It was her brother’s treasury that Mellis showed him, the vault at the base of the tower, filled with war gear and a store of food. She had raised the stone by thrusting a long pole through the iron ring. A stout leather sack lay on the ground beside the entry. “There are bows and bills and war harness below there,” she told him. “We have fooled the Lord of Troy, who swore that there should not be so much as a boar-spear left in the Forest. Take that sack, Martin Valliant, and carry it for me into the garden.” He shouldered the thing, and knew that he carried iron, both by the weight of it and by the way a sharp edge bit into his shoulder. “Lay it on the grass—there.” He obeyed her, wondering what was in her mind. Mellis knelt and cut the leather thong that fastened the throat of the sack. The leather had kept out the damp, and her white hands drew out armor that was bright as the blade of her poniard. It was a suit of white mail beautifully wrought, yet noble in its clean simplicity. Salade, breast-plate, shoulder pieces, back-plate, tassets, loin-guard, vam-braces, rear-braces, elbow pieces, gauntlets, thigh plates, greaves, solerets and spurs, she laid them all upon the grass. And last of all she drew out a belt and sword, and a plain shield colored green. She spread her hands, palms downwards, over them. “This was to have been my brother’s harness.” Martin Valliant was kneeling at her side. “And now, God helping me, I have chosen the man who shall wear it—even you, Martin Valliant, my comrade in arms.” Martin’s eyes seemed to catch the sunlight. He knelt for a while in silence, as though he were praying. “May no shame come to it through me,” he said at last; “and though it may sit strange on me, my heart shall serve you to the death.” She took the sword and rose from her knees. “My hands shall gird you.” He reached out, drew the pommel of the sword toward him, and kissed it. “I swear troth to you, Mellis.” He looked up, and her eyes held his. “Martin Valliant you are called, and valiant shall you be. Stand, good comrade.” She buckled the sword on him, knowing in her heart that he was her man. _Chapter XXI_ Martin Valliant slept at the foot of the tower stairway with Mellis’s sword beside him. He fell asleep with one hand gripping the hilt, like a child clutching a toy.