'Privy Seal holdeth it,' he answered.
'You are all of a make,' the King said gloomily. 'Can no woman write a letter but what you will be of it?'
'Sir,' Throckmorton said, 'this lady would have Privy Seal down.'
'Well, she shall have him down,' the King threatened him. 'And thee! and all of thy train!'
'I do lose much blood,' Throckmorton answered. 'Pray you let me finish the binding of my arm.'
He took between his teeth one end of his kerchief and the other in his right hand, and pulled and knotted with his head bent.
'Make haste!' the King grumbled. 'Here! Lend room.' And himself he took one end of the knot and pulled it tight, breathing heavily.
'Now speak,' he said. 'I am not one made for the healing of cripples.'
Throckmorton brushed the black blood from the furs on his sleeve, using his gloves.
'Sir,' he said, 'I am in pain and my knees tremble, because I have lost much blood. I were more minded to take to my pallet. Nevertheless, I am a man that do bear no grudge, being rather a very proper man, and one intent to do well to my country and its Lord.'