
“No, by God; but for a woman’s wit we should have been beaten into the dust.”
“Now have we soared together, you and I, into the blue.”
It was night, and the Princess knelt at her _prie-dieu_ in her chamber at the Wardrobe, and offered up thanks for the passing of this great peril. And being a noble lady, and a woman of heart, she prayed for Fulk Ferrers as well as for her son.
Fulk had been brought to her, and she had looked him in the eyes, marvelling, and trying to put the bitterness out of her heart.
Fulk, though a young man, had felt her pride, her beauty, and her shame, and had kissed her hands.
“Madame, if I have served, I have served. Let no man speak of it hereafter, for I shall not.”
“Can a man, and a young man, step down and forget so generously?”
“I shall keep faith,” and he had smiled; “but I may crave to rule a company of ‘spears’ instead of a herd of deer.”
The Princess had given him the words of a great lady; but in the King’s chamber the real King sat sullenly in his chair, frowning and biting his thumbnail. With him were my Lords Salisbury and Warwick, and Sir Robert Knollys—men who looked at the lad with stark scorn, because of the paltry temper he was showing now that the peril was past. Shame had bitten deep into him and left a poison in the wound. His heart was too meagre to be magnanimous—a little, peevish, cunning heart that could not humble itself and so be healed.
He started up suddenly, petulant, and full of spite.
“I’ll not see this fellow, this bastard. Let him keep out of my sight.”
“Sir, this bastard, as you call him, has your sire’s blood in him. And he has saved your kingdom.”
The lad was in a wild-cat mood, which served him for a sort of mannerless courage.
“Old fool, am I to have this ruffler held up before me like the image of a saint? Silence, I say I am King. I will play the King—aye, and better than he has played it.”
“Let no man dare to speak his name to me or I will dub him traitor.”
“Never was there a more honourable traitor, sir, than this.”