eldest son of
my Lord of March--a much better man than his father, though not nigh so
crafty.

"Hold thy peace for a fool as thou art!" saith his father roughly.
"They are afraid of me, I cast no doubt at all. And they do well. I
could sweep them away as lightly as so many flies, and none should miss
them!"

He ended with a mocking laugh. Verily, pride such as this was full
ready for a fall.

We knew afterward what had passed in that hour the day afore. The King
had been hard to insense [cause to understand: still a Northern
provincialism] at the first. So great was his faith in his mother that
he ne could ne would believe any evil of her. As to the Mortimer, he
was ready enough, for even now was he a-chafing under the yoke.

"Be he what he may--the very foul fiend himself an' you will," had he
said to his Lords: "but she, mine own mother, my beloved--Oh, not she,
not she!"

Then--for themselves were lost an' they proved not their case--they were
fain to bring forth their proofs. Sir William de Montacute told my Jack
it was all pitiful to see how our poor young King's heart fought full
gallantly against the light as it brake on his understanding. Poor lad!
for he was but a lad; and it troubled him sore. But they knew they must
carry the matter through.

"Oh, have away your testimonies!" he cried more than once. "Spare her--
and spare me! Mother, my mother, mine own dear Lady! how is this
possible?"

At the last he knew all: knew who had set England in flame, who had done
Sir Hugh Le Despenser and his son to death, who had been his own
father's murderer. The scales were off his eyes; and had he list to do
it, he could never set them on again. They said he covered his face,
and wept like the child he nearhand was. Then he lifted his head, the
tears over, and in his eyes was the light of a settled purpose, and in
his lips a stern avisement. No latsummes [backwardness, reluctance] was
in him when once fully set.

"Take the Mortimer," quoth he, firm enough.

"Sir," quoth Sir William de Montacute, "we, not being lodged in the
Castle, shall never be able to seize him without help of the Constable."

"Now, surely," saith the King, "I love you well: wherefore go to the
Constable in my name, and bid him aid you in taking of the Mortimer, on
peril of life and limb."

"Sir, then God grant us speed!" saith Sir William.

So to the Constable they went, and brake the matter, only at first
bidding him in