“Denise!” it said, “is it Denise, yonder?” Gaillard looked down at her, and opened his mouth scoffingly when she answered the man’s call. “Hallo, Golden-head, you would have a lover in your lap, eh! We will see to it to-night, my desire. I promise you it shall not be the fool yonder.” The water had broken into fresh ripples that came lapping among the sedges. Aymery’s horse was swimming the river. Gaillard dropped his great helmet on to his shoulders, and holding the halter in the same big hand as held his sword, turned the horses, and rode off so close to Denise that his knee touched hers. “Grace before meat,” he said, laughing under his helmet, “your man is probably clumsy enough. I know how to deal with such a windmill.” He dragged Denise’s horse to a canter, and turning in the saddle, saw Aymery floundering up through the crackling shadows. “Some people are in a great hurry to get to heaven,” said Gaillard; “it is a pity, Sanctissima, that you have such a head of hair, and such a body. They are things that make a man cut other men’s throats.” CHAPTER XLI The plunge through the cold Ouse freshened Aymery’s horse, and Gaillard, who rode only to put some miles between him and Simon’s host at Lewes, heard the rhythm of the hoofs behind him drawing ever nearer. The knowledge that he was chased by one man did not bustle the Gascon in the least, for Gaillard knew his own strength, and had never taken a thrashing. The day’s battle had beggared him, and his brother adventurers, for the lords who had hired them would soon be scattered over the sea. Moreover Gaillard remembered De Montfort in Gascony, and that Earl Simon had dealt very roughly with hired gentlemen of the sword who meddled where they had no cause. Yet Gaillard did not snap his jaws at the chance that had beggared him. He felt in fettle, and ready for a scrimmage, arrogantly confident in himself, and with sufficient animal spite in the mood to put him in an excellent temper. He would thrash the fool who followed them, have his way with Denise, and make Pevensey on the morrow, and sail with some of the King’s lords who were seized with a desire to visit France. Had Gaillard had a glimpse of the face of the man who followed him, he might have taken the escapade more grimly, and talked less of “Sussex boors who could better fix a spiggot in a barrel than handle a sword.” The Gascon could not keep the froth from the surface. Loquacity was a habit of his when he had anything strenuous in hand. He gabbled away to Denise as they cantered on in the dusk, keeping a sharp eye however on the ground before him, very wide awake in spite of his loquacity. “Come, now, Sanctissima,” he said, “tell me when you are tired of your horse, and we will stop and talk to the gentleman behind us. A gallop at night makes one sleep more soundly. We shall find a bed somewhere, and no one shall wake you early if you would play the sluggard.”