“How dare you speak to me of death?” he screamed at her. “You she-devil, do you wish to die of scourging?”
The fury in his eyes, the fury in his fury, the fury in his gestures, transforming him so swiftly from his regal civility to a raging animal, palsied the fair girl’s limbs, palsied her tongue.
“Sire,” she stammered, piteously, “forgive—”
She could say no more, for her fear choked her, and tears raced from her eyes. Her companions shrank from her as from an unclean thing, one blighted by this fierce show of the King’s disfavor. Robert, by a violent effort, controlled himself to composure. His arms dropped by his side, his face smoothed again.
“You shall weep red tears for this, minion!” he said to the unhappy girl, and turned from her again to regard the reliquary. Yolande slunk back to hide herself in the courtly company, and Faustina and Messalinda regained their places.
“The fool!” whispered Faustina to Messalinda, with a glance in the direction where Yolande sought to efface herself—“to hint at death to a king who would like to believe himself immortal as a god.”
“Ay,” retorted Messalinda, “and to hint it now when they say that the plague creeps abroad.”
Robert now addressed the obsequious prelate: “My lord archbishop, escort this coffer into the chapel and give your ceremonial rein. Attend him, lords and ladies,” he continued, turning to his retinue; “for ourselves we will linger awhile in this sunlight, having some thoughts of weight to change with the Lord Hildebrand. We will bless you with our presence by-and-by.”
Obedient to the King’s somewhat contemptuous dismissal, all those that had accompanied Robert to the summit of the mountain now made haste to leave him alone with his favorite. Priests and courtiers, ladies and soldiers, a glittering line, ascended the stone steps that led to the chapel and disappeared within its doors. The rear of the procession was brought up by the King’s Varangian body-guard, under the captain, Sigurd Olafson, a young Norseman, whose yellow hair and bright blue eyes made him a conspicuous figure in the thick of so many Southern forms and faces.
When the church doors had closed upon the last of the company, Robert turned a smiling face upon his friend.