“But if—if the man was not given up,” broke in the agitated voice of Fitz from behind, “what would happen to the lady?”
“Oh, the woman would die—in a little while,” was the instant reply of the Amir, delighted to perceive his opportunity. “Not by the hands of the King’s executioners—that would be a man’s death. No; women can deal with women. There are certain in our lord the King’s household who bear no love to the doctor lady. I do not say that they would kill her; but she would not live very long in their hands—a day, perhaps, or it may be two. And it would not be an easy death.”
“For God’s sake, Stratford, put a stop to this!” muttered Dick, hoarsely, his face convulsed with rage. “Tell them I will go.”
“Unless,” pursued the Amir, apparently heedless of the interruption, although his greedy eyes had not missed the slightest change in the expression of any of the faces before him, “the woman should find favour in the eyes of our lord the King. Then she would live for a time. Afterwards it would be much the same; but whether——”
But the alternative which he had been about to state was left unuttered, for Dick sprang forward and dealt him a blow which stretched him on the ground.
Dick sprang forward and dealt him a blow which stretched him on the ground.
“Say that again if you dare!” he growled, standing over him with clenched fists; but the Amir, evidently considering that discretion was the better part of valour, submitted to be helped up and brushed by his attendants, after which he retired to the rear, Dick turning contemptuously on his heel and resuming his post beside Stratford.
“Let not my lord heed the sayings of that man,” entreated the old official, “for he has an evil tongue and loves to stir up strife.”
“Then is what he says not true?” asked Stratford, sternly. And, divided between a desire to maintain the effect produced and the fear of Dick’s fist, the ambassador preferred to take refuge in silence.