"But how comes it that Peter Brome's son, who wears that battle scar across his face, is clad in merchant's woollen ?" "Sire," said Peter coolly, "my father sold his lands, lent his all to the Crown, and I have never rendered the account.

Therefore I must live as I can." The king laughed outright as he replied: "I like you, Peter Brome, though doubtless you hate me." "Not so, Sire.

While Richard lived I fought for Richard.

Richard is gone; and, if need be, I would fight for Henry, who am an Englishman, and serve England's king." "Well said, and I may have need of you yet, nor do I bear you any grudge.

But, I forgot, is it thus that you would fight for me, by causing riot in my streets, and bringing me into trouble with my good friends the Spaniards ?" "Sire, you know the story." "I know your story, but who bears witness to it?
Do you, maiden, Castell the merchant's daughter ?" "Aye, Sire.