Meanwhile, the King took counsel with his lords in the great chamber in the Tower. His cheeks were pale, his eyes heavy. He pressed his hand oft to his brow, where sat a frown.
“Sire,” said Buckingham, “'t is very certain these knaves ought to be punished, else shall we never have done with uprisings and rebellions that do endanger the kingdom.”
“Where is Etienne Fitzwarine?” asked Richard, fretful. “Let him mix my cup! There 's a fever inward, parcheth my throat.”
My Lord of Buckingham looked uneasy on my Lord of Salisbury. Then Sir John Holland behind the King's back said: “No doubt he consorteth with those low fellows, his friends, and maketh merry that the King is cozened.”
“Ribaude!” cried the boy starting from his seat. “I cozened?—I?—I?” He choked and turned half round, his hand on his sword.
Sir John went backward a pace, nevertheless he would not eat his words:—
“Wherefore should they not make merry, sire? They were fools an they wept. Nay, they have gone home to their wives to tell a marvellous tale. Here 's a king! do they cry. Let us but rise up and burn a manor-house or two, and take London Bridge,—and we may have what we will, even if 't be the King's crown.”
“Who bade me grant all?” cried Richard. “Who fled a-horseback into the fields for fear of that rabble at Mile End? What I did, was 't not done to save your coward skins, as much as to pleasure peasants?”
“O my liege! Who may know this, if not thy loyal servants?” said Salisbury, and bent his old knees. Whereupon those others knelt likewise, and Salisbury continued:—
“Thou hast wrought with a king-craft beyond thy years, sire. Thou hast saved England. But now must stern measures be taken, else are we like to be in worse case. When the people discover that they are—that they—are”—