“Well,” replied John with a show of irritation, “your mother, instead of applying to her husband’s family for protection, besought it of Philip Augustus, King of France.”
“And why was Geoffrey’s widow forced to seek for outside help, except that her legitimate protectors had become her enemies? No, my uncle, you cannot justify what has happened, but you can make reparation.”
“What do you mean?” said John.
“You well know my claims,” replied Arthur.
“And I scorn them,” said the King menacingly. “Bethink you. You are a prisoner. You should be more moderate of speech.”
“Imprisonment cannot make wrong right. It is more likely to add new wrongs to old ones.”
“Silence,” thundered John. “How does a mere worm, whom I can trample under my feet, dare to be so bold?”
Arthur’s hand involuntarily sought his missing sword. Blazing with anger, he exclaimed: “Shame upon you thus to abuse and threaten a prisoner! Even if you despise the ties of relationship, at least honor the obligations of knighthood, to which we both belong.” The knights present loudly applauded these words, occasioning much confusion. Thereupon John, chagrined as he realized he had gone too far, quietly observed: “I am the best judge of what is becoming to knighthood. The honor of the King stands higher still. You may retire, Duke Arthur.”
The King beckoned to the guards and Arthur was led away, taking with him the unmistakable sympathy of all present.
“You have heard, my lords, how this prisoner defies me,” resumed the King. A pause followed these words, and lasted until Salisbury came forward and said: “The Duke spoke the truth; and as it was youthful impulse which actuated him, I think, and many others with me, that he had sufficient excuse.”