There was a short silence. My Lord of Troy’s fingers were playing with his quill. He looked old and querulous.
“These swine! I thought we had tamed them. There is a deeper cunning in all this. I have had secret news this very morning. Richmond is on the sea. By now he may have landed.”
Fulk de Lisle took the news as a soldier of fortune takes his pay.
“The King will not grudge him a battle, my lord.”
“Bombast is so easy. But to say who are friends and who are enemies! Supposing I chose to have you hanged, sir?”
“A most unreasonable fancy, my lord.”
“And why?”
“I have risked my neck in your service. I have no quarrel with your generosity. And my pride is concerned in this—the pride of a soldier and a captain.”
“We shall see, sir; I may let you prove it. And now—we must strike, and strike quickly. These letters shall go at once; they must not miscarry. In three days we should muster a hundred spears and two hundred archers. The falconets and serpents are to come from Roychester; Sir Humphrey Heron will be master of the cannon. I have chosen my gallopers. Look to the garrison, and see that our tenants are fitly armed as they come in.”
Fulk de Lisle bowed.