“You and I can keep each other’s secrets. There is some trouble brewing about here, though I have not got to the bottom of it as yet. Old Dale’s cubs had sneaked back out of France; we sighted them in Gawdy Town. We have the young man’s brush, and now I am after the girl. She is going to ride to Troy with me.” Geraint’s black eyes were on the alert. “I know nothing of all this, gossip. Where are you going to find the lady?” “On the Black Moor.” “What!” “Under the protection of St. Florence and Brother Martin, and taking her sleep in your rest-house.” Geraint gaped like a great bird. “Blood and wounds, but this is—miraculous!” He began to laugh—deep, gloating laughter. “Dear gossip, I have not heard such monstrous good news for many months. Brother Martin playing the nurse to a woman! Why, sir, we sent him one, and he would have none of her, the pious fool!” “I dare say Brother Martin could not help himself.” “How so?” “The young woman arrived, claimed St. Florence’s charity, and friend Martin had to give it. I could swear he has kept the door of his cell shut all the while, and only gone out after dark.” Geraint’s mouth showed its typical snarl. “It’s probable, most probable, but such a tale does not suit us, good sir.” “What has the fool done that you hate him so heartily?” “He is too good for this world, Vance; I would that you could help us to be rid of him.” The red man grinned. “Why, anything in reason! One bruises one’s toe against these incorruptible lumps. And your toe may be swollen, holy friend.” “Have done. This is serious to us.” “Speak out, then; confess to me, Dom Geraint; I am no suckling.” Geraint poured out more ale. “But for Abbot Hilary we should not care a snap of the fingers.” “Every man has a man over him, gossip, even if it be only a grave-digger. My Lord of Troy—well, I would not lose Roger Bland’s good-will. I should be a broken man in a month, and I know it. You are afraid of this pup’s yelping?” Geraint nodded, and sat biting the nail of his thumb. “Teach him to gnaw bones.” “We have tried it.” “But here is a pretty tale that could be told. Why, souse me in vinegar, one only has to lie hard enough in this world—see things crooked! Supposing I and my two fellows dream that we found——” He painted the picture with a few coarse flourishes, and Geraint wriggled in his chair. “Great, sweet gossip—great! But supposing he calls for a court?” “Let him have it. He can call no witnesses. Madame Mellis will not be forthcoming, and we shall be ready to swear—for the jest of it. Of course a gold piece or two for my fellows! These little mazes please me, gossip; brains—brains! I’m tickled by a rebus! Now—what of it?” Geraint stretched out one of his hairy paws. “A bargain, Vance.” “I’ll hold the debt over you, and call it some day. Prayers put up for me in Paradise—hey! No, a priest may be useful on occasions.”