Not only was the Duke of Lancaster hated, but all those near to him, and even his possessions, shared this savage hatred. The common people lusted to cut the throats of his stewards and foresters, beat out the brains of his knights and men-at-arms, and to burn and destroy his houses and all the rich gear in them. So in the blowing up of the storm there were certain tall trees marked out for destruction; and Fulk of the Forest, riding his rounds and cherishing the deer, did not reflect that he himself would be a stag marked out for the slaughter. But Father Merlin knew it, and told himself that a chained hart alive might be of more value than mere venison. Much enlightenment had come to him since that meeting by the thorn tree near the vachery, and Merlin had gathered his gossips round the fire in Blackbottom Gill and whispered a strange story. They had drawn close about him, gaping, amazed, yet caught by the shrewd audacity of his imaginings. There was no moon when the Polecat climbed the White Lodge fence, opened the garden wicket, let Merlin in, and led him to Isoult’s window. The house was asleep, but Isoult lay awake, having been warned of Merlin’s coming. She had heard a fern-owl whirring in the oak woods, and, rising from her bed, stood at the window, waiting. Merlin spoke in a whisper: “Isoult, art there?” He could see her grey face at the bars, but she could see nothing of his because of his cowl. “Speak softly, for the young falcon has strong talons and a fierce beak.” “It is of Fulk Ferrers that I have much to say.” “I am listening.” She was on her guard, though not conscious of it, half ready to put aside any treacherous blow aimed at the man who had captured her under the yews; but Merlin had not spoken ten words before she became enthralled by the strange tale that he was telling her. She stared out into the darkness whence this whispering voice came. And when he had ended she drew in her breath sharply, and fell to listening for any sound within the house. “Merlin,” said she, “have a care. What if it be the King?” “Comfort yourself. I had word. Richard is in the White Tower in London—has been there all these days.” “Is he so like?” “Like enough to trick any but his own familiars, and though this fellow is some five years older, the young king looks more than a lad. It is a marvel.” Isoult stood thinking. “Two kings to play with! To use the one, if the other should prove contrary! Yes; but, my friend, this young man, this Fulk of the Forest, is more proud and stiffnecked than any king I ever read of.” Merlin’s voice was sly and insinuating. “And Isoult of the Rose surpasses all women——” She cut in on him sharply. “Be careful. I am not to be played with. But I might try my wits.” She stared into the darkness as though trying to see Merlin’s face. “Have you any plan?”