She passed it to Salisbury, her pride rising.
“How came you by this ring, Sir Robert?”
“I took it this day from the hand of a dead man—a man who had been sent out to murder, but had been slain by him whom he was to murder.”
“What mean you?”
“Madame, I will tell you why my honour is sorely wounded, as is the honour of my Lord Salisbury and all those who counselled the King. Was it not but yesterday that a certain young man saved this kingdom? Did he not keep faith with us, and did not we pledge ourselves to keep faith with him?”
Her eyes darkened as she heard him.
“Sir Robert Knollys, I judge that I am no coward. If some shameful thing has happened, let us have the truth, and that quickly.”
“Madame, when the Devil gets to work, the wrath in a man is apt to rage. Need I tell you how Fulk Ferrers and Isoult of the Rose were sent secretly to the Black Mere? The King knew it. Whether another tempted him I cannot say, but a certain Franciscan led some thirty rogues thither. Wit and bold fighting saved Fulk Ferrers. The friar was slain in the fight, and on his finger was the King’s ring.”
She sat stiffly in her chair, bleak-faced and horror-stricken.
“Is this possible?”