Sir James looked up.
“Presently, Nick,” he said.
The man went on.
“Master More kneeled down presently at his prayers; and all the folk kept very quiet. There was not one that cried against him. Then he stood up again, put off his gown, so that his neck was bare; and passed his hand over it smiling. Then he told the headsman that it was but a short one, and bade him be brave and strike straight, lest his good name should suffer. Then he laid himself down to the block, and put his neck on it; but he moved again before he gave the sign, and put his beard out in front—for he had grown one in prison”—
“Give us the words,” snarled Nicholas.
“He said, sir, that his beard had done no treason, and need not therefore suffer as he had to do. And then he thrust out his hand for a sign—and ’twas done at a stroke.”
“God damn them!” hissed Nicholas again as a kind of Amen, turning swiftly to the fire-place so that his face could not be seen.
There was complete silence for a few seconds. The groom had his eyes cast down, and stood there—then again he spoke.
“As to my Lord of Rochester’s head, that was taken off to the—the Queen, they say, in a white bag, and she struck it on the mouth.”
Nicholas dropped his head against his hand that rested on the wood-work.