Warwick turned fiercely and glanced up into Salisbury’s face—a massive, stolid, cautious face, in no hurry to betray emotion.
“What’s to be done? Are we to let this herd of swine root up the whole kingdom?”
“Ring their snouts, my friend.”
“And who’s to do the ringing? That—that—in yonder!”
They turned by some common impulse and stared at the black curtain that hid them from the council chamber.
“The lad has no more heart in him than a hare!”
“He is what he is.”
“A snivelling girl! Thunder of heaven, if we could but have the sire back in his stead! Why, look you, if these rebels can but get him into their hands, they’ll have no more to do but to pull ugly faces. He will run and hide his face in his mother’s bosom, and let them hang every gentleman and friend in the kingdom.”
Salisbury nodded his head.
“Weak King—no kingdom. I am wondering how many of us will keep our heads on our shoulders.”