“You think that? It would be strange if he did not!” His voice was sharp with scorn. “Knollys planned the adventure. Knollys brought us here—in secret. Pah! it makes my gorge rise!” “Have faith in a friend. Might not I be the traitress?” He flashed a look at her. “Isoult, if I sneer and am savage, bear with me. This—has hurt—more than wounds.” Instantly she was kneeling before him, her hands on his shoulders. “I know, I know. Such treachery bites deep. But there are other lands than this, and you and I will seek them.” He caught her and held her fast. “Dear heart, heal me. We will ride out together, this very morning, and take ship for France. The shipmen will want money, and, by God, I feel minded to turn robber for a day and empty some rich fool’s purse. We must have money.” “Sell the horses.” “Then as to the ports. Southampton and the great ones will be watched. The King’s doom is on us.” She laughed softly. “Am I not something of a wanderer, and yet know nothing of the ways? We have no need of ports and shipmen. A fishing-boat will serve. I have money for that.” She showed him where she had ten gold pieces sewn up in her tunic. “Isoult, you are a wonder of a woman.” Yet his face and eyes looked sad. “We shall go out like beggars. And it was in my heart to make you a great lady, with a ship to carry us, and ‘spears’ in our pay.” “Then make me a great lady. Who will be prouder than Isoult when your sword wins that which it deserves? A stout heart is better than a full purse.” He kissed her, and her fresh breath mingled with his, and for a while she lay in his arms, loving him dearly, and the dead men and the King’s ring were forgotten. Then Fulk gave a sudden cry. She looked up and saw his eyes flashing at something over the water. “Merlin’s men?” “No. A pennon and spears.” She drew away and sprang up, shading her eyes with her hand, the hot colour out of her face. “It is Knollys! Surely it is Knollys!” Fulk stood in the shade of the yew. “Yes, it is Knollys. How many men can you count? Thirty, if there is one. He has come to bury us, perhaps, or to do Merlin’s work if Merlin should have failed.” “Fulk, I’ll not believe it.” “We shall know the truth soon enough. Stay here.” He took his sword, and, walking down to the water’s edge, posted himself there like a sentinel, the point of his sword grounded, his hands resting on the pommel. Knollys and his men came riding down towards the mere, the sunlight flashing on their harness, for the gentry rode armed through the months that followed the rising. Knollys tossed his spear, but Fulk did not move. He mistrusted all men that morning. “Hail, hail!” They reined in on the farther bank, not knowing that dead men had been dragged by the heels into the thickets. But Merlin’s raft of tree trunks lay in the shallows and Knollys eyed it and looked puzzled.