“Sir Richard Shelton, ye are well found,” he said. “I owe you one thing that I value little, my life; and one that I can never pay you for, this victory.—Catesby, if I had ten such captains as Sir Richard, I would march forthright on London.—But now, sir, claim your reward.”
“Freely, my lord,” said Dick, “freely and loudly. One hath escaped to whom I owe some grudges, and taken with him one whom I owe love and service. Give me, then, fifty lances, that I may pursue; and for any obligation that your graciousness is pleased to allow, it shall be clean discharged.”
“How call ye him?” inquired the duke.
“Sir Daniel Brackley,” answered Richard.
“Out upon him, double-face!” cried Gloucester. “Here is no reward, Sir Richard; here is fresh service offered, and, if that ye bring his head to me, a fresh debt upon my conscience.—Catesby, get him these lances; and you, sir, bethink ye, in the meanwhile, what pleasure, honour, or profit it shall be mine to give you.”
Just then the Yorkist skirmishers carried one of the shoreside taverns, swarming in upon it on three sides, and driving out or taking its defenders. Crookback Dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, and, pushing his horse a little nearer, called to see the prisoners.
There were four or five of them—two men of my Lord Shoreby’s and one of Lord Risingham’s among the number, and last, but in Dick’s eyes not least, a tall, shambling, grizzled old shipman, between drunk and sober, and with a dog whimpering and jumping at his heels.
The young duke passed them for a moment under a severe review.
“Good,” he said. “Hang them.”
And he turned the other way to watch the progress of the fight.