Then they will
conduct you to Glyndwyr, who has long desired to deal with you
himself, in privacy, since that Whit-Monday when you murdered his
son."
The King began, "In mercy, sire--!" and Richard laughed a little,
saying:
"That virtue is not overabundant among us of Oriander's blood, as we
both know. No, cousin, Fate and Time are merry jesters. See, now,
their latest mockery! You the King of England ride to Sycharth to your
death, and I the tender of sheep depart into London, without any
hindrance, to reign henceforward over these islands. To-morrow you are
worm's-meat, Cousin Henry: to-morrow, as yesterday, I am King of
England."
Then Branwen gave one sharp, brief cry, and Richard forgot all things
saving this girl, and strode to her. He had caught up her hard, lithe
hands; against his lips he strained them close and very close.
"Branwen--!" he said. His eyes devoured her.
"Yes, King," she answered. "O King of England! O fool that I have been
to think you less!"
In a while Richard said: "Well, I at least am not fool enough to think
of making you a king's whore.
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