“Difficult it may be, but not impossible,” rejoined the King. “Yon ivied wall would not be difficult to scale. Her prison-chamber has a window which might be reached by a rope ladder.”
“Can he suspect?” thought Rodomont, uneasily.
“Such plans are common enough in Spain, where walls, bolts, and bars, and even watchful gaolers, cannot shut out lovers,” pursued Philip. “Osbert Clinton is rash enough—enamoured enough to attempt anything.”
“Your Majesty is a better judge of such matters than I can pretend to be,” said Rodomont; “but I would risk life and limb for no woman, were she twice as lovely as Constance Tyrrell. The danger of the enterprise would effectually cool my ardour. Osbert Clinton well knows that he would incur your Majesty’s severe displeasure were he to make any such attempt.”
“Danger, I repeat, will not deter him,” said the King. “It is not enough that Constance is shut up in yon tower—that the doors of her cell are locked, and the windows barred. I tell you, he will find a way to her—if he has not done so already.”
“I dare not contradict your Majesty,” replied Rodomont. “It may be as you suspect. What more would you have done?”
“That tower must be strictly watched at night,” said Philip, “and you must be the watcher.”
“I am ready to obey your Majesty,” replied Rodomont; “but such an office will somewhat interfere with my duties to the Cardinal.”
“Heed not that!” said Philip. “I will hold you excused with his Eminence. You will commence the watch to-night.”
“To-night, Sire?”