Robert sprang to his feet and drew Hildebrand apart.
“Speed to the city,” he whispered. “When it dusks, send my two Moorish slaves to Theron’s hut. They must persuade or force the girl to go with them and bear her to the house of Lycabetta.”
Hildebrand bowed.
“I obey, sire. Will you enter the chapel? They wait for you.”
“They shall wait till the world’s end, if I choose,” Robert answered, sourly. “If I choose that they shall sit there till they die and rot, what is that to you?” He dropped moodily on the seat and sat staring fiercely at the empty air.
Hildebrand left him and joined Lycabetta.
“The King is peevish,” he whispered to her, and Lycabetta whispered back to him:
“Some girl has crossed him. It is the first time he has known refusal, and it maddens him like mandrake.”
Hildebrand looked thoughtful.
“She may prove court favorite yet, if his mood changes. Maybe we were wise to use her gently. Let me bring you to your litter.”