“I, and I, and I!” exclaimed several at once; but their schemes were pronounced futile.
“What say ye to this?” said the young man who had spoken before: “every year the king goes to the small village town where his old nurse lives; there is but one house in the village where he can be lodged, let us bribe the master of the house, that he slay our tyrant while he sleeps.”
The plan was approved by the rebel lords, the bribe offered and accepted by the old man, to whose house the king always came. The king came as usual to the village town, and to his old lodgings. As he entered, the old man received him with humility and feigned delight, and a young damsel, not eighteen years of age, attended at the door step. The king noticed the damsel, he arrested his steps, and called to the old man.
“Good father,” asked he, “is yonder damsel thy daughter or thy niece?”
“Neither, my lord,” replied the old man; “she is my newly married wife.”
“Away, away,” said the king to his chamberlain, “prepare me a bed in another house, for I will not sleep here to-night.”
“Even as my lord wishes,” rejoined the chamberlain; “but my lord knows there is no other house in this place fit for a king’s residence, save this one; here every thing is prepared, every thing commodious.”
“I have spoken,” replied the king; “remain thou here; I will sleep elsewhere.”
In the night, the old man and his wife arose, stole on tiptoe to the chamber which was prepared for the king, and where the chamberlain now slept in the royal bed; all was dark as they approached the bed, and plunged a dagger into the breast of the sleeping noble.
“It is done,” said they; “to bed, to bed.”