Sir James took a faltering step forward, and then suddenly threw out his hands.
“Ah! your Grace, it is a bitter tale for a father to tell. It is true, all of it. My son here was a monk at Lewes. He would not sign the surrender. I—I approved him for it. I—I was there when my son Ralph cast him out—”
“God’s blood!” cried the King with a beaming face. “The one brother cast the other out!”
Chris saw the Archbishop’s face suddenly lighten as he watched the King sideways.
“But I cannot bear that he should be saved for that!” went on the old man piteously. “He was a good servant to your Grace, but a bad one to our Lord—”
The Archbishop drew a swift breath of horror, and his hands jerked. But Henry seemed not to hear; his little mouth had opened in a round hole of amazed laughter, and he was staring at the old man without hearing him.
“And you were there?” he said. “And your wife? And your aunts and sisters?”
“My wife is dead,” cried the old man. “Your Grace—”
“And on which side was she?”
“She was—was on your Grace’s side.”