His wet eyes flashed.
“Fulk Ferrers, God forgive me my littleness and my coward thoughts. And of you, Sir Robert Knollys, and of you, my Lord of Salisbury, I ask pardon. Tell me, sirs, what can be done?”
Knollys drew his sword out of its scabbard.
“Knighthood helps in the wars.”
Richard looked questioningly at Fulk.
“Will you take it at my hands?”
“They are a King’s hands.”
“Then kneel, brother, kneel.”
Fulk knelt, and Knollys’ sword served to give the stroke on the shoulder.
“Rise, Sir Fulk Ferrers. If thou art minded to leave this English land, by this shame of mine, thou shalt go as the son of a prince should go.”