“Sir Anthony,” said the King, “make note of our decision. Meseemeth in this realm of ours that wives be plenty, but heirs most sorely lack. Poor Jane must suffer for the succession. If one must perish——” He paused.
“It is even so, your Majesty,” murmured the physician.
The King stamped his foot, and turned away.
“I must have my heir,” he said. “God’s blood, I must and will!”
But that night, as he was crossing a corridor to his cabinet, an old woman broke upon him with tears and lamentations.
“They are killing my bird!”
“Peace, fool!” said the King, harsh and lowering. “I must have mine heir, though all birds fell dumb from this moment.”
She clung to him, but he shook her off roughly, and went on his way. She followed, importunate and beyond fear.
“Spare my nursling! She is one and only; thou canst not renew her; but many shall be her gifts of love to thee.”
He turned like a goaded bull, and the woman was dragged away.