“Well, then, a king cannot stoop to slay even an enemy if he is brave. I will give you your life on one condition.”
The boy started, and the King smiled.
“Not to sign a paper which gives me Bordeaux and Guienne, but to be my faithful servant and serve me as you have served your master to the end. I want followers like you. Be English, even if you have French blood flowing in your veins. Well, why do you not speak? Is not mine a kingly act?”
“Yes, Sire, and I am grateful.”
“Well, why do you hesitate? Enter my service. The star of the Valois must be setting fast when its representative can stoop to such a deed as this.”
The lad shook his head.
“What! Do you not understand? I will find work for your sword. Serve me faithfully, and rank shall in time be yours. Do you forget that your life is still at stake?”
“I cannot buy it, Sire, by betraying my master. Francis is my King.”
“And fortunate in having followers like this,” said the King to himself, as he rose, turned sharply from where the boy still stood with his arms crossed upon his breast, fighting hard for the resignation that refused to come, while his heart now beat slowly and heavily, as if in the march that ended in the scaffold and the axe.
The next minute the King had flung open the outer chamber door, as if to show to the boy his fate, for there stood the captain with the guards drawn up on either side, their armour gleaming and the lights they bore flashing from their halberds’ heads.