The figure in black
dropped under his grasp, trembled and gasped, but the hand of
Thibaut was too strong upon him and he could not speak or cry out.
Thibaut hissed at him:
"Sire, I can decipher your destiny. Do not speak or I will kill
you!"
He pressed the point of the dagger close to the captive's neck and
smiled to see him shudder.
"I am Thibaut d'Aussigny, sire, whom you thought to be dead, but who
lives to prison you."
As he spoke his companions emerged from the gloom and gathered
around Thibaut and the king, a little menacing circle of determined
men.
"You are in the toils. Silent you are still a man; give tongue and
you are simple carrion. You must come to the knees of Burgundy. You
shall be the Duke's footstool!"
The cowering black figure wriggled and quivered as if every one of
Thibaut's words were a stroke of a whip that cut into his flesh; his
eager hands clawed piteously at Thibaut's grasping arm, until his
very agony of terror aroused the contempt of his captor. He pushed
the king from him contemptuously, and the king dropped on the ground
a black and helpless heap of fear.
"Can a king be such a cur? Burgundy won't hurt you if you do as he
bids you.
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