“Imbécile!” he cried to the page, “bring His Majesty a cup of water!”
Meanwhile Calote sat in the window-seat.
“Do not hold me on thy knee, Etienne,” said Richard presently; “methinks 't is not fitting. I will stand on my feet. Where is the maid?”
“Drink, sire!” said Etienne. “'T will cure thy head.” And he steadied the goblet at the lips of the King.
The page stood by, grinning.
“I listened,” quoth he. “I was behind the arras when the messenger spake. I ran like the wind. Why doth yonder maid sit in the King's presence?”
“Mother of God!” exclaimed Calote, and jumped down in haste, very red. And Richard laughed.
But in a moment he was grave again.
“Mayhap I should weep for my grandfather,” he said. “I know he was a great king. But my father would have been a greater than he, an he had lived. I weep still, of nights, because my father is dead.”
“Begone!” whispered Etienne to the page. “Haply they seek the King. Tell the Queen-Mother he is here.”