They of your own
household are held as accomplice to the Lord Admiral's wicked
intent, and you, Lady Elizabeth Tudor, are by order of the
council to be restrained in prison wards in this your manor of
Hatfield until such time as the king's Majesty and the honorable
council shall decide. This on your allegiance!"
[1] Haled--dragged, forcibly conveyed.
The cry of terror that the dragon's words awoke, died into
silence as the Lady Elizabeth rose to her feet, flushed with
anger.
"Is this a fable or the posy of a ring, Sir Dragon?" she said,
sharply. "Do you come to try or tempt me, or is this perchance
but some part of my Lord of Misrule's Yule-tide mumming? 'Sblood,
sir; only cravens sneak behind masks to strike and threaten. Have
off your disguise, if you be a true man; or, by my word as
Princess of England, he shall bitterly rue the day who dares to
befool the daughter of Henry Tudor!"
"As you will, then, my lady," said the dragon. "Do you doubt me
now?" and, tearing off his pasteboard wrapping, he stood
disclosed before them all as the grim Sir Robert Trywhitt, chief
examiner of the Lord Protector's council. "Move not at your
peril," he said, as a stir in the throng seemed to indicate the
presence of some brave spirits who would have shielded their
young princess.
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