“In his mercy!” murmured the prisoner significantly. “The which should be—wist how much?”
“Truly, to free thee hence, and thou shouldst go up to London to wait upon his Grace.”
“And then—?”
Isabel knew what the King intended to exact, but the time was not yet come to say too much, lest Custance should be alarmed and draw back altogether. So she replied evasively—
“Then his Highness should restore to thee thy lands, on due submission done.”
“And yield me back my childre?”
“Most surely.”
A knot was tied upon Isabel’s memory, unknown to her cousin. If Custance cared much for her children, they might prove a most effective instrument of torture.
“Well!—and then?”
“Nay, ask at thine own self. Me supposeth thou shouldst choose to return to thine own Castle of Cardiff. But if it pleased thee rather to abide in the Court, I cast no doubt—”