"Mistress, let me whisper close. He need not die, thy lover."
"Hast thou some scheme? Quick, tell it to me."
"First speak the word to let me live."
"Aye, we spare thy life—but haste!"
"He is but a young stripling; his bones are not yet set and hardened.
Let him be made the king's mute."
The jester heard the words. He flung himself upon the eunuch, and grasping his throat, throttled him until his black face ran with shiny sweat and his great white eyes hung nearly from their sockets. "I feared that thou wouldst dare to speak of that—squealing coward—I might have known it." Again he whacked the woolly head against the pavement.
The captain dragged them apart. "Why so wroth, fool?" he asked. "Sooth, 'tis a wise plan, and one to save me a deal of trouble. For it was my special commission from the king to furnish a new mute. And since the lad must suffer, lady—come, by the Holy Tokens, I'll make a bond with thee. I'll spare his life, an' ye say nought of it to the king. I'll keep intact his pulse and true heart's beat; and thou, in turn, give me his lower limbs to twist and his doll's face to alter—only to alter slightly," and he laughed lewdly.
Lady Suelva moved to look at the dead mute; but the wily black had thrust himself before the face and hid its loathsomeness. "Do as he bids, mistress," he whispered. "Let thy lover live and love thee. Let him have life."
"And what a life!" cried the jester. "Oh, noble lady, be merciful and let him die."
"Would not the king or some one recognize him?" she asked.