“And the prisoner?”
Charles looked at him vaguely.
“The prisoner?”
“The rebel hostage for murdered Randolph Harby,” Rufus reminded him.
Charles looked vexed.
“Oh yes, I suppose he must die. Surely he must die. His plea is specious, but Randolph Harby is dead.”
“Brave, murdered Randolph.” Rufus’s regret was pathetic. “Shall I give order for the firing party?” He made as if to write. Charles frowned.
“You are over-zealous, sir; I have not made up my mind.”
Rufus read obstinacy in the royal face and knew that it were useless to argue further then.