"
Then I could not help a smile, and Mordred waxed furious. He turned
on Jago with his fist clenched.
"Silence, you miserable--"
"Prince, Prince," I cried. "He did but bid me ask you what was
fitting."
"Well, then, do it," he cried, stamping impatiently, and glaring at
Jago yet.
It was plain that if he did not understand the Saxon he saw that
there was some jest.
"It is a hard matter for me to set a price on you, Prince," I said
gravely. "I have never held one of your rank to ransom before, so
that you will forgive seeming discourtesy if I have unwittingly
done what was not fitting in the matter. What would the men of your
land think worthy of you?"
"Once," he said slowly, "it was the ill luck of my--of some
forebear of mine to have to be ransomed. They paid so much for
him."
He named a sum in good Welsh gold that it had never come into my
mind to dream of. It was riches for all three of us. And I dared
not say that it was too much and somewhat like foolishness, for it
was his own valuation. So I held my peace.
"Not enough?" he asked, not angrily, but as if it would be an
honour to hear that I set him higher. "What more shall I add?"
"No more, Prince. I see that I have yet things to learn."
Truly, I had always heard that the tale of the golden tribute to
Rome from Britain had tempted my forebears here first of all, and
now I believed it.
Pages:
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386