Richard’s rage was the rage of an ape.
“Treason, sir, you speak treason!”
“Treason! Who shall charge Knollys with treason? You—a thing that cowered under its mother’s bed-quilt? By the splendour of God, all Christendom shall know the truth if you seek to deal treacherously with the man who has served you.”
Richard glanced at the faces of the two lords, but in their eyes he saw the same words shining unspoken. Their eyes cowed him, and he began to whimper.
“Sirs, will you drive me witless with shame?”
Knollys softened.
“Son of a great prince, follow your sire and all this shall be buried. Let this shame be trodden under your feet. Play the King, and all men shall hail you King and son of your father.”
Richard was cunning behind his cowering.
“But this Fulk Ferrers, what shall be done with him?”
Knollys’ wrath revived.