Lancaster looked up with a good-tempered smile.
“Does my fair Uncle never wish for the day when the lion shall eat straw like the ox?” (Note 1.)
“Not I!” cried De Valence, with a hearty laugh. “Why, what mean you? are we to dine on a haunch of lion when it comes?”
“Nay, for that were to make us worse than either, methinks. I suppose we shall give over eating what has had life, at that time.”
“Merci, mille fois!” laughed his uncle. “My dinner will be spoiled. Not thine, I dare say. I’ll be bound, Sire, our fair cousin will munch his apples and pears with all the gusto in the world, and send his squire to the stable to inquire if the lion has a straw doubled under him.”
“Bah!” said the King. “What are you talking about?”
“How much will this business of the Jews cost your Grace?” asked De Valence, dropping his sarcasms.
“Cost me?” demanded Edward, with a short laugh. “Did our fair uncle imagine we meant to execute such a project at our own expense? Let the rogues pay their own travelling fees.”
“Ha! good!” said the Poitevin noble. “And our fair cousin of Lancaster shall chant the De Profundis while they embark, and I will offer a silver fibula to Saint Edward that they may all be drowned. How sayest, fair Cousin?”
“Nay,” was Lancaster’s answer, in a doubtful tone. “I reckon we ought not to pity them, being they that crucified our Lord. But—”