"YOU DESIGN MURDER? RICHARD ASKED" Painting by Howard Pyle
"I design my own preservation," King Henry answered, "for while you live my rule is insecure."
"I am sorry," Richard said, "because in part my blood is yours."
Twice he sounded his horn, and everywhere from rustling underwoods arose the half-naked Welshmen. "Your men are one to ten. You are impotent. Now, now we balance our accounts!" cried Richard. "These persons here will first deal with your followers. Then will they conduct you to Glyndwyr, who has long desired to deal with you himself, in privacy, since that WhitMonday when you stabbed his son."
The King began: "In mercy, sire—!" and Richard laughed a little.
"That virtue is not overabundant among us Plantagenets, as both we know. Nay, Fate and Time are merry jesters. See, now, their latest mockery! You the King of England ride to Sycharth to your death, and I the tender of sheep depart into London, without any hindrance, to reign henceforward over all these islands. To-morrow you are worm's-meat; and to-morrow, as aforetime, I am King of England."
Then Branwen gave one sharp, brief cry, and Richard forgot all things saving this girl, and strode to her. He had caught up either of her hard, lithe hands; against his lips he strained them close and very close.
"Branwen—!" he said. His eyes devoured her.
"Yes, King," she answered. "O King of England! O fool that I had been to think you less!"