Isabel joined her at the window.
“Go below, see to what hath chanced,” she ordered. And to herself she added, “I pray Count Bonaventure hath not over-reached himself in the matter.”
Ill news flies very swiftly. Within the space of five minutes the whole Castle was agog with the happening. Peregrine the Jester had stabbed Count Bonaventure. True the wound was not over-serious, yet that was rather by good fortune than by good intention. Some half hour later Peregrine lay in the cellar; the Count, his wound bound, made light of the matter.
“I can take it none so easily,” said Isabel hard-eyed.
“The fellow should be hanged,” said Roger March, the captain of the guard, very bluntly. These were rude times, and Roger a hard-headed soldier.
“Bah!” laughed Bonaventure ruefully, “’tis no matter for so harsh dealing.” Already he half-regretted his part in the affair. He liked Peregrine for his onslaught; saw the tongue a mean weapon to have used for his provoking.
Isabel’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot overlook it,” she repeated very cold, seeing opportunity slipping from her.
“Shall he hang, Madam?” asked Roger briefly.
“By the Lord, no,” burst forth the Count. “You will not have a woman give orders to hang a man. An’ he deserve punishment give him a drubbing and dismiss him the Castle. So shall all be satisfied,” he added half maliciously.
Roger looked at Isabel, awaited her pleasure.