“Cure them with blood, sire,” said Buckingham. “'T is the one way. Else were no man's head safe.”
“Beau sire!” cried Robert de Vere, entering, “the Mayor is here with that rebel, Jack Straw, was so fierce against the Flemings on Friday.”
Then came in Walworth, and Jack bound.
“What vermin is this?” asked Richard. “Have him forth,—displeaseth me. Faugh! How the fellow crawls!”
“Sire, I will confess,” Jack whined. “I will reveal all. Let me go free, sire! I went astray. Do but let me go free, and I 'll confess. 'T was not I was leader, sire, but Wat Tyler—and Stephen Fitzwarine”—
The King had sat listless, paying no heed, but at the name of Fitzwarine he lifted his head:—
“Take this liar to the courtyard and beat out 's brains!” he said. “Where is Etienne?”
“Sire, pardon!” now began Walworth, “but 't is very true I took Master Fitzwarine yester e'en by the side of the body of the traitor, Wat Tyler; and he made as to defend the body, and spake against certain great nobles of the realm.”
“Thou hast slain him?” screamed Richard,—“Etienne!—Etienne!”
“Nay, sire; for that I knew the King loved him. Natheless, for safety he is housed close. And here is his sword. With this same sword I strake off the head of Wat Tyler. My lord, I am thy faithful servant.”