My mouth fell open in amazement.
“They have taken Charles?” I asked. “Is it true then that he was at the meeting at Rouen? You can——”
“It was a meeting of the nobles of Normandy,” he interrupted. “I thought I was too old to go myself so I sent my only son. They were to make plans to protect us against the aggressions of the King. But the secret leaked out. Some traitor in our ranks betrayed us. Every man in the gathering was taken. A full dozen were beheaded behind the walls of the town. A few were sent off as prisoners, to be scattered among the castles of the King.”
“—and Charles?” I cried.
The old man sighed and ground his teeth.
“He is on his way down the valley of the Loire,” he rumbled deep in his throat, “to be mewed up till the crack of doom.”
The blood left my face. A chill of horror ran through every limb.
“We shall bring him back, Henri,” said André with a ring in his voice. “If it takes the last drop of blood of the last Norman, we shall bring him back. But we shall have to wait.”
The old Count flung his hand in the air. The fire flashed from his eyes and he began to stride again across the floor.
“Wait!” he demanded. “Wait! That is the only word you know. We have waited long enough already. I’ll not bide another day.” He turned wildly towards the rack that held my brother’s arms. “I’ll take this,” he cried laying his strong hand upon a battle-ax. “I’ll go to the King, where he sits upon his throne. I’ll demand of him why he dared to lay his finger upon my son. I’ll offer him his choice, whether he will give me my son back—or perish at my feet.”