“Speak, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, almost in the same moment with his master, “thou wert wont to be a man—Where is the Templar?—where Front-de-Boeuf?”
“The Templar is fled,” said De Bracy; “Front-de-Boeuf you will never see more. He has found a red grave among the blazing rafters of his own castle and I alone am escaped to tell you.”
“Cold news,” said Waldemar, “to us, though you speak of fire and conflagration.”
“The worst news is not yet said,” answered De Bracy; and, coming up to Prince John, he uttered in a low and emphatic tone—“Richard is in England —I have seen and spoken with him.”
Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the back of an oaken bench to support himself—much like to a man who receives an arrow in his bosom.
“Thou ravest, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, “it cannot be.”
“It is as true as truth itself,” said De Bracy; “I was his prisoner, and spoke with him.”
“With Richard Plantagenet, sayest thou?” continued Fitzurse.
“With Richard Plantagenet,” replied De Bracy, “with Richard Coeur-de-Lion—with Richard of England .”
“And thou wert his prisoner?” said Waldemar; “he is then at the head of a power?”
“No—only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, and to these his person is unknown. I heard him say he was about to depart from them. He joined them only to assist at the storming of Torquilstone.”