The Franciscan took his beads and muttered three prayers, and Fulk watched him, wondering what Merlin’s business might be, and how far he was to be trusted. “Has the blood grown restless in you, Fulk Ferrers?” His voice was smooth and persuasive. “No more than in a hawk on a perch.” “The hawk would fly, eh! Young blood runs hot. I have many things to say to you, Fulk of the Forest.” The darkness was between them, and Merlin’s voice came out of it with a cautious, intimate murmur. “My son, who has not heard of wrongs that should be righted, of things hidden away under the ground when they should be brought into the light of day? Listen to me, son Fulk. A priest comes by many truths, and by strange stories, and sometimes it is difficult for a man to believe his own ears and eyes.” He bent over his staff and stared into Fulk’s face, his cowl slipping back a little, so that a gaunt chin poked out and Fulk saw the gleam of his eyes. “Listen to strange tidings.” Merlin’s voice fell to a whisper; and Fulk, looking into the dim face, felt as though some sly and persuasive hand were touching him. Isoult’s enigmatic words were in his ears, and his mistrust bristled. “Speak out, friar, if you have anything to say.” “Assuredly I can paint you a picture such as few young men have ever looked upon.” * * * * * It may be that Father Merlin had passed an hour in the quarry before Guy the Stallion and his men heard a throttled voice calling for help. They tumbled up from about the fire and went running into the quarry, dodging in and out between the masses of bramble and furze. Guy had taken a burning brand from the fire, and its flare showed them Merlin flat on his back and Fulk of the Forest on top of him. They fell upon Fulk, dragged him off, and bore him back against the quarry wall. He did not struggle with them, and his passivity was part of his scorn. Merlin turned over on his hands and knees, wheezing and fighting for breath, his lips blue, and his eyes full of tears. He gathered himself up, coughing, and feeling his throat. Guy swaggered forward. “Give the word, father, and we’ll make an end.” Merlin’s hood had fallen back. He turned on Guy with grinning, furious face. “Fool! Tie the man up, and put a sack over his head. And keep that dagger of yours out of mischief.” A man went off towards the fire, and returned with leather thongs and an old sack. Merlin was still fingering his throat, and his voice was a hoarse whisper. “Make no mistake over it—tie him up as a spider ties up a fly.” He stood and watched them, and when the thing was done he went very close to Fulk and stared into his face. “Fool! What of six feet of cold earth under a beech tree? Sleep on the edge of the black hole, my son, and look down into it when the daylight comes—the cold grey light after cock-crow.”