The sound of her voice seemed to arrest Robert in his search for a sword, for he turned and eyed them suspiciously.
“Do not anger him,” Lysidice entreated, catching in her fear at her mistress’s hand. Robert moved towards the women, frowning.
“Why are you whispering?” he asked, savagely. Lysidice shivered, but Lycabetta was less fearful. Serene in her beauty, she was confident of her power to flatter the fool according to his folly, and she gave him a deep salutation, mockingly reverential.
“We did but admire the thunder of authority, the lightning of royalty,” she said; and then, thinking she had done enough to placate his passion, she turned to whisper to Lysidice, “Let us tickle this fool like a cracked lute.”
Instantly Robert’s rage blazed higher. His bemused senses snuffed treason everywhere. What might these two light women be plotting.
“If you whisper again,” he shrieked at them, “I will have you whipped; I will have you crucified. Are you stained with treason?”
There was that in his voice which startled Lycabetta from her indifference. Again she mimed servility.
“Have I offended your Majesty?” she sighed. “I pray your royal pardon. I was but planning with this minion here some way to freshen your spirits. See, I do you obeisance.”
She served him a sweeping salutation, in which her lithe body seemed to swoon at his feet in complete surrender. Then, straightening, she swerved and called to her women: