A chair had been set for Rosamund at the table’s extreme right and across the head of it, so as to detach her from the judicial bench. She sat there now, her elbows on the polished board, her face resting in her half-clenched hands, her eyes scrutinizing the five gentlemen who formed this court.
Steps rang on the companion, and a shadow fell athwart the sunlight beyond the open door. From the vessel’s waist came a murmur of voices and a laugh. Then Sir Oliver appeared in the doorway guarded by two fighting seamen in corselet and morion with drawn swords.
He paused an instant in the doorway, and his eyelids flickered as if he had received a shock when his glance alighted upon Rosamund. Then under the suasion of his guards he entered, and stood forward, his wrists still pinioned behind him, slightly in advance of the two soldiers.
He nodded perfunctorily to the court, his face entirely calm.
“A fine morning, sirs,” said he.
The five considered him in silence, but Lord Henry’s glance, as it rested upon the corsair’s Muslim garb, was eloquent of the scorn which he tells us filled his heart.
“You are no doubt aware, sir,” said Sir John after a long pause, “of the purpose for which you have been brought hither.”
“Scarcely,” said the prisoner. “But I have no doubt whatever of the purpose for which I shall presently be taken hence. However,” he continued, cool and critical, “I can guess from your judicial attitudes the superfluous mockery that you intend. If it will afford you entertainment, faith, I do not grudge indulging you. I would observe only that it might be considerate in you to spare Mistress Rosamund the pain and weariness of the business that is before you.”
“Mistress Rosamund herself desired to be present,” said Sir John, scowling.
“Perhaps,” said Sir Oliver, “she does not realize....”