Lycabetta shrugged her shoulders. In her heart she wondered if the King were losing his wits.
“Were she my sister, sire, your whim should be my law. Trust me, I shall make her worthy of our ancient rites. But, sire, forgive me if I doubt this fierce resistance. We women are all alike in the end.”
Robert turned away from her with a stifled groan.
“I thought so till this morning,” he said, heavily.
Lycabetta guessed at the secret and pricked with a question.
“Surely this moon-flower never defied you, sire?”
Instantly the King turned on her, his fair face so hideous with fury that Lycabetta slipped from his side and cowered before him.
“Silence, jade!” he snarled, beastlike. “If you play with me, I will nail you naked to your own door for Syracusan clowns to mock at.”
Lycabetta grovelled in the grass at his feet.
“Forgiveness, sire,” she begged.