“Ay, madam,” he said.
“And triumphed on? and slain?”
“All slain save Juss and Brandoch Daha, and they taken,” said Gro.
“Was this my lord’s doing?” she asked.
“Greatly, as I think,” said Gro; “though Corinius claimeth for himself, as commonly, the main honour of it.”
Prezmyra said, “He claimeth overmuch.” And she said, “There were none in it save Demons?”
Gro, knowing her thought, smiled and made answer, “Madam, there were Witches.”
“My Lord Gro,” she cried, “thou dost ill to mock me. Thou art my friend. Thou knowest the Prince my brother proud and sudden to anger. Thou knowest it chafeth him to have Witchland over him. Thou knowest the time is many days overpast when he should bring his yearly tribute to the King.”
Gro’s great ox-eyes were soft as he looked upon the Lady Prezmyra, saying, “Most assuredly am I thy friend, madam. Belike, if truth were told, thou and thy lord are all the true friends I have in waterish Witchland: you two, and the King: but who sleepeth safe in the favour of kings? Ah, madam, none of Pixyland stood in the battle yesternight. Therefore let thy soul be at ease. But my task it was, standing on the battlements beside the King, to smile and smile while Corinius and our fighting men made a bloody havoc of four or five hundred of mine own kinsfolk.”
Prezmyra caught her breath and was silent a moment. Then, “Gaslark?”