“Your grace, this is a game in which the dice are heavily cogged against you,” he said gravely. “Better take the course I first proposed.”
Buckingham uttered a sneering laugh. He had entirely mistaken the other’s meaning.
“Why, you roaring captain, you pitiful Bobadil, do you think to affright me with swords and antics? It is against yourself the dice are loaded. Unlock that door, and get you hence or I’ll carve you into ribbons.”
“Oho! And who’s the roaring captain now? Who the Bobadil? Who the very butcher of a silk button?” cried Holles, stung to anger. He would have added more, perhaps, but the Duke stemmed him.
“Enough talk!” he snapped. “The key, you rogue, or I’ll skewer you where you stand.”
Holles grinned at him. “I little thought when I saved your life that night at Worcester that I should be faced with the need to take it thus.”
“You think to move me with that reminder, do you?” said the Duke, and drove at him.
“Hardly. I’ll move you in another way, you lovelorn ninnyhammer,” Holles snarled back.
And then the blades ground together again, and they were engaged in deadly earnest.