"Sir Richard," he said, "I make not war with peacock's feathers,
but steel shafts. Those that are mine enemies I slay, and that
without excuse or favour. For, bethink ye, in this realm of
England, that is so torn in pieces, there is not a man of mine but
hath a brother or a friend upon the other party. If, then, I did
begin to grant these pardons, I might sheathe my sword."
"It may be so, my lord; and yet I will be overbold, and at the risk
of your disfavour, recall your lordship's promise," replied Dick.
Richard of Gloucester flushed.
"Mark it right well," he said, harshly. "I love not mercy, nor yet
mercymongers. Ye have this day laid the foundations of high
fortune. If ye oppose to me my word, which I have plighted, I will
yield. But, by the glory of heaven, there your favour dies!
"Mine is the loss," said Dick.
"Give him his sailor," said the duke; and wheeling his horse, he
turned his back upon young Shelton.
Dick was nor glad nor sorry. He had seen too much of the young
duke to set great store on his affection; and the origin and growth
of his own favour had been too flimsy and too rapid to inspire much
confidence.
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