A harsh voice shouted a summons.
“Fulk Ferrers, Fulk Ferrers, the badger is to be drawn out of his earth!”
Fulk rested his two hands on the pommel of his sword.
“I am here, Merlin; but you shall lose your dogs in the hunting.”
A discordant laugh answered him.
“What! Are you still on the high horse? Think not, Fulk Ferrers, that the great ones have need of you any longer. Nay, it is otherwise. I have been sent to shrive a mock King and to bury him.”
“You lie.”
“Tell me, then, what did the King and his Council promise Knollys if he would trap you here? And how is it that I, Merlin, carry the King’s ring on my finger?”
“Merlin, you lie.”
“Believe what you choose, fool. We are here to make an end.”