“Saving you from your—no, I cannot call it folly,—I would hardly have had you stand still to see such—but let me see your face.”
“It is nothing. I don’t care now the hawk is safe,” said Richard, though he could hardly keep his lips in order, and was obliged to wink very hard with his eyes to keep the tears out, now that he had leisure to feel the smarting; but it would have been far beneath a Northman to complain, and he stood bearing it gallantly, and pinching his fingers tightly together, while Osmond knelt down to examine the hurt. “’Tis not much,” said he, talking to himself, “half bruise, half burn—I wish my grandmother was here—however, it can’t last long! ’Tis right, you bear it like a little Berserkar, and it is no bad thing that you should have a scar to show, that they may not be able to say you did all the damage.”
“Will it always leave a mark?” said Richard. “I am afraid they will call me Richard of the scarred cheek, when we get back to Normandy.”
“Never mind, if they do—it will not be a mark to be ashamed of, even if it does last, which I do not believe it will.”
“Oh, no, I am so glad the gallant falcon is out of his reach!” replied Richard, in a somewhat quivering voice.
“Does it smart much? Well, come and bathe it with cold water—or shall I take you to one of the Queen’s women?”
“No—the water,” said Richard, and to the fountain in the court they went; but Osmond had only just begun to splash the cheek with the half-frozen water, with a sort of rough kindness, afraid at once of teaching the Duke to be effeminate, and of not being as tender to him as Dame Astrida would have wished, when a messenger came in haste from the King, commanding the presence of the Duke of Normandy and his Squire.
Lothaire was standing between his father and mother on their throne-like seat, leaning against the Queen, who had her arm round him; his face was red and glazed with tears, and he still shook with subsiding sobs. It was evident he was just recovering from a passionate crying fit.
“How is this?” began the King, as Richard entered. “What means this conduct, my Lord of Normandy? Know you what you have done in striking the heir of France? I might imprison you this instant in a dungeon where you would never see the light of day.”
“Then Bernard de Harcourt would come and set me free,” fearlessly answered Richard.