Going close to the Dominican, he spoke to him in strong, yet not unpitying tones. Balthasar dared not look above the Lord Flavian’s knees. "Ha, my friend, where is all your fine philosophy?" The man cringed like a beggar. "Where are all your sonorous phrases, your pert blasphemies, your subtleties, your fine tinsel of intellect and vanity?" Balthasar had no word. "Where is your godliness, my friend, where your glowing and superhuman soul? Have we found you out, O Satanas; have we shocked your pagan heroism? Be a man. Stand up and face us. You could hold forth roundly on occasions. Even that Saul of Tarsus was not afraid of a sword." Balthasar cowered, and hid his face behind his hands. He began to whimper, to rock to and fro, to sob. The grim men round him laughed, deep-chested, iron, scoffing laughter. Modred pricked the priest’s neck with the point of his sword. It was then that Balthasar fell forward upon his face, senseless from sheer terror. Flavian abandoned philosophic irony, and addressed himself to Modred and his knights. "Put up your swords, sirs; this man shall go free." "Sire, sire!" came the massed cry. "Trust my discretion. The fellow has done me the greatest service of my life." "Sire!" "He has given me liberty. He has gnawed the shackles from my soul. You are all my witnesses in this, and may count upon my gratitude. But this man here, he has danced to my whim like a doll plucked by a string. For my liberty has he sinned; out of Avalon shall he go scatheless." The men still murmured. Modred shot home his sword into its scabbard with a vicious snap. Flavian read their humour. "Do not imagine, gentlemen," he said, "that your vigilance and your loyalty to my honour can go unrewarded. Modred, your lands are heavily mortgaged, I free you at a word, with this my signet. To you, Bertrand, I give the Manor of Riesole to keep and hold for you and yours. To all you, good friends, I give a hundred golden angels, man and man. And now, sirs, as to madame, my wife." They gathered round him in curious conclave, Balthasar lying in their midst. "Sir Modred, you will order out my state litter, set the Lady Duessa therein, and have her borne with all courtesy to Gilderoy, to her father’s house. Then you will take these gentlemen who are my true friends and witnesses, and you will ride to Lauretia, to make solemn declaration before Bishop Hilary. He has already received my earlier embassage. After this affair, we have no need of ethical subtleties and clerical conveniences. You will obtain a dispensation at his hands. _Ex vinculo matrimonii_. Nothing less than that." They bowed to him and his commands, like the loyal gentlemen they were. Modred pointed to the prostrate Balthasar, who was already squirming back to consciousness, with his fingers feeling at his throat, as though to discover whether it was still sound or no. "And this fellow, sire?" "Pick him up."