Fulk returned to his lords, and saw that a dusty, grey-faced man was standing beside Salisbury’s horse. Walworth and Knollys were whispering together, their heads almost touching.
“To the Tower, my lords.”
Salisbury covered his mouth with his gloved hand.
“Listen. The Tower is ours no longer.”
He pushed his horse close to Fulk’s.
“Wat and his ruffians broke in. Simon of Sudbury is dead, his head hacked off on Tower Hill. Others are dead with him. By God, we are on the edge of hell. Keep a brave face.”
Fulk’s eyes flashed.
“Have I faltered? Have I not poured out lies without flinching?”
“Sir, you have saved the kingdom. But he—the other——”
“What! have they taken him?”