with a clever feint, and backward step, the master of fence drew the King

into the position he wanted him, and with the suddenness of lightning, a

little twist of his foil sent Henry's weapon clanging across the floor of

the armory.

For an instant, the King stood as tense and white as though the hand of

death had reached out and touched his heart with its icy fingers. The

episode meant more to him than being bested in play by the best swordsman

in England -- for that surely was no disgrace -- to Henry it seemed

prophetic of the outcome of a future struggle when he should stand face to

face with the real De Montfort; and then, seeing in De Vac only the

creature of his imagination with which he had vested the likeness of his

powerful brother-in-law, Henry did what he should like to have done to the

real Leicester. Drawing off his gauntlet he advanced close to De Vac.

"Dog !" he hissed, and struck the master of fence a stinging blow across

the face, and spat upon him. Then he turned on his heel and strode from

the armory.

De Vac had grown old in the service of the kings of England, but he hated

all things English and all Englishmen. The dead King John, though hated by

all others, he had loved, but with the dead King's bones De Vac's loyalty

to the house he served had been buried in the Cathedral of Worcester.

During the years he had served as master of fence at the English Court, the

sons of royalty had learned to thrust and parry and cut as only De Vac

could teach the art, and he had been as conscientious in the discharge of

his duties as he had been in his unswerving hatred and contempt for his

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