He was working himself up into a rage now, and even Jago from the corner of the tent where he sat, dejectedly enough, began to smile. I had spoken of fair coined silver, and I had some trouble myself in keeping a grave face when this Welsh prince counted the cost of cattle therein.
"Will you double the sum, Prince?" I asked in all good faith.
"I will pay the ransom that is fitting for a prince of Morganwg to pay when his foes have the advantage of him. The honour of the Cymro is concerned."
"Ask him his value," said Jago in Saxon, knowing that Mordred did not understand that tongue at all. "Never was so good a chance of selling a man at his own price."
Then I could not help a smile, and Mordred waxed furious. He turned on Jago with his fist clenched.
"Silence, you miserable--"
"Prince, Prince," I cried. "He did but bid me ask you what was fitting."
"Well, then, do it," he cried, stamping impatiently, and glaring at Jago yet.
It was plain that if he did not understand the Saxon he saw that there was some jest.
"It is a hard matter for me to set a price on you, Prince," I said gravely. "I have never held one of your rank to ransom before, so that you will forgive seeming discourtesy if I have unwittingly done what was not fitting in the matter. What would the men of your land think worthy of you?"