“These lords, the King’s Councillors.” “No, by my heart, they were very courteous. I came by my own will.” She could see his eyes shining. A hand came out and gripped her wrist. “Isoult—heart of my desire!” She did not look at him, but spoke very softly. “Wait! you do not know who—or where—or whence.” His grip tightened. “Who am I that I should ask? Whence came I, who am I, whither do I go? A captain of free-lances, a man of adventure, a sworder in foreign lands—that shall I be.” “Does your pride quarrel with such a lot?” “Perhaps—no.” “Neither does mine, for you will be a great captain, a king of many adventures.” He was silent awhile. “Isoult, I’ll not go alone. By all the blood in my body——!” She turned to him sharply, and he saw her face white, and passionate, and earnest. “Listen. Who am I? The child of a Breton gentleman, of a good man who fell into the Devil’s lap. I was desired, and I fled; but he who desired me was strong and cunning. Yet he did not prevail. I—a knight’s daughter, fled, dressed as a common singing-girl, to the English, and Thomas of Woodstock, the King’s uncle, looked on me with the eyes of a calf. He spoke fair words, swore I should be his lady, and, since I feared that other lover, I sailed with Thomas of Woodstock into England. He gave me a fair manor house in the west to live in, still spoke fair words, and hid what was in his heart. It was Merlin who betrayed Thomas of Woodstock to me, and in those days I did not know the colour of Father Merlin’s soul. I swore a feud against all lords and nobles, went wandering, and pitied the poor. My bitterness made a fool of me, for I joined myself to John Ball and his dreams, called myself ‘Queen of the Outlaws,’ and sang wild songs to all who were discontented. That is my tale, Friend Fulk. I have told it you. But never has any man called me his.” His grip on her wrist did not relax. “Brave heart, well flown.” She turned her face, and he caught the shine of her eyes. “Ah, but am I tamed—I, the Breton falcon?” “Who would see you tamed? Not I, by my sword! Who would mate with a white pigeon?” She laughed softly. “Enough, hot-headed one. Those men are listening.” He would not let her hand go for the moment. “Isoult, by the shine in your eyes I will have none but you.” “So many men have said; but—I—I will think on it.” So they rode on into the night; while Father Merlin sat before the fire at “The Painted Lady,” and the men who were his creatures stood in a half-circle watching him like dogs. Here were Guy the Stallion and the Polecat, Jack o’ the Knife, Peter of Alton, Will Sunburst, and several more, all rank rogues and thieves. And they stood and grumbled together, and watched the grey friar. Then Guy had a fit of courage. “Master Merlin, no man quarrels with cutting throats for a good purse; but, by cock, I’ll not walk out into the dark with my eyes shut. There’s blood!” The rest applauded him. “Guy has a tongue.”