Sir Eric, meanwhile, thundered forth in his Norman patois, “I would have you to know, young Sir, Prince though you be, you are our prisoner, and shall taste of a dungeon, and bread and water, unless you behave yourself.”
Either Lothaire did not hear, or did not believe, and fought more furiously in Osmond’s arms, but he had little chance with the stalwart young warrior, and, in spite of Richard’s remonstrances, he was carried from the hall, roaring and kicking, and locked up alone in an empty room.
“Let him alone for the present,” said Sir Eric, putting the Duke aside, “when he knows his master, we shall have peace.”
Here Richard had to turn, to reassure Carloman, who had taken refuge in a dark corner, and there shook like an aspen leaf, crying bitterly, and starting with fright, when Richard touched him.
“Oh, do not put me in the dungeon. I cannot bear the dark.”
Richard again tried to comfort him, but he did not seem to hear or heed. “Oh! they said you would beat and hurt us for what we did to you! but, indeed, it was not I that burnt your cheek!”
“We would not hurt you for worlds, dear Carloman; Lothaire is not in the dungeon—he is only shut up till he is good.”
“It was Lothaire that did it,” repeated Carloman, “and, indeed, you must not be angry with me, for my mother was so cross with me for not having stopped Osmond when I met him with the bundle of straw, that she gave me a blow, that knocked me down. And were you really there, Richard?”
Richard told his story, and was glad to find Carloman could smile at it; and then Fru Astrida advised him to take his little friend to bed. Carloman would not lie down without still holding Richard’s hand, and the little Duke spared no pains to set him at rest, knowing what it was to be a desolate captive far from home.
“I thought you would be good to me,” said Carloman. “As to Lothaire, it serves him right, that you should use him as he used you.”