“Fear not, Mary,” replied Bertrade. “Five of thy father’s knights be ample protection for so short a journey. By evening it will have been accomplished; and, as the only one I fear in these parts received such a sound setback from Roger de Conde recently, I do not think he will venture again to molest me.” “But what about the Devil of Torn, Bertrade?” urged Mary. “Only yestereve, you wot, one of Lord de Grey’s men-at-arms came limping to us with the news of the awful carnage the foul fiend had wrought on his master’s household. He be abroad, Bertrade, and I can think of naught more horrible than to fall into his hands.” “Why, Mary, thou didst but recently say thy very self that Norman of Torn was most courteous to thee when he sacked this, thy father’s castle. How be it thou so soon hast changed thy mind?” “Yes, Bertrade, he was indeed respectful then, but who knows what horrid freak his mind may take, and they do say that he be cruel beyond compare. Again, forget not that thou be Leicester’s daughter and Henry’s niece; against both of whom the Outlaw of Torn openly swears his hatred and his vengeance. Oh, Bertrade, wait but for a day or so, I be sure my father must return ere then, and fifty knights shall accompany thee instead of five.” “What be fifty knights against Norman of Torn, Mary? Thy reasoning is on a parity with thy fears, both have flown wide of the mark. “If I am to meet with this wild ruffian, it were better that five knights were sacrificed than fifty, for either number would be but a mouthful to that horrid horde of unhung murderers. No, Mary, I shall start tomorrow and your good knights shall return the following day with the best of word from me.” “If thou wilt, thou wilt,” cried Mary petulantly. “Indeed it were plain that thou be a De Montfort; that race whose historic bravery be second only to their historic stubbornness.” Bertrade de Montfort laughed, and kissed her friend upon the cheek. “Mayhap I shall find the brave Roger de Conde again upon the highroad to protect me. Then indeed shall I send back your five knights, for of a truth, his blade is more powerful than that of any ten men I e’er saw fight before.” “Methinks,” said Mary, still peeved at her friend’s determination to leave on the morrow, “that should you meet the doughty Sir Roger all unarmed, that still would you send back my father’s knights.” Bertrade flushed, and then bit her lip as she felt the warm blood mount to her cheek. “Thou be a fool, Mary,” she said. Mary broke into a joyful, teasing laugh; hugely enjoying the discomfiture of the admission the tell-tale flush proclaimed. “Ah, I did but guess how thy heart and thy mind tended, Bertrade; but now I see that I divined all too truly. He be indeed good to look upon, but what knowest thou of him?”